Framing is an uncommon dream job. How did it happen for you?
It’s been a surprising and completely unplanned journey. I’ve been a woodworker most of my adult life. My path to making frames for artists, which I’ve only been doing for six or seven years, began a long time ago. My first job was stocking shelves at a Michael’s in Poughkeepsie, New York. Eventually the manager asked me if I’d like to move to the framing department. I quickly found this was a lot more fun than opening boxes. I ended up going to Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana, but found little academic success and moved to Michigan after my sophomore year, where I worked in a violin repair shop. After a year there, I decided to attend a school for luthiers [stringed instrument makers] in Minnesota. That’s where I really found my place in woodworking.
How did that journey in woodworking lead you to framing?
After building mandolins in Austin in the mid-2000s, I moved back to Indiana and started working in an antique furniture shop using the same hand tool skills and finish experience that I had learned building mandolins. Furniture restoration really increased my ability to problem solve. I learned that what works in one situation rarely works the same way in another. I struck out on my own and started building furniture as well as restoring it. And once people figure out that you enjoy making something, you start getting requests for other things that you never anticipated. That’s when local artist Shamira Wilson brought me a gem. Shamira needed a frame. I told her I had never built a frame, but that didn’t faze her. Since I had worked in that frame department at Michael’s way back when, I at least knew what a frame was supposed to look like, so I tried. It wasn’t very good, but she asked me for another two anyway. Those were probably a little better. It was a slow start. I was still building furniture at first, but [almost] two years [later], all I was doing was making frames. I’ve been incredibly thrilled to help artists in their process.
What exactly goes into making a frame?
Making a frame can be simple … or it can be involved and time-consuming. It depends on the piece and the client’s requests. It’s hard to say exactly how long it takes because I try to work in large batches as often as I can. My preference is to take a deliberate approach to give my brain time to consider how I want to design it, and that could take weeks, even a few months. But I’ve also built frames in a day or two plenty of times when an opportunity comes up with a client who demands a quick turnaround. I always want to help artists deliver their best if I possibly can. I start with large, rough-sawn boards from local sawmills. My process begins by jointing and planing the lumber into straight, flat lengths. I then shape those lengths into a frame in a way specific to the piece of art, cut the mitered corners, join the corners, and sand, sand, and sand some more before moving onto finish work.
The finish work sounds like the fun part.
Yes, that’s where the most creativity lies. Finish work has really become one of my favorite steps because it brings my creation into closer harmony with the art. If a frame is to have a clear finish, I can tweak it with pigment powders and waxes to get the right hue or add warmth or coolness. I can work with texture here, get creative with an assortment of different paints and lacquers for opaque finishes. I often try new materials in the finish process. When finishing a musical instrument or a piece of furniture, the durability is tantamount, and that curbs experimentation somewhat, but finish on frames is different. It needs to last, but it’s not going to be handled daily, so that allows me to have a creative mindset focused on aesthetics.
That certainly sounds like quite an intricate process. What would you recommend for those who want to frame as a home project?
Getting accurate measurements is always the first step. Making precise measurements never ceases to satisfy me. If you’re framing a work on paper, find a frame that has similar proportions. Secondhand and antique stores are good places to look for well-made frames. Always use acid free materials for mounting your art, especially when using tape or other adhesives. I typically keep matting simple and use white museum board. It’s the perfect neutral white for almost everything. It has no hint of pink or yellow, but it’s not stark white either. If you want to be a little more ambitious, take a long look at the piece. Is there something that your eye is drawn to? Is there a color that seems to be a focal point or a background color that seems to enhance everything else? This color could be a choice for a frame, as long as it won’t overwhelm or distract the eye from the art. If you find a frame that is the right size and a style you like, but the color doesn’t work, you can always paint it. Attention to detail—and accurate measuring—might be all you need to successfully frame something yourself.
When pairing your custom frames with client works, what do you consider?
I do my best when I have a chance to talk with an artist about more than just what I’m framing. I really enjoy learning about what an artist’s process looks like, what they’re trying to communicate, a bit about their overall aesthetic. The more I know about the person that created the piece, the more comfortable I feel playing a creative part in displaying it. It’s more than making something that looks good. It’s about contributing to and elevating an expression, feeling, or message. Simple frames can do that, too, lots of maple frames, or black or white frames, and I love making those.
A hallmark of your craft seems to be versatility. You have worked on immense installations as well as exceedingly small paintings like those for the annual TINY show by the Indy Arts Council. How do you balance the beauty of both endeavors?
I got here by saying yes to everything—and then getting back to my shop, which is not big, and realizing that I now have to figure out how to actually do the thing. I’ve really pushed my space to the limit both in size of installations and in the quantity of work that I have going at any one time. I always say it’s a game of Tetris, and space isn’t the only consideration. I’m not sure if I can say I have a preference for large or small work, but I do know I win Tetris more often when I have less large work. I imagine some practical person might say I should draw a lesson here, but I probably won’t. I’m dedicated to helping people make their creative dreams a reality if I can, and versatility is a huge part of that.
You’re a favorite of local artists Kyng Rhodes and Ashley Nora. How does it feel to be so essential?
Overwhelmed with gratitude. When an artist puts their time, power, and feeling into a piece, and then they turn to me … there’s nothing better.
What’s the greatest lesson you’ve learned about art?
Why did you have to sneak in a hard one at the end? There’s no bad art. It all comes from a need to create, which every person has. Every artist I’ve worked with has put a whole lot of themselves into their finished product. I don’t necessarily feel that energy when I go to a museum. It’s too easy to form opinions about a piece when I haven’t met the artist. But when a person personally introduces me to something they’ve created? That’s sacred.
