ChemArt Blog

“What’s unique about what they do here, is create something that is not only aesthetically pleasing, but also can be manufactured.” That quote is brought to you courtesy of now former ChemArt President, Dave Marquis, who religiously led-off his tour of our department with this statement — verbatim. In my 5 plus year tenure in the Graphics Department, I’ve heard that line so many times, it has burnt itself into my subconscious. It even finds it way into conversations outside work, when a light-hearted interjection is needed to break up a serious discussion. It’s going to be difficult to witness a company tour without it. ChemArt is undergoing a change of the guard currently, as Dave has decided to move on and a new cast will now undertake the presidential procedures. ChemArt is strong, but Dave will be missed. Good luck to all involved. Dave had a mustache…

And so did we, as of a couple weeks ago. Our Graphics Department, as I’ve mentioned before in earlier blogs (if you haven’t read them — for shame!), is a unique group. We enjoy mixing it up, even if it means self degradation. And so, the most brave men in our department embarked upon a mission to grow the Creepiest Mustache in 2010. The criteria: grow a mustache and by the ides of February, a winner would be crowned (I’m aware that traditionally the Roman calendar recognizes the “ides” in the months of March, May, June, and October, but it sounds good here.). We embark in a number of what I’m going to quantify as “team building” activities throughout the course of the year in Graphics.

On Thursday nights in the warmer months, we break out the pale legs and high tops to play basketball at a local high school. It’s remarkably competitive as we showcase such talents as Cuz’s 3-point prowess, Bennett’s no-nonsense hustle, and fadeaways by Sweetness. Incidentally, Sweetness (Eric’s cousin… Cuz’s cousin) does not work at ChemArt, but he is an accepted member of the crew and deserves recognition for his perfected jump shots that consistently stretch the twine. Occasionally, I’ll host a soirée at my humble abode in Narragansett. In the past, these summits have been highlighted by horseshoe throw-downs, beach football, iron chef-esque grilling, and large, poorly-attended fires. By the way, I’m surgical with a horseshoe and welcome any challenges. Birthdays are commonly celebrated by a night out at the most reasonably priced watering hole. Those nights traditionally result in social-networking-worthy pictures. Sweetness has a mustache…

Right, right ­—mustaches. I don’t grow facial hair too well. I suppose if I were a rock star, studio artist, or homeless person, it would be a less blatantly noticeable shortcoming. Alas, I work in an office and live with a wife. The mustache competition was a humbling experience. My cohorts held the advantage in the early weeks, as their pangean patches grew evenly and fully. Mine, was a patchy mess of multicolored mane. By the end, I was a dead ringer for Earl Hickey (My Name is Earl) and for my sacrifices, I was awarded the victory. What “team building” activity is next for the Graphics Department? You tell me, we’re up for most anything.

Sir Blogs a Lot in red plaid, Creepy Mustache Winner 2010

According to one quickly Googled source, there are over 2650 languages in the world and over 7000 dialects. I can neither confirm nor deny these numbers, and what’s more, I don’t care to. A dialect is defined as a speech pattern typical of a certain regional location, race, or social group, that exhibits itself through unique word choice, pronunciation, and/or grammatical usage. We ChemArtisans (kem-är-tə-zəns) have spawned a new dialect of English, maybe soon known as Chemish. I’ll characterize it as a distinctive blend of manufacturing jargon, regional gibberish, and office slang muddled by a New England accent. For all you linguists, enjoy the following terms and definitions and feel free to add them to your repertoire should you find an opportunity.

All set: (adj.) An expression of acquired content or discontent. It can also refer to being finished with a particular task or object.

    “I’m all set with the hapless Red Sox this year.”
    ”Is everyone all set with the glue gun?”

Cut-offs: (n.) An element of design, this refers to the small wedges of metal that connect the ornament to the brass sheet as it goes through the etching process. Cut-offs are placed logically to obtain dexterity in the sheet and to aid in screen print application. Further, they are the sections that are cut to release the ornament from the sheet for assembly.

In this case, cut-offs are not your awesome home-made shorts, fashioned by trimming the legs off denim jeans above the knee. They are not hot pants or daisy dukes. We are not in the 1970s and the unfinished fray has yet to make a full revival in modern apparel (or has it?).

Etch band: (n.) Area of fully pierced brass that creates the flat ornament shape while in sheet form. It acts as a separation between the “skeleton” and ornament and is home to the cut-offs.

It does not refer to the obscure SoCal band that blends glassy pop guitars with cutting edge Euro-Pop, founded in the 1990s.

Hot stamp: (v.) A printing method in which a heated die and foil are used to apply graphics to a surface. We personalize ornament boxes and inserts using this method.

It does not describe the act of putting out a fire with the use of your foot. It is also not a new wave dance move that promises to overtake the Electric Slide at weddings.

No Sah!: An expression of exclamation or disbelief. The phrase’s origin marries a stout New England accent with the expression, “no sir”. It does not matter if the recipient is male, let alone a sir. (it may also be pronounced, “seh or suh”)

    ”The weekend forecast predicts two feet of snow.”
    ”No sah!”

Rubber Wheel: (n.) An electrically powered wheel made of a composite rubber that is used to smooth sharp burrs that are left behind when an ornament is clipped from the sheet, usually at the cut-offs (see cut-offs).
(v.) To manually operate the machine by guiding the sharp points toward the rotary wheel.

It is not the small donut in your trunk that you need after hitting one of the many pot-holes that appear following a Rhode Island Winter.

Skeleton: (n.) The swiss cheese-esque sheet of brass that remains once all the ornaments are cut out. They are collected on skids and recycled to salvage the left over precious metals.

It is not a description of a Hollywood actress in the 21st century.

Tab Approval: (n.) When designing a dimensional ornament, often times we use a tab and slot system that allows us to assemble components of a piece together. Prior to production, we seek an approval of the placement of these design elements from our Assembly Department. This is done to ensure that the actual construction of the piece is easy to manipulate and sensibly created.

It does not refer to the conversation you have with the local bartender about whether or not she will approve running you a line of credit prior to guzzling 6 pints of ‘Gansett.

This concludes the first lesson of Chemish, the native tongue at the ChemArt Company.

the ever-elusive hanger hole

Almost every ornament I envision, conceive, engineer, and design has one thing in common. It’s awesome. (*chuckle*). Aside from that, it has a hanger hole. Quite literally, this is a round eyelet that will be largely responsible for the hanging of this ornament. Whether hanging on your tree, around your rearview mirror, in your cubicle, or fashionably strewn about your neck, this small loop of brass will be threaded with a gold cord, flashy ribbon, or other stringy substrate and hung. –Alright, come to think of it, there are a number of characteristics these hand fashioned works of art have in common; they’re usually metal, they’re etched, they’re plated, they’re memorable, they’re subject to a painful amount of approvals… but I digress. Todays topic is the hanger hole.

We have a .262″ standard size loop that we save on a poorly-guarded, top-secret file along with a slew of other mechanical design elements that we regularly use with most of our pieces. It is evidently the ideal height and width to be easily strung and is thick enough to be sturdy. Because ornaments are created (you’ll notice I’m going with “created” here, as the thought of me “conceiving” an ornament like i typed earlier made me uncomfortable too) in various shapes and sizes, we occasionally print out a paper version of the ornament and affix it to a sturdy backing (usually old manila engineering folders from a crusty box in the back room). We then assemble the practice piece with the aid of some surgical x-acto blade skill and wild west glue gun wielding. Here the the hanger hole takes center stage. We hang the mock ornament and make any adjustments to assure that the ornament will hang straight.

Often, we get a request to produce actual samples prior to production. Upon receiving such a request, we set up a print file, send it to a refrigerator-size image setting printer, tote that resultant film canister next door and develop it in machine of chemical baths and flashing lights, register the… –let’s just say it magically becomes a few sheets of flat, etched, and gold-plated brass of said design. Again we assemble the piece, this time in near final form. On a side note, when I receive a sample early in the morning it can be quite an adventure. Thanks to heredity, I have what my mom calls (and doctor has diagnosed as) a benign tremor. It is characterized by an uncontrollable shaking of the hands when reaching in front of the body. Mine is a mild case. But pair that with a man’s size, diesel blend of coffee systematically guzzled on the 40 minute commute and you’ve got yourself a spectacle. I hear it gets worse with age, so I’ve got that going for me. Any who, this provides a final opportunity to see if the hanger hole is doing its job correctly. Let’s face it, I’m usually dead on as my grasp of ornamentry and hanger hole perception is godly. (*chuckle again*).

The hanger hole, cleverly hidden by bending behind the ornament

We are occasionally asked to reduce its size or to hide it by cleverly including it on a piece where something will cover it when assembled. And we’re usually happy to oblige. Sometimes we can incorporate the hanger hole into some aesthetic part of the design, or even change the shape. That tends to work too. My least favorite method is to bend the hanger hole back behind the piece. This unfortunately promotes breakage and can look awkward when strung. And hey, what’s with all this hanger hole hate?! Why cast him off to watch the game behind the bleachers? Instead, celebrate this integral part of what makes an ornament an ornament. Perhaps in a more perfect world we can learn to appreciate and embrace the soft-spoken staple of ornament design, the hanger hole.

We’re wicked Ahsome

—Ahem, let me translate. The ChemArt Art Department is really good. We’re accomplished professionals who undergo a meticulous training period which molds us into ornament etching machines. We each have studied unique disciplines of the graphic arts and together comprise a creative clan of qualified craftsmen. We even have an English major, who undoubtedly will appreciate my alliteration in that last sentence. Our degrees were collected from esteemed colleges and technical schools from Pennsylvania, Minnesota and all over New England. Some of us stay current with courses in reputable schools such as RISD and Bryant University. I personally received my BFA from Kutztown University of Pennsylvania (Go Golden Bears!) with a Communication Design Concentration and I am currently enrolled in the Print Design Process & Production certificate program at the Rhode Island School of Design. I am also devilishly handsome, a good listener, and have above average hygiene. Seriously, ask anybody and they’ll tell you. I’m also happily married, sorry ladies.

      Anyway, you can count on us to do all we can to design your ornament, collectible, bookmark, or whatever suits your photo chemically etched fancy. Training for our position can take weeks or even months due to the exact specifications and possibilities of the work. I personally trained with a guy we affectionately called “Uncle Crusty” (I think mainly because of the mess he made of his keyboard and his disheveled hair style) for three weeks as I learned the tricks of the trade. He was far from a flashy dresser, but his laid back teaching style taught me how to properly handle the tolerances and capabilities of our medium. A few brick building designs later and I was calling myself “the Mason”. The name never really stuck. I know exactly how many thousandths of an inch are required between etch lines to create the most effective brick pattern. I know just how small to make a window before it is distorted into an unrecognizable blob. I know way too much about Philadelphia Sports and I am all too familiar with male pattern baldness. Nowadays, we work with the etchers, platers, screeners, and assemblers to figure out exactly how far we can stretch said possibilities.

      I recently celebrated my five year anniversary as a Chem-Ahtist (You know: small parade, fireworks and a hand written letter of accomplishment from Obama). And I’m still learning new techniques and developing new designs and possibilities. In the past year I’ve worked with colored epoxy, porcelain, digital printing, alternative plating techniques, magnets, sun catchers, and a seemingly endless variety of metals and weights. All in a field commonly known for brass ornaments. But there’s so much more. Again, we’re wicked ahsome. Oh, I’m from Pennsylvania and we’re based in Lincoln, Rhode Island, so please excuse my attempt at the New England accent.

Sir Blogs A Lot

Picture this– you’ve decided you want to immortalize the front facade of your historic building by translating it into a beautiful gold-plated ornament. Good decision. This structure is highlighted by masonry, the craftsmanship of which could only be surpassed by the Egyptians who built the Pyramids. There are majestic trees that frame the building, so tall and so magnificent, you swear Tim Burton directed their creation. The window panes are ten centuries old and made of the most exquisite stained glass, painstakingly hand-crafted by monks, that allow only the purest of light to pass through them. The hardware embellishments on the doors and windows were laboriously derived from the tusks of mastodons, extinct since 10,000 B.C.

Clinton Library

 —It’s natural to get excited. It sounds like one heck of an architectural achievement. But hey, let’s come back to earth. We’re going to create an ornament, roughly 3 inches in size and restricted to the amount of colors and intricacies you’d like to invest in it. What we (the oh-so-skilled designers at ChemArt) need is 1 really good photo of your building from the perspective that you desire. If you want a 3/4 view, we’re going to want to see the front and side of the structure. If you can manage one quality, high resolution, in-focus shot of the subject, and get that into our hands, we can do magic. Many times we get a CD or email with photos of 12 different angles from everywhere imaginable on the the property. And while this will make a nice collection for the creation of a calendar, it can be somewhat problematic for our artists. You know what they say – more photos, more problems. OK, nobody says that. Also, if you can capture the entire composition in one photo, that helps. If there is an outdoor fountain to the left of the entrance, it’s nice to know exactly where it is in the composition. Also, when there are elements you don’t want in the piece, like a parked car, it will help if you take the photo from in front of it. Or, maybe you can convince the owner of that beat-down VW bus to move their vintage hog. Remember when they put curtains in those vehicles?

The Holocaust Museum of the US

In short, the most easily (and in my opinion, successfully) translated photos for reference are taken from about 30 yards away, include everything that you’ll want in the design, and are at a high resolution. But Nathaniel, we’re not all hot-shot designers like you, what does high resolution mean? Most times (not always), an image from the internet is of low resolution and makes for more of a challenge as you’ll get somewhat inaccurate replication. Your digital photos, postcards, or printed brochures are typically suitable. Your ChemArt rep can help you with these decisions. That’s it. So channel your inner Steven Spielberg, and get that one money shot. Let’s not get too carried away with the 15 shades of red in the windows or the antique hinges on the doorway. Considering each window may only be 1/8 of inch, and the hinges a fraction of that, it wouldn’t be the best use of our collective efforts. If you’re looking to design a sort-of collage by attaching another element, say a hand-carved, wooden sign that could be assembled to the piece, that’s another conversation. Or if you would like a banner inspired by the detail of a door hinge, here is when we would want some of those extra photos.

Victorian Doll House

Of course, there are ways to glorify that immaculate front entrance. Maybe we create a design solely for the the doorway. Next year we do the an ornament of the beautiful stained glass window. And the year after that  we focus on those trees out of the Robert Frost poem.

Sir-Blogs-A-Lot, Out.