My Dad was a bricklayer. He was trained as a teenage apprentice in Germany and honed his skills over many years working for private builders here in the U.S.. He developed into a talented stone mason.
Growing up, my brother and I were often exposed to job sites; Sunday afternoon drives to see the latest spectacular construction. I remember a convent in Hightstown, NJ. I remember the amazing executive home of financier and tennis family Gimelstob. I remember Dad’s pride at particularly beautiful fireplaces he built, carefully choosing and laying each stone to create the focal point of a spectacular Great Room.
Today, I am thankful for craftsman who can take ordinary stone and turn them into something beautiful and functional.
On a much smaller scale, we had some work done in our kitchen over the last week. It is remarkable to me how the dull slab of stone we picked out in a cold warehouse was transformed into a beautiful granite countertop.
Ordinary tiles were turned into miniature works of art when they were handpainted with delicate flowers by an artist who happened to work at the tile shop. Two boxes of individual (no tile “sheets!”) and different tiles were carefully placed and re-placed until we had a wonderful wall of “organized randomness” evenly grouted into place.
In this day of automated this and instant that, it is good that there are still people who are skilled in some of the traditional building crafts. Art and real skill can’t be learned reading a website or a one hour class at your local home immprovement store. It takes time, practice, trial, failure and trying again.
It was exciting to watch the raw materials become my new kitchen workspace. I will think of the men who did the work – and my Dad – often, I’m sure.
