Part Two: Philippe LaFargue entered my studio as a post-graduate intern from Ecole Boulle. Since intern abuse is not in my blood (I know, it makes me a bad fit for Washington, D.C.) I refrained from having him do anything more than translate the Table of Contents of "L’Art du Menuisier" and tell me about some of the sections on marquetry.

The Seed that Pop planted, Philippe nurtured.

Fast forward to 2009. My old friend and colleague Michele Pagan, a textiles conservator, had begun working with me to develop some innovative upholstery conservation techniques the year before. On our way back from the lunch room one day she stopped to talk to another colleague and the conversation revolved around some translation Michele was doing of a French dye treatise. Suddenly a very bright light went on in my head.

I was starting to work on a monograph about historic finishing and wanted to know about some odd tools represented in Roubo plate 296. Could she help explain what they were used for?

After looking at the plate in the gigantic volume, she said, “Sure.” She did, and the rest is history.

The Seed that Pop Schindler planted and Philippe nurtured was brought to fruition by Michele’s translation.

Last fall we pitched a wild idea to Chris Schwarz and he graciously agreed to partner with us in bringing Roubo to the modern cabinetmaker. Rather than translating, annotating and interpreting the whole of "L’Art du Menuisier," we decided to focus on, well, the parts that interested me. Some time late next year we will present the first of the Lost Art Press volumes, which will contain the following sections (you can refer to original page numbers):

"To Make As Perfectly As Possible: Roubo on Marquetry"

An Essay on Appreciating and Measuring the Value of Hand Work p1242 -1254

by Don Williams

Part One: I don’t speak or read French. Not a word. So how did I wind up involved in a project to bring the greatest French treatise on cabinetmaking to an Anglophone audience? 'Tis a long a winding trail.

The seed was planted sometime around the year 1975. I was a kid working as a finisher and restorer at shop in Florida. The old man, “Pop” Schindler, had started the company on the cusp of our first “Great Depression” and had somehow managed to keep the doors open, in great part thanks to his incredible depth of knowledge and skill as a traditionally trained Swiss apprentice. Pop was a curmudgeonly soul, and he had devolved into near-crotchety-ness since his son Fred had taken over the business and freed Pop to putter and mutter (in French).

One day an old-money Palm Beach client (Ambassador Something-or-other) pulled up with boxes full of parts for what looked like just another old piece of junk to put back together. It was, in fact, a simple (for him) tulipwood parquetry secretaire by Jean-Henri Riesener (1734-1806), successor to ebeniste du roi Jean-Francois Oeben, and cabinetmaker to King Louis XVI, renowned for the Versailles Desk.

As I began working on the secretaire, Pop started hanging out with me. It made me nervous, given that I did not know him well and all the other guys in the shop told me he was a cranky old coot who always “knew a better way” to do whatever task was on the bench and would butt in whenever he wanted to because he was the owner of the shop.

The other guys were right.

Yes, he could be a cranky old coot, but I grew to hold him in great esteem and affection over time. And guess what; he really did know a better way to do almost anything being done in the shop (except spraying lacquer, which he viewed as a sin against nature and God). Fortunately I was the victim of a loving and excellent upbringing, so out of respect (at first) I let the old man blather on about old furniture and ways of doing things. What a treasure trove of knowledge was slung at me in rapid fire Frenglish! Once he realized that I actually was trying to pay attention and learn, his attitudes softened and he took me under his wing. I can state with certainty that the time with him working on that cabinet was among the most important learning periods of my almost-40-year career.

When the piece was finished and awaiting delivery, he made a remark that puzzled me.

“Roubo would be proud,” he said simply. With that remark he planted the Seed.

“Roubo? I thought this was Ambassador Something-or Other’s cabinet,” I said.

His look in reply could only be described as that glance from a man towards an idiot in-law or elected politician.

Then he told me about "L’Art du Menuisier." Pop did not own a copy, but the shop’s most important patron (a renowned collector of French decorative arts) did, he said. A first edition from 1765 or some such time. Someday when we were over at the estate together he would ask to show it to me. That day never came, and I did not see Roubo with my own eyes until almost 10 years later. I devoured the images and plates, and wanted to know what the text said almost enough to learn French. Almost.

— Don Williams

I never solicit reviews of my work. In this business, that is called "logrolling" – I'll pretend to enjoy your book if you pretend to enjoy mine.

Most of the crap on the backs of books is logrolling. Ignore it.

When we get an honest review from someone who has taken the time to really read the book, think about it and write down their thoughts, we want to share it. Simon St.Laurent wrote a detailed review of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" for WoodCentral.com that was posted today. I haven't seen as thoughtful a review of our work to date.

I spent about a year of my life reading, researching, building and writing the text that accompanies "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" with one hope. That someone, anyone, would understand why this book was important. How its grounding in 1839 is still relevant in 2010. And what we as woodworkers can take away from the experiences of the fictional apprentice named Thomas W.

Don't be fooled. Simon's review isn't a gush-fest. He's thought about these issues as much as we have. And for that reason, his review is definitely worth a close read.

Check out the review here.

— Christopher Schwarz

We chose a pair of dividers as the symbol for Lost Art Press because they are one of the most useful woodworking tools. They are precise. They don’t require mathematics to use. And they simplify many layout operations.

When it came time to choose a new T-shirt slogan we immediately latched onto a suggestion from George R. Walker, the “Design Matters” columnist for Popular Woodworking Magazine. His suggestion: “Divided We Stand.”

We also took the suggestion from many customers that we offer our T-shirts in black and 100-percent cotton. Done. (The next T-shirts will also be made in the United States – we have found a good supplier.)

In addition to black, the $12 shirts are also available in a stonewashed blue. And we have them in sizes from medium to XXL (there’s a $2 upcharge for XXL).

Click here to check them out.

— Christopher Schwarz

The morning that I first proposed building a Roubo-style workbench to my co-workers, I was running on about four hours of sleep and five cups of Italian roast coffee.

Earlier that week, I had proposed a cover project for the Autumn 2005 issue of Woodworking Magazine that was not working out. It was a set of contemporary interlocking shelves. I had mocked them up several times using foam-core insulation and presented them to the staff.

No one liked them. Me included.

So the night before our all-staff meeting about that issue of the magazine, I stayed up until 2 a.m. making the first CAD drafts of what would become the workbench I work on today. The staff approved my draft. Not because of its merit, but because of the semi-crazy mountain man look I had in my eye.

Today I embarked on a similar mission to build a super hardcore version of André Roubo's workbench using the original joints, massive timbers and only hand tools.

Housewright Ron Herman of Antiquity Builders in Columbus, Ohio, delivered the cherry planks to our shop this morning, which I stickered in front of our wood rack. The wood is fairly dry – about 12 percent moisture content – and completely massive. The two boards for the top plank are about 5" thick and more than 11" wide each. The leg stock is 6" square.

That's the good news. The bad news that is the wood is punky in places, a result of its time on the forest floor or its time in Herman's tree lot. After the wood showed up, Publisher Steve Shanesy took one look at my mound and just shook his head.

Senior Editor Glen Huey, always the diplomat, asked what I would do if the wood didn't work out the way I wanted it to do.

Senior Editor Bob Lang – always the Silent Bob – said nothing.

I love it when people tell me I cannot do something. I was told I should leave journalism school. I was told I'd never become editor of Popular Woodworking. I was told I could never drink an entire growler of Bell's Hopslam IPA (who's slack-jawed and drooling now?).

And so as I stickered this cherry this afternoon I was already mentally cutting it up to remove the punky places. I was reviewing Roubo's workbench instructions, which I have committed to memory. And, most importantly, I was reminding myself to pick up some more Italian roast coffee on the way home. It's going to be a good winter.

— Christopher Schwarz

We're still sorting out a few international transactions today, but we basically have only one copy left of our leather-bound edition of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker." I've removed the item from our store so we don't accidentally sell that copy more than once.

If you are interested in buying the last copy, please contact Sharon at sharon@lostartpress.com. Or you can call her at (317) 603-3605. As always, it's first-come, first serve.

We might do a second run of these special books later in the year if there's enough interest. Drop me a line at christopher.schwarz@fuse.net and let me know.

For those of you who are awaiting your copy of the leather-bound book, the shipment of books  arrived in Brooklyn on Wednesday for Joel Moskowitz to sign. He is signing them and dispatching them via priority mail as soon as possible.

Thanks to everyone who ordered this book and the regular edition of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker."

— Christopher Schwarz

"To Make As Perfectly As Possible" by Donald C. Williams and Michele P. Pagan

Andre Roubo's 1769 "L'Art du Menusier" is one of the most important Western works on woodworking. Roubo, a learned man and a Master Cabinetmaker, chronicled the craft and its tools from the unique perspective of a practicing menusier (woodworker). Yet until now his five-volume masterwork has never been translated into English.

Lost Art Press is pleased to announce that we will publish the first of two volumes of Roubo in 2011 (the second in 2013) that have been translated into English and annotated by a special three-person team that possesses unique knowledge of the history of woodworking and the language, history, craft and skills of 18th-century France. Our title for these volumes, "To Make as Perfectly as Possible," is taken from a phrase Roubo used repeatedly in his exhortations to excellence.

As a result, these two volumes – one on marquetry and the other on furniture making – will be more than a simple transliteration of the text. These books aim to capture the spirit and intent of Roubo, explain the processes in language that a modern woodworker can understand and (in some cases) fill in the gaps of knowledge that Roubo assumed his readers would have.

Work on this project is well underway. And after reading more than 80 pages of the team's initial work, I can tell you that it is mind-blowing and is easily the most important publishing project I have ever been involved in.

The Team and its Work
The translation process begins with Michele P. Pagan, a Washington, D.C.,-based textiles conservator with more than 20 years experience in preservation of historic materials. Ms. Pagan has previously translated conservation and other historical and technical materials privately for colleagues.

Pagan translates Roubo as verbatim as possible, making no alterations to the original syntax unless that renders it incomprehensible. This is the best way to capture both the information and the flavor of the original.

Then the text goes to Donald C. Williams, an internationally recognized furniture conservator, educator, writer and scholar who has been employed for more than two decades by the nation’s largest cultural institution in Washington, D.C. He is the co-author of the highly successful "Saving Stuff" (Fireside: Simon & Schuster, 2005), and is an expert furniture-maker, marqueter and finisher (his specialty is shellac).

Williams edits the text, reconfiguring it as much as necessary to make it readable to an artisan of the 21st century. He is not rewriting Roubo, but merely modifying it enough to make it comprehensible and read smoothly. He also inserts explanations of some of Roubo's processes. Readers of this blog may be most familiar with his writings on historic finishes (especially shellac) and historical tool marks.

After a couple rounds of editing, the manuscript then goes to his colleague Philippe Lafargue who trained as a traditional chair maker at the Ecole Boulle in Paris. He is well-versed in the arcane jargon of ancient French cabinetmaking, which is fortunate since some of the phrases Roubo used are simply untranslatable otherwise. Lafargue reviews the result from the perspective of a native Frenchman and historical craftsman to make sure the new English version would meet with Roubo’s approval.

In addition to this, Williams is constructing tools and exercises contained in Roubo, combining photos with new essays on the making and using of the tools, and explaining processes that Roubo glosses over.

The Result
Lost Art Press will publish two large-format hardbound volumes (the exact size has not been established), on acid-free paper with Smyth-sewn signatures. Like all Lost Art Press books, these will be produced entirely in the United States, from production to printing to binding. We have not yet determined the price.

The volumes will feature replicas of the artful original plates, plus the translated text with details of the plates inserted into the text at the appropriate place.

As this project advances we will keep you posted here on this blog. I've already received two extensive chapters for review and am practically sick that I cannot tell you everything I've learned so far. But I guarantee this: It will be worth the wait.

When we first spoke of this project, Williams stated the team’s goal as, “… to let the reader practically experience the sounds of the saws and fragrance of the wood shavings and glue pot in the shops where Roubo worked.”

They have succeeded.

— Christopher Schwarz

We now have 26 leather-bound copies of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" available for sale that will be individually lettered, signed by both Joel Moskowitz and myself and include the DVD in a sleeve that can be affixed to the book.

The leather-bound edition is $165 plus $8.50 for priority mail shipping anywhere in the United States. (Foreign orders will cost more for shipping. Contact Sharon at sharon@lostartpress.com for a quote.)

This edition is quite special. I picked up the 26 copies on Wednesday from the bindery, which is located in the basement of the Ohio Book Store, a Cincinnati institution since 1940. The two brothers who work there, Jim and Michael Fallon, have been binding books using traditional methods and materials for more than 20 years. (Their father owns Ohio Book Store.)

When I picked up the books Michael gave us a tour of the bindery and the processes he used to take our unbound copies of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" and add marbled end sheets, stout boards, a hand-aged leather cover and the gold lettering on the cover and spine.

The process uses many 19th- and early 20th-century machines (one machine was clearly once attached to a line shaft), plus many traditional tools and materials, such as hide glue and simple knives, and modern ones, such as PVA.

The 26 unbound editions had to be trimmed slightly to tidy up the edges, some of which were damaged in shipment. The books were trimmed with the guillotine. Then the books were taken to the rounder machine to have the spines rounded. This curved shape on the spine is a traditional touch and is done by pressing the spine against bar that squeezes the book, allowing the operator to shape the book to the desired shape.

A second machine squeezes the spine again to create a lip for the boards. Then the leather is trimmed to size and thickness (a tricky process that involves skilled handwork at the corners). Then the book is assembled and pressed overnight.

The foil lettering is added to the spine and cover by first creating a stamp using a Ludlow machine, which casts the stamp from lead – much like an old Linotype machine. The slug is then chucked into an arbor press. The press first debosses the leather (which simply creates an impression). Then the foil is inserted and the book is stamped again.

The work the Fallons do is very nice – I looked at a lot of their volumes before selecting them to bind these copies of "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker." And if you have binding needs of your own, I highly recommend them. The prices are reasonable – I shopped around – they are fast, easy to work with and do jobs for people all over the country.

For those of you who can afford a leather-bound edition of this book, I can promise you that you will be impressed by the craftsmanship – you'll find that the same care that we put into writing the book is also in the binding job.

— Christopher Schwarz

I'm a fairly good instructor, but there are some things I just cannot teach.

When I work with a student who keeps saying: "That's good enough" as they put a project together, I despair. When they say: "This is just a classroom experience," I freak out (inside).

The way I look at woodworking is that we get only one chance to get things right. Not close enough. Right. With most things in life I'm an "I'm OK, you're OK" kind of person, but not with woodworking. Either it's sharp or it's dull. Either the joint is tight or it's trash. Either the toolmarks are gone or they aren't.

How can you teach that? I point out problems, gaps, toolmarks, but either they can see it or they cannot at that point in their lives. (Be assured that I think that sometimes people have to be ready to receive the message. And people change.)

So today, my daughter Katy and I started building a version of the Packing Box from "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker." This was Katy's idea. She volunteered to build a box for her third-grade class that would hold the class's craft supplies. And she picked out the Packing Box as the ideal form (with hinges, a hasp and chains).

So today we trekked to my office to pick over the pine in the racks and get a good start.

I decided to introduce her to the machines today, including the jointer and planer. She wasn't going to operate them, but she was going to understand how they worked. So we picked our wood, cut it to rough length and started milling it on the machines. I pushed. She caught.

Immediately chips started flying in my face. The dust collector was clogged.

So we stopped what we were doing and flushed the sucker out. I took the 55-gallon bin out to the dumpster. When I returned, Katy had swept up the entire area and deposited things in the garbage. It was at that moment I knew this was going to be a good day.

We milled all her stock, and she would settle for nothing less than correct. She adjusted the rip fence on the table saw to exactly 5" (I did the ripping). When we milled the joints for the top and bottom panel, she could spy every gap and send me back to the jointer to fix the error.

When the panels went together, she adjusted all four boards in the glue-up. They were as flush as a veteran cabinetmaker's. I didn't even have to tell her what to do. She pushed the boards around until they were dead flush.

She pre-drilled, glued and nailed the entire carcase together by herself. I was only there to hold the boards. She became frustrated when one of the 16 cut nails split the end grain a bit.

"We have to start over," she said.

"No, I'll show you how to fix it," I replied.

She wanted it done right. She didn't want to cut corners. She wanted to do it herself. I can't teach that. After four hours of hard work (she was drifting off to sleep over dinner), she asked: "Can we attach the bottom tonight?" I told her it would be better to wait 24 hours for the glue to cure. She replied: "I can clean the shop."

I'm sorry to gloat here about my daughter, but this day was the best Christmas present I got.

— Christopher Schwarz

There is great debate among the Saw Nerds (I'm a card-carrying member) about when the backsaw came into this world, kicking and screaming and whipping its lamb's tongue to and fro.

Historic documents have been read. Great thoughts have been thinked. The Internet was clicked many times.

But what gets little attention is actually why the backsaw was ever developed.

In the mind of veteran carpenter and tool collector Carl Bilderback, you don't need a backsaw.

"You can cut any joint you want with a 16" panel saw," he said. "It's more than stiff enough for the job. So why do we have backsaws?"

Bilderback didn't have the answer to that rhetorical questions, but he did offer up some other thoughts. The late Cecil Pierce cut his dovetails (beautifully by the way) with a hacksaw. You can read all about that in his short book "The Precision Handcutting of Dovetails" from Astragal Press. And the book "Modern Practical Joinery" by George Ellis shows experienced joiners cutting tenons with handsaws. "Look ma, no back."

"Why do we even have $200 dovetail saws to do something you can do with a $15 hacksaw from Ace Hardware?" Bilderback asks.

Bilderback has cut lots of joints with a panel saw and recommends that if you want to try it yourself that you use a saw with little or no set.

This afternoon I gave it a try and cut dovetails with a crosscut panel saw. I was laughing the whole time I did it because it was extremely easy to switch from a backsaw to a panel saw. The tool leaves a big kerf in its wake, but that actually made it easy for the coping saw to drop in there to remove the waste.

— Christopher Schwarz

"A book on cheap paper does not convince. It is not prized, it is like a wheezy doctor with pigtail tobacco breath, who needs a manicure."

— Elbert Hubbard

One of my prized possessions does nothing but make me angry.

It's an autographed copy of Kurt Vonnegut's "Deadeye Dick" that's signed: "And for Chris. Kurt Vonnegut." What ticks me off is that the paperback itself is disintegrating. The binding is falling apart. The pages are yellowing, fragile and feel like they are disappearing into the air.

I'm almost afraid to pick it up and read it. And it's one of my favorite books.

When we publish a book here at Lost Art Press, we want to make sure it outlives us. We use acid-free paper; we get the book's signatures sewn and glued. We use thick boards covered in cloth.

And now we've gone over the top.

When we sent "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" to the printer in Pennsylvania, we asked to keep any leftover copies from the print run without the hardback boards. We got a few boxes of these spineless book guts, and they have been sitting in my basement since November.

Recently I took some to the Ohio Book Store in downtown Cincinnati, which has a binding division that specializes in restoration work and creating fine volumes for libraries and private collectors. The work of the three restoration specialists there was superb, so I asked them to finish these books like a mid-19th-century volume.

The result is beautiful.

What you see here in the photos is aged calfskin on heavy boards with marbled endsheets. The spine of the book is shaped to give it a nice curve, much like high-quality vintage books. The cover and spine are hand lettered in gold.

It is a delight, both to look at and read in this form.

We've asked Ohio Book to bind 26 of these books like this, which we'll offer for sale here and on the Tools for Working Wood web site. These books will be signed by me and Joel Moskowitz (the other modern author of the book). They will include the DVD, which will be glued into a sleeve at the back of the book. And each book will be lettered ("A" through "Z") and marked with the year, 2009.

The book should be available in a couple weeks, so save your pennies. Price: $165.

Believe me, this isn't about making money. The profit margin on this kind of hand work is pretty slim. But because we thought that offering a vintage binding on this important book would be a cool thing for our libraries, we thought you might feel the same way.

So if "Joiner and Cabinet Maker" ever does become one of your favorite things (and it's fast becoming one of mine) you can be sure that it will be around long enough to also become a favorite thing of your grandchildren.

— Christopher Schwarz

"Hand-covered books break up friendships. You loan a hand-covered book to a friend and when he doesn't return it you get mad at him. It makes you mean and petty. But twenty-five cent books are different."

— John Steinbeck