My name is Brandon Conde, an artist who makes custom knives and tools in the United States. But like every story, it started long before the knife shop became my sanctuary.

 

First, thank you for being here. I can't live my dream without your support.

 

As fate would have it, my knifemaking journey started the moment my dad decided I was ready for my first pocket knife. I remember having a small gas station keychain knife at the time, but this was different. This knife was a symbol of trust. A symbol of responsibility. And, for me, it was the first step into the world of knives. I still remember the pride of holding that knife for the first time.

 

Shortly after, I learned a lesson that’s forever etched into my memory: Never plunge a folding knife into the dirt. Because when the lock fails, the only thing standing between you and that sharp edge is your own hands.

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In my case, it was my pinky. Luckily, the blade wasn’t as sharp as I thought it was, but it was sharp enough. I quickly wrapped my finger, went to the bathroom, and sealed the wound, praying my parents wouldn’t notice. I didn’t go to the ER, knowing I would never be trusted with a knife again. To this day, my pinky doesn’t fully extend—a permanent reminder to always respect the blade.

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Fast forward to 2001. I had just graduated from high school and enlisted in the U.S. Army, ready to learn a new life skill and jump out of perfectly functioning airplanes.

 

Then, 9/11 changed the world. 

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The war machine kicked into gear, and I found myself in a new reality. I knew it was only a matter of time before my unit would receive our orders to deploy, and the call was made. We were mechanics in an artillery unit, not infantry, but like many others, we believed we needed the biggest blade we could find. So, I went off-post with my buddies and bought a Cold Steel double-edged fixed blade—an oversized blade that I thought would be my weapon of choice.

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I quickly learned how impractical it was for daily use. In contrast, a smaller, full-sized fixed blade was ideal for the rig and, ultimately, for self-defense. The Army taught me more than tactics and techniques—it taught me the real value of a well-thought-out fixed blade.

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Once my active-duty enlistment ended, I knew something was missing. While being a mechanic had its merits, it wasn’t going to help me achieve my true passion. I needed to create, so I enrolled in graphic design school, found a job as an entry-level artist, and eventually became an art director.

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During this time, I picked up a new skill: tattooing. Tattooing wasn’t just about ink—it was about permanence, patience, and discipline. It was a challenge, but it was the kind of challenge I thrived on. The idea of creating something so lasting, so personal, resonated deeply with me. The lessons I learned from tattooing would prove vital in my next chapter, when I finally began making knives.

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Then came 2020, another life-changing event.

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I had spent over 15 years as a digital artist, building my career, my identity around creating with technology. But when the global pandemic hit, everything changed. I was laid off. 

 

​Suddenly, I found myself lost. My identity, tied so deeply to my art, had been ripped away. I spent too much time listening to the news and sinking deeper into the uncertainty of it all. I felt purposeless. I had to find something new to channel my creativity—something to keep my hands busy and my mind focused.

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Then, one day, an idea struck. I wanted to get outside. I needed to escape. I craved the tranquility of nature and the simplicity of the outdoors. But as I began searching for the right camp knife online, I found myself falling down a rabbit hole on YouTube. I watched endless videos of knifemakers shaping metal and wood into functional works of art.

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I knew—I needed to make my camp knife.​