“ The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind. ”
— Albert Einstein
Coppertack is just me
Well, sort of...
For nearly ten years, I've been hand-crafting leather goods with an eye for consistency and a stubborn refusal to let "good enough" be good enough. What started as a hobby in my spare time has grown into something I'm proud to offer to others. I work alone in my shop, though my wife's ideas and support have shaped more of this business than she probably realizes. My work draws inspiration from the 1800s and turn-of-the-century era — the kind of honest, built-to-last goods that once lined the shelves of a general store, made for cowboys and working people who needed things that could hold up to a hard day's use. That's still what I aim for with every piece that leaves my bench.
A mixture of old and new
Early on, every cut was made by hand, and while there's a certain pride in that, it also meant more time at the bench, more risk with a blade, and never quite being able to reproduce the same cut twice. These days I use a laser for cutting and engraving, which gives me precision and flexibility that even the most expensive custom-made dies can't match — without ever touching the actual construction of the piece. Everything after that first cut is still done the way it always has been: by hand. I've never been tempted by a sewing machine, no matter how much time it might save. A machine-stitched seam is an inferior seam, and I'd rather spend the extra hours than hand someone a piece that won't last their lifetime.
Two needles, no shortcuts
The technique I use is called saddle stitching — two needles, one thread, passing through each hole from opposite sides so the stitches interlock rather than simply loop through like a machine's single-thread chain stitch. It's a technique no machine can replicate, and the result is a seam that won't unravel even if several stitches are somehow cut or worn through — the kind of hold meant to last a lifetime and get handed down rather than replaced. I stand behind that work. If a seam or any part of the fabrication ever fails, I'll repair or replace it, no questions asked.
The rivets behind the name
This mix of old and new — laser precision paired with hand stitching — means every piece I make is as consistent as the last, without sacrificing the durability that comes from doing it right. I hand burnish every edge myself, smoothing and sealing it until it holds its shape and shine for years rather than fraying with wear. And on many pieces, you'll find copper rivets doing quiet, stubborn work at the stress points — the same kind of hardware that's held saddles and tack together for generations, because it simply doesn't quit. I've always loved horses, and that staying power is part of why building horse tack feels like the natural next step — bringing this whole business full circle to the craft that's inspired it from the start. That's where the name Coppertack comes from: copper for the rivets, tack for the horses I hope to build for next — a small detail that turned out to say everything about how I build things.