Rafael Sebba

 by Rafael Sebba   (April 2020)

It’s early in the afternoon and I think I need to take a break. I stand up and walk away from my makeshift home office (just a small folding table, a laptop, and an old chair in the corner of the bedroom). I swing through the garage, grab a pair of gloves, safety glasses, a hammer and a point chisel, and make my way into the backyard. I sidle up to the piece of dark gray granite resting on my work table.
In that other reality that is gradually fading from memory, I did most of my filing, sanding, and hand finishing on my lunch breaks at work. I reserved grinding, chiseling, and other more intensive work for the weekends, in the backyard, limited to short bursts so as not to piss off my neighbors. But in this new reality, I have opportunities to piss them off every day.

I don’t have some big idea. I am just following a curved line that I think I see. Shortly after I started chasing it, I noticed a complimentary line in a half-carved piece of tan limestone. Though the curves are similar, the two pieces of stone do not stand flush together and are distinctly separate. But they are leaning, leaning towards each other, leaning into the distance between them. Perhaps there is something more in this.

I’ve been wanting to hand carve harder stone for a while. Last year at Suttle Lake I finally picked up a few carbide chisels, a hammer, and a koyasuke from Kentaro Kojima. I’m exploring these tools as much as I’m exploring the granite. And if I’m being completely honest, this is the second piece of granite I’ve hammered on in the last three weeks. I reduced the first one to little more than ¾ minus gravel in the first five days. Might as well have been using a twelve pound sledgehammer. I am doing better with this one, though.

I stand over the stone, contemplating the one-inch point chisel and the one-pound hammer I am holding. They are a long way from their birthplace in Japan. The hammer is light enough that I feel like I could swing it all day long. The handle is long enough to be able to really leverage gravity. It’s octagonal face lacks the corners of my other square-faced hammers. Yeah, those squared corners that so eagerly seek out my thumb every time I miss a swing. This point chisel has a different geometry than the Italian points I have. Two of the tip’s sides are more gradually beveled, giving it a diamond shape. This makes it more directional, kind of like a flat chisel. Only with a point. Hard to describe. But in any case, this shape definitely requires a more mindful grip and position on the stone.
And thus it begins.

As they ring out, I think about the extraordinary journey of this steel. From a craftsman’s forge half way around the world into my hands, in Eugene, Oregon. This is no small feat; no online global two-day distribution network happening here. Only Kentaro’s passion, persistence, and perseverance, for which I am now especially grateful.
As the point cracks through areas of more and less resistance, visions of Sabah Al-Dhaher carving last year at Suttle Lake take over. I try to employ his technique of removing a given mass from different angles, repeatedly circling until it gives way. It is a non-linear, flowing, stream of consciousness dialogue that gravitates towards whatever ought to be addressed next. It is extremely efficient. The chisel agrees.

I raise the hammer. Relax into a loose grip. They ring out. Again. And again. I try to channel a bit of Joseph Kincannon’s relentless, effortless rhythm. Until I saw him two years ago, I don’t think I could have imagined anyone swinging a hammer with such a consistent, unstoppable, indestructible beat. Mesmerizing. Hypnotic. I raise the hammer again, higher this time. Trust it. It doesn’t want to miss.

Memories of symposiums dart in and out, this way and that. The sounds and smells of the field, spontaneous connections, evening presentations, glasses and bottles raised, and early morning walks. This is a beautiful tribe. My heart sinks for those of us in hard hit areas, for those of us who are being hit hard, and for those who are suffering. I have to remind myself to breathe. Just breathe through all of this.

I am easing into it. Eventually, every swing seems to connect and the chisel is peeling through the stone with every blow. We are on fire and can do no wrong. The ring of the hammer against the point against the stone falls in time with the music. I am dancing. We are dancing. All of us. Together in this momentary state of grace…
The alarm chimes. Time’s up. Break’s over. It goes so fast. Maybe I can squeeze in another hour at the end of the day.
Today, tomorrow, this year, or next, I’m certain we’ll be dancing together again.