### The Originals I don’t usually sell my originals. I make them because I love making them. Because I have something in my head that needs to get out. Sometimes that’s a painting. Sometimes it’s an idea welded together from a pile of scrap metal that most people would walk right past. That’s the part I care about. The ability to see something where nobody else sees it. To make something with your hands. To turn a thought into something real. To stand back, look at the mess you’ve made, and think, *Yeah… that’s it.* You can’t teach that to a robot. AI can mimic patterns. It can study what humans have already made and produce something that looks like what we think art is supposed to look like. But it doesn’t look at a pile of rusted metal and suddenly see a moose. It doesn’t feel the satisfaction of welding two pieces together, screwing it up, grinding it off, and doing it again. It doesn’t get paint under its fingernails or burn a hole in its favorite shirt. Not yet, anyway. And as long as humans remain a free species on this little blue rock, I plan on keeping a few things that way. That’s also why I don’t usually sell my originals. I’d rather give them to someone I think deserves one, someone who’s been part of the journey, or just someone I want to have it. So when an original does become available, it’s a pretty damn rare thing. One-of-one. Hand-built. No reproducing it. No making another because someone missed the drop. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. The price reflects that—and, let’s be honest, I can’t give everything away. I’ve got a shop to build, art to make, and apparently I need to eat occasionally. I’m also more than happy to donate originals or create work specifically for charities and causes I believe in. If something I make can raise money, help someone, or put a little more good into the world, I’m all for it. And this is bigger than paintings. The Leg Shack is about making things. Welding. Painting. Building. Creating. Learning skills that live in your hands and your head—not just on a screen. It’s about teaching people to look at a pile of scrap and see what it *could* become. That’s where I want to take this next: into classes, workshops, and experiences where people can get their hands dirty and learn how to make something real. Welding. Painting. Bushcraft. The kind of stuff you don’t learn by asking a robot. Sorry, Skynet. You’re going to have to sit this one out. So, if you want to own a piece of the art without selling a kidney, grab a print. If you want the original? You better really want it. Because around here, we’re still making things the old-fashioned way. With our hands.