Photo 1: New shop organization system.

I used to be hamstrung by a very chaotic, messy shop space. There were so many loose ends that I didn’t know where to start organizing. I was able to turn this around with the help of numerous phone consultations with a personal organizing coach. With chronic disorganization, it seemed futile to spend five minutes straightening when I could easily use five days. Since my coaching, I’ve vowed to do a little something positive every time I walk into my shop. The quantum leap happened in baby steps. Over time, I passed a tipping point, so now when there is a small mess, it stands out. I don’t just see the disorganization, I feel it, and it is much easier to remedy. (Photo 1) It is very obvious to me now that a little bit of chaos will eventually add up to stress and future difficulties, and I am committed to taking care of it on the spot.

 

Photo 2: My installation gear for aborted installation.  Photo 3: Arrow Sign Company gear for installing the same sign.

Photo 4: My first carved wood sign, or a tricky way to pay for last year’s summer vacation.

On a recent job, I was trying to install some large plastic panels only 12 feet off the ground. (Photo 2) After months of planning this “easy” job, I expected to install the panels with ladders and two or three helpers. As is often the case, I didn’t think much about the infeasibility of my vision until install day when suddenly it became clear that my plan could be off just enough that someone could get hurt. I stopped the installation midstream and called a large electrical sign company to find out their hourly rate. Two days later, Arrow Sign Company showed up and installed the sign in 45 minutes, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. (Photo 3) 

 

On our annual family farm vacation, I sold the owner on a new sign in exchange for our room and board. I was in a good mood, so I suggested the farm should have a carved monument sign and the owner agreed. (Photo 4) The problem was I’d never made anything like it in the past. I underestimated a couple of big things in the process. First of all, I was not prepared to glue up a major plank of wood. I was saved by doing a trade for jobsite and magnet signs with Chris Yerke, a master carpenter friend who restores Victorian mansions. He made up a 2½" thick panel out of reclaimed old-growth redwood that could easily have marked up to about $1,000. Then I found out that carving this type wood would require much more time than I had imagined based on my experience of carving light wood and HDU. I was able to quiz Chris to find out about the correct router bits and techniques so I could save time by doing the depth carving free-hand with a router, and the finish work with chisels. I learned that this could easily be my last carved sign if I didn’t sell it properly up front and that there should never be any reduced pricing for a job like this.

 

I make sandblasted signs from time to time, but I’m tired of the expense and delays in sending out the work. So I recently endeavored, for the first time, to sandblast a cedar sign myself with the help of sandblaster and glass artist Larry White of Milestone Manufacturing. I soon realized that these are difficult signs to make on a budget. Just the current increased cost of sandblast mask was surprising to me. It was instructive for me to be responsible for all of the mask-preparing steps to better understand how they relate to the final product. I was impressed by the laborious task of achieving a deep carve. (Photo 5) On this first effort, I failed to go as deeply as I might have, which made painting all of the finish details a much slower process than with a usual deep carve. (Photo 6)

 

Photo 5: That’s me pretending to sandblast with the help of Larry White. Photo 6: My first sandblasted sign. I usually roll over the high spots very quickly, but this time I had to hand paint a lot of it because I didn’t go deep enough.

I’ve repainted quite a few old neon signs without removing the neon first, although not too many lately. On a recent job, I thought I was very clever to put a clause in the contract specifying that the client would have to pay for one broken tube (should that occur) and that I would take care of any subsequent problems myself. It seemed like a fair deal, until I was almost finished with the final coat and I came around the bend and discovered a shattered tube that “just happened” somehow. It could have been jostled or expanded, who knows, the point was that I couldn’t do much about it either way. 

 

Photo 7: The restored neon sign by Bill Concannon.

Luckily, I was able to pull a favor from neon artisan Bill Concannon of Argon Neon. Of course, this still required numerous measuring and pickup trips, which still became unbilled time. Bill was able to discern what the original color was and just happened to have the last couple matching blue lead tubes in existence. And yet I had to replace not one tube but two tubes because the whole word wouldn’t match otherwise. It was unwelcome news, but the neon looked fantastic once it was all reinstalled. (Photo 7) It showed up the rest of the sign so bad that the unreasonable client tried to blame me for every other thing that was worn out on the sign. The side lesson here was that you cannot guarantee this type of job, no matter how careful you are.

 

I fell for the challenge 

A local private school wanted something for their PTA sidewalk project-- a custom piece of some type that would look good in their walkway. My pool of craftspeople suggested that a cement casting might be the way to go. They directed me to Buddy Rhodes, cement countertop-maker extraordinaire. I set a price, $850, for what seemed like a few hours of work and installation time. Buddy graciously sent me an three-line email telling me “how-to” and what to buy: “Cut the logo out of foam, flip it over on a clean smooth sheet of melamine and build a ring around it the thickness you want the tile. Mix the cement up using a water reducer to make it wet without too much water and pour over the foam letters. Vibrate the table and strike off the back. Thin set into place.” 

 

I watched his YouTube video of how to make a countertop, which showed the use of his materials. It looked so easy. My first piece, of course, cracked terribly. (Photo 8) I sent Buddy a picture and he talked me through a half-dozen possible remedies. My second try came out much improved. I realized that learning new skills via email is very challenging. But I also observed the act of learning in a new way. The first couple of times around, it is impossible to gauge how each step adds up to the final product, even if you do it right. And then if some early 90 percent success is achieved, there will still be 10 percent that is slightly wrong and misunderstood and jumbled in such a way that the beginner cannot know how to evaluate their success or fix a problem until they do it several more times. So the necessity of the “trial and error” method of learning became abundantly clear with this project. 

 

Photo 8: I sent this picture to Buddy Rhodes and he said, “Wow. That really did crack up a lot.” Photo 9: Tile school with tile-setter Riley Doty.

Buddy’s final detail “thin set into place,” was assisted by my friend Riley Doty, who is locally known as “the tile-setter.” A couple days before I was to install the piece, I happened to be talking to Riley and I asked for his input. (Photo 9) He graciously offered to help with the installation. The difference between an email and hands-on expertise was huge, and I learned more about installing a cement sign then I could have imagined.

 

Although the cement manhole cover project forced me to consider that perhaps I shouldn’t be open to every new craft possibility, I am bolstered by the many recent successes I have enjoyed thanks to the variety of experts in my community. Taking on something completely new requires a much greater commitment than just asking a few questions and hoping for the best. There are start-up costs such as bulk quantities, material shelf-lives and failed tests that are difficult to account to anticipate. For example, I thought my drill could stand in as a cement mixer, which it did for a short while until smoke started pouring out of it. The job also called for an unimpressive, but necessary list of items such as buckets, gloves, sponges and cement tools. Watching experts do “my” job has greatly increased my ability to evaluate whether I can reasonably take on a wide range of new directions. Even if I never repeat some of these experiments, it is reassuring to know that there are numerous options for back-up, education and support to enhance my skill base. The bottom line is don’t try to work alone when you can surround yourself with the wealth of community knowledge that is readily available.