Tag: artisan

  • When Someone Says “Too Expensive” — We Smile. Because We Know.

    It happens now and then — someone picks up a piece, runs their fingers over the polished wood, sees the shimmer of resin, and softly mutters, “Too expensive.”

    We smile. Not because we’re dismissing them, but because we know what goes into it.

    See, we price every piece at Sarkanys Rising to be as fair as possible — not inflated, not mass-marketed, just honest. But “honest” includes more than what most people realize when it comes to the value of handmade artisan work.

    That bowl? It started with a chunk of reclaimed wood that once lived as a tree in someone’s Arizona yard. The resin that brings out the beauty in the grain? Dawn (that’s me) uses polyurethane for most pours, unless we’re using stabilized bone or wood scraps — then it’s epoxy. Stabilizing means vacuum chambers, pressure pots, and sometimes an oven I cannot use for food anymore.

    There’s also mica, pigments, pen kits, lamp bases, jewelry findings, shipping charges, taxes, and tools. Oh, the tools. Rex’s shop looks like a mad scientist’s lab with a 3D printer and laser cutter tucked among the chisels and lathes.

    But what we never charge for — and couldn’t, even if we tried — is the time.

    Rex will spend days refining a single piece. Sometimes, weeks go by just conceptualizing a design. And sometimes, after all that, we scrap it entirely because it doesn’t feel right. (Art is like that — it doesn’t always behave.) This artisan mindset understands that true craftsmanship can’t be rushed.

    Me? I wrestle with resin for hours, then wrangle paperwork for days. That’s not hyperbole. It’s just what it takes when you’re committed to creating handcrafted art that stands apart from mass-produced alternatives.

    And in the end, what you receive is something real. Human. Not perfect, because we aren’t machines — but filled with love, laughter, and a little bit of stubbornness. (Especially from Rex, who I’ve been known to gently wrestle the finished piece away from because he’s never quite sure it’s done.)

    The difference between handmade vs mass-produced isn’t just in the process — it’s in the soul of each piece. When you choose one of our reclaimed wood gifts, you’re not just getting functional art; you’re getting a story, a commitment to sustainable gifts, and decades of woodworking stories embedded in every grain.

    So when someone says, “Too expensive,” we don’t get defensive. We just nod and think: you’re not our person — not yet.

    Because the ones who do get it — they see more than just a bowl or a pen. They see the story, the soul, the hours behind it. They’re not just buying something. They’re joining a journey with Sarkanys Rising.

    And to those folks? Welcome home.

  • “Bad Doggie, No Biscuit”: When Festival Magic Meets Umbrella Justice

    “Bad Doggie, No Biscuit”: When Festival Magic Meets Umbrella Justice

    Festival Memories That Still Make Us Smile

    Some stories stick with you like sawdust on your work clothes — the kind that make you grin unexpectedly while carving a new piece. This one comes from our Kansas City Renaissance Festival days, complete with haunted houses, umbrella-wielding grandmothers, and legendary laughter. 🎃

    Back When Fairs Had Soul

    Years ago, I was part of a Renaissance festival community — not today’s cookie-cutter corporate fairs, but the genuine article run by the Kansas City Art Institute. The site was seven (7) miles from my home and I still consider KCRF my home faire. Handmade everything, cobbled-together magic, and wonderfully odd theater folk who’d make Monty Python proud.

    During the off-season, we often created haunted houses. Picture classic monsters lurking in carefully crafted scenes, animatronics jury-rigged by creative actors, and an entrance tunnel so disorienting that most visitors missed the first path split entirely.

    The Setup

    Our werewolf friend worked the “sissy path” — the gentler route with fewer jump scares but still plenty of atmosphere. His big moment came after gruesome dioramas: leap from the shadows screaming whatever seemed scariest that night.

    The Legend is Born

    Enter one rainy evening and an elderly Eastern European grandmother, separated from her grandchildren who’d convinced her to brave the maze. Picture old-world elegance: black headscarf, long coat, large umbrella doubling as a walking cane.

    She’d been stoic throughout — no screams, just occasional disapproving tongue clicks at the displays. Completely unflappable.

    Until our werewolf made his move.

    “DINNER!” he roared, leaping toward what seemed like an easy mark.

    Without missing a beat, she swung her umbrella with fencer’s precision — THWACK — right between his eyes.

    In her magnificently stern, accented voice:

    “Bad doggie. No biscuit.”

    Then, with a satisfied “hmph,” she repositioned her umbrella and walked straight to her confused grandchildren.

    The Ripple Effect

    Sound carries in haunted houses.🎃 Every actor heard that moment of umbrella justice, and not one could keep a straight scary face afterward. The howling laughter probably terrified more patrons than our carefully crafted scares.

    Many wished they’d witnessed it (I know I did). Those present were sad they missed giving her the standing ovation she deserved.

    What This Means Today

    Festival folk are strange and wonderful people who collect stories like souvenirs. At Sarkanys Rising, every handcrafted piece carries that same spirit — authentic craftsmanship with unexpected delight.

    When you pick up one of our wooden creations, you’re getting something with soul, made by people who believe in handmade magic. Because the best stories, like the best art, come from real moments that become conversation starters and memory makers.

    These days, when you hear me (Dawn) say “no biscuit” in an unusual accent, you’ll know why. Some moments are too perfect not to carry forward. Will we see you at our first Renaissance Festival this year? Looking forward to making new memories.