It Began with The Kiteman
By Mike Steele
I guess I owe my interest in making art to The Kiteman of Nantucket -- at least that's what National Geographic called him. He was an eccentric character who made elaborate fabric kites and flew them over the sound between Cape Cod and the historic island.
The magazine made The Kiteman sound so interesting and Nantucket so attractive that we decided to go there as the centerpiece of a three-week vacation to New England.
That's how, on a September afternoon in the early '80s, we wound up in front of a vacant building on Nantucket’s Main Street. The Kiteman and his colorful, fantastical kites were gone. (Note to self: Don't make vacation plans from a three-year-old magazine in the dentist's office).
But Nantucket was all we had expected, and we spent much of our unexpected free time at the Whaling Museum which honors the island's seafaring heritage. There, among the antique harpoons, the mannequins in sea captain uniforms, the longboats, were case after case of delicately etched whale teeth. Each tooth told the story of a whaler and, collectively, the story of whaling.
This was my first exposure to authentic scrimshaw.
The whalers of New England took up scrimshaw to relieve the boredom of years at sea. In the process, they created an original American folk art form.
The raw materials were all around them: the teeth from the whales (primarily sperm whales), whale oil which was mixed with lamp black from the ship's lights as a staining medium, iron nails that could be sharpened into etching tools, and rough skin of sharks for polishing the teeth.
For subject matter, there were always their adventures at sea (real or imagined), the boats they were on, the lands and people they had encountered, or the memories of their girlfriends (real or imagined) back home.
These weren't trained artists, they were just homesick sailors with lots of time on their hands.
I became enchanted by the scrimshaw, but as I window-shopped around the island, my daydream of owning a piece clashed with the reality that these were antique artifacts and were priced accordingly.
So I decided to make my own, to become a scrimshander.
The tools were easy enough to come by: a section of dowel with a craft needle driven into one end was the etching tool; a honing stone to sharpen it; fine steel wool as a polisher; and a tube of lamp black oil paint (or India ink). They all go into a wooden box which doubles as a working surface on my lap.
The hard part was finding whale teeth. Because whales are endangered, it's been illegal to sell teeth taken since the early '70s. Elephant ivory has also been banned since the early '80s. You can still buy whale teeth or elephant ivory as long as the seller can prove that they predate the bans. But they are expensive – today a one-inch ivory disk costs about $300.
There are many alternatives, however, none of which involve killing animals. I used a “polymer ivory” (the stuff modern billiard balls are made from), molded and stained to look like teeth, walrus tusks or disks cut from tusks. The polymer has the weight and feel of whale teeth.
Also, a friend who restores old pianos gave me several boxes of discarded ivory key caps and fragments -- all predating the bans. I’ve also used deer antler, bone, and ivory nuts (the fruit of the tagua palm which, when baked and polished, has the look and feel of ivory), with varying degrees of success.
For subjects, I tend to stay close to the original sailors’ art -- ships and whaling scenes. But I‘ve also done pieces that were based on my personal interests such as birds, nature or beach scenes, or things I saw on Nantucket during what became annual visits over the next 10 years.
Like any art form, scrimshaw can be as detailed as the artist wants. Some scrimshanders do complex, colorful scenes; and a lot of what passes for modern scrimshaw is machined using laser etchers. But because my interest was in mimicking the folk art of the whalers, I stuck with basic tools and techniques.
The process is simple:
· Draw a sketch of the subject and transfer it with carbon paper or charcoal rubbing onto the surface of the ivory,
· Fill in the details with a pencil,
· With the etching tool, scratch the surface using different pressure to control the depth and width of the lines. Cross-hatch to get tonal variations.
· Clean the dust from the surface with a tooth brush, and wipe with a soft polishing brush.
· Press lamp black oil paint into the etching, making sure it gets into all the grooves. (Alternatively, India ink can be brushed into the grooves).
· After it has dried, remove the surface paint with the finest steel wool available (Grade 0000), being careful not to wear away any of the ivory.
After a final polishing with a soft cloth, the piece was ready.
Although I’ve now moved on to painting and my artwork is larger and more colorful, by starting with a craft like scrimshaw I think I learned early on the value of patience and attention to detail.
And it’s turned out to be a lot more rewarding than flying a kite.
By Mike Steele
I guess I owe my interest in making art to The Kiteman of Nantucket -- at least that's what National Geographic called him. He was an eccentric character who made elaborate fabric kites and flew them over the sound between Cape Cod and the historic island.
The magazine made The Kiteman sound so interesting and Nantucket so attractive that we decided to go there as the centerpiece of a three-week vacation to New England.
That's how, on a September afternoon in the early '80s, we wound up in front of a vacant building on Nantucket’s Main Street. The Kiteman and his colorful, fantastical kites were gone. (Note to self: Don't make vacation plans from a three-year-old magazine in the dentist's office).
But Nantucket was all we had expected, and we spent much of our unexpected free time at the Whaling Museum which honors the island's seafaring heritage. There, among the antique harpoons, the mannequins in sea captain uniforms, the longboats, were case after case of delicately etched whale teeth. Each tooth told the story of a whaler and, collectively, the story of whaling.
This was my first exposure to authentic scrimshaw.
The whalers of New England took up scrimshaw to relieve the boredom of years at sea. In the process, they created an original American folk art form.
The raw materials were all around them: the teeth from the whales (primarily sperm whales), whale oil which was mixed with lamp black from the ship's lights as a staining medium, iron nails that could be sharpened into etching tools, and rough skin of sharks for polishing the teeth.
For subject matter, there were always their adventures at sea (real or imagined), the boats they were on, the lands and people they had encountered, or the memories of their girlfriends (real or imagined) back home.
These weren't trained artists, they were just homesick sailors with lots of time on their hands.
I became enchanted by the scrimshaw, but as I window-shopped around the island, my daydream of owning a piece clashed with the reality that these were antique artifacts and were priced accordingly.
So I decided to make my own, to become a scrimshander.
The tools were easy enough to come by: a section of dowel with a craft needle driven into one end was the etching tool; a honing stone to sharpen it; fine steel wool as a polisher; and a tube of lamp black oil paint (or India ink). They all go into a wooden box which doubles as a working surface on my lap.
The hard part was finding whale teeth. Because whales are endangered, it's been illegal to sell teeth taken since the early '70s. Elephant ivory has also been banned since the early '80s. You can still buy whale teeth or elephant ivory as long as the seller can prove that they predate the bans. But they are expensive – today a one-inch ivory disk costs about $300.
There are many alternatives, however, none of which involve killing animals. I used a “polymer ivory” (the stuff modern billiard balls are made from), molded and stained to look like teeth, walrus tusks or disks cut from tusks. The polymer has the weight and feel of whale teeth.
Also, a friend who restores old pianos gave me several boxes of discarded ivory key caps and fragments -- all predating the bans. I’ve also used deer antler, bone, and ivory nuts (the fruit of the tagua palm which, when baked and polished, has the look and feel of ivory), with varying degrees of success.
For subjects, I tend to stay close to the original sailors’ art -- ships and whaling scenes. But I‘ve also done pieces that were based on my personal interests such as birds, nature or beach scenes, or things I saw on Nantucket during what became annual visits over the next 10 years.
Like any art form, scrimshaw can be as detailed as the artist wants. Some scrimshanders do complex, colorful scenes; and a lot of what passes for modern scrimshaw is machined using laser etchers. But because my interest was in mimicking the folk art of the whalers, I stuck with basic tools and techniques.
The process is simple:
· Draw a sketch of the subject and transfer it with carbon paper or charcoal rubbing onto the surface of the ivory,
· Fill in the details with a pencil,
· With the etching tool, scratch the surface using different pressure to control the depth and width of the lines. Cross-hatch to get tonal variations.
· Clean the dust from the surface with a tooth brush, and wipe with a soft polishing brush.
· Press lamp black oil paint into the etching, making sure it gets into all the grooves. (Alternatively, India ink can be brushed into the grooves).
· After it has dried, remove the surface paint with the finest steel wool available (Grade 0000), being careful not to wear away any of the ivory.
After a final polishing with a soft cloth, the piece was ready.
Although I’ve now moved on to painting and my artwork is larger and more colorful, by starting with a craft like scrimshaw I think I learned early on the value of patience and attention to detail.
And it’s turned out to be a lot more rewarding than flying a kite.
PHOTOS: At top is a replica sperm whale tooth made of polymer, depicting a whale eluding the lance of a whaler and crew in a longboat. Below are replica teeth and tooth sections with various scenes.