The dial pad printer has arrived, and cliché development is underway. Alongside that, I’ve been working through Justin Laser’s Fiber Laser Ignite course to sharpen my MOPA laser skills across materials — from slate coasters and anodized aluminum gift cards to a marked leather watch box and one very overworked camping knife.

A revolving door near Rittenhouse Square became the starting point for a quick stainless steel dial experiment. I used the MOPA laser to test color marking variables, then translated the sidewalk inspiration into a rough dial design. The results were uneven, reflective, and probably not viable — but useful all the same.

This morning’s airbrush testing was mostly about control: gloves on, cleaning flow prepared, and a simple wooden friction mandrel to paint the dials vertically. I painted two primed dials and four deliberately unprepared dials to compare adhesion, surface quality, and finish after curing. First impressions are that primer creates more texture, while paint directly on brass may offer a cleaner semi-gloss look — if the brass surface is good enough. One Rittenhouse prototype also joined the test to see how much engraved relief and texture will survive under paint.

Today was a workflow day: cutting a 29mm dial with a date window, bringing it closer to shape by hand, then washing, degreasing, and priming it for paint tomorrow.

The dial is curing overnight now, which feels like a useful pause. The biggest lessons were practical ones — gloves need to come on earlier, airbrush cleaning needs to become part of the rhythm rather than an interruption, and the paint-to-thinner ratio probably deserves more precision than an eyeballed mix.

First turns on the “new”, passed-down lathe. These are not dial feet yet, but the basic idea is there: practice the geometry, get the shoulders clean, and keep refining the process until the dial feet become repeatable.

Today’s Rittenhouse prototype was about finding the surface: testing LightBurn settings to create enough texture and relief to survive paint, without cutting too deeply into the brass.

A Rongbuk Glacier prototype, inspired by a lifelong fascination with mountain climbing and early expedition watches. This layout test brings the dial one step closer, with the center and small seconds holes aligned, a few lessons learned, and steel cliché engraving up next.

Porch pirates derailed today. Back to the bench soon.

Brass dial cutting is becoming repeatable, so this week’s Bench Notes shifts toward calibration and fast design testing. After dialing in LightBurn dimensions with help from Steve Makes Everything, I started experimenting with colored aluminum cards as quick NH35 dial prototypes — useful for testing layouts, logo placement, date windows, and proportions before moving into more permanent materials. Next up: dial feet experiments, epoxy vs. solder, and the first steps toward airbrushed finishes.

Sunday night’s rapid prototyping session produced ten experimental dial variants while exploring cleaner cutting techniques and refining NH35 date window geometry. Along the way came a familiar reminder: changing too many variables at once makes it nearly impossible to understand what actually improved the result. A short reflection on iteration, process discipline, and troubleshooting laser-cut brass in a workshop suddenly deprived of music.

A first brass dial blank, designed in LightBurn, cut in the workshop, and held in hand. It came out a bit burnt, but with a little sanding and plenty still to refine, it feels like a real first step.

Turning raw brass stock into dial prototypes has quickly revealed the difference between digital concepts and physical objects. The workflow is still rough around the edges, but slowly, the process is beginning to feel real.

An introductory wristwatch servicing course reinforced something I’m learning repeatedly through this project: mechanical watches become far more impressive once they exist in pieces instead of fully assembled objects behind sapphire crystals.

Pine Street Dial Works is being built: a slowly evolving basement workshop beneath an old Philadelphia rowhome. Plumbing pipes, stone walls, shipping boxes, and all.

A father-and-son hobby building Seiko mods slowly evolved into a deeper curiosity about dial design, fabrication, and the craft behind mechanical watches. Pine Street Dial Works exists as a workshop journal documenting that learning process openly — one experiment, setback, and small improvement at a time.