Geek vs. Artist
I spent a good chunk of time researching CAD/CAM machines, which have made their way into the inlay industry. My creative side is well-balanced with my geek side, and the thought of being able to use a computer to do precision cutting and routing light years beyond what my clumsy hands seem to be able to produce is, in a word, appealing. You can certainly understand why.
I ended up at a CNC bulletin board, reading a thread started by the same guy I initially contacted to get a quote for doing the hummingbird for me. He was looking to move into a bit more automation, allowing him to take on bigger jobs on things that were repeated designs, and needed advice about what kind of a machine to get, and what kind of software to run it.
I didn’t understand half of what I was reading, honestly, but what I got out of it is that a) there’s a real learning curve to being able to do it that way, in terms of learning how to get the software to talk to the machine, and calibrating it for the kind of fine work inlay requires; b) it’s hugely expensive—the software alone runs $1500 and up, the machines $17K; c) and, as I find frequently on a lot of these sites, there’s an expectation of some experience with woodworking, CAD, and related stuff prior to you even considering making the jump. I don’t have that experience. Owning more than one grit of sandpaper was a huge woodworking step for me. I look at my workbench, with all its tools, and I’m proud and amazed all this stuff is mine and I know how to use most of it, if not well. But I certainly have a long way to go.
The financial reality puts that out of reach for me anyway, but when one is dreaming and pondering, it’s easy to set that inconvenient fact aside for the time being. And the question I kept coming back to was “You could invest time in learning software, or you could invest that time in getting better at what you’re doing.” The answer seemed clear. I had the same mental debate about recording my music. I could put a lot of time, effort, and money into gear and learning about recording, but I didn’t really want to learn to become a sound engineer; I want to learn to be a guitarist. So that’s where I decided to dedicate my energy.
Plus, I like working with hand tools. I like the pace of them; it suits me. And then there was the feeling I had that being a director of machines would make my inlay less art and more velvet-Elvis-paint-by-numbers. Then again, if you’re in business, time is definitely money, and I cannot fault anyone for finding a better, quicker way to create beauty AND feed their families. But that is certainly not where I am yet.
The other thing I got out of my research is that there are a lot of folks out there with the same dream I have: of giving up their day job and making a go of being a professional inlay artist. And most of them have far more visual artistic ability than I do. I admit, I got a little discouraged. I tried not to entertain that thought too long, because best-case scenario is that it’s quite a bit down the road for me, and I accept that. I have no idea what the future will bring; all I can do is work at it and see what unfolds. It’s true of inlay; it’s true of life. I have to believe it is not by accident that most of the well-known inlay artists are in their 50s or older. They’ve been working at this a long time.
I started this project in order to put a hummingbird on Vera, and I do believe I will progress enough in time to achieve that goal, and perhaps tattoo my own guitars from time to time. The thought that it could become more came later. Not that I wouldn’t continue doing inlay, because I think I would. I enjoy it. But as a business? I don’t know. I always envied Antiguo’s work life, creating beautiful things with his hands instead of clicking a mouse to create something that ultimately was negligible in its contribution to the world. And while he loved his work, the business side was a constant worry for him, and he envied my steady paycheck. So perhaps being a hobbyist is the best of all possible worlds. In any case, that is a decision for a future day. For now, I’ve got shell to saw.
