What follows are thoughts conjured up while, or recovered from, sweeping the shop floor. Maybe you can relate.

• Why are so many home shops relegated to the basements? You love woodworking, bring it up to ground level. It is more important than the TV, which somehow seems to always get its own room with a window.
• Perhaps like many readers here, I started making things from wood because the material is easy to cut, firm enough to be structural, and seems so friendly and harmless, only later discovering its variety and beauty. I would probably like making things from any material, but I cannot resist making things out of wood.
• We woodworkers are too often deferential to speculative examination of historical work to decide technical issues when the answer may be found with modern, orderly testing and inquiry.
• Making a one-of-a-kind piece is far more mentally taxing than the easy rhythm of knowing you have previously worked through an entire process, and thus can be fully confident of an outcome that is always in sight. However, new designs are exciting and edifying.
• I think I may, at some point, acquire “enough” clamps. I am sure, however, that I will never have enough wood.
• “Dead on”, “dead flat”, and the like, mean to me that the manufacturer doesn’t want to tell you its tolerances. And if a tool needs to be “dead on” (no such thing), shouldn’t I want to know the tolerances?
• Fine quality wood craftsmanship is financially undervalued. Woodworkers need to better communicate the value of our product. It would be nice if our creations spoke for themselves but it is not enough.
• Isn’t it exciting that this is the best time in history to obtain high quality woodworking hand tools? What a difference from, say, 20 years ago. And it keeps getting better.

Happy woodworking! And thanks for reading.

I enjoy watching the Science Channel television program “How It’s Made”. There is amazing ingenuity and capital investment involved in producing almost all of the human-made things around us. Most of the items the show demonstrates could not be produced at all without sophisticated machinery, and certainly not cheaply enough for practical mass consumption. This is the means by which we get our stuff in today’s world and we can be grateful for what we have earned with technology.

As I sit watching robotic arms assembling a construction vehicle, I wonder where we small scale woodworkers and our products fit into this world. Is our work a quaintness for a few owners to appreciate only in passing, without the consequence of “necessities”? Do we use our method of production, a small shop using small machinery and hand tools, only because there is maybe so little demand for our products, or perhaps because we have not bothered to find a more efficient way to produce? In short, does our work matter, and why?

Yes it matters, because our work is personal, in vision and execution. Our small shop methods are vital because they allow personalization in design, workmanship, and detailing. A craftsman’s work is his song, that he sings, and people appreciate and value it as that.

A modern person is likely to own only a few things of which he knows who is the designer-maker, the person, not just a label or a company. That personal identification and connection make these among the most cherished possessions. That chair, for example, is not any chair, however elegant, it’s a Maloof chair. The table that you, my fellow woodworker, made for yourself or a client will forever be your table, linked to you, with your name on it. A client owner knows exactly from whence it came, perhaps even playing a role in its design, and values this distinction.

That is what we small shop craftsmen have to put forth and, I believe, will never become obsolete. On the contrary, this offering will be increasingly valued in a world filled with growing numbers of nameless technological wonders. Personal woodworking – it matters.

Some readers of this blog may be relatively new to woodworking, are thinking of getting started in the craft, or perhaps are seasoned craftsmen temporarily stalled in their work. In particular, I have in mind those people who have a nagging urge to create something but have not gotten the ball rolling quite yet. One or another thing gets in the way (I understand!), yet there is a real sense that pursuing this wonderful art would bring enjoyment and fulfillment. You hear the promise of meaningfulness.

Some of the most common impediments thwarting otherwise eager woodworkers are the complexity of what seems an arcane science, aiming for perfection, and the feeling that the work is not important, especially if grandeur is lacking. Yet all these are surmountable. 

Recently, I had the pleasure to talk and share ideas with many woodworkers, some trying to establish traction in their woodworking. About the same time, a relative had one of those unforseen medical experiences that remind us all that life is fragile and there are no guarantees. From this springs my simple suggestion: get the wood, get the tools, and build it. Just build it! Build it so it has meaning for you. Drop me a comment or email if I can take a minute to help clear the way for you.

It’s only the wood that grows on trees. Happy woodworking.

I make ‘em. You make ‘em. Some people say we don’t learn much unless we make mistakes. Whether thus a necessary evil or simply an omnipresent nuisance, I feel mistakes do not get enough attention. We generally try to correct and forget them. Here I would like to give them some thought. After all, it surely won’t be long before I’m again dealing with a live one on the line.

So how do they happen? Sometimes it is simply having the wrong plan for the intended result. A poorly designed joint, though accurately cut, produces a weak structure. In making a bent lamination, maybe the plies are too thick, the wrong type of glue is applied, and the resulting curved rail is not what you had hoped for. Study and practice.

Sometimes it’s just a slip up. Perhaps I lost concentration and sawed past an end line despite obviously being fully capable of stopping at the correct spot. Pay attention and be patient.

There is, however, a sneakier type of mistake that accounts for my most frustrating experiences in the shop. These develop from a subtle loss of control of the process, an insidious evolution.

For example, I’m planing a surface and gradually feel slightly more resistance in the cut signaling early dullness of the blade. The task is almost done but I wonder a little too long if I can get by without resharpening, then hit a grain reversal, and #*@&!, a tearout. I plane further to erase the tearout, then plane surrounding areas to compensate, and now I’ve gone a bit too far and lost an accurate fit for this piece, which mates with another part, which houses another assembly, and so forth. I am no longer working in peace.

What happened? A barrier developed between intention and execution. There was a loss of the working rhythm and flow that is so important to success. When a craftsman senses that subtle break in rhythm, a true mistake may be around the corner.

However, the first little error is usually not as important as it may first seem. (“Put the ax down and move away from the bench.”) For example, maybe that tearout is in a place where it will be unnoticed and is best left alone. I must remind myself to stop and think before engineering a correction. It is usually the loss of flow, less than the error itself, that raises the unnerving feeling. Then I know it is time to step back, look at the big picture, refocus, then get back in the game. This approach should prevent a major Mistake.

I believe this is more of an issue with one of a kind projects or innovative designs, especially when using unfamiliar or innovative techniques. Since you’ve not been down the road before, you’re skeptical of the map to success.

It is not easy to craft a project that turns out to fulfill your hope. The creative vision must be carried through with a controlled flow of work that takes place in many interdependent steps. (By the way, don’t fall prey to “perfection”, discussed in an earlier post.)

One thing is for sure, when the work is flowing, you know it. Life is good in the shop and real mistakes seem to be miles away. Be careful, but enjoy the ride. 

Happy woodworking!

I spent an enjoyable few hours last week at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Viewing thousands of years of exciting art is a great way for a woodworker, or any creative person, to exercise and sharpen the aesthetic sense. I imagine at least one or two motifs drifted into my brain, unbeknownst to me, as silent seeds to later germinate into a project idea. A bargain for a bit of lost shop time.

Though I do not make period furniture, it was inspiring to behold pieces by Seymour, Townsend, and their contemporaries. From the other side of the world, the MFA has a fabulous collection of old Chinese furniture, displayed in a beautiful, peaceful setting that is hard to leave. Woodworkers will particularly enjoy the permanent “Please Be Seated” program which consists of chairs and benches by modern masters distributed throughout the museum on which visitors are welcome to park their carcasses. Go ahead, have a seat on a Sam Maloof bench!

I could not avoid some perplexity as I stood in the 19^th – 20^th century American section where a Maloof chair and a Wendell Castle music stand sit peacefully below a Jackson Pollock piece of art hanging on the wall, his “Number 10, 1949“. Well, I suppose I should not criticize what I don’t understand, but I do know what I like. I guess if the chair had only three legs, rendering it functionally useless, and it made you wince, then it would be far more valuable as art. I don’t know, maybe I’m too hung up on beauty. I’m glad I’m a woodworker.

Visual high art often seems excessively marketed, valued, and analyzed. Contemporary fine woodworking, on the other hand, seems to suffer from a general lack of understanding and appreciation by a large portion of society, and is consequently usually undervalued.

There, I’ve done it, opened a whole can of worms.

Come along with me, if you will, through these thoughts that occurred to me, ironically, while at the computer, mouse in hand.

The senses sometimes form a substrate for our thinking. For example, vision might inform our logic. Drawing a diagram often makes sense of a disorganized idea. It can make relationships clearer. The senses also feed our aesthetic development and enrich our appreciation of good things around us. Listening to music is an obvious example.

What about our hands? Does our uniquely human hand craft work somehow inform certain mental faculties? Is there a “logic of the hands” that is fed by creative work with the hands. Sometimes I’m pondering a project and I’m not sure how I’ll do a particular building process, but then I get into the shop, pick up a paring chisel, a saw, or a rasp, and it becomes apparent, only through my hands, how the process can and should be done.

Further, our hands also are capable of a unique aesthetic appreciation. Most people, having seen a fine craft object in a photograph, then later encountering the actual object are drawn to not only stand back and look at it, but to touch it, to experience it in a way that is unique to the hands. We know it’s not laminate and we want to experience it. We can suppose that studied and appreciative hands are able to do this best.

Fast forward to modern life where so many of us spend much of it with our hands in a state of sensory deprivation. Paws on the mouse, it seems. One wonders if this engenders a dormancy of specific human faculties fed via the hands, a quieting of the logic of the hands and a feebleness of that aesthetic sense. Maybe finely hand crafted work would be held in higher esteem and dollar value in our society if so many hands were not so sleepy. Hand to mind to heart, are some of us losing something?

Craftspeople bring things of value to the world with our hands.

(No disrespect, of course, to the evolutionary wonder pictured above.)

The late Tage Frid wrote, in his 1979 book Tage Frid Teaches Woodworking, “I don’t care how it is made – he [the craftsman] can make it with his teeth or a machine – it is still the final product that counts.”

Sure, tools and methodology are essentially means to an end. However, the way we accomplish things and the nature of our work life are important too. This is particularly true for the avocational woodworker who is under less production pressure than a full-time professional and thus has the luxury of choice as to how he feels while he is working. In general, I feel better when I’m using my hand tools than when I’m using my power tools, and so there’s one point in favor of hand tools. I also feel good when I see steady progress through the stock preparation phase of a project along with the repeatable precision of machine work, and so score a couple for electricity.

Yet, there’s more to this issue. Hand tool woodworking is a mentality, an approach, almost a philosophy. It does not mean the absence of power machinery. Rather, I believe the hand tool woodworker is one who recognizes that he can impart degrees of quality and personalization to his work with hand tools that are unlikely or impossible with machinery. This applies to two aspects of woodworking.

The first is methodology. The hand tool worker thinks and plans work differently than those ruled by machines. Processes are incremental. For example, relying only on the table saw to crosscut a drawer front is not likely to produce as excellent a fit as shooting with a hand plane, where fitting can be done in increments of just a couple thousandths of an inch. This level of control builds a relaxed confidence.

Hand tools also allow for error compensation and avoid error build up. For example, in making tenons on the table saw, a machine woodworker is likely to measure stock thickness and assume a sort of perfection, even though the slightest inconsistency in stock thickness can create poor fitting tenons. A hand tool woodworker would work from one reference face of the stock, cancelling small imperfections in stock thickness. If he did use the table saw to make the tenons, he would adjust the machine with a one-sided tolerance, mindful that he can later remove a shaving or two with a plane if necessary to produce an ideal fit. Machines, yes, but on your own terms.

The second aspect of hand tool work has to do with the aesthetics it engenders. Interesting joinery, resplendent surfaces, subtly treated edges, and satisfying contours are some of the distinguishing personalized features we are at ease producing with hand tools. One may use a bandsaw to do most of the work of creating a pleasing contour on a table leg, but a spokeshave and rasps will refine it to a quality that a power sander alone is not likely to achieve. Maybe a round-over router bit gets an edge close to what you want, but a plane gradually alters the mathematically produced edge to something that is less readily definable, but is just what you want. The vision, the work, and the product are personal.

It’s nice to drive to the mountains and even drive through the mountains, but it’s not as nice as hiking them. Power tools drive you there, but hand tools walk you through.

It was a pleasure meeting the many woodworkers who attended the Lie-Nielsen Hand Tool Event in Massachusetts this past weekend. I hope my demonstrations and advice were useful. It was exciting to be surrounded by the wealth of expertise available from my fellow demonstrators so I was able to pick up some good tips as well. There’s some photos here which capture the flavor of the days.

It was fun to encounter so many friendly woodworkers enjoying what they do and sharing their interest. And not one person asked for a bailout! Simple joys, the best kind.