Editor’s note: This is the third Chair Chat with Rudy and Klaus where today we discuss not one but three chairs.
Please note that we don’t have much background information on today’s three chairs. We don’t know their countries of origin nor when they were built. And we only have one picture for each chair.
We don’t authenticate chairs – we just talk about what we like and don’t like based on the photos. One more note: A few of you asked why the second chair chat was more tame than the first. Answer: We’re still finding our groove. As always, salty talk follows. Don’t read any further if watching “Animal Planet” makes you blush.
Elements of this kitchen’s design. The subway tile is not definite yet but is among the elements Ben and Jenny have had in mind from the start.
The big picture
As with methods of building cabinetry, there may well be as many potential takes on designing the kitchen for a particular house as designers who might be hired for the job. My own starting points include the clients’ preferences and the architectural context.
This kitchen is for a 1959 ranch originally built for a middle-class family. While decidedly modest (not shouting Hey, I’m cool! Look at me!), it incorporates some classic mid-century modern features. There’s an asymmetrical façade and stepped roof with generous overhangs at front and back. Inside, the kitchen cabinets are set into bulkheads. There’s streamline casing on windows and doorways. The floors are a mix of plain- and rift-sawn oak. The layout is split-level, with public rooms (living room and kitchen) on the main/entry floor, a short flight of stairs going up to the three original bedrooms and a full set of stairs to the walk-out basement, which has a laundry room, bedroom (added several years ago) and storage.
I don’t have access to pictures of the original kitchen, but in this case the missing information is immaterial. The clients didn’t want to recreate the kind of retro kitchen typical of local mid-century modest ranches.
A mid-century classic. Most of this cabinetry is original to this kitchen, whose owners hired me several years ago to help with a few repairs and missing details. The original counters had been replaced; these red laminate counters with period-authentic metal edgings were fabricated by Laminated Tops. (General contractor: Golden Hands Construction)
Instead, as I’ve described in previous posts (here and here), they hoped to integrate the kitchen at least somewhat with the living room, as well as make it feel warmer and lighter. Replacing the hard, cold tile floor with oak run continuously from the living room will make a huge difference in perceived warmth. Skylights will bring in more natural light, and replacing the barely functional dark cabinets with clear-finished white oak will further enhance the warming and lightening effect.
I give clients all the pros and cons I can think of concerning every detail, from hinges to toekicks, and then I give my own opinion, assuring them that the decisions are ultimately theirs to make. I also think it’s important at least to broach the subject of resale appeal in kitchen design discussions. (Whether or not you have this discussion, you can be sure your clients’ family or friends will bring it up; at least if you’ve already run them through it, they will be better able to stand their ground in the face of know-it-all second-guessers.) Real estate agents and other pros have reams of advice, but I find the overwhelming majority of it useless (not to mention boring; who wants to live with a room designed for the lowest common denominator?). You can’t read the minds of future buyers. The fact is, an awful lot of people — perhaps the majority, these days — are determined to redo the kitchen when they buy a place, even if the existing kitchen was recently done; it’s a way of making their own statement. So if you’re jonesing for a kitchen based on the original cabinets of your 1915 bungalow, or your heart is set on a vision of teal, aquamarine and green…well, you can probably tell where this is going.
Kitchen in a 1915 bungalow, Indianapolis. Newly built cabinets based on a surviving original built-in, reclaimed heart pine counters, a reproduction sink and faucets and refinished original maple floor. The leaded glass windows are also original. (No cries of complaint about the beer bottle, please! It was not mine, but the client’s from the night before.)My business did this kitchen for Carol and Roger Parks in 2006. Daniel O’Grady and Jerry Nees worked on the job with me. Carol chose the color scheme, which includes emerald-green glass cabinet knobs, in response to the original glass wall tiles; she had the floor painted with a quilt-inspired pattern. The base cabinets are cherry, the uppers finished with milk paint sealed with oil-based polyurethane. Regarding the durability of the finish, when I had the kitchen photographed in 2018, thanks to gracious permission from the current homeowners, the cabinets and floor of this hard-working, well-used room were in excellent condition. (General contractor: Golden Hands Construction Photo: Spectrum Creative Group)
Cabinet design
Jenny and Ben have three children and really use their kitchen, so when considering materials, I put durability at the forefront. White oak faces would be fairly bullet-proof, and the grain’s a champ at distracting the eye from scratches, dents and other signs of wear. I suggested straightforward lines for the cabinets in the main preparation area. But wanting to distinguish the cabinets from the ubiquitous take on mid-century style produced by the more commercial shops in our area, I suggested a few tweaks: Instead of fully recessed kicks, we’d have a more “carpentery” design, with stiles going to the floor to accentuate the cabinets’ structure. Using adjustable European hinges and drawer slides, I could fit the cabinets with inset doors and drawer faces while staying within the budget. For optimal durability, I’ll have the cabinets sprayed with conversion varnish by my finishing subcontractor.
When it came to designing the shallow cabinets for the opposite wall, which forms the transition between entry area and living room to kitchen, I couldn’t bring myself to repeat the same design. I wanted these cabinets to be less “workerly,” more appropriate to this liminal space. I have a vivid memory of a stacking set of small, circular wooden boxes my parents had in the early 1960s; they may have been Japanese. I was mesmerized by their form and finish — enamel paint in mid-century versions of yellow, red and green, each with a rounded black rim. This built-in — part kitchen, part entry area — seemed an ideal place to incorporate such an aesthetic.
Milk paint
I suggested milk-paint for this cabinet because it lends itself to so many textural finishes. For the carcases, blocks of different colors will be framed by narrow solid lippings painted black. Full-overlay doors and drawer faces will have black edges. The kick will be fully recessed and painted black. The clients will choose a mix of colors and finish effects — perhaps single-color, perhaps layered — and I will have the whole thing sprayed with topcoats of conversion varnish for durability.
A few of the possible colors, all from Real Milk Paint: Beachglass, Boardwalk, French Gray and Granny Smith green.Another possible color combinationThe textured two-layer treatment in the red/gold sample recalls similar effects in this painting by Paul Klee. What does a 1922 painting have to do with mid-century design, you wonder? I was born in the year my current clients’ house was built. In the early 1960s our parents had a print of “Senecio” in the living room. Many expressions of “high culture” in the pre-internet 20th century (such as works by artists and architects) did not become widely known and influential on popular style until decades after their original production. This is another aspect of kitchen design that gets a workout in the section of my book on period kitchens. (Image: Phaidon)
Cabinet hardware and counters
The door and drawer pulls (in the picture at the top of the post) are from Schoolhouse. Hanging open shelves over the sink area will retain the openness between the kitchen and living room while adding extra space for storage and decorative objects. The counters will likely be a dark gray soapstone.
Editor’s note: This is the second Chair Chat with Rudy and Klaus where today we discuss a chair that was sold by a Welsh antiques dealer represented as being from Bronant in Cardiganshire. We don’t authenticate chairs – we just talk about what we like and don’t like. This one is another three-legged thing measuring 22″ wide, 15-3/8″ deep and 41″ tall.
I adore all three-legged chairs (it might have to do with my three-legged cat) but this one is especially special.
Chris: What I love about this chair is it’s so simple below the seat and has a lot going on above the seat. Like wearing a tux and a Speedo.
Klaus: Good analogy. Everyone can relate to that, Chris. It’s incredibly beautiful. First of all, I love the wear on that finish.
Rudy: Funny how it’s worn on all sticks.
Chris: Yeah. Do you think the wear is authentic?
Rudy: Maybe, maybe not…
Klaus: Looks like it’s rubbed off. Not by buttocks, I mean.
Rudy: If the sitter had a large enough back to reach those outer long sticks…
Chris: That’s what first jumped out at me. The wear on the back looks right. But it must have been a fat dude wearing a 120-grit T-shirt to get the sticks that way.
Rudy: Exactly!
Klaus: How common is it to manipulate a finish in antique furniture?
Chris: Very. But aside from that, I love the boxy top.
Rudy: Yup, me too. The crest adds a lot to the overall appearance too.
Klaus: Very compact and perfectly proportioned. If the back was longer, it would tip the balance, I think.
Chris: Totally agree. I tend to like compact backs. Though they are much harder to make comfortable.
The three-piece armbow shows great skill. I think the ends of the joint are beveled in. But it’s a bit tricky to see with the photos.
Rudy: What is funny though is that one stick that protrudes on the right arm. Was that a repair?
Chris: A repair or a stick that has come loose from the mortise below. Odd how they antiqued it….
Klaus: If it was a repair, then why let it protrude like that?
Rudy: …and somehow it has the same wear as the sticks around it…
Chris: Exactly! Anyway, getting away from the CSI Wales, I also adore the comb.
Rudy: It is a thing of beauty in its simplicity.
Klaus: I like that that subtle bend to the comb. A good crest can really top off a chair
Chris: And the ends. Not an obvious shape until you see it. Like a stone worn by a river.
Rudy: Or by a fat back.
Klaus: Oooh, poetic analogy again, Chris!
Rudy: And there is no doubler.
Klaus: The scarf joint eliminates the need for that, I guess.
Chris: Indeed. Bent arms and the scarf allow you to get away with that. I gotta think that the arms are bent branches or roots – like what Emyr Davies and Chris Williams say.
The top of this chair is just perfect. The unusual stuff is in the seat.
Klaus: That seat grain pattern looks like the universe itself.
Rudy: What strikes me is that the seat is so thick, yet it doesn’t appear clunky or out of balance.
Chris: I LOVE the chunky seat. But I don’t have a butt, so perhaps I am just jealous.
Klaus: Very nice. And no bevel on the underside? Wait, there IS a small bevel actually… And this is what John Brown called a modified seat, isn’t it?
Chris: Yeah. And I REALLY want to know more about those.
Rudy: Yup! With three pegs going through the added piece from the front. Do you think the maker used glue in addition?
Klaus: I recently asked chairmaker Chris Williams about this subject. He pointed out that the arms always dictate everything. Which means that the front short sticks would come too close to the edge if the maker hadn’t made that add-on. And rather than shortening the armbow – if he only had that particular piece of ash seat available – he’d have to extend the seat. And there likely was no glue available when that was built.
Chris: I agree. But what about when the modification looks later than the chair? I assume these were added for comfort or another reason.
Klaus: If added at a later stage it must have been for added comfort, I agree.
Rudy: Part of the seat could have snapped off, but that is not so likely with a seat this thick…
Chris: I assume so. But we don’t know. What we do know is that it appears on chairs. Sometimes it looks original. Sometimes not. This one could be original. But I’ve seen some that look too recent. And by a different hand.
Rudy: Did you guys spot that big knot right in the seat right next to the back leg?
Chris Schwarz: Yes. I would have hated to drill that back leg mortise. I wonder if the maker was aiming for the knot (assuming he/she drilled from below).
Rudy: The maker could have made it a four legged chair, but instead drilled his mortise right next to a knot… puzzling. But the chair survived fine!
Klaus: Haha. Good point. And what happened on the back corner there? You think it split when he hammered in the stick or drilled the mortise? Or did some drunk Welshman throw the chair out of a window, perhaps?
Chris: I thought it was a defect in the seat. A loose knot?
Klaus: My wife says I’ve got a loose knot, too.
Chris: I think we are much pickier about wood for the seat than earlier makers.
Rudy: But going back to the fact that the chair has three legs: Three legged chairs were usually made to be stable on uneven floors. But this chair does not look primitive enough to me to be living in a barn somewhere. I could be wrong of course, but most three-legged chair examples I have seen were stools, backstools or lowbacks.
Chris: There are some nice three-leggers out there. But you are correct in general.
Klaus: Good point, Rudy. This one is perhaps one step above so-called furniture of necessity. What strikes me though, is how hard it would be for me to make a “primitive” chair like this.
Chris Schwarz: I agree, it’s a trick to have a chair that is so simple, balanced, elegant and rustic. I want to make one. This one just nails it down below. I love the splay on the front legs. Aggressive, but not overly. The maker had a good eye.
Rudy: Indeed. I love the general appearance, very balanced and a great form overall!
Klaus: I also love that the arm tilts ever so slightly upwards.
Chris: I hadn’t noticed. Nice catch! If that’s the case, it allows you to put the back of the armbow closer to the lumbar region. And get the hands up. It shows skill and thoughtfulness.
Rudy: Yeah, and it makes the chair very inviting to sit in.
Klaus: Definitely. It probably pitches the sitter a bit back. The slightly tilted arm adds an upward movement to the look of chair, too. And the sticks are also slightly longer above the arm, than under, which adds to that same upwards movement. I like that. Makes the whole chair stretch upwards.
Rudy: True. And all this is balanced by the thick seat.
Chris: Agree. I want to sit in it and see how it feels. So, anything bad to say about this chair? Any misses?
Klaus: Hm. well, about the turned legs? I mean, I like them, but..
Chris: They could be shaved. Look at the reflection on the front leg. It suggests a facet to me.
Klaus: Actually, they fit the rest of the chair. I’m not sure hexagonal or octagonal would fit here.
Rudy: My eye is distracted by the nice splay. But I agree, I don’t think hexagons or octagons would have worked as well here.
Chris: Lots of round legs were shaved I think. I really like doing that on Gibson chairs. Looks better than lathe work. Or my lathe work, that is.
Klaus: So the conclusion is that the chair is perfect, then!
Rudy: Do we want to give this chair a name?
Chris: How about Try Tri Again? …after last week’s three-legger?
Klaus: Yeah, that sounds good!
Rudy: Perfect!
Chris: Cool. Thanks guys. These chats are fun. Especially the parts we can’t print.
As we near the home stretch on our forthcoming book about kitchens, we thought it would be fun to publish a series of posts about a kitchen remodel on which I’m now working. You can read the first post here. Upcoming posts will discuss aesthetic dimensions, sources of hardware and other products, etc.
Stepping up together (by staying apart — Construction Man looks like he’d rather his friends stay at a proper distance) (Image: Library of Congress)
At the start of this kitchen project, the contractor, clients and I scheduled the work onsite for June, when Jenny and Ben would be in Austria in connection with Ben’s job. Then came covid-19. There may be no trip to Europe.
As veterans of many a kitchen remodel done with customers living in their home, Mark and I have ways of minimizing the pain. These include:
dust collection for power tools
dust barriers between the work area and the rest of the house (This includes covering HVAC vents to minimize the spread of dust through that system.)
floor mats (such as this one) that pick up dirt to keep it from being tracked out of the job area
clean up at the end of each day
a temporary kitchen set-up with a sink and counter (or table). We move the fridge into another room so it can keep storing food. A hotplate, crock pot and toaster oven will cook most meals. An outside grill will even make cooking fun.
We’re still set for June, though at this point all plans are subject to change if someone gets sick — or if the government imposes a directive to shelter in place. Even without such a directive, Mark and I have changed how we do business in the interest of minimizing contact with others.
Evidence of creativity from kids cooped up at home: Cats of all sorts hang from the ceiling.
As bars, restaurants and businesses with potential to disrupt supply lines have been shutting down en masse in response to the pandemic, it occurred to me that I should get as many of the materials as possible in hand without delay, in case my suppliers have to cease operations for several weeks. So yesterday, after confirming that Ben and Jenny were ready to go forward, I put together my primary materials orders and called them in — the solid wood and sheet goods order to Frank Miller Lumber, the hinges, drawer slides and blind corner storage unit to Richelieu Hardware, two of my most dependable suppliers for more than 15 years. At least this way I should be able to stay working and keep the job on track.
Existing cabinets: Should they stay or should they go?
In an ideal world, x-ray vision would enable us to see through cabinets, counters, walls and other solid materials to determine the location of ducts, electrical wires, gas and water lines and other things with potential to throw a wrench in the works. Locating such objects is especially important when you’re reworking the layout of a room; you need to assess whether your design can in fact be implemented. (While it’s true that anything can in principle be changed, the budget available for a job usually plays a big part in determining what “can” and “cannot” happen.)
To keep the household cooking without interruption for as long as possible, we’re leaving the existing kitchen intact for now. The basic layout of the cabinets will stay the same, so there’s no mystery about rerouting services. But there was one area I wanted to check before I start cutting parts for the new cabinets, the framed-up structure that housed the wall oven housing — just to make sure there was no surprise lurking inside. So yesterday Mark and I took out the wall oven (which no longer worked) and excavated a small portion of the wall to confirm there was nothing there beyond studs and plaster on metal lath. Before pulling the oven, Mark removed the appropriate fuse (yes, the house still has fuses, not breakers; installing a new panel will be part of the project) and covered the wires with wire nuts. After cleaning up the debris, he screwed a scrap of plywood over the over-sized hole to keep the resident kittens from potentially perilous exploration.
I hacked into the corner of the wall with the claw of a hammer to find out whether we’d be dealing with drywall or plaster. Meanwhile, aided by an invaluable headlamp, Mark used a multi-tool to cut a hole in the side of the oven housing for access to the wall. (Why not move the fridge out? you may wonder. The floor in front of it was packed with everyday stuff, and the table was covered in boxes of the cabinet’s former contents. It was easier to go through the cabinet side.)
The other structural detail we needed to check involved the staircase. Between the living room and the kitchen there’s a passageway about three-feet wide — plenty of space to move through easily, in theory. But in this case, the stairs to the basement loom like a chasm on one side. While the stairway poses no actual danger, it’s close enough to provoke a slight sense of risk — the kind of distinct yet largely subconscious discomfort that kitchen designer Johnny Grey has argued — convincingly — should be avoided.
Before. Picture yourself standing in the spot where I took this shot. Immediately to your left would be a gaping chasm — the stairway to the basement.
It’s not feasible to relocate the staircase as part of this project, but it occurred to me early on that it might be possible to shift the stairs forward by the width of one tread, and so add almost a foot to this narrow passage to make this traverse a bit more comfortable. Shifting the stairs would require raising the wall above the staircase base (see the image below) to gain the headroom code requires. This wall, however, is a major support for the roof, so I wanted Mark to take a good look at how it relates to its surroundings and determine whether he’d be able to modify it. (Before you think about modifying a wall of this sort it’s essential to consult someone who can assess the structural ramifications. I often refer clients to a structural engineer, but in this case, Mark has the insight required.) He gave the green light (which has nothing to do with the green circle of the mobile that hangs above).
Mark checks headroom to confirm that he can rework the staircase, thereby widening the floor at the entry to the kitchen by about 10″.
I’m waiting for the lumber delivery as I write this post. Next up: Building the cabinets.
On the left is the lid of the original ATC, with through mortise-and-tenon joinery. On the right is my ATC at the Lost Art Press shop, with loose-tenon joinery. You can’t see the difference (except on the back edge of the lid), and like the one on the left, the one on the right is strong enough for even the largest of sitters.
Editor’s note: As promised, Christopher Schwarz and I are writing a series of blog entries that explain how we have improved the construction process for “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” during the last nine years (and several hundred chests).
Loose-tenon joinery goes back to Greek and Roman times – boats were built using drawbored loose tenons. I start with this fact so as to (hopefully) stave off slings and arrows (which go back further than Roman times).
When Chris built his lid for the first Anarchist’s Tool Chest (the one in the book), and when I built my first one (now in my basement shop at home), we cut through mortise-and-tenon joints for the lid. Now, we employ that loose-tenon joint that goes back to antiquity. Sure, we use a modern approach (the Festool Domino), but the joint is time-tested, and plenty strong enough for these lids (a theory that has been tested time and again by people triple my size sitting on the lid of my chest at the Lost Art Press shop).
The mortises and tenons as shown in the book.
If you’re building one at home and feel the urge, go ahead and cut the mortises and tenons if you like – that joint is the strongest. But also plenty strong enough are two other joints Chris tried out in classroom settings: the bridle joint (slightly easier/faster), then the half-lap joint (easier/faster still). He was on a quest to get the builds down to five days when he tried these out – and they helped to shorten the journey…but not enough.
Now, we pull out the Domino XL, because it’s the only way we’ve found to get the lids glued up before the students leave on Day 5 (and again, the joint is plenty strong). And while at the beginning of the week, we get a grumble or two from time to time when someone asks how we’re doing the lids, by Day 5, everyone is so tired and eager to be done that they embrace the change. And they all leave with the frame-and-panel assemblies done.
But the Domino XL is a $1,500 tool, so use one of the three other approaches if you don’t have or have access to one.
After running the mating grooves on the frame pieces and panel (which in all but the most advanced-student circumstances we do with a dado stack on the table saw), dry-fit the assembly to determine the layout of the two 12mm x 140mm loose tenons. We use the same setup for all students in a given class, so we then set two combination squares to the desired settings: one small (the shorter measurement) and one large (the longer measurement).
While you could perfectly align all the pieces and mark across both at once, we find it’s safer (read: fewer mistakes) if we have folks use the squares – with a reminder to always register the stock off the outside edges – to mark the mortise locations on each piece individually. Anal-retentive? You bet. Does it cut down on errors? Absolutely.
To further reduce the possibility of mistakes, we set up stops to hold the work while using the Domino; they restrain the work against the fairly significant pressure required to plunge the tool into the work, and hold the work flat to the bench. If the mortises aren’t at 90°, it causes problems, so everything we can do to help make them perfect, we do.
With the work restrained, it’s simply a matter of keeping the fence on the Domino flat to the wood, so we encourage – strongly encourage – that you grasp and push down with one hand, using your other hand to plunge by pushing on the back of the tool, but not grasping the handle. (We’ve found that grasping the handle results in folks pushing down and tipping the tool a bit during the cut.)
Here, I’ve aligned the registration mark on the business end of the tool with one of my mortise location marks on the rail. Note that all my pressure downward on the tool is with my left hand. My right hand is simply pushing in. I also have the toes on my left foot hooked under the rail of my workbench. You have to exert a fair amount of pressure to plunge the tool’s cutter into the work; my hooked toes keep me from sliding backward.
After the mortises are cut, make sure you dump out the sawdust in the bottom of the mortise. Though our dust collection is good, it’s not good enough to clear all the dust from the mortise bottoms.
No, you don’t really need this picture…but I was so happy to catch the falling dust with my camera that you get it anyway.
With the mortises all cut, do a dry assembly before opening the glue.
Oh good – it worked! (Note the faint marriage marks on the top of all the pieces – I re-established those on each piece after I planed up the surface. Those make it a snap to get things together in the right orientation.)
Once everything fits together, cut a 30° bevel on the top edges of the lid (or just soften the edges, per the book) before glue-up.
No bevel on the left; bevel on the right (plus my lid panel is a little thicker, not by design, but because that’s what the stock for the class in which I built this one allowed).
Arrange the rails (the long pieces) with the mortises facing up, and squeeze in a healthy amount of glue, spread it all around and up the mortise sides with an acid brush, then stick the loose tenons in place. Put glue in the stile mortises (move quickly now, as things will get drippy) and slip them onto their mates on one rail. Slide the lid panel in place (remembering that the lid panel lips over the rails…not under), then put the second rail in place and clamp until dry.
Unless things go very wrong, you should need only one clamp at each end. Make sure to push the rails and stiles down flush to the clamp’s bar – that will help you get a co-planar assembly.
Now, just as it says in the book, cut dovetail joints for the dust seal (one tail on each side piece) and glue the dust seal to the front and sides of the lid. Then add some nails for good measure. The dust seal will see a lot of opening and closing action.
There’s one last difference – and this one is motivated by experience, not by a classroom setting. In “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest,” Chris writes to cut a bevel at the back ends of the dust seal to act as a stop when the lid is open. The bevel can break off with repeated use, so now, we cut these two sticks flush with the back edge of the lid’s frame-and-panel assembly. The wall makes an excellent lid stay.
At left is the “stay” image from the book; in the center is one of Chris’s bevel stays after nine years of use; at right is my flush-cut dust seal. (I have a chain on my chest that acts as a stay…but the wall is right there, so I don’t really need it.)