Martin Smith once built a machine whose entire job was to applaud him. Another one clapped for anybody who pressed a button. The Yorkshire artist has spent a career constructing elaborate contraptions for tasks nobody needed done, which is exactly why Maximilian Büsser wanted him at the M.A.D.Gallery when it opened in 2011, where Smith showed as half of Laikingland, the studio he ran with engineer Nick Regan.
Photo: MB&F
For the gallery's fifteenth birthday, MB&F sent Smith a single sentence of instructions and left the rest to him. The artist went to the sun, by way of the Eames Solar Do-Nothing Machine of 1957, a solar-powered toy that Charles and Ray Eames designed to accomplish nothing at all. It's been admired for nearly seventy years for succeeding. Smith was partway into his tribute when Büsser upped the ask. A do-nothing machine with a job is, of course, a contradiction. The humour, according to Smith, lives in the contrast.
The result is the Solar Orbiter: an edition of ten, two feet tall, turning a watch in total silence while a tiny heart, hand and star, which owners are invited to swap about at will, carry fifteen years of Smith's machines inside this one. He carved the heart and hand himself and cut the star from a thin metal sheet.
Crown & Caliber emailed with Smith about what Büsser's question cost him, why silence was paramount, and some news about Laikingland that arrives, in his telling, by way of Narnia.
Photo: MB&F
Crown & Caliber: The brief was one line: build something kinetic celebrating 15 years. Is that a gift or a nightmare?
Martin Smith: For me, it was definitely a gift. The best briefs give you a clear intention rather than a detailed prescription, and "build something kinetic celebrating 15 years" did exactly that. It left space for curiosity, experimentation and discovery. As a kinetic artist, I'm interested in how movement can communicate ideas and emotions, so having the freedom to interpret what those 15 years meant was exciting. The challenge wasn't the lack of direction, it was choosing which of the many possible directions to pursue.
C&C: You started with the sun and the Eames Solar Do-Nothing Machine. What is it about that object that still pulls at people 70 years later?
MS: The Eames Solar Do-Nothing Machine has always fascinated me because it sits somewhere between art, engineering and play. It doesn't really do anything in the conventional sense, yet it captivates people. I think that's why it still resonates 70 years later. It reminds us that movement itself can be enough, that there's value in wonder, curiosity and observation. The piece harnesses something as universal as sunlight and transforms it into a constantly changing experience. For me, it embodies a kind of optimism about design and technology that feels just as relevant today as it did when it was created.
C&C: Then Max asked if it could be a watch winder — and you say you "kind of saw that coming." What did that question actually cost you? What had to be redesigned or thrown out — and did you argue?
When Max suggested it could be a watch winder, the main cost was time.
MS: I didn't argue at all, I actually welcomed the challenge. My creative practice is driven by problem solving: every solution tends to create a new set of questions and opportunities to explore. When Max suggested it could be a watch winder, the main cost was time. Certain aspects of the design had to be reconsidered and reworked to accommodate the new function, but none of that felt wasted. The redesign process pushed the project in unexpected directions and ultimately made it stronger. The additional time investment was significant, but it was time well spent.
C&C: A do-nothing machine that now does something. Does giving it a job make it less of an artwork, or did the constraint improve it?
MS: I don't think giving it a job makes it any less of an artwork. Art has always found ways to coexist with function. If anything, the constraint made it more interesting. The challenge was to preserve the sense of wonder and movement that drew me to the original idea while integrating a practical purpose. Constraints can be incredibly productive because they force you to think differently and find solutions you might never arrive at otherwise. In this case, the watch-winding function didn't diminish the artwork, it gave the piece another layer of meaning and a reason to engage with it more closely.
Photo: MB&F
Photo: MB&F
C&C: Winders are a genuinely contested object in the watch world; plenty of collectors argue they're unnecessary or even bad for a movement. Does it bother you that the functional premise is debatable, or is that almost the joke?
MS: I'm not from the watch world, so I wasn't really aware that watch winders were a contested subject among collectors. My interest was never about that debate; it was about the idea of creating a kinetic object with a purpose. Many of my pieces gently poke fun at themselves — like Artist Makes a Self-Applauding Machine — and this piece continues that tradition. There is something wonderfully playful about making a complex, beautifully crafted machine to perform a simple task. The humour comes from that contrast between the seriousness of the object and the absurdity of the gesture.
C&C: Over 300 handcrafted components and it's silent. Silence in a machine that's visibly full of motion feels almost like a magic trick. Why was that non-negotiable?
MS: Haha, it is magic! I love hearing machines, the clicks, the whirrs and the unexpected rhythms that mechanical systems create, but this piece demanded a different level of elegance. The silence was essential because it allows the movement to speak for itself.
With so many handcrafted components working together, there is already a huge amount of complexity beneath the surface. Introducing sound would have drawn attention to the mechanism rather than the experience. I wanted the machine to feel effortless, almost impossible. The viewer sees the precision and choreography of the movement, but not the effort or engineering behind it.
That quietness creates a sense of wonder. It becomes less about a machine performing a task and more about a moment of contemplation, where the mechanics disappear and what remains is the poetry of movement.
Photo: MB&F
C&C: There are references buried in it: the clapping hand, the heart. Are those for you, for longtime collectors, or both?
MS: They are for me first, but I'm happy to take people along with me. I wanted to celebrate and gently reference the pieces I've presented at the MB&F MAD Galleries over the past 15 years.
I carved the heart and hand, and made the star from very thin metal sheet. Each one is part of a set of 10, but because they are handcrafted, every piece is unique. For collectors who know my work, there are connections to discover, but for someone seeing it for the first time, they can simply be moments of curiosity and delight. I like that a piece can hold both layers.
C&C: The heart, hand, and star are interchangeable — you're inviting the owner to fiddle with your sculpture. Why do you want it?
MS: I think interaction is part of the joy. I've always been interested in machines that invite curiosity, and I like the idea that the owner can become part of the experience rather than just observe it.
The heart, hand and star are small personal elements within the sculpture, but allowing them to be moved gives the piece another life. It becomes a conversation between the maker, the object and the owner. I don't see it as compromising the artwork, I see it as completing it.
C&C: You've said the money comes when you stop developing new work — and that handing a build to someone else stifles the thing that makes it interesting. Ten pieces, made in your own studio. Is this the format you've been trying to get back to for a decade?
MS: I never really stopped making. Every Laikingland piece also passed through my hands at some stage, and alongside that my own studio continued to thrive, creating ever larger and more complex kinetic works. This format feels less like a return and more like a natural continuation. Making a small edition of ten in my own studio allows me to stay close to every detail and every decision. For me, the making is where the ideas develop, the process of solving problems, refining movements and discovering something unexpected is what keeps the work alive.
C&C: You built this in your own studio rather than through Laikingland's production model. Has the balance between the two shifted over the years?
MS: Laikingland turned 18 this summer and has now left home. Like Narnia, Brigadoon or a portal to Middle Earth, the door has quietly closed, there will be no more Laikingland pieces.
Photo: MB&F
It was a magical place while it existed, a space where ideas, collaborations and unlikely machines could come to life. I'm incredibly proud of what it became and the people who passed through it. But every good story needs an ending. The portal has closed, and now I'm back in my own workshop, continuing the adventure from a different path.
C&C: Fifteen years on, has the M.A.D.Gallery changed what "mechanical art" means, or has the rest of the industry just caught up to what you were already doing?
MS: It's been incredibly supportive. Over the past 15 years, the M.A.D.Gallery has created countless opportunities, raised standards and opened people's eyes to what mechanical art can be.
More importantly, it has created conversations and introduced kinetic art to new generations who may not have encountered it before. I think it has helped broaden the idea of what a machine can be, not just something functional, but something that can be emotional, playful and full of imagination
C&C: What's the hardest thing about making an object whose whole purpose is to make someone smile?
MS: The challenge isn't creating something joyful, it's creating something that has enough depth to keep revealing itself. A smile might be the first reaction, but I want there to be curiosity, craftsmanship and ideas beneath the surface that keep people engaged.
For me, humour and wonder are serious things. A piece can be playful while still being beautifully made and thoughtfully considered.
