Tutorial: Pentacles Part 1 - Shaping the Pentacle

First, please read this disclaimer. Thanks!

This is Part 1 of 3 on Making a Pentacle. The only things we'll cover here is preparing the wood and drafting the pentacle shape.

Part 2 will be about adding embellishments, and Part 3 will be about burning the design.

1. Collect your Materials

You will need the following:
- A wooden disc
-Sandpaper (150 grit and 220 grit, or higher.)
-No. 2 Pencil
-Eraser, white
-Tracing Paper
-Compass
-Protractor
- 12" ruler

I draft each and every pentacle from scratch. I  could make a

October 2013, and I Quit My Job.

Goggles Make Life Better.

I quit my job.

In the beginning of September, 2013, I had something of a revelation. I was 34 years old. I was at a job I liked, but didn't love. It wasn't making me all that much money; really, enough to pay for gas, tolls, childcare, and a little left over for food. I certainly couldn't support myself on it, let alone support the family if my husband lost his job. There was really not much of a possibility of a significant raise. The only way to "move up" would be to take my supervisor's job, and, frankly, no. I've been a supervisor twice before. It's not a position I relish having again.

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Moving careers--again--meant starting from the ground up. Again. I'd already done that several times.

In college, I held down a steady job in the university IT department, with temping as a lucrative side-gig. After college, temping was just about all I could find. It wasn't until I moved in with my husband (then fiance) that I struck on a career of sorts.

Unfortunately, we lost our apartment in New Jersey and had to make an emergency move to Pennsylvania. Career change.

I got pregnant, and the pregnancy was very rough; sustaining the job I'd landed became far too difficult, so I went back to temping: career change.

I've learned over the years that temping is definitely a sort of career. It takes a level of expertise that is not only rare, but extremely marketable. But the pay isn't as steady I would have liked, especially once the baby came.

After my son was born, my salary couldn't support my share of the living expenses and childcare. So, to take advantage of employee discounts, I entered the childcare field myself: yes, career change.

It was a great job, and good for a while. But it payed even worse than my previous jobs, and after my son got to a certain age (and the financial benefits of working where he went to school got progressively smaller) it was time to change again.

I got a job on the Port of Baltimore, doing customer support and data-pushing, and it was a field I excelled in, if I do say so myself. But, like I said above, it wasn't really going anywhere. And I still couldn't support the family, if the need arose.

And the apartment was constantly a mess... I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THAT.

Now look carefully over that history for a moment. I was 34, well-educated, with several accomplishments under my belt and with highly marketable skills, true, but...

I'd had a string of jobs. None of them had paid a sustainable wage. I had a child to care for (and yes, when you're a woman, that absolutely matters; in my extensive and diverse experience, employers almost always assume that motherhood is going to adversely affect your job dedication. In my case, they're right; if an employer isn't going to pay me what my husband is making, it's only logical that the "taking a day off for a sick kid/doctor's appointment" falls on me.) While my competency and skill sets were, frankly, enviable, my resume looked frightening.

And if I wasn't going to be able to command a high wage--which, with my job history, wasn't going to happen--I could not guarantee my employer full dedication. Without a paycheck to justify staying in the office, my family was going to have to come first. I would have to be the designated "parent on call."

Add to this: my son was having problems at school. Serious problems. Behavior problems, primarily, but they were starting to affect his learning. He wasn't able to follow the rules, or control himself in class. He wasn't making friends, and he wasn't making progress. Me spending all my time at the office was not what he needed. He needed help. He needed his parents.

(We later found out that he--legitimately-- had severe ADHD and was "somewhere on the Autism spectrum," but you know what it took to learn that? Conferences, meetings, doctor's appointments, psychologist appointments, therapy, and testing... in short, "time off work." And lots of it.)

So, really, where was I? Stuck in a job that wasn't going to advance and still didn't pay the bills, unable to commit fully to any career because of being "parent on call," unable to afford to take the time off when my  son needed me, and, honestly, unqualified to find a better position. This, too, was unsustainable.

The cats approve of my career choice.

Now is where I tell you something you probably aren't used to hearing from, well, anyone.

I was extremely luck.

Because aside from all the trouble with finding a sustainable career, I had this neat little "side-thing" going on since 2005. I was artsy. I did woodburnings. And people actually liked them enough to buy them. I was also getting pretty good at it; my work was getting progressively better, and I was able to command higher prices for my efforts. I had a growing fanbase--actual fans, can you believe it?--who supported me in my work. My business--Greenwood Creations--had shown a steadily increasing profit since its launch; I had a network of professional contacts happy to share support and advice; and with my son in school, not daycare, I didn't have to worry about childcare expenses if I set my own schedule.

And I had over a decade of experience in nearly every aspect of running a business, from finance to management to customer service.

Do you see where this is going?

In short, I had just about everything in place to launch into a new career. A career that stood a chance of filling all of my needs: financial, familial, and, finally, emotional. A career I could actually, maybe, succeed and grow in.

When you put it that way, the decision was sort of obvious, wasn't it?

So I quit my job.

And I started--really started--my business.

Now, I know it's not going to be easy. These last few months have been extremely difficult, in terms of time, and definitely money, and just about everything else, too. I've had to learn a lot in a very short time, and the learning curve is far from over. I'm still going up the hill, in fact. And, at the end of the day, I may find that this, too, is unsustainable. I may have to go back to having a "regular job." I know this, and I'm prepared to take that step... but I'm going to do my best to make this work, first.

The most important thing is: I'm here for my son. I'm here for my family.

And I'm finally doing the career I was born to do. 

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And the apartment--and the studio--are, mostly, clean.

It's About Layers

Pyrography, like most art forms, is accomplished in layers. A piece of pyrography is built up, layer by layer, step by step, one detail over another.

Take, as an example, this closeup of the Tendrils pentacle, in progress.

You can see each layer unfolding in one snapshot: the delicate  line work; the graphic blackwork; the more subtle shading; the final bold outline.

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Sometimes, a piece develops very logically, step by step. The spoons are a good example. Nearly every spoon design follows a definite pattern during it's creation.

More often, the layers flow more naturally, overlapping. The techniques used, the layers being worked, change as quickly as metal can heat and cool.

The key to pyrography is patience: being willing to wait. Not only does burning take a long time--far longer than it takes to make a pen line or a brushstroke--but the layering process takes its time, as well. Often, each layer will require a new pen tip, and each pen tip needs to cool down and heat up. It takes longer to heat a pen tip than it does to, for example, clean a paint brush. Think of this time as a meditative period, to reflect on your work, examine your progress, or just clear your mind before the next layer begins.

Tutorial: Wooden Spoons

First, please read this disclaimer. Thanks!

How do I make those spoons? Here's a brief tutorial.

First, I start with some basic raw wooden spoons. They're pine, fairly soft wood, and very easy to work with.

They come in sets of 4, and frequently have defects; one out of eight, I'd say, is not usable.

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Next, I sand. I sand a lot .

It takes about five minutes of Zen-like repetitive motion to smooth a raw spoon.

I start with a 150-grit paper to get the nasty rough off.

I finish off with a 360-grit, to give it a nice smooth feel.

On my finer pieces, I'll go up to a 400, but anything more than that really isn't necessary for the "rustic" look I like.

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Then I transfer the design onto the spoon.

I do this using humble tracing paper, and a cheap No. 2 pencil.

Trace the design onto your tracing paper. Flip it over, and trace on the back.

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Flip it over again, put the back against the wood, and rub with your fingernail.

Graphite is an amazing thing, isn't it?

The nice thing about using this technique (besides the quickness of it) is that it doesn't leave score marks in your wood, like a pencil can.

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This is what you're left with.

Each tracing is good for about 6 transfers.
After that, you'll want to re-trace your design (lay down fresh graphite).

After about 24 transfers, the tracing paper wears out, and you have to make a new transfer.

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Time to burn!

This particular nib is a thin tip, and it acts very similarly to a tube of henna paste. In fact, the application technique is almost exactly the same.

Tip: Concentrate on rate, not pressure.

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Next, if necessary, "clean up."

Mistakes are inevitable, but that doesn't always mean you've ruined your piece. I use an Exacto-knife to gently scrape away minor errors.

This is another reason why you should keep a light pressure; shallow errors are easier to fix than deep ones.

Tip: Snap the tip off of the blade. This makes it easier to scrape the wood, and harder to gouge it.

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Finally, erase the graphite.

No one wants graphite in their food.

A pink eraser works best for this. It's firm, tough, and aggressive enough to hold its own against the wood.

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This is a good time to add sealer, oils, varnishes, waxes, or what have you.

Since I sell my spoons, and cooks are notoriously persnickety, I leave my spoons raw. Let's face it, for every cook that loves curing their spoons in olive oil, you'll have two that think olive oil is beastly; for every cook that swears by beeswax, you'll have three that consider it practically blasphemous. I prefer to leave the choice up to the customer.

I will say, though, that I've finished one of my personal spoons in beeswax (for cooking), and one for a customer in lemon oil (for decoration), and both looked lovely when done.

Happy burning!