A Passion for Pipes Blog

Morta-fied

Tue, 2 Feb 2010 09:15:10 -0500

You see depicted above my first and only morta pipe, a friendly-shaped sitter crafted by Paolo Becker. Though it is difficult to estimate size from a picture, this is a moderately sized pipe, but big for a morta. The dimensions are as follows:
Length: 5.45 in - 139 mm
Height: 2.00 in - 50 mm
Chamber: .94 in - 24 mm
Weight: - 1.75 oz - 51 grams
I was very surprised at how light this pipe is when I first handled it. Knowing that it is partly fossilized, I expected it to be considerably heavier than it is. I am no expert when it comes to this material, but it seems to me when I compare it to other morta pipes I have handled that there must be some range in density and weight among different mortas that may be a function of how long the oak has been in the petrification process.
The first morta pipes I encountered were crafted by the American artisan, Trever Talbert, when he was still living in France in the Bretagne region. I was fascinated by what I read about morta - 4,500 year-old fossilized French bog oak.
I tried to imagine what smoking a pipe fashioned from morta might be like. I worried that the material would be both heavy and hot. Having collected petrified wood as a kid growing up in Wyoming, I knew that the petrified wood of which I was familiar was not only heavy, but heavier than most other rocks of the same size. I wondered, “Would morta be heavy?”
Aside from briar, I’d smoked both meerschaums and clays. I assumed that smoking a morta would probably be most like smoking a clay pipe. In my opinion, clay pipes are what Beelzebub hands out to wicked pipe smokers; they are impossibly hot and I only smoke a clay pipe on rare occasions, like when I’m feeling particularly masochistic.
So, between my assumptions about the weight and heat of morta pipes, I didn’t exactly rush right out to find one. I finally managed to examine one in the mineral, so to speak, at the Chicago Pipe Show. The Talbert mortas I encountered were all small pipes with small chambers. I loved the feel of them, and I found the sandblasted finishes to be absolutely beautiful with grain patterns as far from briar as I could imagine. I resolved to buy one but discovered that this was much easier resolved than accomplished. Every single sandblast morta I wanted to buy had already been snapped up. These pipes lasted about thirty seconds on Trever’s web site. After awhile, I just threw my hands up and resigned myself to failure.
Most morta pipes I’ve had the opportunity to purchase have been quite small. I had planned to smoke English blends in my morta, having read that morta amplifies the taste of latakia. I am quite fond of latakia, especially Syrian, and I like to smoke English blends in pipes with large chamber bores. Thus, I had chosen to pass on those morta pipes I had found that feature smaller chambers. When I happened upon this Paolo Becker at an in-store pipe show at Old Virginia Tobacco Company, I decided to give this one a try.
It came as quite a surprise to me that Paolo Becker has started making pipes from what he refers to as “Bog Oak.” I was even more surprised to discover just how large Becker morta pipes are. The one you see pictured here was actually the smallest of the morta pipes that I encountered. Some of them were quite large. A few could rightly be called magnums.
Recently, I read a thread on a forum of which I am a member where a member inquired as to whether the smoking properties of a morta are more or less like smoking briar. The consensus of posts I encountered stated that morta and briar are very much alike in their smoking properties.
This was not my experience at all. Not at all. I was actually startled to discover how different the experience was for me. I smoked both English and Balkan blends in this Becker and found the taste of the condiment tobaccos quite pronounced and considerably more complex.
Latakia, which is typically a sweet-tasting tobacco, remained sweet, but took on quite a bit more smoky qualities not unlike the taste of smoked almonds. The Balkan blends I tried conveyed a subtly salty and spicy taste. I quite like the experience of smoking a morta and find myself wishing that I had more than one of these pipes.
Aesthetically, I am attracted to sandblasted Morta. The material sandblasts beautifully, leaving swirly, moire-like patterns that morph into basket-woven patterns. Paolo is adept at placing his pipes in the blocks so that the patterns reflect symmetry on both the left and right sides of his pipes.
Based on my reaction and the reaction of several of my pipe-smoking friends, I expect to see quite a few more mortas among pipe smokers. Two of my friends have already started expanding their bog oak pipe collection. I will be curious to see whether more artisans who typically work in briar will try their hand at making pipes from this material.

What shapes our smoking experience?

Sun, 31 Jan 2010 10:53:18 -0500

How often have any of us read that what we know about a pipe, how we feel about it, or how beautiful it is impacts our smoking experience? If this is true – and I can’t know that it is not true – then those pipes that each of us treasure most within our collection offer us special experiences where we conspire with the pipe to create pipe-smoking moments that transcend others.
I have encountered these assertions mostly inside arguments about whether artisanal pipes smoke better than factory pipes. It is an argument that has been raging for as long as I have smoked a pipe and I suspect that it will rage on long after my last bowl has been smoked and my last breath has been taken.
Does how much we cherish a pipe influence our subjective perception of how well a pipe smokes?
In fairness, I think that the premises that buttress the arguments of both sides deserve more reflection and exploration than they typically receive. Does how much we cherish a pipe influence our subjective perception of how well a pipe smokes? Does value enhance experience? I believe that it does. Human nature cannot help but make it so. This does not mean, however, that a beloved pipe might actually function better than one that is less so. In fact, smoking quality may very well be a primary driver of value, even if it is not an exclusive driver.
Reason vs. Emotion
Asplund and Fleming, from the research that provides the foundation for their book, The Human Sigma, made a revelatory discovery: People who are rationally satisfied with a product or service behave no differently from people who are dissatisfied with a product or service. People who are emotionally satisfied, however, behave much differently from people who are rationally satisfied or dissatisfied. These findings give considerable weight to the importance of emotions. I suspect that how we feel about a pipe may in fact influence our smoking experience.
To illustrate my points I’d like to relate the following story.
I have wanted to add a Sixten Ivarsson pipe to my collection for longer than I can remember. That goal was realized last November when I found the above-depicted pipe at Smokingpipes’ table at the 2009 Richmond CORPS Show. It was necessary for me to let go of some of the most treasured pipes within my collection to make it happen. A greater degree of sacrifice was required to acquire this pipe than I have ever made. It wasn’t about letting go of money. I didn’t have to write a check or make a charge. I had to let go of pipes that I cherished. I raise this issue because I believe that value is not intrinsic to any object. It is something felt by its owner.
What is the real source of value?
Growing up, my parents instructed me often that the things I would most appreciate would be those things for which I sacrificed or saved. My hunch is that most of you have heard the same advice. If this is true, it begs the question whether how and what we appreciate emerges from the intrinsic qualities of a pipe or from us? If value emerges from the interaction between intrinsic qualities and our feelings toward the pipe, are these two sources of value equal or variable in proportion? What is the difference that makes a difference?
Do we purpose objectivity to shape subjective experience?
I have held this pipe for hours since I got it, scrutinizing every aspect of its design and manufacture. To what degree is it symmetrical? How friendly is the shape to my hand? How well is it balanced? Is there the perfect resistance within the draw? How attractive is the grain?
I have also written in my personal journal about my experience smoking this pipe, pondering those qualities that I value: Does the pipe offer the appropriate resistance when I draw smoke? Are the complexities of the tobacco I’m smoking revealed to my palate? Do the flavors develop as the embers tunnel down through the packed leaf? Are the mouthpiece and button comfortable within my teeth? Does the pipe stay cool when smoking?
How do story, myth, and meaning impact experience?
The father of artisanal pipe-making, Sixten Ivarsson’s exacting standards have been widely reported by those whom he schooled and those who knew him. As great a pipe maker as Sixten Ivarsson was, it seems that his teaching skills were at least as good, if not better than his artisanal skills, training and influencing such luminaries as Lars and Nanna Ivarsson, Jorn Micke, Hiroyuki Tokutumi, Tsuge, Jess Chonowitsch and Bo Nordh. To own a Sixten is to own more than a pipe; it is to own a totemic object, at least to me. So, this pipe is embedded with meaning.
That self-knowledge prompts me to wonder how much, if at all, that meaning might influence my subjective experience? Does it add value to the smoking experience? Can it add value? I’m not sure, but given what I know about other aspects of my life, I suspect that it does exert some influence. I’m just not sure how much.
How do the opinions of others shape our experience?
One of the reasons that it took me so long to acquire a Sixten Ivarsson pipe results from words from a respected and close friend. “I’ve owned and smoked Sixten’s and Bo Nordh’s pipes. The truth is that they don’t smoke any differently from other well-made pipes.” My friend has repeatedly emphasized that he bought pipes made by these artisans for the sole purpose of determining for himself whether or not these pipes deserve the reputations that they have garnered for their makers. “It drives me crazy to sit in a room and listen to people who have never smoked a Bo or a Sixten express on opinion about how they smoke. If you haven’t smoked one, you have no right to open your mouth. I was not going to be one of these guys.”
Unlike my friend, I had a different experience. My Sixten does smoke differently from other well-made pipes. My experiences with this pipe have been nearly transcendental in their quality. However, in both our cases - even with divergent opinions - our assertions are based on having had the experience, not on assumptions that may result from analogous experiences. That having been said, I am not nearly so certain that what drives our conclusions are at all the same. We very well may bring different values and backgrounds to our experience. Our differing opinions may say more about us than they say about Sixten Ivarsson pipes.
When reality collides with anticipation.
I assume that I am not alone in having had an opposite experience. A couple of years ago I commissioned a pipe about which I felt great excitement. When I received the pipe I was bowled over by its aesthetic value, its balance, the quality of its craftsmanship and materials, and the comfort of the mouthpiece. I was thrilled.
When I gave the pipe its inaugural smoke, however, I experienced a pungently sour and bitter flavor that altogether masked the characteristics of one of my favorite tobacco blends. To say that I was disappointed is an understatement. When I contacted the maker, I was advised to give the pipe time. My objections were not taken seriously at all. When I talked to other pipe makers about my experience, I received the same response. I was told that it had to be me; it couldn’t be the pipe. Yet, when I had other people try smoking the pipe, they had the same appalling flavor delivered to their palate.
However, I was so smitten by the pipe that I decided to try and break the pipe in anyway. I resolved to try a battery of different tobaccos until I hit on something that the briar’s character could not muscle aside. I’m happy to report that I eventually exorcised the evil flavors from this pipe. Today, after too many sour hours the pipe is a good fornaccio for English and Balkan blends.
I relate this story in service of a key point: some subjective values, i.e. aesthetic appreciation in this case, cannot overwhelm other subjective experiences like poor flavor or overly constricted draw. The lesson that I conclude is that subjective appreciation is likely to enhance value but it won’t overcome poor experience.
What do we tell ourselves?
As a pipeman, I like to tell myself that I have diligently developed my palate. I feel relatively secure about my sensibilities as a collector in that I have compared and contrasted the aesthetic and smoking properties of many pipes. To the extent that my resources have made it possible, I have tried to be diligent in exploring the pipe landscape, buying and trying the products of those artisans about whom I have heard good things from trusted colleagues. I have applied the same processes, measurements, and deliberations to all these pipes. To summarize, my judgments about my pipes are an admixture of the objective and the subjective.
In the spirit of absolute candor, those things that make a pipe objectively good are of little or no value compared to my subjective experience. If we are really honest with ourselves, we must admit that it’s hard to know all those components that add up to satisfy us. A pipe can meet every conceivable objective test, yet fail in the subjective realm. We are quirky and idiosyncratic creatures and our inner landscapes stretch out into vast wildernesses, most of which we will never explore.

Geiger Bullmoose

Sat, 23 Jan 2010 08:56:15 -0500

Cozied in burnished-leather-couch cushions, a black and tan in one hand and my Geiger bullmoose in the other, I considered the virtues of this little Geiger Bullmoose pipe. The occasion was last night’s bi-monthly CAPS pipe club meeting, an event I had been looking forward to all week.
I was smoking Chelsea Morning. The embers were smoldering beautifully, rendering chewy, cool, smokey curls across my palate. The blend’s flavor had developed like an artfully crafted narrative, building in complexity and intensity as I puffed. I could feel almost no heat emanating from the bowl at all. The experience was so serene as to almost feel other-worldly, causing me to pause and consider how just how happy I was that I had gotten lucky once again in selecting a pipe. The truth? It doesn’t always work out nearly this well.
For reasons that baffle me, most pipe smokers talk about almost all their pipes as if they were equals in smoking quality, something that I have not found to be true. My experience is that while most well-made pipes smoke well, some are special. Perhaps it is an accident of artisanal craft serving a very particular and idiosyncratic smoking style. Perhaps it is an accident of the maker having used a particularly sweet briar block. Perhaps it is something else. All I know is that all pipes are not created equal.
This Geiger Bullmoose is one of those little reminders of my the breadth and depth of my ignorance. Its remarkable properties enrich the endowments of beauty and craft bestowed upon it by Love and Sara Geiger. The difference that makes a difference is as unavailable to my understanding as are the secrets of the Almighty’s beginning.

FROM LARS IVARSSON TO JEFF GRACIK

Sun, 17 Jan 2010 14:20:01 -0500

Five days ago I received an email from Rick Newcombe telling a story about how American pipe maker Jeff Gracik replaced a stem on a Lar Ivarsson pipe. Several aspects of this story struck me as remarkable and very much worth sharing here. First, I found it notable that Lars wanted Rick to have another pipemaker make the replacement stem. Second, Lars assisted Jeff by providing pictorial examples of his stem work in similar design contexts. Finally, Gracik’s final solution was the counterintuitive, but most pleasing design choice. I wonder how many artisans would have lengthened a stem that appeared to be too stubby?
The relationships and interplay between collectors and artisans is wonderful grist for understanding the pipe world. There is often great generosity of spirit shown between the people in our little universe. It struck me reading this story how much true stewardship of both pipes and people there often is among people in the pipe world.
I hope that you enjoy reading this story as much as I did:
FROM LARS IVARSSON TO JEFF GRACIK by Rick Newcombe
There was a German pipe collector who put in his will that he wanted all his used pipes returned to the pipe makers after his death. His name was Gunther Robertus, and he collected mostly high grade pipes, especially ones made by Ivarssons (Sixten and Lars) and Chonowitsches (Emil and Jess).
One of the pipes Lars had made for Gunther in 1984 was a giant bent billiard with a short mouthpiece. When I visited Lars years ago, he pulled out the pipe and told me the story about Gunther's will. He sold it to me at a greatly reduced price, saying the mouthpiece had a pinprick hole in it and needed to be replaced. He asked if I would mind asking another pipe maker to make the new mouthpiece.
I was thrilled to bring the pipe home. I had the bowl professionally refurbished and then gave the pipe to a pipe maker who I was working with at the time, and asked him to make a new mouthpiece. The original stem was very short, which was characteristic of some of Lars' pipes.
The pipe maker did an adequate job, and I was pleased with the smoking qualities of the pipe, and of course, always happy to have an Ivarsson in my collection.
But over the years, something bothered me about that pipe, and I wasn't sure what. I showed it to Sykes Wilford, and he said, "Maybe the mouthpiece is too short," and I agreed with him. Maybe that was the problem. Here is the pipe with the replacement stem:
As some of you know, I have become increasingly impressed by the J. Alan pipe brand, which means pipes made by Jeff Gracik of San Diego. Besides being related to Andy Warhol, which might account for his natural sense of aesthetics, Jeff is an extraordinary craftsman. His pipes smoke like a dream. If you have never tried one, I strongly recommend that you do so.
I told Jeff about the Lars pipe and asked if he would be willing to try to duplicate a Lars Ivarsson mouthpiece. Jeff does not ordinarily do repairs, but in this case, he agreed to do so provided that Lars would critique his work and he could benefit from the instruction.
Jeff sent me drawings of three possible lengths (short, medium and long) for a new mouthpiece, as you can see here:
I then sent Lars these drawings and a photo of the pipe with the replacement mouthpiece, and he replied that the mouthpiece did not capture the design of the pipe bowl. He made no comment about Jeff's drawings other than to send photos of two of his recent pipes for Jeff to use as a model.
Jeff wrote back that the circle on Lars' pipes was like a coin. He said he needed to make a tool to be able to recreate that effect. He also said he knew of no other pipe maker who made mouthpieces exactly like that.
So I waited through Christmas and New Year's, and then Jeff got a terrible case of the flu and was out of commission for a full week.
Since he was running several weeks behind schedule, the thought occurred to me that maybe this was too much pressure for a 30-year-old pipe maker -- making a mouthpiece for a Lars Ivarsson pipe, knowing that Lars was going to critique his work. Lars can be a brutal critic, primarily because his standards are so high.
Finally, Jeff made the new mouthpiece and sent me these photos:

I wrote Jeff to thank him, saying, "I think you did a wonderful job. The pipe looks so much more inviting to smoke, and it is in fact a very good smoker. I sent the photos to Lars with four words, 'what do you think?' No other commentary or questions.
The only difference I see between his mouthpieces and yours is in the 'coin' (the circle), where yours looks slightly thinner and sharper than his, but not much. I can only imagine how difficult this was -- not being a pipe maker, I can only imagine how difficult nearly everything you do is!
Thanks so much for this!"
Jeff replied that he thought the extremely thin look helped enhance the elegance of the pipe, which we both agreed has a beautiful shape.
When I checked my computer this morning, there was a note from Lars, saying: "Congratulations to Jeff and you. He did it!!!"
This is a huge compliment, coming from an extremely stern taskmaster, for one of the most exciting new pipe makers in the world today.
Actually, if you get to know Lars, you know that he has a wonderful sense of humor. And when he is enthusiastic about something, he is not afraid to show it. He said that if you blow through the mouthpiece and it sounds like his work, then there was only one word to capture Jeff's representation of his stem:
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Jeff Gracik is an artist and craftsman par excellence. I first heard of his pipes through the writings of Neill Archer Roan. I first spent time with Jeff when we met at the late Jim Benjamin's garage/workshop exactly two years ago. Jim had left all his pipe equipment to me in his will, and I asked Jeff and Steve O'Neill to join me in collecting the machinery: Steve because he is following in Jim's footsteps by refurbishing old pipes, and Jeff, because he represented the new breed of pipe artisans and because he promised to share the equipment with other young pipe makers.
Since then, I have bought many J. Alan Pipes, and I enjoy and appreciate each one. The fact that he was able to meet this unique challenge with a Lars Ivarsson pipe is extraordinary -- but no surprise.

Style and Literacy

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 09:00:22 -0500

In Cody, Wyoming - the town in which I grew up - there is a wonderful art museum, the Whitney Gallery of Western Art. If you were to visit that museum you would find a stunning collection of art, including works by Charles M. Russell, George Catlin, Frederick Remington, James Bama, Harry Jackson, Albert Bierstadt, Thomas Moran, and others. I think of it as the Louvre of Western art.
When I was a kid, my parents and teachers took us to the museum very regularly and I spent a lot of time in front of paintings and sculptures. I remember being amazed that people could look at a painting from a distance and tell me who painted it. I knew they couldn’t read the little sign on the wall that told them who created the work. They knew by just looking.
I remember thinking that I couldn’t imagine being able to do that. At that age, pretty much all paintings looked alike to me. Comments about style, color, subject, school of thought, use of light, training, etc., were all lost on me. I couldn’t imagine learning enough to be able to summon that knowledge at will and pronounce a work of art as having been painted by a luminist from the Hudson River school - something that my mother could easily accomplish - and she was no art historian, either. As remarkable and special as she will always seem to me, she was a woman who, like me, grew up in Cody, Wyoming – an ordinary person with a commonplace life.
My mother bought me books by and about these artists with many plates depicting their paintings. She had a gift of being able to make these artists interesting to me. I wanted to know about them and learn why their work earned them places in history books. I wanted to know what it took to get people to travel to Cody from all over the world to stand in awe in front of a bunch of canvas and paint, and stare.
Today, when people walk into my den, usually the first words out of their mouth are, “Wow! That’s a lot of pipes!” or words to that effect. That person will typically wander up to one of my racks or stands and make a comment about one or more pieces that attract their interest.
Being who I am, I will annotate their browsing with comments about pieces they admire: identifying the maker, describing materials, explaining why the pipe is in my collection, and sometimes telling stories about the pipe’s provenance and/or history. The person looking usually has the same response to me that I had to those paintings in the Whitney:
“How can you remember all that? How do you know so much about all these pipes? How do you recognize them all?” Not having the interest or background that I do, I’m sure that they can’t imagine assembling and then remembering all the information I’m conjuring up for their benefit. From their frame of reference I am akin to some mentalist, performing impossible feats of memory or tapping into the occult. Others are dismissive; they quickly conclude that I’m a lunatic. The truth is somewhere in the middle.
What I am writing about here is visual or stylistic literacy in both the domains of Western art and pipes. One isn’t born literate. One becomes literate by comparing and contrasting objects for the purposes of pattern-recognition. One organizes the knowledge emerging from experience in order to learn to identify previously unseen objects. It’s not magic, it’s experience, and it emerges from observation and study.
It may seem obvious, but nobody can learn to recognize a style that doesn’t exist. Nobody should minimize just how difficult it is to develop and express a style in a coherent and consistent fashion. This is what separates Picasso from countless other artists of whom you have never heard a thing, nor are likely to ever do so. Style is what makes an Albert Bierstadt painting different from a Thomas Moran painting although both artists are from the Rocky Mountain school; they are both luminists, and they both painted similar landscape subjects. Style is also what differentiates pipes from Jess, Ilstead, Knudsen, or Former, though all these artisans emerged from the same place and influences.
With any closely associated group of artists or artisans, there are various degrees of stylistic convergence and differentiation. Some works resemble each other more than do others. This can result from experimentation, imitation, or from natural stages of development.
What matters - at least to me - is that over time a maker’s style develops so that works are stylistically differentiated, but still retain what I think of as a family resemblance. This requires developing and using an aesthetic vocabulary. Like other vocabularies, all the elements don’t emerge at once.
When an artisan successfully develops his aesthetic vocabulary, his work becomes more easily recognizable. The vocabulary signals the artisan by virtue of a set of visual cues that, taken together, establish it. Because the vocabulary’s emergence occurs over time, it involves creating a body of work. We recognize particular pipes when we see them because of that family resemblance that emerges from the creation of a body of work.
Of course, this assumes that one has invested time and energy in getting to know various makers’ body of work. One can’t recognize distinctions that one has not learned to see, and the only way to become stylistically literate in the pipe world is to spend time looking at pipes - and not just one pipe, either, but a lot of pipes.
By looking at enough work, we can sufficiently develop an eye so that we know a pipe’s origins just by glimpsing it briefly across a room. Obviously this is easier with some makers than others because some artisans have developed such a recognizable style that their work is nearly unmistakable. Roush, Cooke, Eltang, Florov, and Tokutumi come to mind when I think about artisans most of whose pipes are easy for most serious pipe enthusiasts to identify.
Speaking personally, I think that the extent to which makers differentiate themselves stylistically is a matter of degree. If one were to imagine a continuum, some makers would be on the extremely recognizable side of the continuum, some would be on the undifferentiated side of the continuum, while yet others would be distributed variously in the middle.
Those that are in the middle are either 1) largely unknown to me or 2) still in the process of developing a sufficiently large body of work that I can come to recognize what I think of as the family resemblance between pieces. That some makers are harder to identify is understandable. It takes time, effort, and a lot of pipes to establish and own a style. It doesn’t happen overnight.
For me, I can easily recognize pipes made by Jody Davis, Will Purdy, Cornelius Mänz, Jack Howell, the Geigers, Stephen Downie, Todd Johnson, Rad Davis, Jess Chonowitsch, Poul Ilsted, and Trever Talbert. I can also immediately discern a Comoy from a Dunhill, even though both are largely makers of classic shapes. This is because I’ve spent a lot of time looking at pipes that were created by these makers. I make it my business to know and keep track of their output. Conversely, I find it difficult to identify pipes by many of the Italians and the Russians. I don’t have the same degree of experience.
The question of style becomes particularly important to me when I consider the price and value of a pipe. We often read or hear about an unknown maker who crafted a gorgeous pipe with spectacular straight grain and who subsequently put a steep price on the pipe. In my opinion, most any skilled woodworker can make a beautiful pipe. Great grain is a matter of luck and, to some extent, so is crafting one or two nicely-shaped pipes. Creating a beautiful body of work, however, is a significant accomplishment. Luck’s leverage diminishes as output increases. Sheer numbers are necessary to really appraise a pipe’s value in the overall constellation of an artisan’s or a factory’s output. Price and value rely on context.
I have made no secret of my admiration for makers who have developed their own voice. Knowing how difficult this is to do - especially while still making desirable and beautiful pipes that appeal to enough buyers to make that artisan’s enterprise viable - I think that this ability to speak authentically through individuated design is the difference that makes a difference. At least where my collecting activities are concerned, this is very important.