Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T L Y M O N T A N A M A G A Z I N E • W I N T E R 2 0 2 0 70 BRENDA STREDWICK, IRON MAIDEN WELDING, BOZEMAN Brenda L. Stredwick, proprietor of Iron Maiden Welding, was recycling metal before it was hip or fashionable, predating the rush to reuse. She doesn't self-identify as an artist, or as a recycler, or as the most recent incarnation of the concept, as an 'upcycler'; she's a welder. Period. "My work is functional and artistic and it's fun to be both," said Brenda. "I say that I'm a welder when people ask me what I do, and it's odd to say artist because it's such a generic term, and a welder is a given. at's what I do all day long." e metal artist needs to be exposed to some degree of danger—and Brenda accepts that part of the trade. From the earliest age, she has had an appreciation of not just what once was, but what could once more be. To satisfy this pursuit, she will go any spot where the material resides, junkyards, scrapyards, town dumps, estate sales, garage sales, you name it. Sometimes someone else delivers to her doorstep. "Once the word gets out that you collect these sorts of things, people will bring you stuff all of the time." Some of the items in Brenda's shop awaiting revolution from waste to wonder include ball bearings, door handles, gas tank lids, drill bits, and various automobile springs and chains. Her shop is home to a host of random found objects, from pieces she has yanked out of bigger machines such as industrial swathers and balers or decayed automobiles. Piles of wreckage courtesy of Pacific Steel are another common source of goods. "I'll buy vehicles to strip them down and to use," said Brenda. "ings like springs out of the automobile hoods. I was doing it before it was cool to be green." "My dad's nickname was "MacGyver" (a reference to the ABC action-adventure television series which debuted in 1985), and he could fix anything, and he was a collector of sorts. He had the mentality that whatever he found that he could use it. He was clever and crafty and I was always outside with him. He worked as an electrician, and he didn't like welding, so he handed me the weld because he didn't like to do it." "I love coming here and being here," said Brenda, referring to Iron Maiden Welding's shop-studio. "Wedding presents, birthday presents, yard art, or classes, I'm happy. I've bartended and worked in restaurants since age 15, but I've always welded. It was scary to make the jump into full-time. Even after all this time, Brenda said that interaction with confounded men is still common. "Men will look at my stuff and then they look at my husband, and they keep asking him about the work. It's like they don't even remotely process that it's me who made it. at's even after he repeatedly tells them, 'No, I didn't do this!'" Brenda said that managing the naysayers has always been part and parcel of her occupation. She's never had a problem attracting clientele, though she's always had to deal with a general prejudice or judgment. "ere are people who feel that this isn't what a woman should be do- ing. at's hard when you are a woman in a male-dominated job. People will ask me, 'why would you want to work in a job where you get dirty or get burned? It is a stigma. But I keep pushing on. I've raised three boys in the welding shop." Indeed, at Iron Maiden Welding, 2503 Jackrabbit Lane, in Bozeman, visitors are welcome to observe Brenda's work from premise to conclusion. TOM RATH (4) CONTINUED

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