“Ingenious Mechanicks” is my least successful book – commercially – but it probably the one I’m most proud of. The research the Suzanne Ellison and I performed for the book involved sorting through thousands of fine art paintings. I had to travel to Germany and Italy to see examples of low workbenches first-hand. And the reconstructive archaeology was challenging. Writing the book forced me to appreciate what can be done with few tools and no vises – just stops, gravity and wedges. This approach infiltrated my everyday work at the bench, and I am faster and better for it.
— Christopher Schwarz
It’s not fair to our early ancestors to put words in their mouths. We don’t know how dry their wood was when they started to build their workbenches. Was it fresh from the tree? Dried for 20 years? Something in between?
We can guess, which is what most people do. Or we can build a bunch of workbenches from woods in varying degrees of wetness and observe the results through several years. This second path is much more difficult than sitting naked in the dark at your computer keyboard – fingers covered in the dust of Cheetos – and pontificating online. But it’s the path I took.
Here’s what I’ve found: Dry wood is the best. But because you are unlikely to find big slabs of wood that are totally dry, then dry-ish wood is great, too. What I mean by dry-ish is somewhere about 20 percent moisture content (MC) or less. When you use dry-ish wood there are rarely any unhappy endings that involve splitting or warping. The wood will settle down quickly – within a year or so – and the benchtop won’t require more than a couple flattenings.
My next choice is wood that I call “moist.” This is stock that is somewhere between 20 percent and 50 percent MC. This sort of stock is what I usually look for when building massive oak workbenches for customers. It’s stuff that is about 6″ thick and has been drying for a decade.
This wood has some drying to do after you turn it into a workbench. Expect some shrinkage and checking on the end grain. It will calm down after a few years and four or five flattenings of the benchtop. My only other caution with moist stock is to not rely on glue for the joinery. Because of the wetness of the wood, water-based glues (yellow, white and hide) won’t be effective. I recommend you rely on drawboring and wedging.
Finally, there is fresh wood, stuff that was a living tree less than a year prior. This stock is fairly easy to find and fairly cheap, but it can be tricky. Water-based glues aren’t a good idea. And you can experience significant warping and checking as the wood dries. My first precaution is to use a species that is easy to dry, such as red oak. Look for a slab where the grain runs fairly straight through the face and the edges. Orient the slab so the heart side is your benchtop (with the bark side facing the floor). And paint the end grain of your completed benchtop with a latex paint to slow the drying, especially if your bench will be in a climate-controlled shop.
All these precautions will reduce the risk that your benchtop will warp horribly. But there is no guarantee.
At 1 p.m. Eastern tomorrow (Tues., Oct. 6), Peter Galbert will carve a chair seat right in front of your very eyes on Mary May’s live-streamed Twitch TV channel. The web address is: twitch.tv/marymaywoodcarver.
You don’t have to have a Twitch account to watch, but if you want to ask questions or interact in any way, you do. Twitch is free and can be watched online, or through the free app for either iOS or android.
If you can’t make the live stream, you can watch the recorded show afterward on Mary’s Twitch channel.
— Fitz
p.s. Obligatory commercial mentions: Take a look at Mary May’s “Carving the Acanthus Leaf” here, and Peter Galbert’s “Chairmaker’s Notebook” here.
“Drew’s books and tool sales were invaluable to me in the 90s as I explored traditional woodworking. There was a fascinating world within the brown cover of his 1978 book ‘Country Woodcraft’ and Drew and Louise were really living it. From Louise’s baskets to a carved hauling yoke to bowls and spoons, I found wood, and the working of it, honored.”
Drew and Louise Langsner began their woodworking classes at Country Workshops in 1978 and ran them until 2017 – more than 400 classes in all. The instructor list reads like a who’s who of green woodworking, featuring Wille and Jögge Sundqvist, Jennie Alexander, Curtis Buchanan, Brian Boggs, Carl Swensson, John Brown, the toolmaker Hans Karlsson and more. Working with and alongside these great craftspeople, I’d bet Drew has seen more green woodworking than anyone alive. There’s so much content rattling around in Drew’s memory, and now he’s distilled much of that information into a new expanded edition of his 1978 book “Country Woodcraft.”
The world was young when the book first came out. If you wanted information like this back then, it was more than a click away. Mail order was the standard order of the day. That’s how I got the book. Then just a couple years later, a notice in small print in the back of Fine Woodworking alerted me to the existence of Drew’s then-fledgling school called Country Workshops. A long trip from Massachusetts down to North Carolina, and my world changed forever.
But the book started it, along with John Alexander’s “Make a Chair from a Tree,” which was published the same year. “Country Woodcraft” was a project-based book that really taught techniques, starting off with felling and splitting trees into usable sections and going through the making of all manner of household and farm implements. This book is where Americans first saw Wille Sundqvist make wooden spoons; Drew and Louise met Wille in 1976, then brought him to their farm two years later for some of the first courses their school ever ran. The hewn wooden bowls stem from the same source. White oak basketry and poplar bark boxes are among the many projects included here that they learned in their adopted home of southern Appalachia.
Now with the updates to this seminal book we have the benefit of all of Drew’s continued exploration. Having watched Drew now for much of 40 years, I can tell you he puts a tremendous amount of thought into his woodworking and teaching. Drew has always wanted to know how to use this tool, that technique, but also why to use them. And how to make them better. He has searched out great craftspeople and toolmakers and learned as much as he could from them, adapting and blending ideas from one to another. Refinement has been at the forefront of his work. Being a teacher and overseeing others instructing classes, Drew’s focus is often on how to convey his ideas to students. And they get more than their money’s worth. “Life-changing” is an adjective often used to describe students’ experiences at Country Workshops.
Reading the new edition of “Country Woodcraft” was as exciting for me as reading it the first time all those years ago. Great depth and detail, showing us what has changed his thinking through the decades and why. Things Drew couldn’t have known back then are carefully explained now – even down to what to do with the shavings! Many of us remember when the book first came around, but now the great influx of interest in green woodworking, spoon carving and other related crafts will introduce this well-deserving giant in the field to a whole new audience.
I’ve taken a few green woodworking classes, and I’ve lurked in the background for several others. What stands out to me from those experiences is that the axe is the tool most unfamiliar to green green woodworkers. Sure, we all know what an axe is, and we might have used one to split firewood.
But most woodworkers haven’t used an axe for carving until their first green woodworking class. I know I hadn’t. And my grandfather’s axe from his short stint as a carpenter on the L&N Railroad cut neither the mustard nor the wood (at least not as I needed it to).
So even though the pdf excerpt below is one of the appendices from Drew Langsner’s “Country Woodcraft: Then and Now,” I think it’s an excellent introduction to green woodworking.
Reminder: Until the physical book ships to the warehouse, all orders include a free pdf download of “Country Woodcraft: Then and Now” in its entirety.
James Krenov during a cello performance by Bernard Henderson and Marcia Sloane at the music stand he made in 1987. Photo by Paul Arnold.
We are taught from a young age that compromise and flexibility are golden attributes. I have seen their reward; I won’t go too far into my own sinuous background, but putting myself into different settings with good people, following their lead or being willing to bend my own path, has brought wonderful experiences and opportunities. In woodworking, it’s been ventures into chairmaking, Krenovian cabinetmaking, historic techniques, slapdash construction and basketweaving. In life, it means having a Master’s in computer music, working at a large media/publishing company, working with CNCs to produce violin parts, writing a book, living in five states in less than a decade and being an underemployed but happy craftsperson.
In my three years of researching, interviewing and writing “James Krenov: Leave Fingerprints,” a second lesson in compromise has emerged. There is a lot in Krenov’s story that points to the other side of the coin – the side that makes itself apparent when someone refuses to compromise their worldview or creative practice, even at the cost of their own well-being or success. To me, both the reward and punishment of that second approach is no more apparent than in Krenov’s trajectory from an obscure travelogue writer to a widely celebrated cabinetmaker.
As I interviewed people about Krenov – his students, colleagues, friends, supporters and detractors – the downside of his attitude became apparent. Krenov’s frequent lack of diplomacy in expressing his approach to craft closed doors and alienated many. It took him several tries at educational institutions to find a situation that met his demands or could handle his irascibility concerning the validity of other approaches. His articles in Sweden’s FORM magazine express his disenfranchisement from Scandinavian contemporaries and consumers, often because he thought they would not appreciate or adopt his idiosyncratic approach (though it was there that he reached a level of renown few could hope for). His outlook often made Krenov hard to please, and kept him looking on the other side of the fence (or ocean) for greener grass. It made it difficult (for many years, impossible) to make a living at his craft.
But in this lack of compromise, we can see the seeds of Krenov’s success. At the beginning of his career, a time when Scandinavia was moving toward functionalism and practicality, Krenov declared himself and his work to be outside of those considerations. He called for craftspeople, amateur and professional, to enjoy their work, whatever the wider public insisted about its efficacy or profitability. He was the strongest advocate for the inherent worth of work done well.
Krenov talking to a student at Anderson Ranch in 1989, during a teaching stint that summer. He’s wearing a “samue,” a work jacket worn by Buddhist monks that he was given during his time in Takayama, Japan, in 1988.
So many of us who insist on making furniture or practicing a craft at the highest standards we can muster, rationalize our position and damn the time or impracticality of its execution. We insist that our work is more durable and a better investment, or more timeless and not subject to trendiness or fads.
At several point in his career, Krenov relays these considerations – but he was working to different criteria, not obviously connected to financial or aesthetic concerns. Looking over his work and the lessons he taught, it’s clear that these were secondary (or even tertiary) concerns. He encouraged impracticality and insisted that his way was too difficult to be of use to a professional woodworker. He wanted to be remembered as a “stubborn, old enthusiast.”
I don’t mean to imply a lack of subtlety to his position; in fact, many of his favored students eschewed his path in aesthetics, technique and financial success. I offer up the idea that the “middle path” Krenov described between handwork and machine work – a compromise from many perspectives – was part of what made it so successful and appealing to his hundreds of thousands of readers. And there were students who disagreed with his advice that he came to support or enable – in spite of their resistance. He butted heads with students who, like him, insisted on the value of their own ideas, but in the end many of them won his respect. He could be an inspiring teacher and a friendly mentor, whimsical and enthusiastic.
Krenov’s 1962 “No-Glass Showcase of Lemon Wood,” made just three years after his graduation from Malmsten’s school in Stockholm. The early appearance of some of Krenov’s signature techniques and aesthetics points to his early talents in the craft and is evidence of a lifelong refinement of their execution. Photo by Bengt Carlén.
Krenov’s ability to resist outside influence, especially in terms of income, was enabled by the support of Britta, his wife, who was a high school teacher with a degree in economics and finance. He was also supported by the socialist infrastructure of Sweden, which awarded him stipends and gave Britta a steady pension after her retirement in the late 1970s.
But there is a lesson that can be distilled from Krenov’s path. It isn’t exactly “stick to your guns” or “ignore the haters.” But, after years of my own consideration of Krenov’s story and the memories of those who crossed his path, I think one part of the whole reads something like this: Take in what you can from those around you when you set off, work hard to examine what you value and/or enjoy in your chosen pursuit and be determined enough to pursue it at whatever cost.
A photo of Krenov on his last day at the College of the Redwoods in 2002. Photo by Leonard Bechler.
It may not lead to success in any traditional sense. Krenov’s career might be measured in book sales or influence, but I think it’s best measured by the memories that were shared with me. His students remember Krenov’s satisfaction in shaping the leg of a stand late into the evenings, or the time he spent happily arranging and composing a freshly sawn batch of veneers. Pursue fulfillment; if you’re lucky or dogged or particularly talented, other measures of success might come to pass. If you’re not, at least you can say it wasn’t a waste of time.
There are many ways to poke holes in this idea as it applies to your own world; I’m not one to promote orthodoxy or dogma. You might be able to follow Krenov’s path with a more polite or amenable attitude. You could pick fulfillment as a guide, and still frequently change the tack of your pursuit. But if you read Krenov’s story (and I hope you will) I think the case study in rigidity and conviction that he lived is worthy of consideration. It is not a prescription, but it might be a part of finding your own path.
