THE ARTIST BEHIND THE ART

Julie Clark: Not Welded to Tradition

When Julie Clark was growing up, one phrase she never heard spoken was, “Girls don’t do that!” As the family’s only daughter, and as the younger sibling of three brothers, she did a lot of “boy stuff.”  So, is it that surprising that over the intervening years she’s become one of the area’s premiere metal workers and welding artists? 

“This isn’t a stretch for me,” says Julie. On the family’s farm near New Salem, Georgia, just 20 minutes from their Lookout Mountain, Tennessee home, her dad was always involved in some kind of project. If he needed help fixing a tractor, he’d grab the closest kid, and as often as not, it was Julie. Although she entertained thoughts of working with horses for a living, the tradition in her family called for an end to education only when a college degree was attained. So she earned a business management degree from the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. But she wanted to know more about how to properly shoe a horse. She enrolled in the Eastern School of Farriery, in Martinsville, Virginia, and then worked for 8 years as a farrier.

The quest to become better at making and applying horseshoes continued all the while. Working in a coal-fired forge got her interested in the artistic possibilities of creating things from metal. After enrolling at Northwestern Technical College to take a few basic welding classes, she became

somewhat driven, to say the least. Eventually she earned a two-year degree in Welding and Joining Technology. Later she took a series of classes at the John C. Campbell Folk School, in North Carolina, and studied under a bevy of master blacksmiths. Her skill level and experience progressed to the point that she herself is now an instructor at Campbell.

“Blacksmiths are very giving people,” says Julie. “Each one has their own technique and style, and they’re willing to show you anything they know how to do” Now from her shop in New Salem, right next to the old family farm, Julie is making creations that run from the whimsical to the practical. This is like the World War II era Rosie the Riveter with an artist’s eye. For instance, as you drive through the woods to her shop, you encounter a four foot wide spider named Theo. She made Theo partly from pieces of scrap metal used by students to practice their welding “beads” and then discarded. The red-eyed sculpture hugs the ground, set to pounce on the first unsuspecting automobile that comes along. But she’s also made or modified many of the tools she needs to more efficiently create her pieces of art. 

Like those who taught her, Julie is dedicated to spreading the skills she’s learned to new hands. One of the classes she teaches at the Campbell School is called “Cocka Doodle Do,” named after the two-foot funky roosters she is well known for. She also makes forged flower pots, ornate coffee tables, fire screens, and decorative doodads of all sizes and descriptions. One thing she does not like to do is create the same piece, assembly line fashion, over and over again. “That’s not the way I work,” she says emphatically.

There are purists in metal working circles who would never abandon coal-fired furnaces. Electric welding is not for them. Nor are power tools. But Julie isn’t hesitant to turn to new ways to do old tasks. She uses a power hammer she built to flatten or shape heated metal, partly as a way to compensate for not being physically as strong as men who do this kind of work. A hoist supported by the massive beams in her shop makes it easier for her to move huge pieces of metal around. She also forged the steal brackets that help hold the shop together. “One advantage of being able to work with metal is if I need something,” she says, “I can make it.” And she is quick to point out that most blacksmithing is about finesse, not just brute strength. It’s about hammer control, hand/eye coordination, understanding heat and metal, and knowing when the metal is the right temperature to work with.

After years of creating in metal, one might think that Julie has seen it all, and that she’s pretty much gotten about all the satisfaction she can get out of this process. One would be wrong. “There are still times when I make a piece and get so excited that I call my mother and tell her to come see it. She’ll just say, ‘I’m on my way.’”

It’s been said that doctors bury their mistakes. So what do metal workers do? “I’ve got a lot of options,” she happily admits. “I can recut it, hammer it out, grind down a corner, heat and reshape it. It’s a forgiving medium to work in. And I’m not really a perfectionist.” But she also says paying attention is critical. “I don’t zone out. You absolutely can get badly hurt with this. I’m a little bit of a safety nut, actually.”

For about 10 years, Julie Clark has been heating, bending, cutting, and hammering metal into some fascinating and fantastic shapes. She hopes she’s still doing it at 75. Her husband, Bruz, is director of the Lindhurst Foundation in Chattanooga, and has provided encouragement and support throughout her metal working career. “I love what I do. And I love this mountain. When ever I go somewhere, as I drive back up here I just feel like I’m home.”LV