The Devil with a Hammer in His Hand

 

QUESTION: I’ve always been fascinated with decorative ironwork. Seeing it on my first trip to New Orleans got me hooked. Ever since, I’ve sought out decorative gates, window grills, and railings. Most of this ironwork is unsigned, thus the creators remain anonymous. Recently, I heard of a especially talented metalworker named Samuel Yellin. What can you tell me about this artful metalworker?

ANSWER: Few people think of hand-wrought iron as being an art form, but metalworker Samuel Yellin produced an incredible amount of forged ironwork he designed and executed along with talented craftsmen trained by him. His designs followed the concepts of the Arts and Crafts Movement in the first quarter of the 20th century. Although he was knowledgeable about traditional craftsmanship and design, he championed creativity and the development of new designs for both intimate or monumental scale, for private homes or large institutions. .

Born in Russia in Mohyliv-Podilskyi, Ukraine in the Russian Empire in 1884, he apprenticed to a master ironsmith at age 11.  In 1900, at the age of 16, he completed his apprenticeship. Shortly afterwards he left the Ukraine and traveled through Europe before emigrating to America in 1900. He headed to Philadelphia where his mother and two sisters were already living. Yellin took classes at the Pennsylvania Museum School of Industrial Art and within several months began teaching a class in wrought iron work, a position he maintained until 1919. 

He opened his first shop in 1909 with three assistants. Through recommendations by architects with whom he worked, Yellin built an appreciative clientele. He soon received the first of many major commissions, the palatial gates of J.P. Morgan's Long Island estate. To keep up with burgeoning business, the firm of Mellor & Meigs Architects, for whom Yellin had designed and created many commissions, designed a new studio for him on Arch Street in Philadelphia in 1915.

As a material, iron lacks intrinsic value and has little aesthetic appeal. The color is coarse, and it’s often used for the most utilitarian items.. Yellin's ironwork is endowed with a great deal of character and appeal based largely on the visual evidence of its having been crafted by hand. 

Yellin believed there was only one way to make good decorative metalwork and that was with the hammer at the anvil. He was adamant about working from traditional designs. He saw the poetry and rhythm in iron.

He also believed his ironworks should harmonize with their environment. Iron window grilles naturally restrict access and provide security, but Yellin insisted that ironwork must not be seen as a barrier. Ironwork should instead create a visual bridge between people and buildings, and to the space beyond it.

Yellin's gates, railings, lanterns, doors, grilles and numerous other creations not only adorned and decorated the buildings and rooms for which they were created, but also are among the finest in artistic achievement in ironwork.

His decorative ironwork is reminiscent of that in the Middle Ages. Yellin preferred to be called a blacksmith, not an artist or metalworker. He believed a metalworker needed to be both designer and smith, for every hammer stroke became an integral part of the design. His railings were tactile as well as visually appealing. He turned,, twisted, and pulled the iron, demonstrating the physical process involved in manipulating the challenging material. Tenons were important in Yellin's work. He used them to show how he joined the pieces together. These were part of the design, providing texture and dimension to the tops of the handrails or edges of the gates. 

Forging is the process of shaping metals by hammering or pressing them after making them pliant by the application of heat. Forging improves the structure of the metal by refining the grain size thus making it stronger, more ductile, and more resistant to fatigue and impact. Hand-forged iron reached its peak during the 13th and 14th centuries in Italy where ironworkers used it in many chapel screens and window and door grills. 

French and Spanish artisans were responsible for much of the early ironwork in New Orleans, while early ironwork in the northeast U.S. is due to English and American metalworkers: By the Industrial Revolution, cast ironwork replaced hand wrought iron.

From 1921 to 1924, Yellin worked on what was probably the largest commission of wrought iron work: 200 tons of wrought iron for the Federal Reserve Bank in New York City. This massive project required expansion of the shop to 60 forges and 250 workers.

At the firm's peak in 1928, Yellin employed 268 men. The studio received over 1,200 commissions in the 1930s alone. 

Although a heart attack in 1930 slowed his pace and he concentrated on experimental techniques. He died suddenly in 1940 at the age of 55. 

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Blowin' in the Wind

QUESTION: We just purchased an old farm house and barn. The barn has an old weather vane mounted on top of a cupola on the roof. My husband and I aren’t sure if we should restore it or leave it as is. What can you tell me about weather vanes in general and whether we should have it restored?

ANSWER: It doesn’t really matter how old your weather vane is, as long as it’s not new. Old weather vanes atop old barns are an American tradition and today are worth some bucks, even if they’re weathered.

Weather vanes have been blowing into the wind for as long as farmers and sailors needed to know the direction of the breeze, but they have traditionally performed another function as well. Silhouetted against the sky for all to see, a weather vane was often an emblem that declared to the world the profession of the person who mounted it: a quill for a lawyer, a dory for a fisherman, a prize Holstein for a dairy farmer.

The earliest known weather vane, dating to 48 B.C., was an image of Triton—a Greek god with the head and torso of a man and the tail of a fish—mounted on The Tower of the Winds in Athens.

Weather vanes didn’t gain popularity until nobles in medieval England flew banners from their castle walls emblazoned with their coats of arms. After the Normans conquered England, these "fanes,” as the banners came to be known, were made of iron with designs cut into them. Since what wouldn't bend might break, makers soon rigged them to turn with the breeze. By the English Renaissance, the fane had become a vane, a simpler and more functional device affixed atop a merchant's shop as often as on a knight's battlement.

The colonists who settled America brought their traditions with them, including the weather vane. While it's likely that the first colonial vanes were crudely cut from wood, by the late 1600s several Puritan meeting houses were topped by iron vanes. Boston's Old State House, erected in 1713, sported a swallow-tailed banner with an arrow, and by 1740, America's first craftsman of weather vanes, Shem Drowne, had begun fashioning copper vanes for Boston's public buildings.

Prior to the 1850s, blacksmiths created most vanes. And though they devoted considerable skill and imagination to them, forging iron vanes or beating them out of copper was largely a sideline, something a blacksmith did on request.

Blacksmiths in coastal New England towns, where watching the wind has always been vital, made vanes in the shape of ships for sea captains, cod and flounder vanes for fishermen, and leviathans for the whale hunters on Nantucket and at New Bedford. In-land, farmers sawed crude wooden vanes in the shapes of plows and farm animals, or found a blacksmith who could fashion more sophisticated vanes for their barns.

After the 1850s, metalworkers like Alvin Jewell, of Waltham, Massachusetts, began manufacturing copper vanes using templates and molds, a process that was faster than the ancient repousse method, in which they pounded copper into the desired shape. Speedier manufacturing processes meant lower costs, and Jewell found that his patterns sold quite well through mail-order catalogs.

L.W. Cushing, perhaps the best-known weather vane manufacturer of the 19th century. He added them to a collection of over 100 silhouette and full-bodied vanes in his catalog. Other weather vane companies soon opened for business, including J.W. Fiske and E.G. Washburneboth of New York City, and Harris &Co. of Boston.

It was during the height of the Victorian Era when weather vanes were one of the most sought after items. They began appearing on everything from stables to gazebos. Prices ranged from $15 to $400 for the  vane, its brass turning rod, a copper ball, and a set of brass cardinals indicating the points of the compass.

The boom in weather vanes didn't last long, only 50 years or so, but during that period hundreds of designs were sold throughout America: banners, locomotives, fire engines, Statues of Liberty, clipper ships, river steamers, cannons, even sea monsters and dragons. Still, the traditional designs—roosters, horses, and other animals—remained the most popular.

By the early 20th century, changing tastes and simpler home design—particularly the decline of the cupola—caused a decline in vane popularity.
               
People began to be collect weather vanes as folk art about 40 years ago. Many sought vanes made by factories that originally sold them through catelogues, so handmade vanes weren’t even an issue. The highest amount ever paid for a weather vane was for a factory-made, copper Indian chief vane from 1900 that sold for $5.8 million at Sotheby’s in October 2006. Others have sold for prices from four figures on up.

Scarce and unusual weathervane forms, such as mermaids, cars, trains, and firemen, are very popular with collectors. The most common ones, however, are horses, roosters, and cows which tend to fetch lower prices.

The majority of collectors like old copper vanes that have a green or verdigris patina which helps to date it.  But the biggest problem are the vanes made now from original molds from defunct factories.
Though manufacturers generally don’t conceal the replicas’ origins, subsequent sellers often do.

The weathervanes that command the highest prices have not been restored. They have a patina—often noticeably different on one side thanks in part to prevailing winds and decades of exposure to sun, sleet, rain, snow and birds.