“Neill, this is Jeff Gracik. Jeff’s a really talented young carver. You should go over to his table and take a look at his work.”

When Jody Davis spoke those words to me nearly four years ago, I wondered whether Jody was just being supportive and generous to an aspiring artisan or if I was being introduced to yet another artisan whose pipes would intermittently compel me to lose self-control and raid my wallet.

When Jeff turned away from me to speak to someone else, Jody looked me in the eye and quietly reiterated that he thought Jeff showed real promise. It was just a minute or two later that Jeff led me through a labyrinth of pipe-laden tables to show me his pipes. I’ve been watching Jeff Gracik’s star rise ever since.

As I rolled his pipes through my fingers – especially one smooth blowfish that I particularly admired – and expressed my admiration for the skills that even then were so much in evidence, I remember his slightly awkward, embarrassed demeanor. He was like the car-chasing pup who, upon the car’s sudden halt, doesn’t know what to do with it.

I suspect that while he was grateful for my praise and encouragement, behind that gratitude was his earnest appraisal that as good as those pipes were, they weren’t good enough. This is the demon that the truly gifted so often confront: their work is good, but not good enough. Such is the yin and yang of gift and curse. Even the best greyhound racers never catch the mechanical rabbit.

Interviews are interesting things. Much is revealed in what is said, but just as much is revealed in what is not said. To listen to Jeff Gracik is to hear a man whose facility with language surpasses many public speakers. It is to hear, as well, someone whose fluency in history, philosophy, design, and art is very much in evidence. What I didn’t hear, however, was the story of his personal journey to the present.

Having spent a lifetime around artists and academics of various stripe, it is more than a little unusual to be spared what is often a mind-numbing tour of an Ivy-League resumé. I am aware that Gracik is a Princeton graduate, but it never came up. When Gracik described the people who have shaped and prepared him as artisan and artist, he talks about Jody Davis, Todd Johnson, and Tonni Nielsen. His words about these men are laced with affection, respect, and no little awe.

Looking at Jeff Gracik’s pipes, I must remind myself that he hasn’t even hit 30 yet. While his pipes reveal the skills and sensibilities of an artisan advanced in both age and experience, there are also hints of youthfulness. There is optimism and boldness, even some recklessness spicing his work.

“When I first started, I was screaming through the briar,” Gracik confesses, “saying ‘Look at me!’ and trying to find my voice in a world that I didn’t fully understand. I had to very consciously tame myself.”

“It played out in a kind of recklessness which worked a lot of times. Other times I look back and I say ‘Well, if I had done this better, been a little more subtle, it may have worked better’ - through my eyes today. So, I think now what I’m trying to do is, is speak in softer and different tones at a lower volume. I’m interested in subtle variations, less about screaming through my work, and more about refining things.”

As I listened to Jeff reflect on his development, I pondered, “Is it possible for him to grasp how precious this ‘recklessness’ ingredient is in his work?”

It is not unusual for artists in a more mature artistic phase to struggle to rediscover that reckless risk-taker that once was in full flower within them. Time and experience have a way of not only knocking the rough edges off artists, but they can also dull the creative edge. Refinement and subtlety exact a price for their accomplishment, whereas little bit of swagger can startle a sleepy idea into super-consciousness.

“It [pipe-smoking] has become a cultural undercurrent, depending on where you are. I’m in Californa. It’s not acceptable, but it’s a way to voice one’s oposition to the zeitgeist. It’s a way to thumb your nose at some analysis of data or ‘social progress’ with which one disagrees.”

“I am interested in pipes as art,” he declares, “observing how shapes have changed in the hands of artisans who are creating these pipes, and who are really testing the boundaries. Whether we’re talking Teddy Knudsen, or Lars Ivarsson, or Sixten before him - Nanna, Jess, the Japanese carvers, and the American carvers who are all doing such incredible things testing shapes and blending traditions. To be able to make a contribution to that – to find a voice inside of that – is really a challenge. I think it is that challenge that drives me – the love of the tradition and the history there, but also a desire to explore the world that I see before me and to have some part in that.”

Most artists worth their salt know the history of their discipline. They know whose work has influenced their development and helped shape their aesthetic sensibilities, both in terms of what they want to explore further and what they hope to leave behind. Gracik, too, sees his own work contextualized in history’s long arc.

At 28, most of Jeff Gracik’s productive years lie ahead of him. If he continues to craft artisanal smoking pipes, my hunch is that there will be quite a few articles written about him in the years to come. If there is any value in this article, I suspect that it will arise from his close proximity to those early struggles to learn his craft. Gracik does not yet have to squint through a fog of many years to espy his own beginnings nor to remember his own weaknesses.

“I think that the first few years that I was working - I was really learning, Gracik explained. “I’m still learning now, but I was being introduced to this beautiful and rich world of the pipe. Whether we’re talking about the community, or the history of brands, or the development of shapes through time.”

In the world of science, a hypothesis or theory is not valued so much according to whether it is true or not, but rather by the number of other hypotheses and theories it inspires. A similar idea exists in jazz. Great melodies spawn hundreds - if not thousands - of interpretive takes. To a jazz musician, a tune is a point of departure – a place where riffing begins. What separates great scientists and great jazz musicians from their lesser counterparts is their ability to take a theory or a theme and recast it into something imaginative, fresh, and vivid – something that is uniquely their own.

Talking to Gracik reminds me of conversations I’ve had with people like Arturo Sandoval, George Benson, or Frank Morgan. A riffer’s heart beats in Gracik’s chest. For him, it’s not Besame Mucho, Canadian Sunset, or S’Wonderful; it’s the acorn, the billiard, the Dublin, or the egg.

“A lot of times we look at shapes, for instance an acorn shape. You’ve got Bo Nordh’s interpretation of the acorn. You’ve got the Ivarsson’s with the long shanked version of the acorn, or with the acorn that has a bamboo shank.”

“It is something that has been molded and shaped into something different than what the initial idea was - to capture this natural element in briar. So, for me, I enjoy mixing the organic shape - this acorn shape - with architectural design ideas by adding facets or subtle curves that generally wouldn’t be found, or by adding a point on the bottom. I think that the pod shape that I produced for last year’s Chicago show is an example of an acorn that I’ve played with and I’ve manipulated in such a way that it may not be considered to be an acorn by traditionalists, but that was the inspiration behind the shape. It may not be obvious to the collector or to the observer but that was, in fact, what was behind it. “

Many collectors and enthusiasts would posit that the introduction of a new shape that becomes adopted and diffused among other pipe makers might be considered a significant contribution to the pipe world. Not Gracik.

“I don’t think that should be a pipe maker’s object. That shouldn’t be their goal when they set out to create a shape, to say that ‘I’m going to make a timeless shape that can be manipulated by other carvers.’ I think that oftentimes leads to bad art.  The best examples of this kind of art are those that almost spontaneously emerge from one’s mind or hand at the wheel. Personally, I would be honored to have developed a shape that can fall into that category. I admire those shapes that are so inspirational to other carvers that they would want to mimic them, and find their own voices within it.”

One of the shapes that Jeff Gracik finds inspiring possibilities within is a staple within the classic repertory: the Dublin. Though it is a simple, unassuming, every-man pipe shape, its simplicity lends itself to seemingly endless innovations in Gracik’s view.

“I’ve had folks who have seen pipes that I would consider to be a Dublin – because I know its genesis – and they’re almost surprised to find that I would consider it that. But when I name a shape or when I create a piece, I often look to the idea that it was derived from. My challenge is to take a shape and find my voice within it.”

“A lot of my Dublins  have a crease or a line in them that comes to a peak at the very tip of the bowl, and it will slide down beneath the bottom of the pipe and back off to the side of a teardrop shank. To me, that symbolizes a boat cutting through water, the bow of a boat cutting through the waves. That’s what I love. I was a sailor growing up. That’s something that has permanently been placed in my mind when I see things.”

Artists are creatures of discipline. Musicians drill by playing scales and arpeggios. Dancers practice precise movement positions in daily class. Painters subject themselves to the discipline of the pencil and the line drawing. Gracik makes billiards.

To listen to Jeff Gracik talk about billiards is fascinating. He summons the scholar’s focus, the collector’s obsession, and the artist’s insight about the myriad possibilities that can be made manifest through that simple alpha shape. Gracik is particularly inspired by the Danish version:

“If you put a Danish billiard next to an English or a French billiard, you would find a pipe that is more brandy-like, really. The curve in the bowl is lowered toward the bottom. To me, I find that a very elegant shape. I appreciate the Danish contribution. Moving that curve lower, to me, is very elegant and just a beautiful interpretation of a standard shape. It’s not strictly a brandy, though perhaps a collector of English shapes would consider it a brandy. That’s how I see a billiard. It’s a pipe that has subtle curves, and they have to be well-placed in order for the pipe to work. That’s a difficult thing to do.”

And like many collectors, he prefers some billiards over others.“My own favorite interpretation comes from Jess Chonowitsch,” he asserts. “He produces what I consider to be my favorite billiard in the world. I think an even further derivation of that shape is through Kurt Balleby. He produces an extraordinarily beautiful classic shape in the tradition of the billiard, though I think most people would consider his billiards to be brandies.”

Below:  Kurt Balleby Billiard

“Hearing from the pipemaker is the only way a collector could gain insight into what inspired the shape,” says Gracik. “So, if a pipemaker says ‘This is a billiard,’ then that’s how a pipemaker sees a billiard, though it may be outside what is considered an official English billiard, whether we’re talking about where the curve is placed on the bowl’s profile, or whether we’re talking in terms of the golden ratio.”

Like the Dublin, perhaps it is the billiard’s simplicity that endows the shape with such robust interpretive possibilities. Like Gracik, I love the Danish version. But I also appreciate the English and Italian versions. Though Gracik fashions his billiards using primarily Danish shape vocabulary, he is a keen observer as to how his colleague artisans approach the shape.

Below: Michael Lindner LB Billiard

Below: Brian Ruthenberg Bent Billiard

Gracik’s ability to compare and contrast the Danish, English, and Italian interpretive approaches is deceptively simple. He distills to the essential: “The Italians love straight lines as if the beauty of Italian architecture has been infused into their pipes. They love to see lines that are less curvacious than the English or the Danish shapes. The Danish tend to create - if you can talk about a pipe in this way - a more sexy interpretation of the shape where the English billiard is more refined and symbolizes the refinement to me of gentlemen.”

If there is any criticism concerning Jeff Gracik, it is that some people experience his work as derivative of other artisans. When I asked Jeff how he felt about being described as having his pipes resemble too closely the work of Todd Johnson or Jody Davis, his response was not only straightforward and candid, but refreshingly so.

“Absolutely. I’ve been so influenced by both of them. And I’m not ashamed of that at all. I’m proud of that. I also hope I’m taking their influence and doing something new with it. This happens all the time. When Todd was spending a lot of time with Tokutumi – when he was working in Todd’s shop – Todd’s pipes were obviously influenced by Tokutumi. It was a good thing.”

“I think a lot of my early work was in response to Todd in that riffing sense,” Gracik said. “Some of it I was taking off of his shapes. In other senses I was thinking, ‘What can I make that he hasn’t done?’ That, in itself, was an inspiration. The bar was so high that to exceed it required extraordinary effort. Todd’s a pipe-maker’s illusionist. I have enormous admiration for Todd - not only as a person, but as a creative genius in the pipe-making world. If there were limits, they weren’t broadly known.”

One does not have to scrutinize the body of work being created by artisanal pipe makers to conclude that pipe makers are as coerced by what’s fashionable or trendy as are clothes and accessory designers. Are pipe artisans too responsive to marketplace forces?

Take the pierced pipe, for example. Gotoh started something big with his pierced fish. Or consider Hiroyuki Tokutumi’s tour-de-force cavalier blowfish renditions. Are the artisans who are exploring these shape vocabularies following what’s trendy? Or are they extending the artisanal vocabulary?

What about those derived pieces that surpass the quality of the first idea? What matters most – originality or the consummate expression of that original idea by someone else?

“These are folks riffing off one another,” Gracik asserts. “Like a musician hears something and ‘Oh, that inspires me to do something similar, but I’m going to change it. I’m going to manipulate that in a way that in such a way that it sounds right to me.’”

Below: Alex Florov Pierced Calla Lily

“A lot of times, too, toward the end of a trend you can find saturation - that a shape has saturated the market and maybe some poor examples of a shape are created. It is a delicate balance, though.”

This is the real drudgery of the working artist’s life. One works with or without inspiration. Like many artists, Jeff Gracik walks many paths toward originality.

“With some pipes, I don’t know what I’m making until I cut into the wood. Other times I’ll be looking through my wood, and see the grain and how it’s running through the side and the front of the block to get an idea.”

What does this mean when Gracik gets a commission? So often when collectors approach an artisan they have a particular shape or finish in mind? How amenable is the reality of Gracik’s process – or any artisan’s process – to the constraints that accompany specific shape commissions?

“Sometimes I have difficulty working on commissions if I don’t feel inspired to make that shape. It’s hard for me to say ‘So and so ordered this particular shape.’ Many times I find myself resistant because it almost inhibits creativity. Because this is a creative enterprise and I want to produce the best possible pipe for that person, it will take even longer to get to those shapes because I don’t want to simply go grab a piece of wood and knock out a pipe. I want to express myself through it.”

“In some cases, commissions provide great inspiration. I have relationships with a number of very good customers whose tastes I know very well and who are interested in my creative exploration.  A few in particular have given me great artistic liberty to find a shape in a block. I think an example would be Penn’s Peak.  It took over a year to find that particular shape because I wanted to do it perfectly.

Below: Penn’s Peak

Below: Dylan’s Dublin

Several years ago, I sat with Todd Johnson – one of Jeff Gracik’s mentors – and interviewed him for an article I’d planned to write. Over weak coffee and bland chili Todd told me that he kept a box of his mistakes in plain view in his shop. “Seeing my screw-ups keeps me humble and reminds me to be careful,” Johnson said. I was struck by Johnson’s humility, by his sense of humor, and by his desire to connect himself to the reality of what being an adventurous artisan means: Mistakes are inevitable.

I was only slightly surprised to learn that Gracik, too, keeps a box of his mistakes handy as well. I can’t say whether he adopted this practice from Johnson or not. But if he did, it’s another example of his letting the muse find him.

In this month’s (April 2008) issue of the Harvard Business Review, in an interview with the renown choreographer Twyla Tharp (Movies: Amadeus, Hair, Ragtime; 2 Emmies, 1 Tony) she avows “Personally, I don’t worry about originality at all. Has anyone ever done what I’ve done before? Yeah, probably.”

Tharp draws a sharp distinction between copying and learning. “Real learning is not copying. That’s the wrong word. Copying is taking somebody else’s solutions. Learning is taking somebody else’s problems. Even though Braque and Picasso at a certain point in time were making canvases that were very, very close to one another, they were totally different artists, with totally different values and totally different philosophies and backgrounds and all the rest of it. Working with the same problem did not interfere in any way with their learning or contribute to any lack of originality.”

Tharp’s advice about learning – to take somebody else’s problems and not their solutions – aligns with Jeff Gracik’s approach to learning:  “We’ve discussed how pipe makers are riffing off the work of other makers. Yes, that’s also true of my work, but so also is being challenged by a bar set by another maker that inspires you to create something that is equally unique but not similar. And there’s things that just leap out of the wood at you.”