The necessity of failure

by Joshua Frost, Forged in Fire champion

For a budding blacksmith and bladesmith, one of the most important steps in the learning process is failure. From the tools you buy (or don’t) right down to the technique that is used to accomplish a simple shape or pattern. When our processes fail we may become frustrated with the process and give up altogether. 

Think of when you said you were going to learn that new musical instrument, or language or craft. You likely expected to be playing a popular song, speaking fluent Japanese and throwing clay on the potters wheel in no time, like a pro. The sad reality, however, is that you usually only ended up learning the intro to Smoke on the Water, throwing a lopsided lump of mush on the wheel and saying sayonara to Japanese. Bladesmithing and blacksmithing are similar endeavors. It’s hard work. It takes hundreds of hours of doing it to become competent. Failure begins at the beginning and continues until you’re pushing up the daisies. 

My learning curve with bladesmithing has been very steep. I struggled to produce what I wanted for a couple of years, and then one day, quite suddenly, I was much better at it than I was before. I’d say I’m in the middle of climbing the curve, but that is only possible because of the many failures I have experienced throughout my tenure as a bladesmith. 

When I decided that smithing was for me, I started a list to get organized: Hammers, a propane forge, an anvil, some tongs, and a post vise. I ended up buying a forge that was too small, an anvil that was dished, a post vise that was too...used, and half of the tongs I bought were completely unnecessary for what I was doing. What I got right were the hammers: a rounding hammer and a cross peen hammer that were forged by Torbjorn Ahman. I still use them today.

Early on, I didn’t know when things were wrong. I had watched some YouTube videos, and read a couple of books, and thought “Eh, this will do.” I was wrong. I didn’t know anyone in the smithing community with whom I could confer. The moment I hit that hot steel on my anvil, I knew I was in way over my head. Don’t get me wrong; I loved it. Instantly. But I knew that I was in for a long hard slog. I needed help. 

I cannot stress the following enough: the number one thing anyone wishing to take up smithing should do, is go out into the world and learn a few things before you begin. Talk to smiths who are employed as smiths. Get a mentor. There is a local ABANA group in your area that is guaranteed to be chock-full of old timers who have been smithing for decades. The amount of learning you can accomplish from them is the most valuable information you can obtain. The first two meetings are usually free, and you can get in the fire, and on the anvil with guidance.

I did not do this on day one and ended up having to relearn techniques that I should have been employing in the early days. Don’t skip this step. Humble yourself at the teaching of masters. I didn’t do this until a year into my smithing journey, to my cost. 

When I started forging, I bought steel from a scrap yard, and started hammering away with almost no clearly defined objective. I bought pieces that were too big and ended up wasting gallons and gallons of propane on one piece that ended up not looking how I wanted it to look. I’d call it done without having forged it properly, and it would drive me nuts. As time went on, I gradually learned basic things that I should have learned earlier through in-person instruction.

My failure on the anvil in the early days can be attributed to not knowing where to start. But what happens when you fail at a project when you are years into your journey? Yes, it still happens. It may not be as frequent as it was in the early days, but it still happens. Sometimes with no rhyme or reason that is readily apparent. 

I remember attempting to forge a Damascus billet years ago. After the second heat, I noticed significant delamination in the billet. I tried to save it with subsequent heats, but the delaminations wouldn’t weld. The billet failed. Or, more importantly I failed. 

What had I done wrong? The steel was clean, welds were clean. The billet was soaked in diesel and heated appropriately. The billet was put in a 25-ton press and squished to oblivion.

I learned that I had pressed with too much force. I blew apart the layers on the sides. The search for the source of the failure made me reevaluate my entire process. I went over it step by step. I paid particular attention to where and how I pressed the steel. The subsequent billet was perfect. 

Failure isn’t something we like to talk about. However, failure is a natural step in the process that helps us learn proper technique. Whether it’s grinding a bevel, or forge welding mosaic tiles, it is absolutely critical. 

Another good example of extremely useful failure is my first attempt at mosaic Damascus. I forged some explosion pattern mosaic the first time I tried it. I forged my flats and crushed Ws. I forged the 3/4” squares and cut my tiles. I made a stack, and forge welded the tiles. The resulting billet was beautiful, but useless. The tiles didn’t forge weld properly, and the subsequent attempt at forging out a knife from it resulted in tile delamination, and the billet was ruined. 20 hours of work, and $100 worth of material evaporated before my eyes. It was an important moment in my journey. I had two options. 

1. I could take the failed billet and throw it out the forge window along with all of my tools

2. Or I examine what I did, what went wrong and practice new techniques that had a greater probability of success. 

I chose option 2. I did more research. I read His Forge Burns Hot by Joe Kertzman, watched Chris Crawford’s mosaic DVD with demo from Chad Nichols, and endless hours of video on the subject. I spoke to smiths who do mosaic Damascus and learned better technique and practiced on non-pattern-welded steel. I perfected my own technique as an amalgamation of techniques of other smiths who had been doing it successfully for years, and then I tried it again, with flawless results. 

While it’s important to fail, it’s also important to not let that failure stand. If you give up and let your failures consume you, then you will never be able to creatively realize the wonders that exist in your imagination. If the scientists and engineers of the space program decided to quit after their first attempted (and spectacularly failed) launch, we wouldn’t have a helicopter hovering around on Mars right now. 

The reaction to your failures is what will compel you to do it better, with more precision, and eventually, continuing success.