Art Imitates Life

Art Imitates Life

Thomas Smoak remembers a day in high school years ago when he signed up to study art. On the first day of school, the art teacher told him he was “too country and too gruff” for art class, and she advised him to “get on over” to welding class.

Lucky for him.

Not long after graduation, Smoak began doing all the welding work for shrimp boats docked on Jeremy Creek, behind what is now his own welding shop in McClellanville, S.C. (pop. 459). From late April to January, the shrimp boats daily paraded out into the Atlantic before dawn, trawling for a catch as they had since the 1920s. Boats and fishing experience had been passed down in local families for generations.

A decline in the fishing industry has now idled most boats at their moorings, however, after recent cold winters reduced the offshore shrimp supply. But McClellanville, with its huge oak trees and curtains of Spanish moss, is not an easy town to leave—so most turned to other occupations to keep food on the table. Some became contractors. Others became carpenters.

But 23 years after an art teacher nudged him into welding, McClellanville native Thomas Smoak became an artist.

Smoak knew the shrimp decline would affect his own income, and as he looked at all the rusting, odd-shaped pieces of metal lying around in his shop one day, his mind wandered back to art—and his hands became those of a sculptor.

Smoak’s metal has become fireplace screens, wall hangings, furniture—and, of course, decorative versions of the fish, shrimp, crabs, and oysters inspired by the low country of South Carolina he has known all his life. A big, soft-spoken man in flannel shirt and bib overalls, Smoak tells, but doesn’t boast, of the Charleston restaurants that have bought his pieces and about the giant weather vane he created for New Smyrna Beach, Fla. He hides his pride well, but if you look hard, you can see it shine in his eyes and his broad smile. He loves his creations.

His shop is now his studio. In one corner, a 12-foot alligator looks ready to crawl onto a dry spot to sun; hundreds of uniform metal pieces and lengths of chain make up his hide. He’s got a watermelon man pushing his cart to market, a graceful swooping pelican, a cypress swamp teeming with life you can almost hear, and a raccoon with mischief on his mind. Nearby is a weathered spiral notebook for visitors and customers to sign.

Smoak might polish a piece so it stands out, but most of his work is black metal, formed with an artist’s eye and a welder’s torch.

Mayor Rutledge Leland leaves his Carolina Seafood business office for a chat with Smoak in his shop across the road. They talk of the fishing industry—of cold winters, pollution, overfishing, stricter regulations, and upward-spiraling gas prices, all of which affect their lives directly.

Leland owns the property on which Eddie Gordon operates the town’s remaining crab factory, knowing that if Gordon doesn’t have enough crabs to pick, can, and ship, then the property will have to be sold. Neither man knows the future, but both know they will do whatever is necessary to stay and keep their town intact.

Smoak has never advertised, relying instead on word of mouth—word that has traveled farther than he ever has. A couple from Delaware wander into the shop and ask him if he has any clocks. “No, but I can make you one,” Smoak replies.

In McClellanville, it’s good to be flexible.

Sandy Summers is a freelance writer from Charleston, S.C., who frequently visits McClellanville to restore her soul.

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