When Chris Bathgate approached me to write the forward of this book, I pitched him the premise, "Chris Bathgate is not a Renaissance Man." He did not like it. I had intended to discuss the incredible discipline and laser-like focus Bathgate employs when creating his art. To me "Renaissance Man" means "jack of all trades, master of none." But to him, the term "Renaissance Man" refers to a person with a great variety of skills, not a lack of direction, and thus, it is impossible to argue that he does not posses a wide variety of skills. As he put it, "If my dishwasher breaks, I don't have to call anyone," regardless of whether he needs to fabricate a part, solder a circuit board, or refit the plumbing. I had to concede the point, at least partially. As a human being, Bathgate certainly is in every way a Renaissance Man, but what about as an artist? Looking at his artwork, it seems obvious: Bathgate is a Machinist. He works exclusively in machined metal. You don't exactly see him making short films or even bronze castings (a completely different type of metalwork). Doesn't that demonstrate a narrow focus and skill set, I argued? To convince me otherwise, he invited me to his studio to learn a bit more about his process.

Bathgate was born in a Southeastern Baltimore suburb, not far from a steel plant once owned by Bethlehem Steel. For most of the twentieth century, the steel plant was the primary source of employment in the area. Nearly everyone in its vicinity had some connection to it, from the computer programmers who wrote the code that would control the steel processes, to the nurses who were given strict instructions to never conduct MRI tests on plant employees, lest the metal that inevitably embedded itself in the workers’ bodies be torn out by the magnet. That Bathgate's home used to be a steel town is not a fact lost on him. Even as early as high school, when Bathgate first welded prefabricated steel rods into rudimentary geometric shapes, he'd say things like, "Metal just makes sense to me. It's where I'm from and in my blood."

On a grey, overcast day, I set out to Bathgate’s home studio in Baltimore City. I intentionally drove the long way around the steel plant, passing long barrack-like buildings that now house mostly dormant metal furnaces. It is easy to see some of the forms that might have given Bathgate inspiration in his formative years. The landscape is striped with brightly colored pipelines and giant turbines pumping gases to and from the industrial park. As I pulled onto the highway, I passed a set of enormous cranes shoveling coal, each tipped with a rotating set of shovels in a buzz-saw configuration, a form Bathgate seems to invoke specifically in "NC963312223714523614."

When I arrived at his studio, Bathgate was just finishing up the installation of a new metal lathe. The sheer weight of the lathe, weighing in at just over two tons, had required Bathgate to construct a hoist made out of steel I-beams and chains just to lower it into the workshop. He had even erected a large tent to shield the tool from rainfall during the painstaking weeklong process.

I had expected Bathgate to show me a cluttered, greasy, and factory-like workroom, not unlike Baltimore’s grimy backdrop of heavy industry. I was surprised when instead he took me to a cozy, richly outfitted drawing room.

He powered on a sleek Macintosh, pulling forward an Apple cinema display floating on a metallic arm. With a smirk, he rotated it ninety degrees on a rig he had constructed, so that it hovered vertically above his desk. As he pulled up diagrams he created of his sculptures, the advantage of his portrait presentation became immediately obvious to me. His sculptures tend to be vertically formatted, so the sketches are as well. In this orientation, he is able to create schematic drawings without scrolling, and survey the whole of the composition at once. As my tour progressed, I viewed his work, and the processes he employs to bring them into being. A pattern became very clear to me: Bathgate makes things that are very cool, but not simply for the sake of being cool. Every apparent extravagance is firmly rooted in its practical function.

Bathgate handed me a pile of sketchbooks. These contain the inceptive seeds of his sculpture, in the form of hundreds of rough pencil sketches. The sketchbooks presented a good opportunity to ask him the standard questions an interviewer asks an artist: What drives your creative process? Who are your influences? What does your work really mean? But though Bathgate is more then willing to discuss his creative process and workflow, he is reticent to discuss his influences or assign specific meanings to his artworks.

Many viewers immediately want to place Bathgate's artwork within the realm of science fiction. They see shades of Andrew Probert (designer of Star Trek's Enterprise 1701-D and many of the show's sets), the innumerable models created by the artists at Industrial Light and Magic, and the often nameless prop designers working from 1930 though the mid-1950’s during the golden age of science fiction. It's a view I can sympathize with. When I examine "SC 415522332", I admit my first reaction is, "It looks like you could power a spaceship with that."

Others interpret Bathgate’s work as looking to the past rather then the future. Some ask if he identifies with the modern faux-nostalgia style of “steampunk,” or if he draws his forms from the elegant, modernistic forms of 1920’s Art Deco. With it's rocket like appearance and repeating steeple-shaped forms, [Unknown A4] "Tr 334425524622211," would not look out of place adorning the halls of the Chrysler Building.

Others interpret his work as looking to the past rather then the future. Some ask if he identifies with the modern faux-nostalgia style of Steampunk, or if he draws his forms from the elegant, modernistic forms of 1920s Art Deco. "SF711145533343662223443" and "Tr 334425524622211" for instance would not look out of place adorning the halls of the Chrysler Building. Bathgate's take on both these observations is nuanced. He prefers his sculpture speak for itself, rather then be castigated into a genre:

"A lot of people ask me if I am a Sci-Fi fan or if I 'm into Steampunk. My answer is always "Not expressly, no". I grew up with plenty of Star Trek and Star Wars in the background and countless other shows, but I do not read Science Fiction or make Steampunk objects and [I] don't necessarily consider it to be the thrust of my work. Everybody who looks at my work brings to it the things they relate to most, so certainly I get my share of Sci-Fi enthusiasts who like my work because it shares many aesthetic similarities [to] that type of thing. But I also get a fare share of architects and engineers who relate to my work purely on their particular specialty. It is certainly something I realize about my work and I neither embrace nor shy away from it. I simply chalk it up to the fact that my aesthetic is made up of all of the visual stimulus I have ever taken in, and certainly some portion of that is Sci-Fi or mechanical."

We left the drawing room and descended into his basement studio. Entering his metal shop, my first reaction is astonishment at the scale and diversity of his operation. It is at this juncture that I truly realize the complete impossibility of my original premise, that Bathgate is not a Renaissance Man.

Bathgate points to the materials he uses and the machining process itself as his primary source of inspiration. The similarity of his aesthetic to that of early Sci-Fi and Art Deco is not derivative, but appears parallel to those aesthetics. Many of the machining techniques and materials he employs today first came into maturity and widespread use at turn of the twentieth century. For instance, the common availability of electricity subsequently made electric metal mills and lathes a reality. The Hall-Héroult process of refining aluminum made the element - once more valuable then than gold - into a common industrial material. As artists and designers of the era began to experiment with the new options available to them, it is likely that they were similarly inspired and made works not unlike Bathgate’s.

The skills Bathgate uses to create his sculptures are as varied as the numerous professions required to sustain a robust steel plant. Bathgate likens his artistic process to the "research and development" period a business grinds through when creating a new product. He starts with rough sketches and diagrams, then develops them into sculptures via a host of skills, including aesthetics, electricity, chemistry, physics, mathematics, metallurgy, mechanical engineering, and of course, machining.

Inventor Thomas Edison said that genius is one percent inspiration, and ninety-nine percent perspiration. Bathgate's "R&D" process is long, exhaustive, expensive, and, for him, the most exhilarating part of his process. He does not constrain his ideas to forms he already knows how to build, nor does he adhere slavishly to the initial schematics. Each new piece possesses new problems, requiring him to expand his knowledge, creatively solve engineering problems, and adapt to the work as it evolves toward completion. Before each sculpture is finished, Bathgate will have spent hundreds of hours milling and turning metal, compiling computer code to drive “CNC” machines, fabricating unique tools and dies specifically needed to realize his designs, and experimenting with sometimes volatile chemical processes to color and cure his product.

THE MACHINIST

CNC stands for Computer Numerical Control. A CNC device converts numeric instructions into a series of mechanical actions. In Bathgate’s case, motions are needed to mill and turn metal. High-end CNC systems are capable of generating nearly finished components from electronic three-dimensional diagrams with little human intervention. Bathgate uses CNC devices that are more rudimentary. Instead of using three-dimensional models, he handwrites instructions in a programming language called “G Code.” Although it is a tedious process, this method allows him greater control and, at times, even serves as a source of inspiration in of itself.

Many have asked how much of Bathgate’s work is automated and how much he accomplishes by hand. Bathgate employs CNC is very limited circumstances, and asserts that he does not want to let the computer make him lazy. Repetitive tasks, such as turning three hundred stainless steel pins, are not uncommon. Or there might be situations where CNC is the only option, such as when Bathgate is trying to build a shape so complicated that it would be impossible for a human being to maneuver the mill by hand. Finally, Bathgate opts to use CNC when he finds inspiration in writing the G Code itself: “

Things like slightly changing variables to alter the geometry, or running the metal through repeatedly at different angles to make new shapes -- those are unique to CNC and can be exciting."

Handing the reigns over to a computer introduces perils much worse then the risk of laziness. The computer cannot see, hear, touch, think, or respond to unexpected problems. It simply executes its instruction set. In the blink of an eye, a single miscalculation can ruin a component or worse, destroy the machine itself. Bathgate recounts one incident in which he mis entered a line of code: “

When the line came up in the program it caused the machine to violently try to swing to the left, with the cutters still engaged. Instantly it snapped the mill, destroying a fifty dollar bit. It very nearly destroyed the entire [sculpture], but luckily it snapped far enough out that it didn't do as much damage as it could have." Bathgate still managed to complete the sculpture by adjusting and adapting to the newly presented problems. “

The product at the other end was a wonderful mixture of good intentions and adjusting to the circumstances at hand. That piece in particular really exemplified the term 'happy accident'."

Much of the work that goes into creating Bathgate's artwork doesn't actually show itself in the finished pieces. Bathgate spends a good deal of his time designing and fabricating custom tools and dies. These one-time-use instruments are needed to create his sculpture's intricate forms, but are often works of art in their own right. Bathgate recognizes this, and sometimes will find inspiration for his next project in the tools he used to create its predecessor. Not one to waste good metal, and always seeking a new challenge, Bathgate may on rare occasions reuse tools and create spare parts as components, or even the basis, for future artworks.

THE CHEMIST

Bathgate led me to a small chamber room his workshop. Within it was a large electric kiln that he pieced together from smaller kilns, as well as several rows of vats. Some of the tubs contained colored liquids, and some had electrodes connected to them. It is in this chamber that Bathgate begins to put the final touches on his creations.

Using metal as a sculptural material comes with one serious drawback: most types of metal will rust. All sculptors working in this medium are forced to arrest or address the effects that time and oxygen will have on their work. For most of history, artists have had to resign themselves to the fact that their bright bronze castings would fade to a shade of greenish brown, as the techniques necessary to preserve the finish had not yet invented. Some contemporary artists working in steel even incorporate the oxidation process as part of the conception of the work. Bathgate takes a different approach. In the final step in his process, he uses a variety of electrical and chemical techniques to ensure that his artwork remains pristine and stands the test of time.

But working with the strong chemicals has its hazards. Bathgate pacifies the stainless steel components of his pieces in order to diminish the likelihood of corrosion over time. In order to pacify the components, he immerses the finished piece in nitric acid, which reacts with the iron and removes it from the surface of the metal. The process creates a surface that will hold a bright, polished finish. Given the inherent dangers of this process, Bathgate takes certain precautions.

The grade of steel that Bathgate uses is critical to his work and safety. Some grades of stainless steel will pacify, but others will rust in acid, just like normal steel. Once, a steel supplier accidentally sold the wrong grade of steel to Bathgate. When he placed the steel in the nitric acid bath, the steel rusted at a rapid rate, generating enough heat to bring the acid to a boil. The mix of boiling acid, acidic vapors and burning metal created a giant cloud of brown smoke. Bathgate was lucky that he was working outside and was able to use a water hose to dilute the bath and stop the reaction.

THE CRYPTOGRAPHER

After touring the workshop, we returned to his drawing room where Bathgate offered me a beer. Pulling on an elaborately machined tab Bathgate himself has made and affixed into the wall, he pours me a glass of ale that he brewed himself. And then, with a few deft motions, he unfastens a latch on his bookcase, and swings it open. Behind the bookcase is a secret room containing his brewing apparatus. It is a rarity to meet someone that has actually gone to the trouble of constructing every child's fantasy: a secret passage. The clandestine beer chamber reminds me of a question I have yet to press him on: Why does he use such strange, obfuscated titles for his work?

The jumble of letters and numbers that comprise Bathgate’s titles strongly suggest that they represent the dimensions or weight of the work itself, measured to some absurd degree of accuracy. Bathgate explains that the titles of his work are in a secret code that he has concocted. He refuses to reveal the code to anyone, not even to those closest to him. In a departure from his otherwise extremely candid and straightforward approach to explaining his work, his secrecy comes as a surprise.

He maintains that using descriptive titles would detract from the work, positing, “If I called a piece “Flower,” everyone who looks at it would be seeing how it does or doesn't look like a flower, even if there's only a passing resemblance, or even if that's not the point at all.” But he hints that decoding the titles of his work is possible, if one looks closely enough.

THE ARTIST

Departing from Bathgate’s studio, I realized my clever thesis won't work, even within the terms I used to define it.

I had originally surmised that his specialty, though fascinating and impressive, was narrow in scope. Instead, I found an artist who has mastered a variety of different disciplines, each flowing organically into the next. Every new technique, tool, and field of study is a new color in his metaphorical palette, and he has assembled a very large palette.

Bathgate is an artist in the classic sense, not unlike Leonardo da Vinci. Many contemporary artists live in a world where art is segregated from scientific disciplines, but Chris works within both the spheres of art and science. Unfettered by the trappings of the contemporary art world, he instead finds inspiration on a bench in his workshop. His artistic route is fueled by physics and chemistry, mathematics and engineering, invention and innovation. He even writes in code, just like da Vinci. It is impossible to say that Bathgate is not a Renaissance Man when the artist he can most easily be compared to was the quintessential Renaissance Man.