Pressing and Stamping.
Pressing, like molding, has of late years much extended its range of forms. In germ it goes back to the distant day when seals were impressed upon clay tablets, and coins or medals were struck from hard matrices. In glass manufacture the press has been used for centuries. Cheap pressed tumblers and bowls have long been accompanied by cheap metal pots and pans, plates and basins, stamped by machinery. To-day much enlarged and improved, such machinery, as a Bliss press, makes a kitchen sink from a sheet of steel, forms gears and pinions from round bars of metal, and executes the intricate curves of a mandolin in a plate of aluminum. For a good while the spinning lathe gave us from thin metallic sheets a variety of cups, saucers, dishes, parts of kettles, lamps, and the like. To-day each of these articles is produced by a single blow of a die, proving that metals are plastic in a degree unsuspected in former days. Thus it comes about that the seams necessary to the tinman and the coppersmith, with all their liability to leaks and uncleanliness, have been largely dismissed and may soon be wholly banished. Pressing is illustrated on [pages 184 to 186] of this book.
Old and New Means of Conferring Form.
To-day we are rich in old and new facilities for the bestowal of form. To confer shape by division we have an immense variety of knives, scissors, saws, axes, hatchets and shears. These, together with hammers, chisels and gouges enable us to disengage from a mass not merely a simple rail, panel, or table-top, but a carving or a statue. Surfaces are smoothed with a rasp, a file, a plane; sand is rubbed on abrasively, or falls from a height, or is forcibly blown with a blast of steam or air. Emery either spread on paper, or glued upon a wheel, grinds with an accuracy and speed new to art; and all that emery can do is outdone by carborundum and alundum, which slice away metal as if chalk, be its hardness what it may. Perforation is accomplished with rotary drills, or by a sandblast, or on occasion by corrosive acids—a final resource in treating refractory stone. Rolls of tremendous power reduce iron and steel in thickness, and, when suitably shaped, confer form on railroad rails, girders and the like. Every tool and implement, old or new, is now embodied in machines of gigantic force, or multiple effect, so that the skill of an earlier generation is either not in demand at all or passes to tasks of a delicacy never attempted before. It is by virtue of presses, enormous in power, that to-day shapes are bestowed on metals in successful rivalry with the ancient art of the founder himself. Indeed the art of conferring form by pouring a liquid into molds is at this hour largely exercised in work where heat plays no part whatever,—as in the tasks of the builder in concrete, the labors of the electrician as he employs a bath to separate a metal from its ore, or to plate a surface with silver or gold.
Diagram of rolls to reduce steel in thickness.
Use Creates Beauty.
In strong contrast with the varied resources of modern toil are the simple tools and implements of prehistoric skill which, modified much or little, are at this hour still indispensable to the mechanic, the builder, the engineer. These simple aids early became admirable in form so as to be all the more useful. Says Mr. George Bourne:—
“The beauty of tools is not accidental but inherent and essential. The contours of a ship’s sail bellying in the wind are not more inevitable, nor more graceful, than the curves of an adze-head or of a plowshare. Cast in iron or steel, the gracefulness of a plowshare is less destructible than the metal, yet pliant, within the limits of its type. It changes for different soils; it is widened out or narrowed; it is deep-grooved or shallow; not because of caprice at the foundry or to satisfy an artistic fad, but to meet the technical demands of the expert plowman. The most familiar example of beauty indicating subtle technique is supplied by the admired shape of boats, which is so variable, says an old coastguardsman, that the boat best adapted for one stretch of shore may be dangerous if not entirely useless at another stretch ten miles away. And as technique determines the design of a boat, or of a wagon, or of a plowshare, so it controls absolutely the fashioning of tools, and is responsible for any beauty or form they possess. Of all tools, none, of course, is more exquisite than a fiddle-bow. But the fiddle-bow never could have been perfected, because there would have been no call for its tapering delicacy, its calculated balance of lightness and strength, had not the violinist’s technique reached such marvelous fineness of power. For it is the accomplished artist who is fastidious as to his tools; the bungling beginner can bungle with anything. The fiddle-bow, however, affords only one example of a rule which is equally well exemplified by many humbler tools. Quarryman’s pick, coachman’s whip, cricket-bat, fishing-rod, trowel, all have their intimate relation to the skill of those who use them; and like animals and plants adapting themselves each to its own place in the universal order, they attain to beauty by force of being fit. That law of adaptation which shapes the wings of a swallow and prescribes the poise and elegance of the branches of trees, is the same that demands symmetry in the corn-rick and convexity in the barrel; and that, exerting itself with matchless precision through the trained senses of haymakers and woodmen, gives the final curve to the handles of their scythes and the shafts of their axes. Hence the beauty of a tool is an unfailing sign that in the proper handling of it technique is present.”[8]
[8] Cornhill Magazine, London, September, 1903.