While I'm enjoying the food and culture of London and Paris this week with my wife and girls, I have squeezed in some serious work for Lost Art Press. In London, Maddy and I turned up two antique English woodworking books (one from 1875) that I have never seen in the United States.

One is quite promising and features plans for a treadle table saw and an absolutely ingenious freestanding leg vise. The writing is also delightful -- the author mentions that he has used the leg vise for chaining up a monkey and a trained squirrel. No lie.

I also spent an afternoon in London's Victoria & Albert Museum, which I have been writing about all week and inspired several forthcoming entries about the English Arts & Crafts movement.

In Paris, Lucy and I spent today soaking in some impressionist paintings (for her) and stunning Art Deco and Art Nouveau furniture and housewares at the Musée d'Orsay. Sadly, I couldn't take photos at the M.O., as the locals call it, because American woodworkers need an education in Deco and Nouveau.

But the highlight of the trip was a brief visit to the Librarie du Camée at 70 rue Saint-André-des-Arts. This bookstore is surrounded by art galleries and other bookstores and feels so much more like the Paris of your imagination than the Paris surrounding the monuments (I wanted to put a gun in my mouth at Versailles).

The store is about the size of a half-decent American closet, but is absolutely crammed with books dealing with traditional crafts, including housewares, tools, horology, textiles and even making perfume. And, of course, there is a large section devoted to woodworking.

I spent about an hour going over all the shelves. I could have dropped about 1,000 Euros without regret, but I restrained myself (for now). Instead I picked up some more modern books so I can get my rusty French skills back on track.

Two volumes were a reprint of "Menuisier En Baitiments," an 1882 book describing the craft in great detail, including many plates I've never seen. I also bought a new book, "Les Rabots: Histoire, Technique, Typologie, Collection" by Pierre Bouillot and Xavier Chatellard, which is an enormous and comprehensive book on Continental handplanes of all types. And I bought a third book -- not a reprint -- describing machine and hand woodworking operations circa 1965.

Also hanging out in the closet was a husband and wife team from Washington, D.C., who tipped me off to a tool museum and library that I'll have to visit during my next visit to Europe in September.

Then it was off to get some iced coffee and start devouring the books. Right now, it's a bit like reading "Riddley Walker," but I'll get my French back up to speed.

— Christopher Schwarz

The Victoria & Albert Museum in London has some great furniture that's squirreled away amongst the tapestries, sculpture and ceramics. Some of the pieces that I find most amazing (such as one of the earliest Morris chairs made by Morris & Co.) are tucked away in dark corners behind other objects.

But one of the personally most appealing pieces in the museum gets a lot of attention. It's one of the first free-standing bookcases ever built, which shares an exhibit with a very early gate-leg table, caned chair and tall case clock.

According to the museum's account, the first free-standing bookcase know was built for diarist and Naval administrator Samuel Pepys in 1666. The bookcases are shown clearly in his library, though I am not sure if they are mentioned in his diary.

The oak bookcase at the Victoria & Albert was built about 1695, probably for William Blathwayt, also a civil servant. The bookcases are similar in construction to the ones in Pepys's library. The bookcase is in four pieces for easy assembly on-site (though the museum description did not say what the four pieces were -- my guess would be plinth, lower case, upper case and top cap).

The doors are mullioned, which was all the rage at the time with the advent of sash windows. Each piece of glass is individually set into the frame. And the shelves are adjustable to accommodate different sizes of books.

After learning about a lot of forms of furniture that "evolved" through history, it's almost shocking to see a new form that springs forth almost fully formed.

The piece was easily 8' tall -- that's probably a bit too much for modern homes. But still, wouldn't it be cool to build one like this for your woodworking books?

— Christopher Schwarz

I wasn't born or raised in Cincinnati, but I feel a deep kinship with the city and its incredibly rich history with the decorative arts, including furniture.

The city was a hotbed of decorative carving in the 19th century, with a world-class school devoted to carving that was dominated by women. Furniture-wise, the city experienced an intense Asian-inspired burst of creativity in the 1880s that resulted in many furniture companies here producing Asian-inspired furniture that was sold all over North America. The Greene Brothers were born here. Rookwood Pottery was founded here -- and is still here and making objects of intense beauty.

And we had the Shop of the Crafters.

Now, if you are a fan of Arts & Crafts furniture, you might have heard of this shop, which is now beneath a highway I drive on every morning on my way to work. The Shop of the Crafters was different than all the assorted Stickleys that populated New York.

The output of the Shop of the Crafters was unique because of its inlay, European influence and profound unevenness. In the Cincinnati Art Museum, there is a display of some of the shop's work. On the left is a beautiful china cabinet that delights you the more you stare at it. On the right is a clock that looks like it was made with home center materials.

I have owned a Shop of the Crafters Morris chair since I was 23, and it is one of my most favorite tangible objects. I bought it from an antiques warehouse in South Carolina for $335. They had a big scarecrow sitting in it and the cushions were green leatherette covered in the ugliest flowers you've ever seen.

But I scrimped and saved for that chair (we qualified for Food Stamps at the time) and it is the first thing you'll see when you walk into our house.

Today Lucy, Katy and I went to the Cincinnati Art Museum and I renewed my love affair with many of the decorative objects in their collection. If you come to Woodworking in America this fall, I hope you'll take some time out to visit this absolute jewel box of a museum. Admission is free (thanks to the sweat and blood of me and my co-workers). But the wankers now charge for parking.

— Christopher Schwarz

I'm good with computers. I'm good with CAD. And I'm good with Google SketchUp. Still, Robert W. Lang has me beat by a mile.

His new eBook, "Woodworker's Guide to SketchUp," is so far ahead of anything I've read before that it is in a class by itself. It begins by teaching you the basic strokes – even if you've never used SketchUp you'll be in fine fettle. But it takes you so far so fast, you'll wonder why no one ever conceived of this sort of product before.

The genius of  "Woodworker's Guide to SketchUp" is that it exploits every iota of its medium to make the process of learning SketchUp – the greatest free gift to woodworkers ever – as easy as possible.

Yes, there is text. And screen shots of the important steps that lead to a proper drawing. But the real killer is the short bursts of video that are embedded in the text. Sometimes when you need to see motion, Lang has created short movies that elegantly show you how to create a moulding or a turned part in SketchUp – something that is hard to explain with a static medium.

For Woodworkers – Really and Truly
The other big plus to this eBook – which is available on CD – is that it is totally unlike the tutorials offered by Google. Google's short video tutorials are designed for people who are building cities or (at the least) houses. Building furniture is easy with SketchUp, just not with Google's instructions.

"Woodworker's Guide to SketchUp" is all about woodworking – building furniture-scale components, mouldings, turnings, cutting lists and the like with no silly trees or pitched roofs and bushes. Want to build a living room floorplan with square corners? The Google directions will do fine. Want to make cabriole legs, cabinets, bookshelves, built-ins and frame-and-panel doors? You need Lang's new CD.

He shows you stuff that Google doesn't even think to show you. Make dovetailed drawers, coped-stick doors – then alter those basic components with just a few clicks and drags to suit your needs.

The skeptical among you might be thinking that I'm writing this review because I work with Lang and that he's paying me off. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He handed me his CD to review it for technical errors, and I became totally sucked into the text and have spent the last three nights studying the text, looking at the drawings and marveling at the short videos.

Heck, my parent company doesn't even carry this CD – Lang has written and published it on his own – so I have no financial interest in the product. But I do have two $20 bills in my pocket, which I plan to lay on his desk in the morning in exchange for this CD.

You, however, don't have to pay as much. Until July 1 you can order this CD from Lang's web site for $29.95 with free shipping in the United States and Canada. It is absolutely the best money you will spend on improving your woodworking all year. For less than the cost of a router bit, you will be able to draw anything your brain imagines and transform it until you can build it in wood, steel and brass.

I rarely say this: Buy this. Cash in your pennies, sell some plasma and just buy it. "Woodworker's Guide to SketchUp" is a mind-blowing revelation for anyone who wants to design simple or complex projects using this free design software.

Visit Lang's Craftsmanplans.com web site to order the CD.

— Christopher Schwarz

I've hesitated to write this blog entry because it will seem self-serving. But by now, all the people who visit this blog have made a decision. Either you've bought "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" or you haven't.

So I'm not trying to change your mind about the book. I really don't care either way if you buy it. In fact, if you want to borrow my copy to read it, drop me a line. I trust woodworkers to send it back.

Today, April 4, is one year to the day that I threw myself into this project like a virgin into a volcano. I'd read the original 1839 text about three or four times. I'd bought $300 worth of white pine and another $300 of black cherry harvested from an Indiana cemetery. (Yes, I do worry that the wood is cursed.)

As I stood before the pile of wood in the shop I wondered if I was doing the right thing. It would be so much easier just to republish the original 1839 text with some quick historical notes. That finished book could be at the printer in a matter of a couple weeks. Instead, I thought it would be a good idea to test the original text by rebuilding the three projects by hand, just as Thomas – the hero of the book – did.

There was no guarantee that I'd learn anything from the process. In fact, there really wasn't anything presented in the 1839 text that I didn't already know how to do quite well by hand – mortising, tenoning, dovetails, stock prep, carcase construction. I've been comfortable with all those hand operations for some time.

So I was looking for something else when I started slicing into the pine to make the Packing Box, the first project in "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker." But I didn't quite know what.

Let me spoil the ending: I did learn something that I now carry with me every day. But I didn't realize it until the book was published and mailed out to readers. My little moment of insight came months later when I was building a reproduction of a small side table for the White Water Shaker Village.

Unlike when building projects for "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker," there were no "rules" about how this Shaker table got built. I could crank up the CNC machine (if I had one) and barf out the table. But I didn't take the machine route. Sure, I used a couple machines to get the legs into shape. Those were a nightmare.

But almost everything else was by hand. Why? Because I knew this table had something to teach me, even though I had no idea what that something was.

I know this is starting to sound like an Escher drawing so let me short-circuit the spiral. Hand skills develop differently than machine skills. I can say this because I have both. Hand skills develop in strange ways that aren't linear.

When you learn to saw – really flipping saw – you learn something else other than tracking a line. You learn what perpendicular is. Not theoretical perpendicular. Real gut-check perpendicular. You can look at anything, and and your perpendicular senses start tingling when things are just right.

And that makes you awesome with a chisel, moulding planes and the brace. Learn to saw, and the quality of your mortises take off.

Oh and so does your ability to prepare stock by hand. Once you know perpendicular, you quickly learn flat and you learn to sense right angles. So stock prep becomes easier. You don't need to try your stock with winding sticks as much, you can feel, hear and quickly see when your stock is twisted, cupped or bowed.

So "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" made me a junky for this stuff. Somewhere out there are a set of tasks that will unlock my ability to saw curves the way I want to saw curves. So when it came time to build my next workbench, I decided to give up the machines as much as possible. Not because of something about personal hand-tool purity. Far from it.

I just want to be better than you. And this is the fastest way to get there.

— Christopher Schwarz