Made with my hands.
I’m a firm believer that each and every experience I have had makes its way into the work I create with my hammer.
From my earliest beginnings with Elly and simply wanting to spend time with someone I admired, to purchasing my first anvil as an adult. The highs, the lows, the important, and the seemingly insignificant minutiae— it all joins together into something glorious.
Each time I flip on the switch to my angle grinder, and each time I relish that firm grip of a hammer in my hand, my experience continues to bloom.
I love what I do.
I get to name my anvils after powerpuff girls (Bubbles and Buttercup so far; still looking for a Blossom).
I get to work with tools that could lop off my own fingers— rest in peace the pair of underwear I was wearing the first time I tried to use an angle grinder.
And I get to make all kinds of mistakes that no one will ever see and that we will 100 percent not go into here.
Like oblitering rings apart with an induction furnace, dropping finished pieces into the sixth dimension, and sometimes making a really REALLY bad ring— so bad that the devil on my shoulder tries to shame me into mailing it to the person who placed the order. Because wouldn’t it be hilarious if a person ordered something that bad? Like c’mon Nick! Just put it in the ring box. It’s the only piece you have left to mail. No one’s going to know…
Except I would. And I don't need to add more things that keep me up night. The giant purple dinosaur chasing me through back alleys and twisted homes is enough.
My Story.
This is the seed that sprouted Midnight's Honor: At our darkest hour, when we're a mess and feel as if the world will abandon us— I am here. I welcome all that you are with open arms. It does not matter how hard it is, how stuck, irritated, or worthless we feel. We are there for us. We, as we are, are something special. Something to be cherished.
This was the promise Elly made me when I was a child.
And it's one I've found important enough to keep till this day.
Elly was the kind of person forged from mythos and legend. An indomitable will that inspired all of those around her.
Me and Elly's childhood was spent split between the mundane Long Island life and a small shadow cult that trafficked adults and children.
Elly looked out for all of her brothers and sisters, at times taking abuse in their stead. Neither me nor any of my other brothers and sisters doubted Elly’s intentions or her will.
As a reminder that she was looking out for me, she would tie a section of thread around my pinky fingers. It was a symbol, something to look at or remember when reality hits in the way only reality can.
Chaos. Torture. Abandonment. These were the tenets of our world. And Elly stood before their cruelty and cursed these tenets down.
That thread that Elly tied around my pinky finger was my first ring. A gift from someone I took for granted. Someone I believed was immortal. When I saw the thread, or even so much as thought about it, my spirit would surge.
Our world was fraught with despair, but I would march beside Elly inot the depth of hell. We would wade through the torment together.
Except Elly didn’t make it.
Even today I can feel some of the weight behind losing her.
Her parting word was this: “Survive.” And that was what I did. I found a way to keep moving. Through all of it.
Most of my brothers and sisters met an untimely end. I myself didn’t believe I had a future past the age of 17.
Elly planted a seed that outlived her. It was a constant reminder. “Someone believes in me. Someone sees me as worthy. Someone knows I am strong enough to change things.”
Every ring that I make carries the spirit of Elly. Her fire. Her tenacity. She was an aspirant who dreamed of everyone making it out. Most didn’t. I couldn't bring her dream into reality. But a handful of us survived.
Every ring that I make carries the spirit of those that helped me survived. There are many. Some of them went by: Lizzie, Aaron, Asahi, Diana, Minni, Joseph, and J.M.
When you put on one of my rings, they may feel a little heavier than the pieces you've worn before.
Some attribute the weight to the material.
I think it's the legacy.