Christian Marsh Of Xian Leathers
Article By: Chad Lemme
Originally Published In The April 2012 Issue Of Cycle Source Magazine
The cool coastline fog hangs eerily low in the dead calm of night; the moon the only light for miles in any direction as far as the eye can see. But in the distance, on the horizon, a single sinister ship lurking in the dreadful waters shatters the still air with a burst of cannon fire. You don’t hear it until it’s too late. Fear takes its grip on the populous and the men face the grim reality that they must fight despite the unfavorable odds stacked high against them. The townsfolk assemble wielding swords and axes and anything that can be used as a weapon: a pitchfork, here and there a club, maybe even a length of chain in desperation. And as the bloodthirsty barbarians land ashore and attack headlong into the blackness, they commence to killing and maiming with God-like vengeance, setting everything ablaze in their wake. Pirates: They’ve come at last. As the poorly portrayed heathens on the History Channel prey upon unsuspecting victims in seaside towns, I sit there hammering, wondering why I was not born in a different time and place, and carefully sculpt my latest piece of rawhide into the shape of a business logo for somebody I don’t know. Seat after seat, I wonder at the nature of carving designs into the flesh of a recently living creature and how it is my only link to a time long ago when scores were settled face to face; where you killed an animal with your bare hands for its skin to fashion clothing and use its meat for food. But in the midst of my brief insanity that all too often ensues as a result of continuous tapping and neglecting to blink for hours on end, I am quickly shaken back to reality with a simple phone call.
It’s Christian Marsh, owner and artist of Xian Leather. I had called earlier to inquire as to the newly non-existent nature of his “Book’s Face.” I sat thanking everything holy and just in this world gone mad that it wasn’t due to something I had said via the “Intertubes” in a recent electronic conversation we had had earlier that morning. I was not surprised to hear that the mounting sickness and shame of that rotten vanity-inducing monster had taken its final toll on him. He put the awful technological beast out of its misery and closed out his page. And it’s probably for the good; one less thing to worry about. But this brings me to our conversation. Christian laid on me one of the most insightful and deeply emotional two hours worth of conversation I’ve had in far too long. He told me stories of hatred and degradation in the dredges of the rotten city; of the untimely death of his mother and the deep-seated relationship they had had; of her selfless devotion to her son and their love of arts and music… See, after far too many sleepless nights crammed into a small one-bedroom apartment, the walls had closed in tight enough. Christian grabbed his feline and flesh shaping tools, and hit the road in search of solitude and serenity. He found this sanctuary in the deep woods of an outback cabin so far off the grid that not even a sound can be heard, a light be seen, nor a soul be found to bother him for miles in any direction. It sounded like he had embarked on an adventure straight off of the pages of a Thoreau novel. No depressing television. No annoying neighbors. Just his cat and his mind to keep him company.
There was no way I could keep from sharing this amazing story with others, if only to satisfy myself. His story resembles his art, and people need to see it. I’ve always believed in the notion that an artist shines when his full passion is put into his work, and when trials and tribulations riddle the artist’s life, that passion is unmistakably rendered in beauty. You can almost see the artist bleed through his work. Christian told me of his inspiration – his mother – and all of her artistic abilities which she selflessly strived to pass on to her son. She was an artist of many facets and a master of them all. The amazing abilities bestowed upon this man are a testament to his mother’s love of him and her willingness to push Christian to excel. She should be the role model for mothers everywhere. She was on her way to stardom but her life was tragically cut short and in remembrance of her, Christian had his bike painted to match a sentimental memento that she had given him and gold leafed her initials in the fender of his scoot as well.But this is where the story goes: He not only did the seat on this beautiful machine, which goes without saying, but rather built the entire thing himself. This thing shines with the same passion that shines through his leatherwork, and his musical talent alike. I’ve sat up many sleepless nights, half awake in a zombie-like daze trying to figure out how in the perfect Hell he can persuade leather to look like it is miles deep. The flawless perfection… hand stitching that makes a machine look sloppy. Lines so smooth they look as though they were modeled out of clay. But I digress. Christian doesn’t advertise anymore, and the free means available through the soulless pages of the Bookface have come and gone for him. Nothing left but the joy of creating art, and who could blame him? Anybody who doesn’t understand I suppose…
But it would be due to their ignorance or their inability to understand. He’s made his way with several shops that will never trust their leather dirt-bag perch to anybody else, and I wouldn’t either for that matter. This article is not for advertising, in fact, it’s as far from that as can possibly be. I had to convince Christian to allow me to even write this piece, which is the paradigm of his humble nature. He doesn’t want to be seen. He doesn’t want to be hassled. He’s disappeared into the wilderness like some sort of hermit, and despite this, I still say to my customers, ‘If you want the best money can buy, go to Christian at Xian Leather. Otherwise, I’ll try to do the next best.’ But I couldn’t let this amazing artist and his work go by the wayside. It’s far too beautiful to not have it in the face of the masses.As I dive back into my work, with this amazing story behind the man fresh in my memory, I solidify the notion that regressing back to a more primitive time is the way to gain true happiness in life. Maybe not the high-speed life of a Pirate, perpetually drunk and rowdy, despite the warped appeal, but maybe living amongst nature in your own personal Walden type haven, securely solitary and happily satisfied.It seems to be working well for him and I findmyself envious of his doing this. Either way, it’s my sincere pleasure to have had such an experience as this, talking to Christian, and I am honored to share his art, his story, and his life, in the hopes that you enjoy it as much as I did.
