The title almost writes this post by itself…can art be replicated? Copies, duplications and replicas are certainly possible — but a copy is just a copy. There is even such a thing as a good copy. It’s when the copy becomes simply “good enough” that the quality deficit is not only clearly implied, it is to be expected. I liken this to the old artisans’ principle:
We make it three ways: good, fast & cheap. Pick any two. If it’s good and fast, it won’t be cheap. If it’s good and cheap, it won’t be fast. And if it’s fast and cheap, it won’t be good.
Handcrafted articles should cost more than mass-produced copies, and unapologetically so. Having spent most my career on both ends of this spectrum (and a few places in the middle), I can appreciate the principles at stake wherever the case.
If the objective here is to promote the art of handcrafting, I must say that I personally derive immense pleasure in the practice of this art. What started as a hobby around fifty years ago that turned to a passion and eventually into a career has always been a source of enjoyment for me. It still is. It was while sitting on a patio at a well-known cigar retailer that I recognized a “hole” in the market: hand made travel humidors. Nearly every patron on that patio where I sat had a travel humidor with them — and most of them look just alike. Cheap, black and made of plastic. No…I was not offended, but as a lifelong entrepreneur I definitely saw a void that I could step in to fill. I thought to myself, “Self, I want a portable humidor, but I can do better than that!” So I did. And I still do. :)
An artisan sees the raw material as a canvas upon which to bring the work of art to life. That’s how I see wood. Every board or log I see that has intrinsic grain movement that goes in crazy directions is just begging to find its home on a portable humidor. Do you suppose the operator of the plastic blow-molding machine sees the same thing when he looks the rods or beads of hard plastic material being fed into the melting hopper? Not likely. What he might see is the clock on the wall that lets him know that break time is only 44 minutes away, then only another hour and a half till he can go home.
An artisan sees the fingerprint sized spot that didn’t get quite as much finishing oil rubbed on it as the rest of the piece, so he sands it off and re-applies it to the whole piece, paying more careful attention to the spot he missed before. He sees the hairline void between the dovetails that has plenty of glue to hold the joint tightly forever, but not enough to make a seamless transition on the exposed surface, so he mixes sanding dust of the same wood species with some wood glue and fills the hairline void. He hears the puff of air being compressed into a tightly mitered joint that seals the inside from the outside of the box. He expects the work of his hands to be a reflection of his value of the buyer who pays hard earned money to own a piece of the work he produces. I do indeed love what I do. I am grateful for the opportunity so many of you give me to build your travel humidor. Cheers!
—Danny Jackson