Sometimes my clients come to me with a request that starts out simple enough on paper—“Can you turn this artwork into a custom metal design?” Sounds straightforward, right?
Except… it never is. 😅
The minute the word “artwork” is involved, my brain goes into overdrive. Suddenly, I’m sketching. I’m revising. I’m zooming into microscopic details to make sure every curve, every swirl, and every shadow translates into something that can be physically cut out of a steel sheet. And I don’t mean vector clipart either—no shortcuts here. Everything gets drawn from scratch, line by painstaking line.
Once the design is finalized, I feed the blueprint into the laser cutter, and that’s when the real fun begins.
Technically speaking… my machine shouldn’t even be doing this.
We’re talking 1/4-inch thick steel, with the kind of detail that makes the laser cutter look at me like, “Seriously, again?” I’ve actually managed to make the poor thing freeze a few times mid-job, completely overwhelmed by the complexity of the paths it’s being asked to follow. But we always find a way. Sometimes I need to go back in and simplify paths just enough to keep it from frying its own circuits. Sometimes it’s just a matter of patience—both mine and the machine’s.
The project in question this time? A custom piece for a very patient family in Stouffville. They wanted something special—something that blended natural elements with a sense of strength and motion. So I brought out the big guns: tigers, peonies, and butterflies, all laser cut into steel. Powerful, elegant, a little wild—and entirely unique.
This wasn’t something I could knock out in a weekend. From first sketch to final cut, it took way longer than I originally estimated. (Note to self: triple whatever time I think these things will take next time.) But man… once the sparks stop flying and the steel cools down, seeing that piece come to life? Every hour of overthinking, overworking, and nearly-overheating my machine is worth it.
Because here’s the thing—when you treat metal as a medium for art instead of just structure, it opens up a whole different world. You’re no longer making a “product.” You’re creating something with presence, something that tells a story the moment you see it.
And for that family in Stouffville, I hope it’s a story they get to enjoy for many years to come.