Dennis Hollingsworth

Sharpener Guy

My studio here is pretty small, but having a floor above this street has its' charms.

Sometimes here in the pueblo of Tossa, I hear a whistling in the street. A vendor is coming. The local knife sharpener uses a toy pan flute, running up and down the scales in a dirge-slow rythmn. Whistle,whistle, whistle... a bird caws... a neighbor's radio... a moto roars by... a conversation doppler shifts... a mobile phone rings... whistle,whistle, whistle.

Today, my neighbor Teresita needs some work done.

He moves slowly, giving people a chance to assess their needs and to get to within earshot of his call. The economy of his business is geared to another era.

The elegance is something to behold. A grinder mounted on the central strut. A stable kickstand swivels down, transforming the bike into a power plant. A leather belt spins the grinder.

Teresita has a few more things to work on. She is a seamstress, this stuff is important to her.

He took the opportunity to fix his belt, working out of the leather sack tied to the handlebars.

It looks like easy work... but I'll bet that it's hard to do. You need a practiced eye to sharpen the correct side, at the correct bevel, taking care not to grind away too much blade, knowing which edge of the grinder sharpens hardest/sharpens smoothest, knowing when to polish, what to polish. I'll bet that one day sometime ago, someone tried to be a town sharpener and in not knowing the art of sharpening, destroyed the knives and scissors of the whole pueblo. I'll bet that this guy came in to save the day.

I'll bet.

Whistle,whistle, whistle... a bird caws... a neighbor's radio... a moto roars by... a conversation doppler shifts... a mobile phone rings... whistle,whistle, whistle.