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Indeed, The Crucible is a community of practice,
a hub for social learning where individuals gather
to share ideas, learn from one another, and create
things. These communities of practice are increasingly popular ways for makers to meet one another,
find mentors, and tackle projects that verge on
the impossible for any one person (see sidebar on
page 46).
Born and raised in the Bay Area, Sturtz is the
son of an orthopedic surgeon and was expected to
follow in his father’s footsteps. “I was the child who
didn’t pass out watching dad work in the emergency room,” Sturtz says. Yet after his parents divorced,
he also gained inspiration
from his mother’s boy- friend, the owner of an “The industrial arts are
auto body shop. “Those seem like different dwindling, but a lot of people
worlds, but both are about repairing bodies and involve are interested in learning these
mechanics and, actually, similar tools,” he says. things. It’s about accessibility
Ultimately, Sturtz pur- sued his creative passions, to the tools, the process,
studying at a handful of art colleges and landing in a and the teachers.”
West Oakland warehouse
loft after graduation. The
neighborhood was something of a hotbed for sculp- to be envisioned and created very quickly,” says
tors at the time, although few knew each other. This Mary White, codirector of the glass arts program.
disconnect reminded Sturtz of what he hated about For example, The Crucible is planning a hot glass
art school. “We used to say there were too many shop likely powered by solar panels on the roof and a
artists and not enough people.” Competition, he biodiesel generator. As a baby step in that direction,
explains, can quash community. Now in the real world, the Crucible staff recently rigged their own ingenious
he decided to take matters into his own hands. plumbing system for cold working glass. Classes can
“Driving by, I’d see a stack of metal or a sculpture commence in just six months, demonstrating “an agil-outside a warehouse,” he says. “So I’d knock on doors ity that’s just incredible for an art school,” White says.
and talk to people. Eventually, my studio became For most of the course offerings, The Crucible is
a meeting place. I’d have bronze-casting weekend the only game in town. (In fact, the school attracts
barbeques and invite everyone I knew in the area.” students from all over the region and far beyond.)
At the time, Sturtz was also teaching at various When the school opened, they expected to provide
schools around the Bay Area. Eventually, his classes job training for the area’s metal shops, some more
became “too big and too industrial” for the facilities, than a century old. Now, Sturtz’s office is decorated
so he began teaching out of his own studio. The with antique wood office furniture and vintage signs
seed for The Crucible was planted. donated by the companies as they shut their doors,
Several years later, armed with a $1,750 grant hammered by cheap overseas competition.
from Levi Strauss & Co., Sturtz and his friends set “The industrial arts are dwindling, especially
up shop in an industrial space in Berkeley. After just with the funding for school art and shop programs
three years, zoning battles forced the group to find disappearing,” Sturtz says. “But a lot of people are
a new home. Welcomed with open arms by Oakland interested in learning these things. It’s about acces-
Mayor Jerry Brown, the facility ultimately relocated
to its current West Oakland location, a former pipe
warehouse. A large portion of the building’s sale
price was donated by the sellers, a family who was
moving their cardboard tube business to bigger digs.
Supported by tuition, donations, and fundraising
events like the fire ballet and an annual Fire Arts
Festival, The Crucible’s unbridled independence is
unparalleled by traditional art schools. Where else
could one take a class called “Cold Flesh and Hot
Metal,” with live nude models posing in the foundry?
“There’s a commitment to interdisciplinary interaction and a fluidity that enables new programming
44 Make: Volume 10
