Chester Copperpot

Stonework is supposed to be about craftsmanship, artistry, and a personal connection with the materials. At least, that’s how I’ve always seen it. A creative act. But on the patio I’m installing now, I subcontracted the creativity to someone else.

I don’t feel guilty about it.

The patio is made of irregular-shaped stones, cut and scribed to fit tightly together. I hired a company to come out and scan the area, similar to how you might measure for kitchen countertops. They produced a CAD drawing showing exactly where each stone would go. The client and I reviewed the layout before a single stone was touched. Then the stones were cut to match the plan and shipped to the site with a map showing how they all fit together.

My job now is to follow the map.

When I first started stonework, I would have seen this as sacrilege. The opposite of what stonework should be. Devoid of soul. Just an assembly line. But now I see it differently.

I love the look of finished flatwork, like patios and paths, but there’s no creative spark for me. I know how to do it, but it’s not my thing. Most of the time, I turn these projects down. This one made sense for me to take on. It’s tied to other work I’ve done on the property. So I’m doing it in the most efficient way I can.

I got a different kind of kick from it. Not the creative kind that comes from the stonework I enjoy most, but the excitement that comes from searching for treasure. I felt like one of the Goonies, chasing One-Eyed Willy’s gold, hoping Chester Copperpot’s map (provided by Freshwater Stone) wouldn’t let me down.

The only band of bad guys chasing me is the start date of the next project.