My pipemaking is informed by a few principles, which I have arrived at after dabbling in the craft over the past few years.

The principles that inform my pipemaking stem from principles that inform my living, and I’ve noticed that they run contrary to the principles that seem to guide some other pipemakers, just as my principles of living run contrary to the principles that seem to guide some other people.

I’m not suggesting that my pipes (or my living) are better than another’s. I’m simply sharing a few of the beliefs that guide my tobacco pipemaking (and my life).

Pipemaking Principle 1: Function, Then Fashion

A tobacco pipe should first and foremost be functional. This means simply that it smokes well. Aesthetic considerations should not interfere with functionality. I have noticed a few features that contribute to a fine smoking pipe.

• Draft hole aligned with nadir of bowl

• Draft hole in stem aligned with draft hole in stummel

• Draft hole diameter of ~4mm

• Narrower bowl rather than a wider bowl—I drill bowls at a diameter of .75”

• Airtight

I have purchased pipes that are outwardly appealing but function poorly, and just as when you discover anything that is outwardly attractive that functions poorly—whether tools, clothing, or people—the experience is disappointing.

Attending to the function of a pipe before attending to its appearance is a natural extension of how I approach most considerations.

My Jeep is ugly, the paint bubbling and peeling in areas, but it runs well. And it’s a Jeep.

I choose my clothing based on functional versatility. Will it perform well in the shop, the mountains, if it gets wet? Is it breathable should I break a sweat? Is it durable, reparable, and comfortable too? When those considerations are met, then I ask myself, “Is it suitable to wear to a dive bar and a church funeral—in the same afternoon?” Check.

Attending to function is like attending to character—it’s the part that matters most. An unattractive person with competence and character is lovely to behold, and an imperfect pipe that burns well and cool, that draws easily, is a pipe that, in short, functions… beautifully.

I’m not suggesting that I forgo aesthetics, or that anyone should, for that matter. The point is to prioritize functionality.

Function, in the end, is its own kind of fashion.

Pipemaking Principle 2: Wabi Sabi

A tobacco pipe should not necessarily be without blemish.

I don’t know any other pipemakers personally, so I can’t vouch for this, but I gather from reading online that most pipemakers will scrap a block of briar if they encounter blemishes in the grain while working it.

These blemishes are what a friend of mine calls “wormholes.” I don’t know whether these holes are caused by worms—perhaps they are termite tracks—but they are about the size of a wormhole you might find in an apple or peach, often smaller.

The briar used in pipemaking is sourced from trees thirty to a hundred years old that grow only in the Mediterranean, which is then dried and cured for several years, sometimes twenty-five or more.

In other words, to scrap a block of briar is to discard a small piece of natural history fifty-plus years in the making.

In other domains the arduous pursuit of perfection has rarely deterred me. In fact, it may be the very thing that holds my attention. But when it comes to pipemaking, I embrace wabi sabi.

Wabi sabi is a Japanese concept that means “beauty in imperfection.” It’s an aesthetic principle, and it savors the flaws within life and art.

Briar is not without blemish, as noted above, and pipemaking is not without mistake, at least in my case. And I’m not about to discard a stummel of wood that is (1) grown in only one small region of the world, that has (2) been harvested after fifty years or more of growth and cured for a couple of decades, and that (3) I’ve spent hours or days shaping by hand because I encounter a pinhead-sized wormhole or cut left one cunt hair when I should’ve cut right.

Ethics aside, I prefer to see evidence of life in my smoking implements, in handmade goods generally, and the imperfections provide that.

Perfection is for worlds without paradox, should they exist, but not pipes or people.

Pipemaking Principle 3: Presentation Without Pretense

Some pipemakers apply shellac to their finished works. Shellac is a natural and foodsafe resin secreted by the lac beetle. Because you handle a pipe and it goes in your mouth, this coating is preferred to questionable synthetics like polyurethane or varnish.

I’ve no idea how this resin is collected, but you purchase it as a bag of tiny golden flakes, which you must dissolve in alcohol to get an applicable resin. Apply multiple thin coats, and presto!

Shellac gives the briar a wet, polished look. Once dried it can be further polished and shined with carnauba wax and a buffing wheel. You might think of it like makeup—it merely “enhances” the appearance of what’s already there.

I don’t believe in it.

Does a shellacked pipe look nice? Yes. But shellac also hides some of the subtleties and nuances of grain, gives the pipe a more plasticine feel. It is, in short, a facade. Pretense.

I am not sure whether a man can live without pretense; perhaps the best he can do is try, and I believe he should try. But, being a social animal, he probably will in some measure always be aware of how others might perceive him and, as a result, find himself varying his behavior or appearance to suit what he believes will win him favor with those whose favor he wants or repel those whose favor he doesn’t want.

Even a man who abides by his principles in the face of social opposition or at his own immediate expense probably does so because he believes (whether consciously or unconsciously) that doing so has some ultimate social advantage. In other words, even integrity—which by definition should be undeterred by the opinions of others—has value only in a social context.

That concerns only unmediated interactions. Mediated interactions, on the other hand, present a much murkier quagmire. This website, for example, is not an accurate representation of me. Neither is the self-portrait featured on it. It’s altogether a curated image. Though I have tried to avoid making a brand of myself or my work or my life, it’s impossible to not make an image when communicating via media, for all media is imagistic. The map is not the territory.

It’s much harder, of course, to fool people with pretense in person. Conversely, it’s much harder to avoid doing so through media.

While some resist this pretending behavior and think it pernicious, most seem to embrace it, call it “networking” or “branding” or whatever. Others simply succumb to it without knowing or caring that they do—the fawning, feigning sycophancy that is the norm in social life, even if only subtly so.

Evolutionary theorists will likely contend this tendency has aided our survival, a kind of social glue, and I wouldn’t doubt them. But I also think the pretentious tendency of mankind is perhaps his most toxic, exceeding every manner of sexual perversion or murderous instinct.

It seems to me that most uncivilized behavior, from criminality to codependency, depends on pretense. It cannot advance without it. Paradoxically, then, pretense is both the precursor to civilization and the capacity that undermines it. Without it, we’re savages. Because of it, we can (sometimes) get away with being savage, or at least manipulative, which is the “civilized” form of savagery.

So, while it may be impossible to find a man or woman without pretense, it’s not impossible to find a pipe without a facade. I make my pipes without shellac because it’s nice to encounter something in our world and know that “what you see is what you get.”

Of course, I have no qualms with dyes. Or walnut oil, which I apply liberally. I guess my principles of pipemaking are like all principles: they bend and sometimes buckle under pressure or scrutiny.

Pipemaking Principle 4: Remove All That Is Unnecessary

This principle goes without saying, but I say it anyway as a metaphor for life.

In some ways it relates to the first and third principles above, but not exactly. A pipemaker can forgo aesthetics and shellac, but he can’t forgo the form of the pipe. Just as a craftsperson cannot claim to have made a chair unless the object he crafted can support someone in a sitting position, he cannot claim to have made a pipe unless the piece he crafted can be used for smoking tobacco (or any other substance).

Michelangelo supposedly said, “The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.”

That’s obvious for pipemaking. It’s less obvious for living, and where I find myself these days. What can I do without?

Ridding my life of superfluities will be a lifelong endeavor I reckon, and, like the other principles here, a reminder of how I ought to live, or want to. As with all principles, it’s an ideal, suggesting both a target and a pathway. I may be on the pathway, but I feel quite confident I’ll never hit the target—or targets, in this case.

I can say, however, that when I smoke a pipe, it is almost always alone, without company, without alcohol or food, without concern or worry, nearly without thought.

And that is enough.

What I’m trying to say is my tobacco pipes are imperfect. They are blemished. And they always will be. See for yourself. Now you know why.