I like things that express duality in their form and function. A handmade knife is an interesting object to study in this way because it is both a work of art and a tool. It is an object to be used. Those two elements can sometimes be at odds with each other, but in the right hands, and with the right philosophy, they can equal more than the sum of their parts. I strive to make tools whose look and feel inspire their owners to use them. I want someone to pick up one of my knives for the first time and think: I need to cut something. Right now. 


Exhaustive knife heat treatment and performance testing makes a big mess.

Exhaustive knife heat treatment and performance testing makes a big mess.

A handmade knife must, above all else, perform. It should cut with precision and ease, take and hold a keen edge, and move in the cook's hand like an extension of their arm. I have been developing my designs for years, tweaking small details in profile, handle shape, balance, heat treatment, and edge geometry, homing in on the right mix of these elements to produce the highest quality kitchen knives that I can.


I love the mix of rustic and refined, industrial and organic, and I try to show these traits in every knife I make. My knives are forged, meaning they're heated up and pounded into shape with repeated blows of a hammer, and the marks from this process are visible on the blade. This forge finish helps prevent food from sticking to the blade while cutting, protects the metal from corrosion, and gives my knives their signature appearance. 


I'm inspired by early American craftsmanship, particularly everyday objects. As a kid I used to spend a lot of time in historical houses around New England and I was always fascinated with the old tools, weapons and equipment that were on display. Wooden buckets, leather shoes, fire tongs, heavy barn hinges. Everything made, out of necessity, by hand. These were never meant to be objects of artistic expression, but there is great beauty in their honesty and simplicity. The skills that those people in the early days of this country needed to build their lives are astounding, and visible in what they left behind. The adze marks in an old beam or the hammer divots in a door latch are like a common language, and when I come across these little messages, I understand them, and that's what drives me. There is a timelessness in this work that I find really rewarding.