Every artist has his or her favorite tools. In my experience, a painter might have dozens of brushes yet reaches for the same two or three every time she paints.

The lure of our tools is the promise of the mystery they will reveal or the magic we will make when we use them.

One of my tools doesn't see much use these days, but I love it just the same. This tool, my first awl, has a special place in my heart because of the way it came into my life.

The year was 1974 and I was taking a calligraphy class at UW Madison with Professor Walter Hamady. The first day of class we were told that he didn't teach calligraphy; he taught the art of making books. At that time, the making of books wasn't widely recognized as an art form, so he chose to disguise the class under the title calligraphy, which was a prerequisite for graduation.

Then he handed out the supply list, which included an awl. Most of us had never heard of an awl or knew where to find one. Hamady told us of an old shoe-repair shop on the other side of the Wisconsin State Capital (akin to the other side
of the world to me) that had a few for sale.

I now know that hardware stores also carry awls, but back then there were no hardware stores near campus either.

So one blustery January day, I trudged the mile and a half to the other side of the world in search of an awl.

The cobbler shop, now long gone (I think The Great Dane Brewery might be there instead), was dark and it seemed the warm, wooden drawers reached from the floor to the ceiling. Timidly I asked about purchasing an awl. The man behind the counter went to the drawers and pulled out the pieces of a tool that went together to form an awl.

Convinced I had just purchased a tool with magical properties, I tromped back to campus. Ultimately I took the awl to class and learned how to use it effectively to pierce the papers that would be sewn together to form my books.

The class was interesting and intimidating. This was my second full semester as an art student and I hadn't yet learned to feel comfortable in the classes. I was not one of the stars in the class, and often wondered if Professor Hamady was disappointed that I was the one who had taken the trip to the cobbler shop to purchase the magical awl (all the other awls were very ordinary).

My books were always well crafted and mildly interesting, but I struggled mightily with thinking outside the box. Never once did I blame my shortcomings on my awl.

Nowadays my awl resides with my framing tools. I use it on occasion, but more often the power drill with its tiny bits gets the job of drilling holes in my koa frames.

My Magical Awl

Still the awl makes me smile and holds a special place in my artist arsenal of tools - and in my heart. I even made a video of it to show you how it works. 

Over the years I've come to realize it's not the tools that are magical; it's the people using them that make all the difference.

How about you? Do you have magical tools in your artist toolbox, or your kitchen pantry? Or have you decided to use your own inner magic when you create?