Silas Wolff : Wolff Works
- Brick + Tides
- Oct 14
- 7 min read
Kennebunkport, Maine, hums with early - Fall quiet. The scent of salt and pine mixes with the faint metallic tang of steel in the air. Out back of an old family barn, beside stacks of wood and a coal forge glowing orange, a German Shepherd named Bjorn thumps his tail and drops a stick at the feet of his owner, Silas Wolff.
Inside the workshop, sparks burst like fireflies as Silas, 33 years old, draws a glowing bar of steel from the forge and lays it on the anvil. The hammer rises and falls with rhythm—metal on metal, echoing across the property his family has tended for three generations.
“I’ve been working on knives and chisels today,” he says with an easy laugh.
A Lineage in Iron
Silas’s story begins just across the town line. “I was born in Biddeford,” he says. “Went to Kennebunk High, but I grew up in different towns around northern Maine. My parents had a farm for a while, and eventually my mom decided to move back to the family property where we are now.”
He gestures toward the weathered barn, its beams blackened with time. “I had a lot of exposure early on to being outside, being in the woods, being in nature. That’s been a recurring thread throughout my life.”
Blacksmithing, though, wasn’t the plan at first. Silas’s curiosity about metal began with science. After high school he left Maine for California, studying at Berkeley for five years. “Maine called me back,” he says, smiling, “but shortly after that I got pulled to Europe for a relationship.”
He spent another seven years overseas, earning a PhD in material science in Germany and later working in the Netherlands. “I was doing research for the greenification of steel production,” he explains. “It was fascinating work, but in the end I didn’t want to work for a large corporation perpetuating a lifestyle I didn’t agree with. Maine called me back again.”
A Family Trade Rekindled
When Silas returned, he found himself drawn not to laboratories but to the forge—something that runs deep in his bloodline. “My grandfather was a blacksmith, and his grandfather was a blacksmith,” he says. “I don’t know how much further back it goes, but it pulled me in from a young age.”
That lineage shaped his sense of precision. “My grandfather did largely wrought-iron sculptural work,” Silas recalls. “He made chandeliers—full-size, candlelit chandeliers—and a lot of his work is still visible in town. Light posts, gates, railings, sculptural pieces in homes.”
When Silas speaks of him, there’s reverence. “He was the most precise person I’ve ever met. I look at the things he made—there’s not a single errant hammer blow. I take a different approach, but I aspire to that level of craftsmanship. It’s a point to reach for.”
That precision now lives on in Silas’s shop. “The anvil he used for years—yeah, I still use it,” he says quietly. “His spirit is imbued in those tools. I feel lucky that I get to carry on with the implements he spent so many hours holding. Just being able to experience the way heat can change the form of something as solid as iron—it’s kind of magic. To experience that with the same tools he did, it’s incredible.”
Silas Wolff : Legacy in Light
Around Kennebunk and Biddeford, the elder Wolff’s work endures. “My grandmother still has one of his chandeliers hanging in her home where they raised my mom and uncles,” Silas says. “It’s still in the same shape it was in when he first made it.”
Another hangs in his uncle’s house. “They’re really exquisite pieces. I’d like to photograph them more and bring them to light,” he says. “Someday I want to replicate that design in my own way. Maybe even make a Damascus chandelier—that would be over the top, but pretty damn cool if I can pull it off.”
The Science of the Forge
For Silas, blacksmithing isn’t nostalgia—it’s material science reborn in flame. His PhD background merges with his craft. “You’re working with one of the fundaments of modern society—metal,” he explains. “There’s nothing like steel for combining toughness and strength. Being able to change the form of something that rigid, to move it into the shapes you want, is immensely satisfying.”
He grins as he describes his process. “You can take an idea that starts in your head as just this higher-plane thought, then take a raw cube of steel and manipulate it until it becomes a tool that people can use for generations. That’s hugely rewarding.”
A Global Reach from a Small Maine Barn
Though his business, Wolff Works, is barely four years old, his blades have already traveled the world. “I’ve shipped to California, Puerto Rico, Florida,” he says. “And back in Europe—to Austria, Germany, the Netherlands. These are all individual orders, but still, it’s special. People want something handmade badly enough to pay the cost and the shipping. It’s kind of unbelievable—I still have to pinch myself.”
His online shop features chef’s knives, paring knives, oyster knives, and hand-forged tools. Each bears the marks of deliberate craftsmanship—no two the same. The patterns on his Damascus steel shimmer like topographic maps of Maine’s coast.
Rooted in Maine
Despite his global connections, Silas remains anchored to the place that shaped him. “The fortunate and unfortunate thing about living on family land,” he jokes, “is that you never really have to leave. I have everything I need right here.”
When he does venture out, it’s usually into nature. “I can go into the woods and recharge. We have a sauna at the house. But in the summer, I love going to the beach—playing in the water, digging holes, just being a kid again with my siblings and nieces and nephews.”
He pauses. “Really, it’s always been the forest and the ocean. Maine has so much potential. I hope one day I can be a little more balanced—appreciate everything the state has to offer. But right now,” he laughs, “I’m obsessed.”
The Art of Obsession
“Are you obsessed with crafting knives and moving metal?” we ask.
“Yeah,” he admits. “It’s problematic, honestly. I sometimes have difficulty maintaining balance in friendships or relationships because I really want to succeed at this. I love what I do. I don’t want to waste the opportunity to continue what my grandfather did—to make things people are willing to spend money on and trust me with.”
He shrugs. “It’s hugely rewarding, and I don’t see myself wanting to do anything else.”
The Next Five Years
So where does Wolff Works go from here?
“I’ve focused on kitchen knives because that’s where the money is,” he says candidly. “But I want to make things more within reach of everyday working-class people. I want a line of affordable knives and tools—woodworking tools, stone-working tools—that are both quality and affordable.”
His long-term vision draws on his metallurgical background. “I’d like to start designing my own alloys,” he explains. “The options we have now are great, but I want to take my own spin—bring more sovereignty to local communities. Imagine making high-end steel right here in Kennebunkport. That would be incredible.”
He smiles, half-dreaming. “That’s maybe a 10-year vision. But eventually, that’s where I’d like to go—affordable tools made from locally produced steel.”
Self-Sufficiency and Simplicity
When I point out that his family seems equipped to thrive even if the modern world stopped, Silas laughs. “Yeah, more or less,” he says. “We’ve always prided ourselves on being self-sufficient. I can make more or less any tool I’ll ever need. That’s at the root of civilization—being able to make the things we rely on.”
He looks around his workshop. “If you have that unlocked, you’re not limited anymore. A lot of modern conveniences are unnecessary. I try to live simply, without needing all of that. Here, on this property, it feels like we have what we need to keep living the lives we want.”
The Weight of Legacy
Silas’s reflections often circle back to connection—to his craft, to his family, to Maine itself. “Just knowing I’m continuing that line, that I’m working with the same tools my grandfather used—that’s the most rewarding part,” he says. “I can feel his presence here.”
Outside, Bjorn barks at the rustle of a deer in the woods. The sun dips behind the trees, and the forge glows brighter. Silas grips his hammer again, ready to strike. Each blow feels like a conversation across generations.
Staying Connected
Before I leave, I ask what he most wants people to know—about his work, his family, or himself.
He thinks for a long moment. “Continue to support local businesses,” he says finally. “Keep things in the communities around us. I think a lot of the problems we see in society come from disconnection—relying on things outside of our control. Stay in touch with people, with your loved ones. Go out and interact. Stay connected.”
He looks down at his hands, scarred from the forge. “That’s what we can all aspire to more.”
Epilogue
As the last light fades, Bjorn finally gets his fetch. The stick lands with a thud beside the anvil, as if reminding Silas that life—like metal—must be tempered with play.
In the rhythmic clanging of the forge, you can almost hear the voices of the generations before him: a lineage of makers who shaped iron, art, and a way of life in coastal Maine. Silas Wolff is not just reviving a family tradition—he’s redefining what it means to build a sustainable, soulful craft in a modern world.
