Pheonix, birth of a knife

The heat from the furnace was so intense to the point where the sweat from my arm was steaming as soon as it came out. I didn't mind heat, my concentration was on something else. I was focusing on the color the blade in the furnace, watching for the perfect cherry red hue. This was the most important step in the process of knife making- the heat treating process. This step could make or break the knife. If the temperature is too high, the grains in the steel would be ruined. However if the temperature is too low, the carbon in the steel will not crystallize, thus not providing the hard edge.
As if heat treating process itself was not complicated enough, I was performing a traditional Asian quenching technique called Clay Tempering. This is where you cover the spine of the blade with a thin layer of clay and quenching the blade into brine. This technique is dangerous as any difference in timing would either shatter the blade or cloud the Hamon line, the line between the hard and soft steel.
This would be the 8th time I would be attempting this process. All previous attempts have ended in failures one way or another. Every failure resulted in me having to forge a whole new blade from scratch. Each blade demanding countless hours of dedication. Yes, I could settle for a regular heat treatment. And yes, I could easily cover up and imperfections with ferric chloride solution. But however, having to fail multiple times and having to start over has taught me the true definition of art and only fuel my passion for making the perfect knife.
In the past I found people who pursued traditional crafting methods stupid. It did not making sense to me why someone would spend their who life making something when they could make something similar in a day using modern tools. When I started knife making, I entered with the idea of just creating a blade that was good enough to accompany on my fishing trips. However, the first knife I made broke on me. I had over tempered the knife, not only that, but I noticed that the handle was too thick to grip and the cross section too thick to carve anything. Although I had said that I was never going to make another knife after I finished the first knife, something made me start on a new design. I sat up all night trying to design a knife that better knife better fit my needs. I re designed a handle that could better fit my smaller hands. I also researched into differential tempering to improve the knife's hardness.
Once I got started, it was impossible to stop. My desire to create the perfect knife was unquenchable. As I spent countless hours hammering, grinding and cutting, I finally understood. Knife making had become an art for me where I was not forging a mere knife, but painting a self portrait. The reason I was perfecting the blade was because I wanted to display myself in my blade. The blade mirrored my strengths and weaknesses. The convex-ed edge showed my aggressive life style, my need for a strong edge. While the tightly wrapped Saya on the handle reflected my Korean heritage. Even the little imperfection in my blade showed my flaws. The tiny scratches in the bevel showed my impatient streak. The scale marks on the spine represented my tendency to over do things. Every little imperfections on the knife I wanted to improve on, I dealt with by improving myself; my knowledge, my patience, and diligence. I wanted to create a blade that people could look at a 1000 years from now, and from looking at my blade I wanted them to see a blade smith who took pride in his art, and challenged himself to create a perfect a knife.