About Scott Shumake

I’ve always been the creative one.

Growing up, everyone knew I could draw. In school, people would lean over my shoulder, ask me to draw something for them, or stop to watch the level of detail I’d put into a sketch. In my graduating class I was voted Most Artistic, and deep down I always knew—if I had anything going for me, it was my creativity.

People would say things like, “Don’t let that talent go to waste,” or “I can’t even draw a stick figure.” At the time, I didn’t know what to do with that encouragement—I just knew it mattered.

After high school, I thought that creativity would live in the digital world. I pursued a digital design degree, but it didn’t take long to realize something was off. The program was expensive, the credits weren’t transferable, and I was uprooted from my family—living across the state for something that turned out to be mostly online. I saw the writing on the wall and made a decision to step away before it was too late.

When I came home, I was without direction—but with intention.

In 2012, I turned inward. I lost over 100 pounds through martial arts training and completely changing my diet. When I wasn’t training, I was making art and studying philosophy, physics, and the ways they overlap. That’s when I discovered sacred geometry, abundance, and fundamental principles of personal development—ideas like mind over matter, going the extra mile, gratitude through action, and using what you already have to create something meaningful.

One year turned into three. Eventually, I knew I needed structure again.

That’s when something clicked—I remembered metal shop in high school. I spent three and a half years there, barely touching wood shop, because metal felt real. You showed up, you created, and you walked away with something physical. No busywork. No abstraction. Just effort turned into form.

So I enrolled in the welding program at Spokane Community College in 2014 and completed my certificate in 2015.

Welding gave me everything I was missing: creativity, discipline, and tangible results. But once I entered the workforce, something became painfully clear. The pace of commuting, working, and surviving left no room to create. I watched people take pride in having been at the same company for 27 years—and all I could think was: Is this it?

If you live for the weekend, you get 52 days a year that are yours. Over 27 years, that’s less than four years of real life—for your dreams, your ideas, your creativity. The rest belongs to the job.

That wasn’t the life I wanted.

I don’t believe in retiring from creativity. I want to be creative until the day I die.

While working across the country on a job, I visited Cincinnati, Ohio, where an art market was happening downtown. Artists were hustling, creating, selling—living. That moment flipped a switch. I finished the job and when I got home quit, and enrolled at Spokane Falls Community College to pursue an Associate of Fine Arts.

It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I explored countless mediums, but sculpture and 3D design pulled me in the strongest. Throughout the program, one word was emphasized over and over again: composition. Taking infinite possibility and applying intention. Creating order without killing creativity.

In my final quarter, a new instructor offered a welding art class. Full circle.

The final project was to create a light-and-shadow sculpture from found objects. While others used artificial light, I chose fire—the most primal light source there is. I wanted the flame inside the form, casting shadows in every direction. Not an image on a wall, but an atmosphere.

That’s where the idea was born.

At the time, I didn’t think of it as a “fire pit.” I thought of it as a kinetic fire sculpture—something alive, something that moved, something that wasn’t just a glorified paperweight. I began with the tetrahedron, a three-legged form that naturally creates balance. Only later did I realize it symbolized the element of fire itself.

From there, the geometry unfolded.

Nested Platonic solids. Relationships hidden in plain sight. Ancient mathematics meeting modern fabrication. Fire revealing form.

That original concept evolved into what is now Solid Fire Pits.

Since graduating in 2017, I’ve handcrafted over 500 fire pits, ranging from ultra-portable designs to monumental kinetic sculptures. I’ve expanded into tables, chairs, planters, and beyond—each piece rooted in the same principles: balance, symmetry, function, and longevity.

What surprises me most is how people connect to the work.

At shows, I don’t sell by pushing products—I sell by sharing what I’ve learned. I talk openly about geometry, metaphysics, craftsmanship, and intention. I wear my heart on my sleeve. That authenticity is what people respond to.

Social media became another extension of that sharing. By documenting the process, the environments, and the way these pieces are used, the work reached far beyond my local community. Through platforms like TikTok, I’ve built a following of over 147,000 people and shipped fire pits to 28 states.

This is more than a product.

It’s a protest against disposable design. A return to timeless form. A blending of art and utility. A reminder that simple, low-tech, well-built things can still hold wonder.

Solid Fire Pits is my sandbox—one niche, infinite possibility. You choose the size, shape, finish, and function. Hanging or grounded. Cooking or purely ambient. Each piece is built to last, and built with intention.

My long-term vision reaches architectural scale—pergolas, gazebos, event spaces, and homes where geometry, fire, and livingry come together. But for now, this is where the fire burns.

If this work resonates with you, you’re probably someone who values balance, symmetry, and meaning. Someone who appreciates things made to endure. Someone who believes art doesn’t belong on a pedestal—it belongs in daily life.

That’s who I build for.