Tiniest Wonders Emerge From Sculptor's Pencils

You probably look at a pencil these days and see visions of grammar school math class or fillin-the-bubble tests in college. Dalton Ghetti looks at a pencil and sees much more.

For Ghetti, pencils are the raw material for some of the smallest sculptures around.

They're carved in the pencil lead.

By hand.

With no magnifying glass.

Sitting in a tiny, sparsely furnished studio in a chilly barn in Westport, Conn., that he's re-shingling, Ghetti, a carpenter by trade, explains why over the past 20 or so years he's devoted his spare time to carving miniature shapes and objects from pencil lead.

"Since I was little, I was always playing with a pocket knife. I guess I was 7 or 8 when I started carving in wood from tree bark," he says.

Having grown comfortable with wood, pencils were a logical material to work with. It was then a small jump from the outside of the pencil to the graphite inside. He's been doing it for so long, it's almost second nature.

"It's like asking, `How did you start walking?' " he says. "It's just a process. I've always been interested in small things like plants and insects."

Ghetti has completed and meticulously framed six pencils -- a church, a chess bishop, a bust of Elvis Presley, two interlinked hearts, a boot, and, most spectacular, two ends of a pencil linked by a chain made from the graphite in the center.

A recently completed giraffe broke off the top of the pencil while he was attempting to frame it, but since it wasn't broken during carving, he's planning to glue it back on. Another dozen or so pieces are ready for placement in one of his custom frames.

"Once they're in the frame, I don't want to touch it. I finish them and I put them away, and that's it," he says.

Because the material he works with is so fragile and small, the ratio of success -- a complete carving still affixed to the original pencil -- is extraordinarily low. When a carving breaks, it gets glued to the head of a pin planted in Styrofoam; with the others already there, the result looks like a miniature forest or graveyard.

So why work with pencils? Ghetti, a low-key man with the well-worn hands of a craftsman, says availability is a big factor. Friends often give him pencils of all shapes and sizes, from thick, flat carpenter models to children's fat shiny novelty pencils.

"I also find them on the streets, so I like to recycle them, to reclaim them. They're cheap, and I use them for work anyway," he says. "I started with chalk, but it has bubbles in it and sand grains in it. Graphite is like a pure material; it's pretty homogeneous. I've never found anything in it to compromise my pieces. You know there's nothing in it that's going to get in your way."

That doesn't speed up the process, however. With a set of tools rivaling that of a surgeon at his side and a standard desk lamp providing light, Ghetti works at most for two hours at a time. Time is really irrelevant; some of his pieces await finishing touches years after they are started. He says he doesn't own a watch.

"I tell people that it takes two years, but it's not a constant thing," he says. "It's sort of an escape; it's the artist in me that wants to do this."

If itty-bitty pieces of modified graphite poking up from the bodies of writing implements is impressive, of equal stature is his collection of his carving implements. At his disposal are sewing needles, a broken shaving razor, a pin shaved into a chisel, dentist's tools, drills, strips of very fine sand paper, emery paper, jewelry files, X-Acto knives, regular razor blades, a tiny jeweler's saw gripped with adhesive tape, and even some pieces of the steel used inside security tags in clothes.

"When I need it, I make it. Basically it's all low-tech," Ghetti says proudly.

When it comes to choosing objects to replicate, his inspiration is everyday life.

"It's things that are around me," Ghetti says, as he picks up a worn-out leather boot that was the inspiration for a dramatically smaller version.

"I don't have abstract sculptures; I don't have anything where people look at it and go, `What is this?' "

The boot and the church have been displayed at the Westport Nature Center, and in April he and his wife, Caline, displayed their works along with 10 other artists during an open studio event. But, in general, his works are rarely seen in public.

"If there's a birthday party for a friend, I'll sometimes bring over a piece," he says. "I'd like to do a traveling exhibit, then have them in a museum."

He figures he could make a full-time career out of carving, framing and exhibiting his pieces. But for the time being, he's happy to work out of his studio at the barn, which the owners, Sandy and Larry Lefkowitz, provide to him for a nominal cost.

"The pieces really are a hobby, but they're turning into something else. Even the frames take weeks to make," he says.

"I start slower now; I know that I want to finish something in the end, and the slower the better. I have eight pieces in progress that have been sitting here for years. Instead of taking a big chunk, I take several smaller chunks."

Ghetti says he'll never part with the pieces, because the time and dedication they demand is simply too great. If people want to buy a limited-edition oversized print of a piece, they'll be available at upcoming shows for $250 to $400 each. A Web site, www.daltonghetti.com, is being set up for inquiries and additional information.

"It comes from the heart; it comes from inspiration," he says. "What if I am never inspired again?"