The reviews here seem divided into low ratings by people who take issue with prices and…read morepersonalities, and high ratings by those who acknowledge that there was something priceless that had to be done, and that this place got it done.
Last year, I connected with someone over identity stuff to the extent that I commissioned a graphic artist to create a Korean-style line illustration with animal imagery, symbols of the Joseon era's Navy, and a Korean , four Korean syllables derived from Chinese characters (since Chinese is Asia's Latin). I chose "," literally, "Eight Directions Beauty," meaning jack/jane-of-all-trades.
The illustrator delivered, then got her buddy to render the image into a vector file (.eps).
Meanwhile I'd been going back and forth with a nameless person behind an email account after ruling out other places that couldn't do what I proposed or couldn't do it within the time frame I needed.
Most places can engrave anything for $40 if you have a vector file for their computerized laser cutters. The catch is that you have to be carving on a flat, metal surface, pretty much, and not want the engraving filled.
My goal was to carve this one-of-a-kind image onto an expensive A.F. Mason Pearson hairbrush (I didn't get the hype either until I tried one - now it's going in my hypothetical "hope chest"). The brush back has the dark sheen of enameled mahogany but feels kind of like plastic, only it's not plastic, but hard pressed vegetable matter, all organic. And it's slightly convex. Since the material is a dark color, I not only want it carved up properly, I want the design to be filled in with gold paint so it pops. Now, I'd found the one joint that could do all this on rush for $100.
Taking a liberal lunch break, I rode the A train from my workplace in Washington Heights down to Columbus Circle, then walked east on West 58th. Now, I'm ducking under scaffolding, going through wooden diversion mazes set up by construction companies but can still see the high quality facades of the caliber of old school buildings that they just don't make anymore.
Before or after the neighboring liquor store, I make my entrance. Inside, a guy with a Michael Keatonish vibe stands at a computer behind the counter. Somehow, I know that he was the writer of the emails. The small space, ringed with engraved plaques, trophies, crystals, and other fineries commemorating occasions of the NBA, UN and NYPD, is occupied by two black gentlemen. I don't want to call them elders, but I suppose they are. They are speaking in animated ways, calling the dude behind the counter Barry. Barry looks between them and says, "I'll be right with you, miss." I'm already pleased to be called miss, not ma'am.
At first, it seems there's antagonism between the men until I realize that it's animation and familiarity that I'm hearing. What the fellows want pertains to basketball, and sounds important. I start assuming that the men are famous - this is exactly the kind of quiet place where legends would do business. On their way out, one of the customers catches my eye and points, "THIS is the man right here. You've come to the right spot. Barry will get it DONE."
When I step up to bat, Barry inspects the precious brush and nods pensively but reassuringly. I ask to see the vector file that I've sent him. When he brings it up on the computer, I discover that the Korean characters are faded in some spots, a fault of the conversion. I ask myself for a second if I can just accept this - maybe the flaw will give the final product a charming antique effect. But I decide NO.
Barry's kind of throwing his hands up, going, "I don't know, miss, this is what you gave me." But he lets me get on the computer and mess with the software and waits as I email the Canadian artist off my phone, and failing that, email the characters in Word to Barry. He opens the email, and grumbles as I hover anxiously over him, but does everything I desperately need to restore the text.
I have the option of putting like 20% down in cash but pay in full.
Two days later, I head back there. The A-train tries its damndest to dick me over as I sweat bullets, trying to arrive by 6 p.m. - I call the place from between stops and Barry's colleagues promise me they won't leave. Feeling ready to crap my pants, I run up to the door at 6:07 and two guys are calmly standing there. Barry's up in back somewhere.
With trembling hands I open the brush, which has been placed in its original cardboard container. It. Is. Perfect. The acrylic gold fill looks like actual gold, and the pressed vegetable like shined wood. It looks like it belongs to Indiana Jones.
"How..." I begin...
"Yeah," say the guys (please forgive me for forgetting your names after I asked). "It wasn't a level surface, so Barry had to make special calculations."
The recipient doesn't even deserve this gift. I make a mental note to get this done for my own damn brush next time, and do.
