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[zalacozasseveralrealms]

The Ring

The Ring

Some of you may have noticed the small silver ring I wear on my right hand. If you have seen it, you may also be aware that the ring is uneven in places, varies in thickness and width, and bears a faded etching of the simple Roman numerals XXI. The ring does not easily tarnish, which likely gives up the game already—the material is not pure silver but rather an alloy of silver and copper called shibuichi (Japanese for one-fourth). I do not remember the exact ratio of silver to copper in this particular trinket, but I am inclined to think it closer to 60 Ag: 40 Cu based on its luster, tarnish, and malleability. If I haven’t given myself up again, my chest does swell with some pride in the fact that I can say I know these things about this ring because I created it myself. My silver ring is my first successful metal cast and, in my own calm, objective opinion, the finest piece of jewelry I have had the pleasure of making. [Someday, I’ll tell you all about the event that was the bronze gummy bears.]

In my mind, I am not very good at meeting new people and making friends. I also am fully aware this is not true (more on mental illness and cognitive dissonance at five). So when my close friends Denise and Andrea encouraged me to take an art class at Mat-Su College to fill up some elective credits and meet interesting new people, I jumped at the opportunity. Little did I know that I was being led to a place I would never leave.

For background, Denise and Andrea are both amazing people and artists. I have learned more about life and art from them than I have pages to write on. Both are friends with and students of Casey, who at the time was the Beginning Metalsmithing and Jewelry Making and Casting instructor at Mat-Su College. Andrea and Denise recommended I take Casey’s Beginning Metalsmithing class for fun and personal fulfillment, so I registered. At the time, I had minor experience with the physical arts and almost no experience with jewelry, as my arts focus before then was on piano and writing. Quite simply, I was allured by the idea of shaping metal.

I’ll be honest—I have always had a fascination with metal. It may have something to do with my fixation with shiny things or on large-scale machinery and other things with moving parts—my mother likes to remind me periodically that I loved tractors, bulldozers, backhoes, etc. as a child. I also have a very strong attachment to the early 20th century ocean liners.

Over the course of the semester, we had to complete safety competence demonstrations and fabricate several projects to demonstrate our grasp of the various metalsmithing techniques we had learned. We learned how to form jump rings from copper and brass wire, using silver solder to complete the ring joints. We learned how to form twist rings, twisting multiple strands of metal wire together to form a ring and again seal them with solder. We learned how to cut shapes out of sheet metal with jeweler’s saws (don’t get me started on them). We learned how to file a piece of metal into the right shape and thickness, then buff it to a shine with metal polish. One of the most unique projects was to turn a length of copper pipe into a “box” with a lid that could hold water. I still have that box.

Eventually, we were offered the option to try lost wax casting. For those of you unfamiliar, lost wax casting involves first creating a model of your intended jewelry piece using carving wax. You must then affix a large rubber plug called a sprue base (the sprue is the channel through which the metal will eventually flow and which you must also shape from wax), which corresponds to a specific size of metal “flask” (essentially a short metal tube of several inches in diameter and length). Once you have attached the wax to the sprue base, you attach the flask to the base and then very carefully pour investment into the flask. Investment is a kind of plaster that will form the mold. This entire apparatus must then be placed in a kiln to “burn out” the wax and create the negative space in the mold where the metal will flow.

I was incredibly excited to try a cast. I had seen more experienced classmates cast some truly incredible things—one gentleman, known for his intricate work, liked to cast fully-functional Pez dispensers Now, I’m not the most adept at jewelry making nor am I one for baroque sensibilities, so I decided to start simple and cast perhaps the most quintessential of trinkets: a ring. I chose to cast in silver, and though I did not have any of my own (nor could I afford any, being a lowly college student), I had excellent friends who shared some silver and copper with which to mix shibuichi for my ring. I was told that the ideal metals for casting were gold and silver—gold because of how cooperative it is, and silver because it is cooperative, hardy, and cheaper than gold. I’ve never had a fondness for gold. Silver is harder, prettier, and in my mind, more functional. So, I cast in silver.

When you first cast, they tell you how intimidating a forced-oxygen acetylene torch can be, and rightly so. The torch can bring bronze, a very stubborn and uncooperative metal, to its melting point in just a few minutes. You must wear a tinted face shield to protect your face and eyes (staring directly at the flame can cause eye damage and heavens forbid the metal splash you in the face). You must wear thick heavy gloves on both hands, as the heat from the proximity alone can bake your skin. You must pay close attention to where you hold the flame as you lower it into the crucible (the clay pot in which your metal resides), which in this case you are holding in your non-dominant hand at the end of a long, caliper-like device. You must maintain constant, even heat on the metal so that it all flows properly and together before you transfer the metal to your mold, which in this style of casting will be sitting on a vacuum machine to ensure the metal is “sucked” all the way into the mold and fills it properly. They will tell you repeatedly that the process is incredibly dangerous and that anything can go wrong at any step.

What they will not tell you about, at least until after you have experienced it yourself, is the deep, visceral thrill of holding such annihilative force in your hand. There is a heavy responsibility coupled with sheer wonder of creation through destruction that must be experienced to be understood. I will never forget my first time holding the forced-oxygen torch. To know you hold in your hand the power to shift something that until that point had been immutable, the ability to melt metal, conjures a feeling both bizarre and perfect, complete and terrifying, thrilling and pure. In that moment, I was powerful, I was strong, I was adept, I was a creator.

Once the metal is poured comes the wait. I remember the wait distinctly as well. During the minutes after a pour, the caster is left in a state of suspended animation. The room seems to pause as the metal flows and cools. My thoughts flowed like that same hot silver in my mind, racing from excitement to trepidation to certainty to a radical loss thereof. I was making something. I had made something, even if it didn’t turn out the way I intended.

The minutes ticked by. Finally, Casey gave me the go-ahead, and I grasped the flask carefully in what must have been the largest set of pliers I have ever seen and dipped the entire thing into a bucket of lukewarm water. The investment sang. Or at least, that’s what I want it to have done. In reality, it hissed and spat angrily at me, as if to say “This is mine! My precious!” It was somewhere around 1000 degrees Fahrenheit; could I blame it for being a bit cranky? Slowly but surely, the investment began to fall away in chunks, revealing first a length of sprue that descended inward from the plug on the outside. I was on pins and needles.

It all happened so fast, but it sure didn’t feel that way at the time. Slowly, slowly, the body of the cast emerged—and what should my eyes behold? A tarnished, near-blackened hoop of silver at the end of the stalactite of sprue. I dumped the metal into the water to cool for several seconds before I plunged my hands greedily into the now-hot investment and water mix, searching diligently for my creation. My fingers brushed something hotter and harder than the surrounding flotsam and I knew I had found my creation. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the sprue base and pulled the entire thing from the water for all to see. There in my hand was my first cast, a complete hoop of silver with a barely perceptible “XXI” engraved on one side. I had forgotten that I had carved my age into the wax model, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that it had turned out in the metal, even if minutely.

After hours and hours of cutting, filing, buffing and polishing, I had a ring that not only shone, but fit my finger perfectly. That is perhaps the greatest triumph—not only had I succeeded in what was essentially a personal experiment in art, I had created a functional piece that I could wear every day with pride.

I could go on about how this ring symbolizes my never-ending commitment to personal perseverance or serves as a reminder of a time of solace and wonder in my younger years. Really, this ring’s meaning is a bit simpler. Many of you know I struggle with demons from an abusive past and a mentally ill present; my days are often dominated by wild emotions, fear, lack of confidence, and an incomplete picture of who I am or what I stand for. This ring shows me that I can make things. I can create things of value and meaning. I see myself in its warm, glowing reflection and recognize the face staring back. I feel the Roman numeral 21 etched into its side and am reminded of the years of life and love so many invested in me.

No one shaped the wax for me. No one poured the investment for me. I melted this metal. I poured it into the mold. I cut and filed and buffed. I listened to my teacher and friends, absorbed what I could, and used that knowledge to create something meaningful. As funny as it sounds, this is my Ring of Power. It validates me. It reminds me that I am worthy. And that is why I will forever respect and champion the arts. Art saves lives. It certainly saved me.