Meet the artist
Every piece has a story. So does the artist behind it.
There are artists who start with a blank canvas. Dana Kurchina-Tilling starts with a pile of forgotten motorcycle parts.
A bent wheel. A worn-out camshaft. Rusted pistons. Broken gears. The same pieces most people walk past without a second thought.
She sees something entirely different. She sees possibility.
That perspective is the heart of Metalwood Garage, where discarded motorcycle and automotive parts become sculptures, furniture, trophies, guitars, clocks, lighting, and one-of-a-kind works of functional art.
When life changes direction
It began with loss.
In 2017, Dana lost her brother. Like so many life-changing moments, grief forced everything to stop.
Looking for something to quiet her mind, she bought a welder from Home Depot. She wasn’t interested in buying expensive steel to learn on, so she went searching for scrap. Dumpster diving became treasure hunting.
Before long, she discovered motorcycle parts weren’t junk. They were beautiful. Engine components carried texture. Brake rotors became sculpture. Camshafts became table legs. Pistons became conversation pieces.
The more she worked, the more she realized she wasn’t simply welding. She was rebuilding.
possibility.
Built by motorcycles
The road was always there.
Motorcycles have always been woven through Dana’s life. Growing up in Wonder Lake, Illinois, she spent more than thirty years on one of the country’s most successful water ski teams and filled every spare moment outdoors: snowmobiles, go-karts, mini bikes, vintage Rupps, and eventually motorcycles.
One of her first dates with her husband was a trip to Road America. She was hooked.
Today her garage includes a Harley-Davidson Sportster, a Honda Monkey, vintage Rupp minibikes, and thousands upon thousands of motorcycle and automotive parts waiting for their next life.
More than metal
She calls it
Figurative Function.
Steel is Dana’s primary medium, but Metalwood Garage isn’t about metal alone. Wood became its natural partner. The warmth of wood against industrial steel inspired the name Metalwood Garage.
Many pieces hide function inside the artwork: bottle openers, lighting, clocks, and unexpected details that invite people to interact rather than simply observe.
Dana calls it Figurative Function. Art should inspire, but she believes it should also serve a purpose.
Built from broken things
Broken doesn’t mean finished.It simply means someone hasn’t imagined its next chapter yet.
Spend enough time talking with Dana and you’ll notice she isn’t really talking about motorcycle parts anymore. She’s talking about people.
Broken engines. Broken dreams. Broken seasons of life. To Dana, they are remarkably similar.
Every cracked piston and worn-out gear is a reminder that broken doesn’t mean finished. When someone takes home a Metalwood Garage piece, Dana hopes they don’t simply see recycled metal. She hopes they remember something about themselves.
People, just like old motorcycle parts, can be rebuilt, reinvented, and made into something even stronger than before.
What keeps the garage running
Coffee.
Dreams.
Gasoline.
Ask Dana what keeps Metalwood Garage running and she’ll smile: “Coffee, Dreams, and Gasoline.”
The phrase means more than fuel for the truck pulling into another motorcycle show. Gasoline also represents the criticism, the doubters, and the people who said she’d never make it.
Instead of letting those voices extinguish the fire, she poured them on it. Because gasoline doesn’t always destroy. Sometimes it makes the fire burn brighter.
Looking down the road
Yesterday’s parts.
Tomorrow’s heirlooms.
Today Metalwood Garage is recognized throughout the motorcycle community for handcrafted trophies, functional artwork, and custom commissions that can’t be duplicated. Dana’s work has traveled across the country to rallies, custom builders, and collectors who value craftsmanship with a story behind it.
But awards, recognition, and sales aren’t what matter most. Dana hopes every person who walks away from one of her pieces remembers a simple truth: broken things still have value.
Sometimes they become masterpieces. Sometimes they inspire someone else to rebuild their own life.