Meet Domengo. This isn’t the first pipe I’ve carved, but it’s my first billiard. Domengo is an intentional misspelling of the Spanish word for Sunday, and this pipe was crafted in the spirit of a conversation I had with a few fellas named Chad, Bobby, Cayman, and Nathan on the Sunday night of the Las Vegas Pipe Show this past October.
As a new carver who stumbled into this near-cultist pipe world wholly by accident, Vegas was an eye-opening experience for me. Quite frankly, sometimes it was infuriating. Oftentimes, for me personally, the infuriating moments surrounded the shape of the billiard.
I was unaware of a saying in the pipe community and I don’t believe it would be erroneous to call it dogma: You’re not a pipe maker if you can’t make a billiard. If I heard it once I heard it a hundred times. The problem was: I didn’t want to make a billiard. I’ve owned billiards and I’ve liked them just fine, but the shape never drew me in. It never compelled me – as a hobbyist who wields knives and chisels rather than chucks and cutting tools, I found the shape uninspiring. The thought of *having* to make one was sickening.
Sunday night, my mind was swayed a little. In that room, these guys wanted to know what I thought and how I felt about the experience because while this whole ordeal was new to me, they were seeing a trend of new pipe makers stepping back out of this niche world they cherished and they hoped I wouldn’t do the same. I found this very moving and while I can’t recall my exact words, it was something along the lines of, “I just don’t want to make a fucking billiard.”
At first, they tried to reason with me, explaining why the shape was important to the modern era, that the construction of the billiard offers perfect functionality and they often comprise the best smoking pipes in any given collection, and continued along such a vein. The problem was: I wasn’t looking to commit genocide against billiards. I didn’t understand why I needed to chip in yet another billiard to the hundreds already available on any show floor. Beyond that, I wouldn’t want to offer a dispassionately made billiard alongside the one that was loved at every step of the process. I’d feel like a fraud.
What swayed me wasn’t their argument, but their passion. When selling me on the idea didn’t work, they pulled out billiard after billiard, explaining what drew each to his chosen collectible and giving me the reasons for the purchase. As an artist, I crave that passion for my works. And here they were displaying the exact emotion I sought… but for billiards.
While their passions were to sway me, but such effects take time. In that moment, I told them I’d never make a billiard simply out of principal. In truth, I wasn’t back for a week before I began chipping away at a god-forsaken billiard. It took me quite some time because, truth be told, my passion waned quite often, but for every time I set it aside, I returned and kept working.
I must’ve stained Domengo at least twelve times before deciding on this color mix. Not knowing how to give him a stem to match his personality, I found myself inspired by some peculiar little mushrooms, so I’m calling this a morel stem. I’ve sanded so many times that even though it may appear to be a perfect platform, Domengo likes to wobble, but I don’t mind.
Lest anyone ask, Domengo isn’t for sale. Not only because I'm smoking Capstan in Domengo right now, but because this pipe exists as a symbol - an emblem - that maybe I’m meant to ponder. Can I make a billiard? Yes. Did I really need to prove that to anyone other than myself? Hard to say. Probably not.
(photos by @Ash Cooper)
As a new carver who stumbled into this near-cultist pipe world wholly by accident, Vegas was an eye-opening experience for me. Quite frankly, sometimes it was infuriating. Oftentimes, for me personally, the infuriating moments surrounded the shape of the billiard.
I was unaware of a saying in the pipe community and I don’t believe it would be erroneous to call it dogma: You’re not a pipe maker if you can’t make a billiard. If I heard it once I heard it a hundred times. The problem was: I didn’t want to make a billiard. I’ve owned billiards and I’ve liked them just fine, but the shape never drew me in. It never compelled me – as a hobbyist who wields knives and chisels rather than chucks and cutting tools, I found the shape uninspiring. The thought of *having* to make one was sickening.
Sunday night, my mind was swayed a little. In that room, these guys wanted to know what I thought and how I felt about the experience because while this whole ordeal was new to me, they were seeing a trend of new pipe makers stepping back out of this niche world they cherished and they hoped I wouldn’t do the same. I found this very moving and while I can’t recall my exact words, it was something along the lines of, “I just don’t want to make a fucking billiard.”
At first, they tried to reason with me, explaining why the shape was important to the modern era, that the construction of the billiard offers perfect functionality and they often comprise the best smoking pipes in any given collection, and continued along such a vein. The problem was: I wasn’t looking to commit genocide against billiards. I didn’t understand why I needed to chip in yet another billiard to the hundreds already available on any show floor. Beyond that, I wouldn’t want to offer a dispassionately made billiard alongside the one that was loved at every step of the process. I’d feel like a fraud.
What swayed me wasn’t their argument, but their passion. When selling me on the idea didn’t work, they pulled out billiard after billiard, explaining what drew each to his chosen collectible and giving me the reasons for the purchase. As an artist, I crave that passion for my works. And here they were displaying the exact emotion I sought… but for billiards.
While their passions were to sway me, but such effects take time. In that moment, I told them I’d never make a billiard simply out of principal. In truth, I wasn’t back for a week before I began chipping away at a god-forsaken billiard. It took me quite some time because, truth be told, my passion waned quite often, but for every time I set it aside, I returned and kept working.
I must’ve stained Domengo at least twelve times before deciding on this color mix. Not knowing how to give him a stem to match his personality, I found myself inspired by some peculiar little mushrooms, so I’m calling this a morel stem. I’ve sanded so many times that even though it may appear to be a perfect platform, Domengo likes to wobble, but I don’t mind.
Lest anyone ask, Domengo isn’t for sale. Not only because I'm smoking Capstan in Domengo right now, but because this pipe exists as a symbol - an emblem - that maybe I’m meant to ponder. Can I make a billiard? Yes. Did I really need to prove that to anyone other than myself? Hard to say. Probably not.
(photos by @Ash Cooper)
