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The American Era?

Is there an American style in pipe making? The question may seem reactionary or plain simplistic in this age of global standards, but it's asked with such stubborn frequency that it's beginning to sound like a valid issue.

In general, the answer depends on your interests. Some smokers in the US say 'yes', mainly to charm their own sense of patriotism. Most carvers say 'no', because they're unwilling to be strapped into such a tight corset. European collectors generally say 'not yet' - betraying their own eagerness to see such a style develop. And they're to be forgiven for their impatience: When you're asked to pay the price of a minor Bang for the work of a newcomer whose name you have only just heard, you feel entitled to a new flavour. No, we don't want yet another bulldog or horn, not a blowfish either - we're looking for something different, unseen, generous and 'Yankee'. After all, would an American buy a Chevrolet look-alike by Volkswagen? Same sentiment - just the other way round.

It may be naïve, it may be unfair, but that's what preconceptions are like: merrily unconcerned with reality. So while Germans and Danes are permitted to produce 'generic Nordic' pipes - with or without much individualism - New World makers are accused of plagiarism for doing the same thing. They can match the best Europeans for finish, 'engineering' and stylistic discretion. But at the prices they're asking, we want more. We'd like to know who they are, and the onus is on the Americans to produce something unique. To stun, to 'be themselves'- preferably in some undefined collective way, as well as individually.

Collectively what? One wonders which common denominator we have in mind. Do we want pipes styled like cowboy saddles - or surf boards? Do we wish to be reminded of New York - or the Rockies? When talking of Americans, were we thinking of Nathaniel Bumpo - or Iggy Pop?

America? Where is it?

As Sykes Wilford of Smokingpipes.com points out, Lee von Erck and Jim Cooke probably come closest to European preconceptions of a 'Made in the USA', but he cautions: "Certainly, Lee has an American backwoods-wilderness aspect to his pipes, but how is that more American than, say, the cosmopolitan cultural outlook of Charleston or New York or Chicago?" And Sykes goes on to cite Trever Talbert: "Seriously, how does one fit his Halloween pipes into an artistic tradition, except perhaps that of H. P. Lovecraft or Alfred Hitchcock?"

Furthermore, as carvers like Talbert and Mark Tinsky have argued more than once, infrastructures differ. Until fairly recently, pipe carving in Europe was a very normal trade, taught to school-leavers by accomplished master craftsmen. A single maker would churn out quite a significant number of regular apprentices in a working lifetime - possibly even enough to establish a 'movement'. No such tradition has ever really existed in America, and certainly not since WWII.

Faced with such convincing arguments, we Europeans prove a reasonable lot, and our experts generally dismiss demands for an American style as unrealistic or premature. German carver Cornelius Mänz predicts that such a style may emerge "one day", while online pipe dealer Heiko Jahr says that American flavours don't even matter - "it's quality that counts." In the German Internet discussion group D.A.F.T, threads on American pipes rarely get beyond identifying nice blasts and sheer size as rudimentary features of a New World school. Beyond that, most talk is of prices - a topic we'll have to revisit further down.

As has been noted above, American carvers themselves are the first to admit this lack of separateness. These are artisans who never started out to produce a 'national style', but to raise the standard of US pipe making to an international level. The word 'cosmopolitan' is therefore often on their tongues. They rightly ask why the Germans (and even some Italians) get away with being 'Danish', even praised for it, while non-Europeans are scorned as copycats for staying within the same boundaries. 'Danish' ain't Danish at all, they counter. 'Danish' is another word for 'global'. And surely, everyone from everywhere is equally entitled to globality.

Duty-bound to individualism

In the past, Todd Johnson has posed the related and very valid question of why one carver gets applauded for his interpretation of another's shape, while a third would find his imagination cast in doubt for attempting the same thing… that third carver often being an American.

The answer is simple, but rather brutal. Though we've established that American carvers need not be bricks in the wall of some national school, they are still expected to compensate for that school's disappointing non-existence. You say we're not going to see a 100% US, high-grade corncob? Fair enough. But we do want something very, very special. I'm afraid we insist.

Americans cannot afford to be anything but highly individualistic to win the hearts of Europeans. This is a fact of life - and, like many facts of life, there's a material aspect involved. Pointing at the comparatively high prices of US artisan pipes, Belgian collector Erwin Van Hove recently told Pfeifenbox that Europe only really has a need for American carvers with a unique language of their own - naming Lee Von Erck, Larry Roush, Trever Talbert, Rolando Negoita, and Walt Cannoy as examples.

Pipe lovers in the US tend to forget that urban Europeans - especially in Germany and Denmark - have all their continent's high-grades at their almost immediate disposal, and that non-urban Europeans rarely live more than an hour away from the nearest population centre. When you can physically pick up a Bang, a Former; a Barbi (or three of each) ten minutes after your lottery win arrives, a brand you perceive as new and untested must offer something highly distinctive to enter the race for your money. Simply hiding among the Old Worlders and posing as one of them won't sell an American pipe in Europe. Don't forget: We're talking about some very discerning buyers with trained eyes and lots of opportunity to widen their horizons. But they don't play games with their hard-earned cash. All else being equal, a Chono will sell very much better than the latest Alaskan to call himself a carver, if only for 'investment' reasons. If a European collector is to be lured into adventure, the lure will have to encompass more than a new name.

The bottom line is that we're not likely to see a genuine American school of pipe making - or any other new national style, for that matter. What we may see, and what lovers of art (and therefore change) in pipery certainly hope to see, is a host of new carvers from all over the globe finally liberating themselves from the influence of rightfully celebrated Danes and Italians almost twice their age. This is something America can contribute a great deal to. Given the number of young carvers attempting to make their mark in the USA today, it is possibly even a case for American leadership. That said, it is the only conceivable way for US carvers to compete globally - assuming that some may want to.

Will it be called American?

And now for the paradox: Despite all the (hopefully) sensible things said above, one hardly expects those demanding an 'American style' to fall silent in a hurry. Not, at least, until we know what they're talking about. Indeed, why should they? Most undying topics are mysteries, so this one should do well. It will continue to be discussed until an answer is given, notwithstanding the lack of concrete fact.

Over the years, we've come to understand what 'Danish' means. Admittedly, the Danes had the unfair advantage of having nothing but the well-defined 'English' standard to violate when they started out. Yet we now recognise something more than a mere un-English flavour when we talk of Scandinavian pipes. There's a serious definition there, hard as it is to clad in words. The same goes for Italy. To a lesser extent, it's true of Germany, as well. In all three cases, we can detect the results of pretty uniform conditions in some disappearing past - of factors that pushed a country's carvers in a certain general direction. And in all three cases, the generic definition of a national style does truly talented individuals a great injustice.

Yet, do we discern national schools by virtue of their existence, or because it's a fun exercise for the intellect - which we then proceed to utilise in a rather leisurely way? Do we bother to analyse the fact that Sixten was a Swede and Frederick Charatan a Russian? That their influence pertained to points in time, as much as to places on the map? We talk of Danish pipes, forgetting the countless English-style pipes churned out by Copenhagen factories. Forgetting that Ingo Garbe is German, forgetting that… Might we not just as easily refer to post-WWII pipes? That label would be as approximate as the Danish one, but almost as justified. The truth is that period and geography combined to produce the style now known as 'Danish', and that it's centre was in Denmark.

By virtue of numbers, the centre of any pending trend in carving might well be in the USA. It will only be that - the centre, not the entire movement. And it will be a very diffuse 'centre'. In fact, the US might have to share the honour with the Internet. It will probably be the least geographically concentrated briar fashion ever. But there's a great likelihood that the next overall style in the pipe world will be called American. Then, America too will be defined, whether or not it merits such a punishment.

(November 8, 2003)

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