Belts for a Wedding
Notes from the studio while learning in public.
There are seven belts hanging in the studio right now.
Six for the groomsmen.
One for the groom.
All cut from the same run of English Bridle from Wickett & Craig.
Same leather.
Same hide family.
Same wedding.
A few weeks ago I had only ever made one belt before this.
Now I’m standing in the middle of measurements, strap lengths, edge finishing, hardware decisions, spacing tests, buckle alignment, and the quiet realization that someone trusted me to make objects connected to one of the most important days of their life.
That responsibility feels heavier than the leather does.
What’s strange is that the belts were never originally the centerpiece.
The groom had options.
One direction was seven matching belts.
Another was a belt for the groom with matching wallets for the groomsmen — personalized through engraving, color identity, and surface variation.
Another option paired belts and wallets together, where the belt became part of the wedding itself while the wallet became the object that stayed afterward.
That part stuck with me.
The idea that one object belongs to the ceremony.
The other belongs to the years after.
I’ve done small-batch runs before.
Four pieces.
Six pieces.
Nine pieces.
Usually identical objects.
Usually isolated from larger emotional context.
But this feels different.
Maybe because weddings are strange.
Not because they represent perfection —
but because they represent commitment despite imperfection.
I keep thinking about something a priest said during a wedding years ago.
He said:
“I know this sounds strange, but I hope today is the worst day of your marriage. Because if it is, everything gets better from here.”
At the time it sounded almost brutal.
Now it sounds honest.
And strangely enough, I think about new projects the same way.
I hope the first version is the worst version.
Even when I love it.
Even when it feels significant.
Even when it proves something to me emotionally.
Because that means there’s still room for the work to deepen.
For the hands to improve.
For the process to become more precise.
For the object to become more fully itself.
That feels connected to marriage somehow.
Not in the polished social-media version of love.
The real version.
The version built through repetition.
Adjustment.
Pressure.
Daily contact.
Responsibility.
Patience.
Belts feel appropriate for that.
They stretch.
They soften.
They shape themselves over time around the person wearing them.
Hopefully people do too.
Workshop Notes
- Seven straps cut from English Bridle
- Edge finishing tests still ongoing
- Hardware layouts covering half the bench
- Measuring more times than necessary because responsibility changes precision
- Learning where confidence ends and attentiveness begins
- Realizing craftsmanship is sometimes just sustained care repeated consistently
There’s a version of handcrafted work online where uncertainty gets edited out completely.
Everything appears inevitable.
Perfect.
Mastered.
But most real studio work happens while becoming.
That’s the part I’m more interested in documenting now.
Not just finished objects.
The evolution required to make them.