Secret of Manna on Memorializing the Mundane
Sculpture artist Tim Nicholson, better recognized by his pseudonym Secret of Manna - an homage to the 1993 video game - talks being a lifelong student and honoring the 10,000-hour rule.
If I had to summarize the personal and professional trajectories of Chicago-based sculpture artist Tim Nicholson—so intertwined that they are almost impossible to distinguish—it would be filled with the phrase “full circle”. The beginning of his story is one that feels familiar: a young boy growing up in Illinois during the 80s and 90s, obsessed with the Chicago Bulls and Michael Jordan, the 1979 sci-fi/horror film Alien, comic books, fast cars, and Japanese video game consoles.
The real journey, and the ultimate culmination of these experiences, began with a single defining moment at six years old: he sketched the car his father kept in the garage, capturing every detail down to the dashboard. This is the first pivotal moment that I register during our hour-long call.
At the tail end of a visit to NYC where he was making gold teeth at Leisure Centre down on the Lower East Side, and after a few weeks of connecting on Instagram—the source of so many fruitful connections these days—we meet in person for the first time. When I pop into the shop, Tim is clad in black rubber gloves, waiting for the teeth impressions from someone sitting in his chair. It’s ironic to meet him in this setting because, if you didn’t get the download on his life like I did, you’d simply and understandably assume that he operates under the title “jeweler”. Before I leave, we agreed to hop on a call the following Saturday to dive into the past, present, and future of who he is.
Saturday rolls around, and early on into our chat, Tim comments that he prefers the title “Sculpture Artist”, which he elaborates on further down the line. We keep chatting and at this point, the aforementioned dashboard sketch comes up, and I have to know more.
It makes sense that he’d have an interest in cars, given his early immersion in them. His father kept a few Japanese makes and models around and took him to the Chicago Auto Show, the country’s largest and longest-running. “I drew the dashboard, I’d draw the logo, the emblem, and, you know, I was thinking of all these things. I was young, and that was my first real experience trying to design something thoughtfully,” he said. As I mentioned, I quickly and confidently identify this as the first pivotal moment on his path to discovery.
Skipping a decade and some change, we reach early adulthood in our chat. Tim attended a small college, playing basketball—a passion he had nurtured since childhood, growing up outside of Chicago—but eventually realized that his skills probably wouldn’t sustain a long-term career in the sport. He made the decision to change course and dive into something that had piqued his interest just as much as cars and basketball, completing the childhood trifecta: video games.
Soon after, Tim enrolled in the 3D Modeling program at the Art Institute of Chicago. As school began, he realized that his peers were really good. “I started drawing, but I was not good at it, so it was kind of a shock to me to see other students' art that was pretty good,” he says. He was used to drawing aliens and figures from his imagination, but the class required knowledge of drawing human likeness and anatomy—something aliens don’t have. “Basically, I made a conscious decision that I needed to learn from reference that was focused on human anatomy. So I had to get really good at drawing from life. From there, you can modify and tweak and make design decisions based on that. I started creating my own creatures and designs, but based them on realistic human anatomy," he continues.
During his time at the institute, Tim connected with one of his teachers who worked as an animator at Midway Games outside of school hours. “I would just pick his brain and stay after school, trying to see what it takes to basically get a job in the industry. So I was going back and forth with him and just taking the extra time outside of school, and even at home, and just making things on my own like 3D models to see what it would take to get a job. After a lot of, you know, back and forth for a few months and just learning the software, and getting somewhat good, I was able to get a job—while still in school—at Midway Games, the studio that makes games like Mortal Kombat”, says Tim.
“It was a good jump start because I was going to school at the same time that I was working full-time. It was pretty intense. I had to kind of hone in. So I got a job working as an intern there and eventually I graduated [the 3D Modeling program], and I worked my way up to designing characters for Mortal Kombat”, he continues.
His time at Midway was undoubtedly a childhood dream come true—definitely full-circle—but after a while, it became just a job. “Long story short, it was kind of getting to me because it was a job that's really hard. It's really fast and it kind of tanks your artistic freedom because here I am, I want to do like art and design stuff, and I have cool ideas, but you can only do so much when you're just working for someone,” he adds.
After leaving his position around 2008, Tim was freelancing, and spending more time in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood. This was a peak time for streetwear, skate culture, and the like, and the scene in this neighborhood was incredibly creative. He mentions MySpace and Crooks & Castles, and I think of the undeniable impact of brands like ALIFE, 10.Deep, and Diamond Supply Co., stores like Dave’s Quality Meats, and online retailers like Karmaloop. This was a good time for Tim. It was a good time for a lot of people. He recalls hanging out with his friends while culture-shifting stores like Saint Alfred and Virgil Abloh’s and Don C’s RSVP Gallery were opening, all within walking distance of each other. It was such a harmonious situation, reflective of the times, that would see Tim through a natural progression towards fashion, and what I consider to be the second most pivotal point in his trajectory.
(Setting the scene with this 12-year old YouTube video of Kid Cudi celebrating the release of his album at RSVP Gallery in Wicker Park, with some of Chicago’s most culturally significant figures):
He admits that he wasn’t necessarily into fashion. I think this rings true for so many people during this era—by simply having the right friends, you could enjoy the adjacency to their respective interests and industries. You still can, but this era brought with it an energy that was genuine, fun, and deeply rooted in community.
He was still working on video games—on his own time—but as community collaboration goes, his friends were starting to work on printed, or sublimation, socks, and they needed help with designs. They asked him, and he delivered. The socks, sold under the name Cool Socks, Bruh, were classic Nike socks covered in the LV logo or repeating Cheetos bags that were a common sight at the time, picked up steam quickly and organically, landing on Hypebeast and similar blogs that dominated the internet during those years.
“It wasn't like we were trying, right? It just happened. We were just having fun making stuff. So it grew into a business really quick and I don't think we were really ready for that. I know, actually a lot of other brands now have taken that and run with it because they were probably more set up for business” he admits. It was short-lived, but it put the battery in his back to explore streetwear on a new level, and it left him with experience that he could repurpose. “I learned that you could be really successful and, you know, make good money from just ideas. I mean, so that kind of opened up the whole world for me because I had these tools of design and ideas and just references and my upbringing, and not to mention, I would say people around me. That was like the most important thing,” says Tim.
Fast-forwarding again and skipping quite a few years in Tim’s life, we arrive at the point that brought him to present day and what I mentally file as the third most pivotal point on his path.
“So my wife (Nani Ruiz), she, at that time, this is like 2016, 2017, she took a class on jewelry making. She was making her own jewelry as a hobby. She's good with her hands and things like that. She was making custom pieces for people, like earrings and bracelets, and I was helping her out a little bit. Then we just took a class together on this process called lost wax casting, which is an ancient method of casting wax to jewelry”, says Tim.
The Lost-Wax Casting Process, courtesy of Cleveland Museum of Art:
He continues, “So we took a class to learn that. You’re basically taking a shape and wax, adding castable wax in there, you're putting that shape into a canister and you're filling that canister up with plaster and then it melts away over time and then you have a negative space of whatever shape you put in there. Then you're pouring metal into that canister, and you're making it into whatever shape. So, that's basically the process of making jewelry”.
He notes that lost-wax casting is just one of the ways to make jewelry, adding, “…most of it was done by hand, but nowadays, with technology, you can print 3D designs, and since I already knew 3D—I'd spent, you know, at that time, I was over 10 years working in the video game industry—I could pretty much make any shape, object, idea that I could think of”. During this same year, 2017, Tim and Nani welcomed their first child, which I think we’d agree, trumps all the pivotal moments we’ve highlighted here. “That gave a whole spark of energy to make stuff,” he fondly recalls.
I stop here to think about the focus of my work which is how things take shape influenced by a long list of preceding factors. In this case, I think back to visiting my grandmother’s workplace when I was a child. She was a jeweler in New York City and used the lost-wax casting method while in the factory. I remember the welding masks, heavy-duty gloves and general environment that was more reminiscent of a construction site than a place that produces future family heirlooms. As deep as my love for shiny gold objects runs, this experience didn’t persuade me to pursue that career in my adult life, but Tim’s experience, supported by many other extremely personal factors, did.
Similar to how he mentions not really being into fashion before his time in Wicker Park, he remarks that although his wife was making jewelry, he wasn’t necessarily into jewelry on his own, but with this newfound skill, he started making things that he thought were cool. “I would actually probably never call myself a jeweler because I kind of just hack it,” he adds.
He elaborates, really doubling down: “What I was doing, I would say my background would be sculpting—a sculptor—because I'm sculpting designs and 3D. I'm not really a jeweler, not selling jewelry, right? I was coming up with, like I said, I wasn't into jewelry, but I was into the things I was into: video games, streetwear, and stuff like that. Nerd culture. I was like, let me just start making things that I would wear. So I was making, like, video game weapons as earrings—just fun nerd culture objects into pendants or, you know, things that I thought would be super clever that I hadn't seen made, into metal. Not even just jewelry, just sculptural. I don't know if you saw, but I did an escape key”.
I reply that I have seen the escape key he casted in gold. In fact, it’s been on my mind ever since, and every time I press the standard, black escape key on my own keyboard.
I’ve also seen the custom pieces he’s done for artists like Bad Bunny and Ice Spice, his collaboration with beverage brand Ruby, the collection he designed for online retailer SSENSE, and read about the home decor made in precious metals that he presented during Paris Fashion Week. Really, the list goes on. He mentions that he only works with brands whose work he feels personally connected to, which makes sense for someone who has mastered memorializing the mundane and monetizing simply existing. Tim’s story seems to epitomize the cliché, “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life”.
On the About page of his website, aptly named Origins, there is a perfectly accurate summary of his work, stating “…Manna exercises a Duchampian approach to ready-made, wearable luxury objects. Fascinated by the everyday and subtle cultural banter, Manna transforms habitual goods into contemporary possessions and refined jewelry”. If it’s something you’d see when you wake up in the morning, notice it on someone riding the subway, or discover it in your child’s bookbag, Tim’s casting it in gold or silver.
After taking the lost-wax casting class but before fielding calls from stylists and retail giants, Tim was in Brooklyn during a trip to NYC, popping into different shops, looking for a place to get a grill made. He wasn’t impressed with the quality of what he was seeing, and since he had all the skills to make his own, he did. He made his own molds, made his own grill, and before he knew it, he was making grills for his friends, too. The concept of community word-of-mouth wasn’t new to him, but this experience was really a lesson on the importance. Reflecting on it, he adds, “This is going back to Wicker Park. Once I started doing it for friends—the right friends—it kind of snowballed into other people wanting to get them. That's how it happens. I was trying to start a network, trying to make it. I tried to make something and expose people to it. It didn't happen that way. I already had a network and I didn't really know”.
I wanted to know if he thought he’d end up here, working with precious metals in this capacity, had he not taken that class with Nani. He says no, with his chest, and agrees that the experience was “extremely pivotal” for him. Initially, his wife was metal-smithing, which is the manipulation of metal without the wax component. When you introduce the wax component, you introduce sculpting—and Tim’s a sculptor. Once more for good measure, he comments, “I work with jewelers all the time because obviously I'm in that business, but I'm not—I would never say I'm a jeweler”. At this point, I agree. He’s making wearables that just happen to be made of precious metals. When’s the last time you saw an iced-out push pin earring at your local jewelry store?
I ask Tim about his sources of inspiration when he’s working on a piece and isn’t confined to the constraints of a commission. “You know, I’m kind of a playful kid, because, I mean, I'm around kids a lot because I pick up my daughter from school. I pick her up in the afternoon and we're hanging out with all these other kids her age, whether they come over to our house, go to the park, play games at our house or whatever. I'm around seven-year-olds and their siblings. So like a lot of stuff comes from, I want to say from them, and being around, you know, just kids,” he responds.
In a specific instance, he talks about his daughter’s friend who visited wearing a Helicopter Hat, which inspired him to make his own with a spin—you guessed it—made of gold and affixed to a fitted.
I’ve heard, and wholeheartedly believe, that being a parent is the hardest job in the world, and the fear of losing who you are is prevalent. But even in parenthood, Tim has managed to mix what most people would consider different worlds. If you follow him on Instagram, you’ll see pictures of his daughter on the turntables at block parties and pop-ups, his kids’ smiles—whatever baby teeth they have left—dripped in gold, and their very stylish little friends wearing Subaru hats and mini Salomons.
One of my personal favorite childhood-inspired works of Tim’s is “American Gril”, a classic doll from the upscale shop, American Girl, with a mouth full of silver fronts. It’s inherently Tim: infiltrating daily life, but next gen.
If Tim had been as skilled at drawing as his peers when he first enrolled at the Art Institute of Chicago, would he have been less likely to continue the 3D Modeling program? Would a lack of challenge have led him to quit? I ask, and his response brings us back to the importance of proximity: “I don't know if I would have gotten bored. I mean, it probably would’ve been a different scenario, but I think it was worth it because it gave me those connections. Like I said, it connected me with my teacher who was working in the industry. It's those networking things. You could be the best talented artist ever, and if you don't have those networks and those connections of people you work with, it doesn't matter. If no one likes working with you, then that's what it is. Those people that were around, they made me realize that it's about the 10,000 hours”.
I’m really reeled in at this point because I also believe in the 10,000-hour rule, no matter how controversial and pop-science it may be. I interjected to share my thoughts on this because, in a fast-paced world lived online where every moment is fleeting, I don’t believe people feel that they have the time to honor the 10,000-hour-rule. Society at large is always on to the next person, place, and thing, leaving those that base their value on digital validation feeling like they’ll get left behind if they immerse themselves in basic principles.
Applying the rule to his own life, Tim shares a quality lesson on the outcome of hard work and discipline:
“If you're trying to master something, yeah you may be successful or what-not in other ways, but I just come from a traditional fundamental background. Going back to sculpting, I had to put in literally 10,000 hours doing that. It goes back to when I was playing basketball and I got cut from the basketball team, and then my friend made the team. My best friend made the team. I was devastated, right? So the whole next year in the summer, I spent the whole time playing basketball, and then I made the team. So [initially], I was decent, but I just wasn't good enough to make the team, and that devastated me so much that I spent so many hours playing basketball every day—I wanted to get better—and I made the eighth grade team.
That was one of the things that stuck with me: I wanted to do something, I really wanted to get it, and I had to kind of lock in and actually put in the work versus just trying to cut the corner. Now I'm at a point where I see things that I know are going to last, and I see things that won't last. So now I'm confident about the stuff that I put out, whether it's going to be—you know—it's going to last”.
Speaking of principles, there comes a point in a process where you transition from theory to practice, known as praxis. This stage involves taking every idea, lesson, method, and, if you dig deeper, every lived experience, extrinsic factor, intrinsic motivator, and aspect of your upbringing, and applying them to achieve a result. It is deeply personal and unique. I know what I’m doing when I’m focused on creating results, and I can almost guarantee that the next person isn’t doing the exact same. So, I had to know: what does Tim do when he’s knee-deep in precious metal alchemy?
“First and foremost, I have YouTube Premium. So that's like, crucial. My algorithm is so crazy. They send me all types of mixes, which I love, you know, great core mixes, which are on YouTube. I want that type of stuff; all types of interviews, podcasts, random car videos. Then obviously, I listen to a lot of NTS radio. So I listen to a lot of the Infinite Mixtapes, and there's a channel called Otaku, which is more like your game-inspired soundtracks. There's also the 4 to the Floor channel, which is more techno house music stuff…and Max B, I listen to Max B”, he answers.
He goes on to say that he occasionally DJs, and gets a lot of his songs from those channels. That’s the thing about Tim: just when you think you’re caught up on what it is that he does, he pulls another talent out of his hat.
If I told you that the list of talents and titles keeps growing, you probably wouldn’t guess that “UChicago Lecturer” is next. (Spoiler: it is.)
Last year, Tim joined faculty at The University of Chicago in the Cinema and Media Studies Department, leading the 3D Modeling and Sculpting for Video Games program, the first of its kind there. I asked him how teaching influences his own work and he shared that he feels more like a student, which he is—a self-proclaimed “student of life”.
On the University’s faculty page, his research interests are displayed exactly as follows: video games, video game soundtracks, character design, conceptual art, figure drawing, and digital sculpting—just as they were back when he was a young boy, sketching his dad’s dashboard in Bloomington, Illinois.
RRR | Related Reading Resources:
Related Reading Resources is a collection of the articles, videos, and websites used to inform this letter. I hope you can find valuable takeaways.
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