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Got a call in April about a granite balustrade on a building off Franklin. Turn of the century work. One of the iron posts had rusted through at the base and the whole section was sagging maybe two inches. Building owner wanted it replaced. I told him no. The granite was fine. It was the iron shoe that died. So I cut the old shoe off, forged a new one to match the profile, pinned it through the stone with two stainless rods and set it in epoxy. Took two days. Cost him a third of what a replacement run would have. Went back last week to check it. Still dead level. The building's been there since 1928. That repair should outlast both of us. I keep thinking about how easy it would have been to rip the whole thing out and put something new in. That's what everybody does now. Nobody wants to repair anything anymore. But the granite had another hundred years in it. The pattern on that balustrade is not something you order off a catalog. Repair work doesn't get you shows. Nobody writes an essay about the post you saved. But standing there last week with a level in my hand, watching that needle hold dead center, that was a good afternoon. If you're a young fabricator, learn to fix things. Not just make things. There's a trade in it and it'll keep you honest.

Woman wanted a granite memorial bench for her husband's garden. Paid a $600 deposit up front, balance on delivery. I quoted $2,400, thinking that was about right for the material and shape. Then the granite I wanted had a two-month lead time. Then the supplier raised their price between order and delivery. Then the carving took longer than I told myself it would because the piece had a fault line I had to work around, and I'm not about to hand someone a bench that cracks in its first winter. Eleven weeks from deposit to install. Two trips to the quarry, one scrapped attempt at a joint, resharpening chisels halfway through because I was too stubborn to stop and do it. Netted out somewhere around $11 an hour if I count every hour. The guy who delivered it made more, and he didn't have to look at it every day for three months. I keep telling myself the next one gets priced with the lead time built in. Then I meet a widow who just lost her husband and I quote what the material costs plus a little, because charging her what the job is actually worth feels like taking money off a grave.

Been on the same block of granite for three weeks now. Blue Pearl, dense as it comes, and every pass with the bushing tool is a negotiation. You can't rush granite. You think you've got the form in your head and the stone just says no, not like that. I've stopped fighting it and started listening, which sounds soft but it's just practical. The piece I meant to make and the piece that's actually in there are two different things. That's how it always goes when you do it right. This one's teaching me to wait. My hands know the shape before my eyes do, that's the only honest way I can say it. Some afternoons I get maybe six inches of good work. Six inches. And I'm fine with that now. Took thirty years to get here.

I carved a granite bench a few years back for a public garden. Had to source the stone from a quarry two states away, rented a flatbed to haul it, worked it on and off for two months because there were other jobs in between. Sold it for $1,200. That's maybe a dollar an hour if you count research, travel, the rental, the chisels I dulled, and the sanding pads. I knew it at the time and I still said yes. I told myself it was a "public installation" and that was worth something. But the garden closed three years later and I heard the bench got hauled away with the trash. I don't know what the right number was. Double maybe. But what I do know is I priced the materials and my time separately and left out everything else. The knowledge, the years of figuring out how to carve granite without splitting it, the fact that I knew which quarry to call. That all went for free. I still do it. Not as bad, but I still leave money on the table somewhere. Hard habit to break when you started out thinking you should be grateful anyone paid you at all.

Lady wanted a granite garden stone for her husband's memorial. Personal piece, carved text, took me eleven days off and on. I charged $2,600. Did the math on the drive home. That's $40 an hour before the stone, the carbide, the dust collector, the shop wear. A plumber gets triple that and doesn't have to stand in granite dust for a week. The thing is, she was happy. She said so twice. And I still felt like I should apologize for the number. Thirty years in and I can't get past that part. I know the drill. Raise your rates. It's a skill, not a hobby. I heard all of it. But the market for a carved memorial in this town is what it is, and nobody's lining up to pay more. So I keep pricing like I'm still the apprentice and not the one who's been doing it since Reagan was in office. Does anyone here actually get what a commission is worth, or are we all just guessing and hoping nobody blinks?

Quarry let me come pick through their reject pile last month. Brought home a chunk of Barre granite that had a crack running through it, so they'd written it off. Spent three weeks just looking at it, trying to figure out if the crack was a problem or the whole point. Today I finally started cutting. The crack is still there. I think it stays. Feels different working stone you had to wrestle into your truck yourself. Like you already owe it something before you even start.

Spent two days carving a granite piece for a family memorial. The finished thing, the one that mattered, posted it and got maybe 60 likes. The 40-second clip of me roughing out the first cut, posted it because I was bored waiting for coffee, is sitting at 14,000 views and counting. I don't know what to do with that. I've been doing this thirty years and the product is the product. Nobody's ever hired me off a video of me picking up a tool. But apparently that's what people want to watch, so I'm told I should lean into it. Part of me wants to refuse on principle. The other part noticed my daughter's screen time and realized the world just works different now. Not sure there's a version of this that ends with me making content. But I'd be lying if I said 14,000 views didn't feel like something.

Had a really nice piece of black granite. Perfect for the piece I'm blocking out. Decided I knew better than the stone and tried to split off a section that wasn't ready. Heard the wrong kind of crack and now I've got a 40lb bookend and a pile of gravel. The worst part is I knew better. Thirty years in and I still get impatient and waste good material. My old mentor would've just looked at it and walked away. That was his move. Didn't need to say a thing. Back to the supplier tomorrow. Hope they still have some of that batch left.

Six weeks. Forty-two days of the same three-foot block of granite refusing to split clean. I've been hitting stone for thirty-plus years and this one had my number. Every time I thought I'd found the grain, it laughed at me and went somewhere else. This morning I set up a new line of plugs and feathers. Three taps. Cleanest break I've made in years. My hands are still buzzing. The piece I wanted is sitting on the bench and the waste is on the floor where it belongs. Not everything fights back that hard. But the ones that do, those are the ones worth keeping.

Was stuck for three weeks on a commission piece. Big granite commission, the kind you cant mess up. I kept walking around it, chalking lines, erasing them. Gave up one afternoon and grabbed a chunk of steel scrap from the bin behind the shop. Just fooling around, letting the welder do what it wanted. Three hours later I had a small piece I actually like better than anything I've made this year. Walked back to the granite with fresh eyes and cut the first real line in it the next morning. Funny how that works. The pressure piece you cant touch and the throwaway piece you can't stop. I've done this long enough to know you can't force it, but I still forget every time.

Spent four days on a granite piece, about two feet tall, and I was feeling good about it until this morning. Took a bad cut on a spot I knew was thin. Split right down the middle. Piece of rock the size of a dinner plate sheared off and hit the floor. Nothing saves that. No glue, no pinning it, it's done. I swept it up and sat there a while. Forty years in and that still stings like it did when I was an apprentice. The funny part is the block cost me forty bucks. The time is what you can't get back. I've got a theory that you never really learn a material until you've ruined a good piece of it. I've ruined a lot of good granite. You'd think I'd run out of lessons by now.

My daughter set up this account for me last year. Before that I went twenty years without photographing a single finished piece. Client got what they paid for, that was the record. Now I've got eleven drafts of a thirty second clip showing me grinding a weld seam and I'm supposed to care which one gets more views. Here's the thing that gets me. The one clip that did okay wasn't me explaining how I joint a stone or what kind of steel I use. It was just the camera sitting there while I marked a line on a block of granite with a piece of chalk. No talking. Forty thousand views. Forty thousand people watched me draw a straight line. My best work, the commission piece I built last spring for a bank lobby, nine hundred hours in it start to finish. I posted three photos of it from different angles and wrote a decent paragraph about the structure. Twelve likes. I'm not bitter about the likes. I honestly don't know what I'm doing here and I don't pretend otherwise. But I spent my whole career learning that the work is the work and the talk is the talk and never the two shall meet. Now the talk is the whole game and the work is just the backdrop. My hands know how to do this. My brain is still catching up on why a chalk mark matters more than the piece that took me a year.

My daughter set up my account and keeps telling me people want to see the process, the in-between, the mess. I get it, that's how it works now. But I spent thirty years learning to show people finished work and not before. A piece isn't a piece until it's out of the shop and on its feet. Posting a half-ground stone that still has tool marks all over it feels like showing someone a rough draft of a letter you haven't signed. She's got a point though. The numbers on the finished pieces are fine. The sketchbook photos do better. I don't like it but I'm not stupid. Still working on a five-foot granite piece, ten days in, and it's at the ugly stage. The one where you wonder why you started at all. That's the part she wants me to post. I keep telling her no one needs to see me sweat like that. Maybe she's right and the sweat is the part people actually connect with. I wasn't raised to show the sweat. You just did the work and let it stand.

Six months on one piece of granite. I don't usually work that slow. Started in November, hit a vein of hard quartz about three weeks in and it fought every chisel I put to it. Nearly scrapped it twice. Kept the lump in the corner of the shop and every day I walked past it before deciding to give it one more afternoon. Pulled the last tool off it this morning. No polish, left it the way it came off the stone. My old apprenticeship master used to say a piece is done when removing any more would be a mistake. This one is that. It's not going anywhere fancy. A friend runs a landscaping yard and I'm putting it out there on a stump next to the gravel bins. See if anyone touches it. That's the real test, who stops to run a hand over it. My daughter said I'm being stubborn about the gallery stuff again. Maybe. But I'd rather one person feel it than twenty people look at it through their phone.

I've been with the same gallery since 2009. They sold my work. They took their cut. We didn't talk about it much. It worked. Got an email last week from their new director. Young guy. Said they're shifting focus to artists with "stronger direct engagement." Which means they want me to do their job for them online. I got a 400-pound granite piece in my studio right now that nobody's seen. I'm trying to figure out if I should drag it out and film myself grinding on it, or just keep working and see what happens. Neither option feels right. Anyone else getting this from their gallery lately? The "we love your work but also can you become a content creator" talk?

Got the last of the granite for the memorial piece I'm working on. It was a beast to find the right color and veining. Took a few trips to the quarry, but this slab feels right. Now to get it back to the shop without breaking it.

Found a block of granite in the yard that's been sitting there since my apprenticeship. Forty years, give or take. I hauled it around because it was the first stone my old teacher let me pick myself. Good piece of rock, no cracks, but it never told me what it wanted to be. Last month I got the nerve to cut into it. Turns out it wanted to be a very plain low bowl. Not art, exactly. Something for a doorstop or a paperweight or a man's table. I'm keeping it on my own bench. Some pieces leave, this one stays home. Took me forty years to figure out that's the whole point of it.

There's a five-gallon bucket under my main bench that's been collecting offcuts for two years now. Granite chips, bits of alabaster, broken corners off pieces I finished or ruined. I tell myself I'll use them for something someday. Mosaic maybe. Or just crush them for texture in a base. I've never done it. I just keep dropping scraps in there and looking at it sometimes. Some habits are just habits. Not everything needs a reason. But I notice the bucket when I'm stuck on something and it's the only thing in the shop I don't have an opinion about.

Thirty-five years in and I still priced a job wrong last fall. Memorial piece for a family, granite, their father's hands resting on a book. I quoted by weight because that's how I buy the stone, so it made sense in my head at the time. Fifteen hundred for the material and rough shaping. Took me six weeks. The hands alone ate three of them. Every pass of the chisel I was thinking about how those were the hands that held their kids, and I couldn't rush it. By the time I'd finished the base and the lettering I'd logged close to two hundred hours. Two hundred hours for fifteen hundred dollars. Eight bucks an hour and that's before the shop lights were on. I told the daughter what it should have cost after she picked it up. She didn't care, she was happy with the piece, paid me extra out of nowhere because she said I undersold myself. That somehow made it worse. I keep a logbook of every job with hours against what I charged. That one's going to sit there for a long time reminding me that I priced labor like it was gravel.

Early in my career I bid a municipal project, a 10-foot eagle in granite for a courthouse plaza. I was so hungry for the job I priced it at $14,000. I spent six months on it, ate every hour of fabrication and travel and installation, and after materials and the foundry work on the base I cleared about $2,000. That's not counting the months I spent waiting for the city to pay me. I learned nothing from it because I did the same thing twice more after that. You don't learn from losing money. You learn from getting so tired of being broke that you finally stop. I still see that eagle sometimes when I drive through that town. It's a good piece. I just gave it away.