Nix Forge
Hand-Forged Knives & Custom Ironwork from Romania
I grew up in a hillside village, somewhere toward the mountains, in an isolated place where the houses stood far apart and children were few. We had no toys, so I improvised with my grandparents' tools. Without knowing it, I was learning to make something out of whatever was at hand.Later I moved to the city, finished school, started working. One day I watched a man forge a rose out of iron. Something caught fire in me then — and it has been burning ever since.Today I work alone in a workshop near Ploiești, with 12 years of experience in blacksmithing, welding and forging. I make things to order, one at a time, with my own hands. No two are ever alike.My name is Nix.
WORKSHOP
My workshop is in Băicoi, Prahova. A real working space — anvil, forge, fire. It's not a photo studio. It's where things take shape.I work alone. Every order passes through the same hands, from start to finish.Iron can become anything. It only depends on what you imagine.
Portfolio
Every piece existed first in the mind and the soul. Here are a few of the ones that took shape.
Iron doesn't grow. And yet, sometimes, it takes the shape of a flower. Each petal was hammered separately on the anvil, bent by hand, welded with care. There is no mold, no series. There is only the fire, the hammer, and patience.
There's a moment in the workshop when iron stops being metal and becomes something else. I don't know exactly when it happens — somewhere between the first hammer blow and the last polished petal.Flowers are the pieces where I allow myself the most freedom. They have no function; they don't need to cut or hold anything. They exist simply because iron, sometimes, deserves to be beautiful.Each petal is hammered one by one, each stem twisted by hand. No two flowers are alike — because nature doesn't work that way either.
The Craft
Iron is humankind's oldest partner. It has been tool, weapon, shelter, art. It passed through thousands of hands before it reached mine — forged, welded, forgotten, rusted, found again.That fascinates me. A metal that has already lived a life, that carries marks no one chose. I don't throw it away — I give it a shape it may never have had.Iron never dies. It transforms, passes from hand to hand, from fire to fire, from one life to another. I'm one of the hands it's passing through now.
Galerie
A few moments from the workshop — fire, steel, and the pieces in between.
Contact
Contact
Have an idea? Let's talk.
THANK YOU
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