Career Pathways: Rod Kelly
Career Pathways: Rod Kelly
The Scottish Goldsmiths Trust recently had the pleasure of speaking with Rod Kelly, one of the UK’s leading silversmiths, for an in-depth conversation for our Career Pathways series. From his workshop on Shetland, Rod creates works of silver enriched by his specialisation in low-relief chasing. Since leaving the Royal College of Art in 1983, Rod has produced a remarkable repertoire of pieces held in the collections of the V&A Museum, St Pauls Cathedral and No. 10 Downing Street just to name a few. In recent years, Rod has developed the South House Silver Workshop Trust, supporting and training the next generation of silversmiths. Rod shared with us the story of his career, from a foundation at the Birmingham School of Jewellery and Royal College of Art, to creating stunning works of silver from his workshop overlooking the North Sea.
Rod Kelly in his workshop on Shetland
What was your background and training, and how did you end up in the industry?
Very strangely, I didn’t study art at school at all. I was very keen on drawing, but I studied history, economics and sociology at A-level. It is really quite peculiar that I didn’t do any art whatsoever. At 18, I had a place to read sociology at university, and I really was not interested in it at all, but that seemed to be the thing that I should do. At the last minute, I asked my parents if I could go on a one-year foundation art course. I deferred the sociology for a year, and went on the foundation course, and it was the greatest thing I ever did. It was probably the best year I ever had. The lovely thing is, I’m still in touch with one of the tutors there, a Scottish man called Sandy Lang, who now lives in London. Sandy was a graphic designer and had just left the Royal College of Art and had come to teach the foundation course. He was just inspirational and wasn’t really that much older than we were. I got onto the course with one drawing that I had done at home, which I showed them and they said yes, come along to the course. I knew very little—I knew nothing about colour, and that’s probably why I don’t use much colour now. I tend to use black, gold and silver. I knew nothing about colour theory or perspective, but I did understand how to learn because of studying the A-levels I had done. I was very keen to read and learn. That year, I put together a folio and applied to Birmingham to do three-dimensional design, specialising in silversmithing. They accepted four people a year and I got in—that was really the start of it.
I often mention to today’s graduates that back in the early 1980s, things were very different in education. There were four students studying on the course at Birmingham for three years with a tutor. For the second and third years, we specialised in silversmithing and were given a very good ground in making. By the end of my degree show, I was quite proficient in a lot of the technical skills. It was a privilege really with there only being four of us in a year.
I then applied to the Royal College of Art—in those days you were required to have a year off before you went on a postgraduate course. I went and worked with Malcolm Appleby for a bit and did all sorts of things like working as an architectural technician. I studied at the RCA for three years, where once again there were only four students in our year. When I left the RCA I was technically quite proficient—I could probably make nearly anything. This was because of the great tutoring we’d had from John Bartholomew, who was the main technical tutor at the RCA. We had both design tutors and technical tutors and working with John for three years, you couldn’t help but learn quite a lot. I was really keen and have always given things 100%--I would drain John of every bit of information I could and copy his hammers and the tongs he used for soldering. I was just engrossed and absorbed in silversmithing. I met my wife Sheila McDonald, an enameller and jeweller, at the RCA where she was a year below me.
When I left the RCA, I set up my first workshop in Brick Lane, London and shared it with a few others. And to my amazement, I’ve now been working for 38 years. I was lucky to leave the RCA with my first commission, which was to make four silver beakers for Sir Simon Hornby, who was then chairman of WH Smith’s—and since that day, I’ve never not had commissioned work. To me, since I started like that, I just assumed, having worked with Malcolm Appleby who always worked to commission, I thought ‘that’s what I’ll do!’. I thought it was a choice—that you either worked for exhibitions and maybe had a one-off show, or you worked to commission. I didn’t realise how difficult it might be to get commissions, I just naively thought, well, if that’s what Malcolm does, that’s what I’ll do. I didn’t realise really that it was a choice, but it just started to happen.
I specialised in low-relief chasing, which I had been taught by Dick Price at the RCA and given a very good technical ground in chasing. That’s what I started to explore, and it gave me an identity so that people knew my work very early on. There were very, very few people chasing then, but now it has again become very popular. Bishopsland started up, and for the past 25 years, I have taught chasing to every group that has come through. Most people chasing now like Miriam Hanid and Bryony Knox, I taught at some point when they came to Bishopsland. Chasing has now become an established technique, and there are so many young people interested in chasing and forming metal in that way using repousse.
I have been incredibly fortunate, but I started my workshop on a wave of interest in contemporary, modern silver in the 1980s when the marketplace was very healthy. There were lots of large commissions, like commissions for Litchfield Cathedral, No. 10 Downing Street, and the Goldsmiths Company were incredibly proactive, as were other livery companies. There were many collectors, and I found myself in a very fortunate position, and emerged together along with other successful silversmiths of my era.
How did you develop the South House Silver Workshop Trust in Shetland?
Initially, Sheila and I had a workshop in London for about three or four years, and then we had a need and want to move out of London. We set up a workshop in Norfolk and were there for 25 years. After about 15 years, I felt I was getting a bit stale being in the same environment, and having had holidays in Shetland, it took off without me planning. It was serendipitous. We bought a tiny little croft house that I started to restore, and at first, it was almost just habitable, and then became very comfortable but small. I would bring beakers up to Shetland and chase them, but that was all that I could do because I had a tiny little workshop. I enjoyed doing that, but it was frustrating that I couldn’t heat anything up or solder, and I got it into my head that it would be nice to build a workshop. I went to see Shetland Council and their Development and Enterprise Department—they gave me some funding and the project took off. I thought, if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it properly.
I designed the workshop in Shetland and it was built, but I virtually ran out of money to fit it out. So, I asked some of my past clients if they would all sponsor a bench in the workshop. I wanted to do it properly—I didn’t want to have a workshop and do it half-heartedly, without the right tools. I wanted the benches to be well-made, with leather skins, nice chairs that were adjustable so that young people could use and work from them properly. I asked for £1,000 to fit out each bench—the leather skins were made by a Shetland leather worker and the benches were made by a Shetland furniture maker. Each bench has a brass plaque on it with the name of the person that sponsored it. Sadly, some of them have now died, but it is wonderful to have their name on the bench and know that they are remembered for their generosity.
I had one or two friends come and work here, and it gave me an idea that perhaps with a bit of funding for travel, as Shetland is not the easiest place to get to, I could raise some small amounts of money. I formed the Trust and began to raise around £3,000 a year, which was enough to pay for 1 or 2 young makers a year to travel here on invitation. There was never really much planning if I’m honest, it all just happened and worked out with the Trust. I am blessed that I am in such a beautiful environment in Shetland. Sheila and I also have a flat in Edinburgh, so it is nice occasionally to go to the city and visit some galleries—we have the benefit of both the city life but also then the beauty and environment of Shetland, which is absolutely gorgeous, even when the wind is blowing at 60mph and you can’t venture outside, it still has a slight charm.
Rod Kelly’s workshop on Shetland, where he welcomes makers as part of the South House Silver Workshop Trust.
Tell us about your work with the South House Silver Workshop Trust during COVID and the impact it has had.
As COVID came a long, I and my trustees have tried to take it to the next level—we raised over £30,000 this year which has now been spent on all the placements we are doing with various silversmiths. Last year, we gave an award to Jessica Jue, who has been working with Brett Payne in Sheffield for two months and will now come here to Shetland for two months. Ellys May Woods, who was also at Bishopsland, has been here for two months and will now go to work with Brett. Fenella Watson has been in Sheffield, and Charlotte Tollyfield has also been to work with Brett Payne. We are also supporting Lucinda Sims to work with Angela Cork in London for a month. This was all my response to COVID—I raised money through the Trust and have been supported by other organisations to pay for young makers to pick up technical skills by working a month at a time with established silversmiths.
My trustees and I will have another conversation this autumn to see if we are going to continue and do this again to help other young makers, which I think will be quite important. It will take quite some time to get people back on track because of COVID. To see events like Elements in full flow, as an open exhibition with no masks, that’s going to take another year. Meanwhile, our young makers have got to be supported so that when the market does re-open, they are ready and geared up.
Hopefully, this will be an ongoing programme, and although small, fits in with the other activities and plans of larger bodies like the Goldsmiths Company and the Scottish Goldsmiths Trust. All of these organisations can help young makers to survive and go on to be very successful. But, we need our markets and selling opportunities to return—there is nothing like face-to-face meeting someone and discussing a piece of silver, them handling it and then returning to buy it because they’ve met and spoken to the maker. It is going to take a bit of time, but we need our young makers to survive and not find jobs in other fields using their creative abilities—I hope we can manage to keep many of them close to silversmithing.
How has living on Shetland impacted your work over the years?
Although I lived in London for a long time, I feel really at home in Shetland. I quite like the isolation. As I’ve grown older, I’ve certainly become slightly more isolated and I quite like being able to take the dogs and walk wherever I want to. I enjoy having quite a big garden and enjoy building work—trying to rebuild the stone walls. I can see the sea out of all the windows in the workshop, it’s right next to me and you see the weather change each day, you see the wind change during the day. But I don’t look out and think ‘oh, I’d like to capture that landscape in silver’. Far from that, but certainly just walking out and seeing how the light changes on the hills and the experience of the landscape. Walking up into the hills above the house I find inspirational. I’ll walk with the dogs thinking about design, thinking about ideas—they are affected by my surroundings, but they don’t influence in terms of decoration or trying to replicate the Shetland landscape. It gives me the environment in which to develop ideas and thoughts. I never thought I’d ever live anywhere like this, but I quite like the quietness. Now, having worked for a long time, I quite like the slower pace of life. It’s taken me a long time to not be at city pace and charge into a post office and stand in a queue, hearing people chat at the front and thinking, I just need to post my parcel and get on. I’m now quite happy just to stand in the queue and wait, and chat to people on the road if you meet them—it’s a nicer pace of life here.
Dish Commissioned for the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.
Click to enlarge.
What is your commission process and relationship with your clients like?
I like the dialogue and exchange of e-mails and postcards of drawings—I send drawings and clients will send their observations, which sometimes I’ll take on board, or other times I’ll argue my case for a design. I really enjoy that dialogue I have with a client, and sometimes they have become more special than the pieces themselves. If I’m making a piece for someone that I know well, I’ll do my absolute best to make it the finest piece that I can make, in respect to them and my friendship with them. If I’m making something for myself, which I rarely do, I don’t particularly enjoy that. I like designing and making things for other people, and I like involving them and their ideas—that is what gives me the greatest satisfaction. Personally, as a maker, I would rather make something for other people—that is the most magical thing about making.
I’ve made quite a lot of work for cathedrals and churches, and to know that people of faith every Sunday are using that chalice or processional cross—it’s a lovely, warm feeling to know that people are using things as part of their religious communion.
I think the functional side of silversmithing, which is probably slightly more technical, is slowly disappearing. People now are making vessels that are more art objects that stand in their own right and may not particularly have a function. I quite enjoy making functional things that will be used, functional in terms of a chalice or a box for something. In the past, I have even made teapots. A long time ago, I made two cigarette cases, which you don’t make very often now! In terms of silver, it always has traditionally been functional—quite a lot of thought goes into making a jug that can pour, and not just with the water running down the edge because the spout doesn’t work, or the handle is cumbersome. If I make something, I like it to be used and to be able to be used.
Are there any commissions in your repertoire that stand out to you, or a piece that was personally significant?
I have been very fortunate to meet some wonderful people. I think the nicest thing is the relationship that I form with customers and clients—they are almost as important as the pieces I’ve made.
One particular commission that has been significant to me was the first time I bound a book in silver, working alongside Master Bookbinder James Brockman. We were commissioned by a collector to bind a copy of William Morris’ Kelmscott Chaucer, which was the last project that William Morris designed and saw through. Together, we devised for the first time to bind the pages of a book into a silver carcass. The book itself is gorgeous, with illustrations and prints by Morris, and drawings sketched by Edward Burne-Jones. The book is a masterpiece. I was given the actual book, but because my workshop is quite dirty and I may be a bit accident prone, I wasn’t allowed to have it for very long. It was worth a fortune, and James didn’t trust me to have it near my cup of tea or coffee! James restored the book, and I designed and made the silver carcass, chased with images relating to the book. This was the first time that I worked on a book with complicated hinges. The piece is now in the collections of the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge. There are so few copies of the book now that it was an absolute privilege to see and to handle the book. To work on something that was so dear to William Morris’ heart was quite something.
Silver binding of William Morris’ Kelmscott Chaucer. Silver chased in low relief and inlaid with gold. Held in the collection of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.
Click images to enlarge.
Then, the V&A were looking to commission a new piece to celebrate the opening of the Sacred Silver gallery and developed the idea of binding a Bible after seeing the Kelmscott Chaucer that James Brockman and I worked on. They initially thought they would commission a chalice and have it used in a church for a few weeks and then put it in the gallery but realised that would be a token gesture. Eventually, James Brockman suggested a Bible, a 1928 Bruce Rogers Bible printed by Oxford University Press. Although printed in the UK, the Bible itself was in Boston, and had been used through several cathedrals—the Bible had a provenance and a life of use. The Bible is now on permanent display at the V&A and is probably one of the nicest things I have ever made—it is something that literally hundreds of thousands of people see. In fact, one of the young Bishopslanders that was here a few weeks ago, sent me a photo from the V&A standing next to the Bible! It is a Lectern Bible—when the V&A first approached me and mentioned a Bible, I thought it would be something you hold in your hands, a small novel-sized book. I didn’t realise that a Lectern Bible is huge—it’s a massive piece, nearly 60cm high. The technical complications of this made it a massive challenge, and at one point I didn’t think if I was going to be able to pull it off. Technically, it was really complicated and very difficult. When I look at that, and see the finished piece, I remember the sweat, the tears, the hard work, the disappointment, the high points, and the really, really low points. But, to see it finished in all it’s glory, I think it is one of the nicest commissions I have completed and made. My reflections on it, there were many more lows that there were highs, and the relief after more than six months work of actually finishing it—that was quite an achievement.
Silver binding of Lectern Bible. On display in the Sacred Silver Gallery of the V&A Museum, London.
Click images to englarge.
I don’t really have photographs of everything I have made, but I know I’ve used my hallmark more than 500 times, so I’ve made 500 different pieces over nearly 40 years. Much of my early work is on film that I’ve yet to transpose into digital. Some commissions, such as smaller beakers, I’ll start on a Monday and within a week they’ll be finished and posted out. The more memorable commissions that I’ve had, I’ve been very fortunate to meet some wonderful, kind people along the way that have become friends and not just clients. I was very lucky to make a piece for the Princess of Wales and was able to meet her along the journey of making that piece. Most recently, I had a commission by the Goldsmiths Company to make a large dish to celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. I went along with the then Curator of the Goldsmiths Company, Rosemary Ransome Wallis, to Buckingham Palace and took the dish to show the Queen. We met her in her private rooms and were able to spend about half an hour telling her about the journey of the dish.
One of the other commissions I’ve really enjoyed is designing coins for the Royal Mint, a pound coin that you might see from time to time. As with the V&A, occasionally you do get postcards from people saying I was at the V&A in London and saw your work and thought it was wonderful. It’s lovely to get messages like that.
£2 coin for the Royal Mint, design celebrating the work of Isambard Kingdom Brunel.
What has it been like to collaborate with someone of another craft?
It was quite interesting, as James is a Master Bookbinder. I’ve always thought of myself as a jack-of-all-trades—I wouldn’t describe myself as a Master Silversmith. I feel I do many things well, but I wouldn’t say I do them to the heights of a master. At first, if I’m honest, I don’t know if James thought I was up to the job—he didn’t know anything about me and my work. But then when he got to know me and saw what I could do and what I had made in the past, then the relationship warmed greatly. When we were first put together by the client, James was very sceptical until he saw my capabilities and what I had designed. When I had made my first model, I drove over to Oxford to show him, and he looked at it and said, that’s not going to work. It took quite some time before we got a total understanding of what we were trying to do—there were a lot of technical aspects to the project. James worked to huge precision, so it was very exacting and quite difficult, but I like a challenge.
On the next generation of silversmiths:
My hope is that young silversmiths, particularly in this period after COVID, can survive financially. It is daunting and very difficult. When I started in the 1980s, there were very few silversmiths, so if you were a good designer and had some technical skill, you had a good chance of earning a living. I think it is much more difficult now. But there is a vibrant marketplace today, and the customer and client base is changing. It is lovely to see so many young makers, and that is why I am quite keen to work with them. I feel in many ways that I have had my fifteen minutes, I’ve had my glory, and in two years’ time I will be celebrating 40 years of working in a workshop.
What I am trying to do now is have young makers—like Megan Falconer, Manasi Depala, Ellys Woods and Katie Watson—come to my workshop in Shetland to try to help them with their skills. If anything, these young makers don’t lack design or inspiration, but they lack technical skill—this is not something you can pick up very quickly, it is a slow process to becoming a very good silversmith. It is a slow and maturing process that happens over two to three years. Bringing them to the workshop in Shetland for longer periods of time, a month or two at a time, makes such a big difference in honing those skills, practicing and doing the same things over and over again. At the moment, there seems to be a big gap between design and creativity in education, and them being able to come into a workshop with the confidence to make and design. I always try to say to our young makers, if you are creative and have a design spark, that is the important thing. You cannot teach creativity—you can nurture it and bring it out of someone, but you cannot give someone a creative spirit. Whereas you have all your life to improve your technical skill. If you haven’t got a design ability or three-dimensional mind, you can practice and practice but not get very far. What I have tried to do now is make the workshop in Shetland accessible and available to these young makers to come and stay and improve their technical skills.
I hope that the market for silver expands. Michael Lloyd was speaking in an interview that we did together recently about how we have lost the tradition in the UK of giving silver christening presents. If only we could regenerate the idea that most people buy a christening present in silver for a young child, that would be a momentous thing. If everyone thought the best thing to do was to buy a well-made silver christening present, it would make a whole new market for young silversmiths. The days have gone where people buy large silver services and canteens of cutlery, soup tureens and large candelabras. We need to adapt to what people want, and what people don’t realise is available. I hope the market can expand so the traditions of silver can go forward with our young makers and keep them for the next generation.
It is time to pass the techniques and tools on to the next generation, so that young people can inherit that and embrace it—I feel that it’s part of my duty, out of respect to the makers that were supportive of me when I was young. I can see that young makers are in huge need of technical ability, and they can’t do things that I can do, but I can teach them. It’s just knowing what to do and how to do it—it’s not rocket science, but practice, persistence and understanding. If people are interested and dedicated enough, you can pass on skills. More of our established makers should be considering taking young graduates under their wing and into the craft to look after and mentor them. Without that, a young maker has to reinvent the wheel, but the wheel is already invented, we just need to share it. For a young maker to want to really engross themselves in chasing for example, and think how do I make the tools, the punches, that’s a colossal amount of work for someone that you can so easily pass those skills over—it’s just a question of time and money unfortunately. It’s not cheap to support these young makers, but it is absolutely essential. There are a lot of big bodies that are interested, and things do seem bright. Before I went to college in the 1960s, silver was in a real problem. It all comes in waves, and I think there is a new wave emerging, and it bodes well for the future.
Our sincere thanks to Rod for taking the time to speak with us, and giving such incredible insight into the journey of his career in silversmithing. You can learn more about Rod’s past work and commissions on his website.
Learn more about the South House Silver Workshop Trust here.
Images courtesy of Rod Kelly.