When I talk with other woodworkers about my own trajectory, nearly everyone asks about what it was like to be a student at the College of the Redwoods Fine Woodworking program (now aptly renamed The Krenov School), so I now have a spiel about my time there. It was an incredible space and monastic in focus on the craft, and I was surrounded by capable instructors, enthusiastic peers and beautiful Northern California.
When I was writing “James Krenov: Leave Fingerprints,” I posed the same questions I have so often fielded to other alumni, in particular to those students who studied while Krenov was still in residence: from the school’s 1981 inception to his 2002 retirement. There were common experiences from everyone: camaraderie, self-improvement and personal development, and an excitement at prospects of continuing a creative practice. While the book concerns itself with Krenov, nearly 100 of its 300 or so pages are about his time establishing and working at the school. Integral to that research were those interviews with alumni; they not only illuminated their experiences with the school, but also opened a window into its founding and to Krenov’s intentions as a teacher.
I won’t venture to summarize a hundred pages of writing in a few paragraphs; I’ll also avoid my tendency toward voluminous blog posts. Instead, I’ll share a short excerpt from the afterword. In it, I included my own experience – something that I avoided to that point. But the afterword was a good place to help the reader – now versed in Krenov’s life and work – understand how James Krenov, his school and the process of writing the book has shaped my own life as a craftsperson.
From page 245 of “James Krenov: Leave Fingerprints”:
Like so many students who attend the College of the Redwoods Fine Woodworking Program, I was in my 20s when I upended my life to move to Fort Bragg, California. My father, Robert Gaffney, was an amateur cabinetmaker, and after my stint in academia, I was hoping to explore and train the curiosity in wood that my father had instilled in me. I was also, perhaps, looking for a different path and pursuit than the one I was on.
A year or so earlier, when I was home to visit during graduate school, my father and I had talked about my prospects of a formal woodworking education. I had been working with him in his shop for years, but with a harrowing prognosis for his pancreatic cancer, we both wondered if I might be able to work with him when I returned East. Like so many other hobbyists, I had spent years poring over the projects in the “Reader’s Gallery” of Fine Woodworking, and noted that a large number of these projects seemed to come from a small town in Northern California. When my father opened the family computer and saw that I was looking at the admission requirements for the woodworking program at College of the Redwoods, he was thrilled at the prospect. He even helped put the few amateurish woodworking projects I had to show into a portfolio for my application to the school. By the time I was there, he wasn’t around to wish me well, but I had arrived with some of his tools and a knowledge that he had been excited for my next chapter.
Krenov died several years prior to my arrival, but as so many others in the years after his retirement have attested, his presence in the curriculum and the pedagogy of his successors was undeniable. I had picked out my father’s copy of “The Fine Art of Cabinetmaking” from his books and read it the week prior to arriving. The tool list handed to new students noted it as a requirement. I didn’t read “A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook” until I was a month or two into my schooling, and by then I already found its philosophy and approach a familiar take.
I shudder to think what Krenov might have thought about my first project, a desk that is undoubtedly “engineer art” with a brass and wood mechanism that allows for an adjustable-height worksurface. Or what he’d say about my Tage Frid stool and the odd zither I built later in the year. But just as so many students emerged from the school with differing aesthetics and shared roots, the school and Krenov’s words had shown me what I could make when I held myself to the highest standards and shunned the prospects of efficiency or limitations. It took me years to find a workshop and situation that might allow me to work again with wide shop-sawn veneers (and I still don’t have a proper horizontal mortiser) but I never looked back. Woodworking, more specifically this quiet and mindful flavor, was a new path.
The school I attended was nearly that which Krenov had departed a decade earlier. In the years since Krenov’s retirement, it has seen only a few changes in its staff. When Michael Burns retired in 2011, after 30 years at the school, he was replaced by Laura Mays, who helmed the school during my time there, and still does. A few years after my time, David Welter retired after 30 years; he was replaced by Todd Sorenson, a graduate of the classes of ’01 and ’02. Jim Budlong is still a core member of the faculty and a fundamental presence since joining it in the fall of 1989. Ejler Hjorth-Westh and Greg Smith are there, having taken Krenov’s position in 2002, and they bring their own skills and perspectives to the curriculum. Under Mays’ directorship the school hasn’t missed a beat. A wave of passion, ever-refreshed with new perspectives, meets returning alumni and visitors alike at the door.
Perhaps the most amazing thing I saw in my time at the school was the strength of its community. During my cohort’s midwinter show (a show that has been held every year since the early 1980s), a hundred or so alumni came to see the work on display, some flying from distant cities for the chance to reconnect with old friends and check in on the school. Britta Krenov, then in her 90s, came to visit; she made sure to commune with the student work and encourage the makers. By the year of my attendance, there were more than 500 graduates of the program. I don’t know many schools that can bring back a fifth of its alumni for a yearly gathering.
P.S. If you’re interested in reading the experiences of some of the school’s other alumni, the school has collected a number of student blogs through the years, and you can read them for yourself. I highly recommend it.
I think Krenov would be happy with the work you have done and are doing. As he was always trying to learn new ways, you are also continuing to learn. So don’t try to follow in his footsteps, but seek what he sought. You will go far.
“I…” “I…” “I…” “I…” “I…” It’s distracting. Constructive feedback.
Not really the author’s fault, I think; more the tenor of this younger generation’s times. I hear you, though.
Bought his Krenov book, am reading it now, and and am very appreciative. Krenov was
definitely playing tennis very late in life: we hit some on the public courts there in ’99,
and he moved well! Helped him a little in cutting up some wood, too- quite an approach he had to that!
Adding: it’s hard to know what is the “real” person- if such a thing exists!- but the little
time I spent on a tennis court felt realer than most. He showed up late, then chastised
me for something or other about that.. such is life.
Is it possible that Bengt Carlen’s (wish I knew more about him) superb photographs had at least something to do with the popularity of Mr. Krenov’s work?
Brendan – greetings and I hope this message finds you well. We met briefly at the Covington storefront when I took a three legged stool course with Chris one weekend a year and a half ago. You came in to work a few hours on a four railed Chester Cornett style rocker. I was a bit intimidated 🙂
I just opened your new book about Krenov. Wow – it’s fantastic. My wife ordered three Lost Art press books for me for Christmas. I was looking forward to yours the most.
I have always enjoyed Krenov’s style but his work is not exactly what we’d use in our own house.
We don’t devote corners for display of a few items. For right or wrong, we generally have too many knickknacks and thus have overstuffed bookcases. I have decided to make a Jewelry Cabinet on Stand for my wife similar but different from Krenov but it will borrow a few influences.
What I enjoy most about your book is that it is written by someone that I had briefly met. I would have purchased the book simply because it was a Lost Art Press title so I knew it was going to be well done. But since it was on a favorite woodworker of mine by a fellow woodworker I had actually met I couldn’t pass it up.
But then wow – it’s a great book! The fact that you were obviously trained in the Krenov style but had never actually met him I think allows there to be some objective distance in your biography style. The book is probably a very measured and true assessment of who Krenov was. Often difficult, but honest and brilliant, the characterization of Krenov feels genuine and the book is neither fawning or critical. It just feels authentic. But my favorite part of the book is how well you did your research and crosschecking. It feels like you place Krenov accurately in the constellation of other brilliant woodworkers of his day like Maloof, Nakashima, Castle, Knox-Bennett and a myriad of others. I love the stories and minor intellectual skirmishes between these greats. It was also refreshing to hear stories of how self-aware Krenov was – recognizing his own part in some of those misunderstandings. Sounds like he knew who he was, and that was enough. All in all, a great story of a full life.
At 51, I have often reflected that I was born early enough to have seen my idols of Rock and Roll like the Stones, the Who, David Bowie etc…. but I was not smart enough to enjoy as many concerts while these greats were touring. I cherish my memories of actually seeing Rush and Pink Floyd in concert, but that’s a sparse resume of great concerts. I wish I’d seen more. The same could be said of my woodworking heroes. I am old enough that I could have seen some of these greats before they were gone, but regrettably I did not. I am now committed to seeing and taking classes from those who remain and the next generation of great woodworkers passing on their skills across the country.
Bravo – great book