After I dragged my butt off the plane to Munich with no sleep, Heiko Pulcher did me a huge favor. He plunked me into his Subaru wagon and drove me to the Das Holztechnische Museum Rosenheim (The Rosenheim Wood Technology Museum).
It’s a 1,200-square foot museum devoted to all aspects of woodworking, from chopping down the trees to the machinery involved in the processing and the finished product.
I’ve never in my life seen a museum that is so focused on the trade. There were scale models of sawmills (from Roman times to the present), machinery you could touch, scads of tools presented in context and lots of ideas about how you could make a living working with wood.
Bending runners for sleighs.
I could have spent all day at the museum (we only had a few hours there). There’s an entire display just on riving wood. Another on bending. A whole wall of handplanes and how they worked and what they were used for.
It’s not a tool museum (though they do have lots of tools). Instead, it’s a museum about work (which is way better).
If I had walked into the museum when it opened in 1983 at age 15, I think my life might have taken a turn much sooner. I grew up around furniture making. My grandfather and uncle did it for relaxation. My father did it for necessity. But no one told me you could do it for a living.
A scale model of an industrial sawmill.
The closest thing to the furniture making profession that I knew about was architecture (our house was filled with architecture and carpentry books).
The museum in Rosenheim presents a much clearer picture. And it shows how the technology has changed through the centuries. There’s an entire display about wooden airplane propellers (they are still manufactured in Rosenheim), plus another display on wooden skis and a third display on wooden pipes used for moving salt water (true, that’s not a job you can get today).
And if I’d been there at 15, I might have walked out of the museum, enrolled at TH Rosenheim and gone full German woodworker.
If you are ever in Bavaria, the museum is well worth a visit. Right now there is an excellent temporary exhibition on Western and Japanese joinery, with a fascinating film on Japanese temple building.
Glen Huey, a great furniture maker, teacher and (I hope) friend, died unexpectedly on June 27 after posting a short notice about an upcoming medical procedure on Facebook. You can read his full obituary here.
I first met Glen in the late 1990s as he and his father, Malcolm, launched their custom furniture business and were showing their pieces in shows across the country.
I was working at Popular Woodworking Magazine at the time, and we were looking for new authors who could help us build a world-class woodworking magazine. One of the other editors, David Thiel, met Glen at a furniture show and was impressed by his furniture, his friendliness and his willingness to teach others.
It was a great match.
In the following years, we published dozens of articles in the magazine by Glen (and sometimes Malcolm). Glen was both ambitious and a quick study. He went from being a contributor that we assisted with ghostwriting to a completely independent and entertaining writer. (This is no small feat.)
Eventually, we asked if he wanted to join the staff of the magazine, and he agreed. Glen brought his skills and ambitions to the staff of the magazine. It’s completely fair to say that he was one of the key reasons the magazine rose in quality and stature. He had outstanding taste in furniture design. He was a fast builder. And what he built always elicited oohs and aahs from people.
I’d be dishonest if I also didn’t say that this success wasn’t easy. Glen and I frequently clashed on the editorial direction of the magazine. He thought I was too focused on hand tools. I thought that writing about handwork made us special.
This friction is (I think) essential to a good magazine. You have to have lots of strong points of view among your editors. Otherwise your rag is going to read like Melba toast.
I thought that Glen and I had a good and respectful relationship (he was the first person I invited to my 40th birthday party). But I might be wrong.
One morning, Glen asked if we could talk in one of the magazine’s conference rooms. He told me he was quitting, and he was visibly angry. It was obvious that he was angry with me and my editorial philosophy.
I immediately offered to make him a contributing editor and to continue to publish his work. He seemed a bit disarmed by this. I think he was expecting a fight. But I knew the magazine needed him.
After I left Popular Woodworking in 2011, Glen rejoined the staff of the magazine. Everything devolved into chaos there soon after because of corporate stupidity. Glen and two other employees left to start their own online magazine. And we lost touch after that.
Despite my checkered past with Glen, I have nothing but respect for him and his work. He was generous with his time and knowledge. There were so many times that I had to prepare wood on a Friday for a Saturday class. And Glen volunteered to stay late to help, though it was of no benefit to him.
He was willing to teach anything to anyone. And though he had a quick temper (Rule No. 1: Never cut off Glen in traffic), he also was just as quick to forgive and laugh about it.
When it came to furniture making, Glen taught me more than I can ever repay. Glen used to say: “If you can’t do it on the table saw, it isn’t worth doing.”
He was joking. But the guy knew the table saw better than anyone else I’ve ever met. And by watching Glen and working with him, I have a confidence and capability on the table saw that makes my day-to-day life easier in the shop.
But Glen’s biggest asset as a furniture maker was his eye. He knew how to build pieces that would appeal to a wide swath of woodworkers. His taste was for vernacular pieces that were just a notch above. Many times he could take a simple design and use wood selection (the guy adored curly maple) to make it something unforgettable.
He also wrote some great books before leaving the craft. And if you like traditional American furniture, I think you should own these as well.
After Glen left the furniture trade, he opened a donut business north of Cincinnati called “The Donut Dude.” I always meant to drive up and check it out (Megan did). It’s a huge regret for me. If you have any unfinished business like this in your life, don’t put it off.
— Christopher Schwarz
I have a few things to add to Chris’s comments above – but I must first reiterate that Glen was a massive asset to Popular Woodworking, during both of his staff tenures and as a contributor. He was also incredibly important to my development as a woodworker, and as generous with his time and teaching as could possibly be.
I’m glad I didn’t go down the hand-tool rabbit hole right away; I’d have missed out learning from Glen how to make large pieces of cove moulding on the table saw, cabriole legs on the band saw and line-and-berry inlay. He gave up several nights and weekends when I (entirely out of my depth) asked his help in making a spice chest for my mother’s Christmas gift, and we laughed together the whole time.
He was quite the charmer, too. My aunt and grandparents adored him; they met a few times when Glen helped move some things from their houses to mine – he was always willing to lend a hand.
I was overjoyed when he came back to Popular Woodworking during my tenure as editor. It was such fun to have him back around – until we eventually also butted heads about the magazine’s direction. We didn’t then part under the best terms, I think it’s fair to say. Despite the tussles, though, I missed him.
Last year, I happened to be driving by his donut shop and decided to visit, having no idea how I’d be received. I should have known Glen had long ago let bygones be gone. I got a big smile and a hug. Of course.
One of the most famous furniture makers and designers in the Midwest is someone you don’t hear much about in woodworking circles: David T. Smith. With this blog entry, I hope to change that – at least a little.
Smith is a long-time furniture maker in Morrow, Ohio, who specializes in early and vernacular American styles. Plus many woodworkers I know have worked for him during the last 40 years or been inspired by his designs.
My old boss at Popular Woodworking Magazine worked for The Workshops at David T. Smith, as did associate editor Jim Stuard and some of the other staffers who passed through the magazine. Troy Sexton, one of my favorite woodworkers, was a long-time subcontractor for Smith.
So during my 15 years on staff (1996-2011) I heard a couple hundred stories about Smith and his influence on the furniture market.
It’s hard for me to overstate how important this book was to amateur and professional furniture makers in this area during the 1990s. Everyone had this book. Everyone except me.
A porringer table at Smith’s. We basically copied it for the magazine.
So when Jim and Steve at Popular Woodworking decided to do a porringer table, I was astonished at how they came up with such a great design in short order. It turns out it was from Smith’s book (page 62 of the original edition).
I got wise. And I got my own copy of the book.
It is crammed with fantastic projects and techniques. Once I was shooting an article with Glen Huey and he built his divided-light doors in an astonishingly easy way.
“Wait,” I said. “We have to do an article on this technique you are showing me. It’s amazing.”
Glen quickly fessed up that it was from Smith’s book.
So get the book. Look past the 1990s-era printing and production values. The book was ghost-written by Nick Engler and Mary Jane Favorite at Bookworks Inc. in West Milton, Ohio. I worked with both of them for more than a decade (I was Nick’s editor). The information is fried gold.
Over the weekend, Megan Fitzpatrick and I drove to the Workshops of David T. Smith to attend its annual Festival of American Crafts. It’s been going on for 45 years now and is when Smith opens up the shops to the public. There he has a redware pottery facility, a blacksmith shop, a farm store and – of course – the furniture and finishing operations.
Plus there were a bunch of vendors selling antiques and new furniture. Plus alpacas to pet. Food trucks. And a band to entertain visitors. Smith himself was there, too, talking it up with customers and chatting about kitchens and furniture.
As Megan and I left the festival on Saturday, it struck me that I rarely hear many people mention his name or his book. And as I paged through the book this morning, I also have to admit that this book was a huge influence on me and stoked my love for vernacular pieces. And the designs have aged well during the last 35 years.
So let the record show: David T. Smith is someone I think you should get to know.
We are not fancy here. So when Megan threatened to wear a skirt, I knew this was a serious event.
Rob Spiece, director of woodcraft at Berea Student Craft, had scored invitations for all of us to see the opening of a new exhibit at the Taft Museum in Cincinnati: The Crafted World of Wharton Esherick.
It’s rare for Esherick’s pieces to leave Pennsylvania, and this was a chance to see the pieces interpreted by Rob, a woodworker who knows a lot about Esherick’s work and life (Rob is from the Philadelphia area).
So I put on a chambray shirt and pants that weren’t visibly ragged. And we arrived at the Taft’s valet parking station in my minivan.
Esherick (1887-1970) was a polymath who excelled at painting, sculpture, woodblock prints and furniture design. His paintings brush up against American impressionism at the end of the Arts & Crafts Movement in this country. His furniture is incredibly forward-looking, presaging the studio furniture movement in the 20th century.
The first piece we looked at (above) was Esherick’s first woodworking project, Rob said. It’s a huge drop-front desk with massive wooden carved hinges. The little detail in the base that looks like moulding? That’s a big flat drawer. The piece was made with little concern for wood movement or traditional practice, and it has cracks here and there. But the piece has an incredible presence.
I, of course, was interested in Esherick’s chairs. First up was this woven-seat chair made from hammer handles. While the idea was a simple art school trope (furniture from alternative objects), the execution was sublime. Even the choice of wood for the backrest.
This impressionist painting (below) by Esherick was a turning point for the artist, Rob said. Esherick built and carved the frame for the painting, and Esherick’s painting instructor suggested he might be a better carver than painter (I think the painting of yellow pines is beautiful, but what do I know?).
That remark helped propel Esherick into the world of furniture. His home in Malvern, Pennsylvania, became a complete art project for him. Every aspect of the building, from the stairwells down to the drawer pulls, are marked by his work.
Every aspect of his desk reflects this sensibility, all the drawers are filled with handmade cubbies and trays that provide dedicated spaces for all his writing tools.
If you visit Cincinnati in the next few months, I highly recommend visiting this exhibit. I don’t have room to show or discuss his woodcuts, which are incredible. The Taft Museum itself is worth a visit for its architecture – an early wooden Greek Revival home preserved in downtown Cincinnati.
And really, you don’t have to wear a skirt to the exhibit (Megan stuck with her jeans during our visit).
Catalan chair, c. 1950, original red paint. Photo from Antigues Matèries, Barcelona.
The Catalan variation of the of the post-and-rung chair has been traced back to the late19th century and is still made today. This native of Catalonia speaks to me; it whispers, “sit back and relax.”
As with its straight-backed relatives, these chairs were made with local woods and reed-woven seats. The chair back is inclined and typically has four slats. There are two rungs at the front and sides and one at the back. Two additional legs at the back provide thesupport for the inclined angle of the chair.The comfort of this vernacular chair is the inclined seat and the high and wide back.
Four views of another chair, c. 1930, photo from 1st Dibs.
Details include decorative turnings on the front post, especially at the base. Each chair that I’ve found has, for lack of a better term, a “beanie cap” turning at the top of the back post.
Detail of the “beanie cap” on the back post.
Salvador Dalí, native of Catalonia, owned armed versions of the six-legged chair at his home in Portlligat, Spain.
Dalí and Christine Argillet (daughter of Pierre Argillet, Dalí´s publisher) at Portlligat, Spain. Photo from Ms. Argullet via Richmond Magazine.
Rodríguez Aria (1902-1987) was a founding member of GATCPAC, a group of architects and technicians concerned with improving urban development and the quality of life in Barcelona. He was on the Republican side in the Civil War and eventually left Spain and exiled to Chile. He hadcharge of the interior design of Café Miraflores in Santiago de Chile, a gathering place for exiled Spanish intellectuals. His design for the café‘s chairs were a call back to the Catalan vernacular chair.
Germán Rodríguez Arias’ design for the Café Miraflores chairs, 1942. Photo from Mobles114.
Two editions of Rodríguez Arias’ chair.
The Catalana 1942 chair. Left: from Mobles114, Barcella. Right: the collection of Museu del Disseny, Barcelona.
This reimagining of the traditional Catalan six-legged chair is in line with the work done by Charlotte Perriand in the mid-1930s. After working with steel, she moved to the wooden vernacular furniture of her grandparent’s Savoie home as inspiration for her designs. I always think of these swings in design as a push and pull. There is a push to use new and modern materials, but the pull of the older design is always in the back of the mind.
Both the vernacular version and the Rodríguez Arias version of this chair are still made and, as one would expect, they are expensive.
Traditional Catalan chair, c. 1920 with brown-stained posts and rungs. Photo from Fenix Originals.
I wasable to get the measurements for four chairs dating from the 1920s to the 1950s (one of which is not pictured):
Height range: 88-100 cm (34.6-39.4 in.)
Width range: 48-50 cm (18.9-19.7 in.)
Depth range: 74-80 cm (29.1-31.5 in.)
Now, imagine sitting back in one of these Catalan chairs, preferably along the coast of Catalonia. The heat of the day has passed and as you sip from una copa de vi negre o una cervesa a light breeze surrounds you with the perfume of honeysuckle and orange.
