THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, March 8, 1996 TAG: 9603070238
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 14 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SOURCE: BY MARY REID BARROW, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 181 lines
BACK DOWN A LANE off Sandbridge Road, woodcarver James S. Brockman, surrounded by his 10 cats, whittles away at his craft in a former chicken coop.
Brockman, pushing 50, calls his workshop a ``remodeled shack,'' but to the newcomer it appears abandoned. A glass pane in a lopsided window in a back room has a jagged broken corner. Sawdust coats the broken furniture and wood heaped in jumbles on the sawdust and earth floor. Scruffy taxidermy mounts of waterfowl lie around, sawdust sifting through the feathers.
Several cats lounge on the layers of sawdust atop lathes, planes, sawhorses and other tools of a woodworker's trade. Other, shyer cats patrol the roof peering down, suspiciously, at visitors. Little Joe, coal black except for a touch of white, seven-toed, 21 pounds and afraid of no person or cat, is always front and center.
The strains of classical music from public radio float oddly through this ruin of a place where every day Brockman's hands evoke beauty out of the chaos.
Brockman with his black-flecked-with-gray mop of hair and unruly beard, looks more like a logger than an artisan. But this is a man who when he puts his coffee cup down and stubs his long Montclair cigarette out, can take a piece of wood to a far higher calling than any logger could.
Standing with one foot upon a stool, Brockman leans on his thigh and carves as the cats watch from around the room.
That day he was turning purple heart, a tropical wood, into a 10-foot-tall cross that will go behind the altar of a church under construction. The form of the cross with the top and the 6-foot transverse piece ending in graceful fleurs-de-lis had begun to take shape. Purple heart wood is truly purple in color, and a big pile of purple sawdust outside under the power saw lent a surreal touch to Brockman's ramshackle scene.
``Purple seems appropriate for this great huge cross,'' he said.
Before Christmas under Brockman's deft hands, a 6-foot caramel-colored piece of wormy chestnut emerged from the confusion as a handsome mantelpiece. The mantelpiece framed duck heads that Brockman carved from rich walnut and an antique shotgun with a walnut barrel that he restored for his client.
Out of this clutter also has come delicate, carved rocking horses, brushed with transparent paint, horses that appear to have stepped off an antique carousel. Other photos in his album show everything from a lifelike wooden figure of Jesus, to beautiful musical instruments, from an ornately carved bow with streamers as a finial for an armoire to natural rabbit and swan sculptures that look like they walked in from the wild.
``I love swans,'' Brockman said. ``Swans get into awkward, unnatural positions naturally.''
Brockman's perfectly carved replicas of 17th century chests and headboards are part of the furnishings at the Jamestown Settlement Museum. More of his reproduction work is housed at the Virginia Museum of Frontier Culture in Staunton and the Mariners' Museum in Newport News. He also has replaced a lot of the carved exterior panels at the Hermitage Foundation in Norfolk.
Museums, millwork companies and individuals turn to Brockman for the hard jobs, the work you can't find in a catalog and the work that no one else can do. For example, he is able to turn spiral legs for tables and chairs.
``Spiral turning is relatively uncommon. I do too many things because they are interesting, but that doesn't build up the IRA,'' he said. ``Multiple copies of something does.''
Despite a small Individual Retirement Account, Brockman does not come cheaply. A rocking horse could range from $1,000 to $2,000 and a simple reproduction chair would fetch no less than $500.
About as far as Brockman goes with multiple copies is the four chairs he is about to construct and carve for the Frontier Culture museum. ``If I actually wanted to get into business and drum up work, it would be swans or carousel horses,'' he said.
But that would be hard for Brockman. He prides himself on versatility.
``I like to be able to do everything,'' he said. ``I used to cook and bake and used to knit and sew.''
Brockman's latest accomplishments go hand in hand with his passion for fly fishing. He's learned to tie flies, using feathers from the taxidermy mounts. He displays the lures on wood under domed glass and occasionally sells them at sportfishing shows. He also does split bamboo fly rod repairs and restorations.
His neighbors, wood-turner Myron Curtis and his wife artist Sue Barton Harris, are Brockman's biggest fans. ``When no one else can fix it or no one else construct it, he can,'' Harris said.
``He likes doing the impossible, that no one else can do.''
Curtis and Harris provided the incentive for Brockman to turn his carving into a profession. Fourteen years ago the couple was building a home entirely of beautiful woods. When Brockman moved in next door, he began working for them, doing carpentry and cabinetry work. Then he went on to carve beautiful linen fold cabinets for their foyer.
``I did the carpentry and cabinetwork and drove taxis when business got bad,'' he explained. ``But what I liked was carving. I did it as a hobby until someone paid me for it. The linen fold panels in Myron's and Sue's house was probably the first I got paid for.''
Harris describes the cabinets as a relief carving where the background is carved away and graceful ``folds'' that look like curtain folds are left behind. The style is a take-off on the linen folds carved in the Middle Ages.
``He took the style of it and adapted it for our house,'' Harris said. ``He does some gorgeous things.''
Although artist Harris describes Brockman's works as art, he downplays that description. ``Art is something that happens when a craftsman gets lucky,'' Brockman said.
Brockman prefers working with hand tools, but he is not above using electric ones. But neither does he accord power tools much respect. The electric saw has never been inside. Even his computer-assisted lathe is outside in the weather with only a blue tarp for protection. On the other hand, his hand tools are carefully hung inside on two wall panels, the only apparent order in Brockman's workshop.
``It is kind of appropriate to my world view to keep the computer-assisted lathe outside,'' he said. ``I like using basic, primitive tools, tools you can make or repair yourself.''
Brockman sees the world these days through the eyes of a traditionalist. The only time he's not listening to classical music, he's listening to Rush Limbaugh, whom he thinks is too moderate.
``All craftspeople are traditionalists,'' he explained.
Brockman lives alone with his cats in a small house next to his workshop. About the only visible condescension to modernity is a microwave oven, which he originally bought to help cure wood for carving. The cats, however, have 10 food bowls spread around and an electric blanket on which to sleep.
``I actually enjoyed the power outage for three days (in February's ice storm). The cats were the only ones that suffered because their electric blanket didn't work,'' he said. ``I actually asked my sister to give me one for Christmas to get the cats out of my lap!''
The cats, WHRO, Rush and books keep Brockman company. He has no TV. ``It makes my skin crawl to think of TV,'' he said.
Recently he has been reading 19th century British novels and has read and re-read every novel that Charles Dickens wrote. He also likes right-wing publications like the American Spectator.
About the only thing Brockman owns that looks new, and it looks out of place, is a shiny red Ford Explorer with an ``O PUNGO'' license plate. That is what gets him to his beloved fly fishing streams.
``If I were having a mid-life crisis, it would be my mid-life crisis red sports car.''
Brockman was born in Pennsylvania where his grandfather was a carpenter. He recalled wandering in and out of his shop as a child. ``I carved Ivory soap bars, and whittling and drawing always appealed to me,'' he said.
As a teen, Brockman moved with his family to the Beach where he dropped out of Princess Anne High School. After he got his General Education Diploma, he proceeded to drop out of California State University in California, Pa., too.
``I try to drop out of a little bit of everything,'' he said.
Before settling down in Pungo 14 years ago, Brockman also did a little bit of everything. He was a back packer, a trail bum, a sign painter and a musician. He drove a cab and spent a year in the state of California.
Today, Brockman still doesn't mind trying something new.
Since he's mastered the art of fly fishing and tying flies, he thinks he might try woodcuts.
``They have a traditional appeal and they are an element of a craft shop,'' he said. ``I'm hoping fly fishermen might find the wood cuts appealing.''
Most anyone would find Brockman's work appealing. ILLUSTRATION: [Cover, Color photo]
ON THE COVER
Brockman's carving studio, located in a wooded area near Sandbridge,
is decorated with odds and ends, including this deer skull. His
electric saw and computer-assisted lathe are kept under a tarp
outside, while his hand tools are carefully hung inside.
Staff photos by STEVE EARLEY
Brockman walks through the woods to visit a neighbor near
Sandbridge. It was carpentry and cabinetry work on the home 14 years
ago that convinced him he could make a living at woodwork. ``I did
it as a hobby until someone paid me for it,'' he said.
Brockman carves a duck-head coat hanger. As a child he whittled soap
bars in his grandfather's workshop. He has also been a trail bum, a
sign painter, a musician and a taxicab driver.
Staff photos, including color cover, by STEVE EARLEY
Out of his cluttered, sawdust laden workshop, Brockman has created
everything from carousel horses to swan sculptures, from musical
instruments to ornate furniture.
Museums, millwork companies and individuals turn to James Brockman
for the hard jobs, the work you can't find in a catalog and the work
that no one else can do.
by CNB