Get a hobby, they said!
For some, it may be brewing palatable beer in your basement. Perhaps it's trying to understand the chemistry of baking's temperamental nature? Or maybe it's gathering the courage to learn an instrument, attempting three-four-time signatures on an out-of-tune violin you purchased at an estate sale. But, whatever it is or was, hobbies we can all agree, are good for the soul; Extensions of our interests and, in a pre or post-pandemic world, sometimes even our identity.
We all know how the story goes. It starts with the dabbling, and before you know it, you're justifying spending large sums of money trying to convince yourself you need this tool, that specific ingredient, or time off to attend another workshop or Comicon. My dabbling was woodworking, specifically hand tools and the processes involved. So when I met Chris, this encounter may not have been by luck or chance. Instead, I like to think of it as inevitably delayed.
One day, a friend sent me a link advertising hand tools for sale. I clicked the link with excitement, though it was ill-timed, and to my dismay, the seller's link views exceeded thousands; I sent an email anyway; why the hell not, right?! We organized a time, and I arrived as per instructions through the alley, parking in front of the garage door. The garage door lifted, and I had difficulty processing what I saw as I had never seen anything like it. Tools everywhere, and not just any tools, objects I have never seen or could identify, in all shapes, various models, and sizes, organized in such a way that I can only describe as a balancing act of organized chaos and OCD. I almost forgot why I was even there. Chris, the owner I had come to see, was staring at me, slightly impatient, but humouring me as I got the impression my reaction was typical of all his visitors.
Still fumbling when I spoke, Chris pointed to a sizeable plywood cabinet, painted white, scuffed, and dented from years of open and close. He asked me to open it, showing me his selling tools, each fitted to a slot, cubby, or rack, my mind buzzing with the possibility of being the maker to extend their life.
I could tell Chris knew I had no idea what I was doing. And he was right; I didn't. However, rather than pressure me or ask me to leave in the most excellent way possible, Chris shared his knowledge and opinions without hesitation. How to hold the tool correctly, why steel was superior during this time, how the Egyptians sharpened their tools, and the list went on. I couldn't stop myself; I kept asking questions because the guy was a walking, talking, self-deprecating encyclopedia. The more I asked, the more he shared. Finally, we agreed on a price for a list of items.
Before leaving, I told Chris what I did for a living and that sometimes I encounter individuals I find interesting and ask to take their portraits. I hoped he would be one of those individuals. I explained my intentions in more detail, and he immediately hesitated for his reasons. I responded with a "Think about it" approach and would send samples of others I have profiled so that he could get an idea of the format and visual. Chris replied, "You know what, send me those samples, and if the wife thinks this is a good idea, you have a deal." Two weeks later, I got an email with a yes.
I write this to provide some level of anonymity and respect for Chris. However, I can tell you he was a serious collector of hand tools at one point in his life, filling the garage and basement, floor to ceiling of his bungalow. He is a man of few words and a love for comics (look at his mug). His sense of humour is all levels of dry yet humble and kind, leaving you the opportunity, if you dare, for a comment or two; I took every chance I got. We shared stories of building things, Chris coming to Calgary at a very young age, his first job, personal joys one finds building things, and why he does what he does.
My approach to Chris's portrait was simple and started with a simple question, why do we build things? A question I still ask myself. Every maker, regardless of experience, has their own personal or economic reasons. For me, it's creating something from the raw material into something that extends beyond a maker's life, which is a beautiful feeling, especially when it doesn't become firewood. I wanted to create a portrait of Chris that featured a humble man on stage where he shines. A physical picture he could share with those closest to him, pass down to kin much like his most coveted tools, reflect on the memories created in space as time passes, and inevitably, one day, outlive him.
