The Maker

My journey into antler art began in the 1970s under the mentorship of Bill Marten of Banff, Canada — a mountain man, wrangler, and the man who unknowingly set me on the trail that would shape the rest of my life.

I still remember the first day I laid eyes on the ranch in the Cypress Hills of southwestern Saskatchewan where I had been hired to work. It felt like the beginning of something important. One day while riding, I found a shed antler and carved my very first piece from it — a pendant that I polished until it glowed. When I gave it to my girlfriend and saw her smile, something clicked inside me.

That ranch became the birthplace of my creativity. It was there that I designed my first Mule Deer antler cribbage board — primitive compared to the pieces I create today, but the beginning of a design I still make more than fifty years later.

The name “Long John” was given to me by one of the cowboys — a good friend who later became a rancher himself. He taught me the skills I needed to work cattle and the attitude I needed to become a cowboy. Ranch life inspired me to create my own brand, the “LJ,” which I still carve into every piece I make.

Over the next five decades, the journey continued. I experimented with new ideas, refined my carving skills, and created countless gifts for friends and family. My art quietly evolved alongside my life.

A few years before COVID, I began thinking seriously about retirement. I felt the time had finally come for my artwork to fully blossom. I returned to the ranch that had meant so much to me, spent time revisiting old memories, and came home with a truckload of shed antlers. I didn’t know it then, but my journey was about to take a completely unexpected turn.

I have Aphantasia — the inability to form mental visual images. In simple terms, when I close my eyes, I cannot picture faces, scenes, or objects in my mind.

I still remember people and places. I know them deeply. I just don’t see them internally. For example, I cannot picture my mother’s face in my mind, but I know her, I can describe her, and I love her.

I didn’t discover I had Aphantasia until my early seventies. Honestly, I can’t believe it took me that long. When people used phrases like “picture this” or “in your mind’s eye,” I thought they were only expressions. I never realized other people could actually see images in their minds.

One afternoon I was talking with my partner about why some people could paint or draw detailed scenes while I struggled to do the same. She searched online, and the word “Aphantasia” appeared. As soon as I read about it, I knew it described me perfectly. The articles explained how artists often rely on mental imagery as a visual reference — something I had never possessed.

That realization changed everything.

Now let me introduce you to Steve — or, by his full name, Steven A. Eye.

When I have an idea for a carving, I describe it to Steve in detail. I might say: “Draw me a grizzly bear walking uphill across a valley, with a small stand of trees nearby, mountains in the distance, and a lake below.” I continue adding details until the image matches the feeling in my mind.

I then transfer that image onto antler using a laser engraver. For the first time in my life, I can finally see the pictures that once existed only as ideas drifting somewhere beyond sight.

From there, my skills as a carver take over. I carve depth into the design, inlay materials into selected areas, and finish every piece with my LJ brand carved into the back.

My artwork is complete.

What once felt impossible has now become real. Ideas that I could never mentally picture can finally exist in front of me.

And honestly, I’m amazed by it.
I’m proud of it.

— Long John