Chris is getting ready for his talks at Colonial Williamsburg’s Working Wood in the 18th Century conference (Jan. 25-28), and had all (some?) of the books he’s discussing arrayed across several benches. So we grabbed the microphones and a camera, and recorded a little bit about each one; he will of course have more to say when he’s on stage in Williamsburg…including closing remarks I cut out here at the end (so apologies for the abrupt cessation of Christopher’s comedy stylings).
I expect I’ll never get these books back in the same place in the library. Oh well.
Waiting for paint to dry as I write this post. The chest (faux milk paint – acrylic) will be completely dry by the time you read this. I hope the chair (linseed oil paint) is dry enough to move upstairs by Sunday afternoon.
It’s time for our (almost) weekly Open Wire, where you can pose your woodworking questions in the comments section below and we’ll do our best to answer them.
Note that there may be a lag between your asking and our answering. Chris has a class starting Monday and a trip to Colonial Williamsburg for which to prepare (he’s presenting at the Working Wood in the 18th Century conference), and I have the innards of a tool chest to complete (hopefully before Monday, because my bench will be commandeered for the class).
The following is excerpted from “The Belligerent Finisher,” by John Porritt. After walking you step by step through creating a believable aged finish, the book includes a gallery of just some of John’s gorgeous work.
Top: the “hands” of two chairs. Above: A scarf joint on one of the armbows of my chairs. The details of the finish are extremely important to me.
I think the phrase “standing on the shoulders of giants” has the ring of truth, certainly in woodworking. That, and the idiosyncratic nature of many vernacular woodworkers, plus the vagaries of time, have inspired me to try to understand some of the mystery of the old stick chairs. To work with that, simulate it (or “stimulate” as my old friend Johnny Jones would have said) and then, on occasion – having fallen short – sitting down in an odd chair with a restorative cup of tea, to ponder having another go. That’s my form of belligerence, and these are some of my chairs.
My first Welsh-inspired stick chair, made circa 1994 in Shropshire, England. I sent photos of several English and American-influenced chairs along with one of this chair – which draws on what at the time I thought of as a Welsh stick chair – to John Brown. He kindly wrote back to me and for a while we had a correspondence. He went so far as to speak highly of the chair and published a photo in Good Woodworking magazine. Looking back I now feel this chair is an amalgam of John Brown’s work with the steam-bent arm and an American way of shaping the hands, along with an exaggerated Welsh comb. It was my jumping-off point as I started to look more carefully at what the old Welsh chairmakers, in all their diversity, had achieved.
The chair has lived in Shropshire ever since and is a well-used and appreciated member of a friend’s family. It has an elm seat and steam-bent ash arm-bow, with ash legs, sticks and comb. The green paint was my first attempt at making a milk paint. It was not waxed and has had no intentional distressing other than the normal wear and tear of family life. It’s doing well.
This commissioned chair was an adventure. I found a curved ash branch, so I was able to make my first two-part scarfed and wedged armbow. The chair has a piece of oak with character for the seat, 10 ash sticks and an ash comb, legs and stretchers. The naturally curved ash arm supports have that gnarly grain that seems to encapsulate the life of a small tree in a harsh environment. The wood was never aged. It was painted with Lexington green milk paint, with a little added black, then waxed. Nearly 20 years later, every-thing has mellowed to a pleasing warmth with that dry bloom look some of the old chairs have. I once heard an elderly antique furniture dealer describe this look as “sleepy.” It was a pleasure to exhibit this chair at Westonbirt, The National Arboretum in Gloucestershire in “Chairs 2004.”
This, and the following chairs, were made in Spencertown, N.Y. The seat of this chair is English-grown burr oak from Picklescott, Shropshire. Ash sticks, legs and comb. Three-part arm in hard maple. Side stretchers and two arm posts in white oak, center stretcher hickory.
Finished with boiled linseed oil, no wax involved. I left the seat unfinished, owing to burr wood taking up the linseed oil quite aggressively in parts. It’s coloring down well with time. It’s my daughter’s favorite chair.
This and the two previous chairs are known as “lobster pot” chairs. Linseed oil and wax finish. English elm seat with ash throughout, scarfed and wedged armbow. Neither this chair nor the previous one had any wood-aging treatment. After several years, the color is getting good and mellow.
This chair, made at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, was a major step for me down the road of getting the feeling I needed into a chair. It’s the only chair I have ever pictured completely in my head, then built and finished. It seemed to flow through me. Most chairs are a journey from armbow to what is possible, and I will work through various cul-de-sacs and hiccups along the way. Not this one.
The finishing process on this chair was similar to that described in chapter one. This one was finished with homemade black milk paint. American white elm seat (extremely difficult to work – much belligerence needed). Scarfed and wedged ash armbow. This was my first North Wales four-stick-inspired chair. It owes a lot to the chair on the over of John Brown’s great book, “Welsh Stick Chairs.” I consider this to be the most important chair I’ve ever made, certainly in my understanding and development.
Inspired by a chair from the wonderful book “The Welsh Stick Chair” by Tim and Betsan Bowen. Finished using nitric acid, Lexington green milk paint with a little added black, shellac, cement dust, linseed oil and 10-percent roofing cement with wax. The scarfed arms are in black birch – a great wood to work and color. They were eventually burnished with heavy brown paper after the chainmail burnisher and antler. White oak seat, American white elm comb; red oak legs, stretchers and sticks.
My first attempt at working a chair in red. Before painting, I used nitric acid, then Salem red paint, most of which I took right back off, scrubbing with coarse and medium 3M pads with thinners. After that, I painted it over with one coat of a mixture of red, brown and black milk paint. Shellac, cement dust, linseed oil, 10-percent roofing cement and wax completed the process. English elm seat, black birch two-part armbow, white oak comb. The legs, stretchers and sticks are red oak.
Soft maple two-part seat, cross-tenoned and pegged with scarfed hickory arms and sticks, oak comb, ash arm supports, legs and stretchers. Finished using nitric acid, a workshop-mixed thin brown milk paint, then shellac, cement dust, linseed oil and wax, with 10-percent roofing cement. I enjoy its stolid, “I’m here. That alright with you?” stance.
Another version of a North Wales four-stick chair. This exceedingly comfortable chair was left in the paint and waxed to allow Tom, its owner, to perform DIY chair distressing, at least three times a day. Oh yes, and let’s not forget the tea breaks. American white elm two-part seat, cross-tenoned and pegged, scarfed black birch armbow, hickory sticks and legs with an ash comb.
I really enjoy the visual movement of this chair. It is entirely made of white oak, apart from the scarfed and pegged arms of ash. The chair was fumed for 72 hours with ammonia then (minus the use of vinegar iron and brown mahogany oil stain) it was worked in a similar fashion to the green chair, Backstool No. 2 in chapter two. I did over-paint a lot of the Lily Pad green to get that crusty look, which I later distressed with the chainmail burnisher.
Apart from being stung by a tiny wasp while foraging by the roadside – where I managed to find an excellent piece of white oak for the comb – this chair came together happily.
Another very comfortable red chair. The photo of the entire chair was taken right after it was made; the two detail shots are after several months of use.
Note how the workshop-mixed milk-paint surface of mulberry is chipping with use to let the thick flag-red milk paint come through. Not introduced wear. I have enjoyed watching this evolve. Better than watching paint dry. White oak seat, legs, stretchers and comb, hickory sticks, ash armbow and doubler.
Over the years, I’ve made quite a few child’s chairs. To my eye, this one works well for proportion. The paint is Lily Pad green with a coat of Lexington green over the top, cut back to let the Lily Pad come through on the seat. The wear-through to the wood on the seat front, and slight wear all around, is my suggestion of rough-and-tumble in a nursery. Soft maple cross-tenoned and pegged seat, black birch two-part scarfed and pegged arm, ash legs, stretchers and sticks. Two outer sticks red oak.
I spent a long time attempting to get the white oak seat, hickory sticks, and ash arms and doubler, legs, stretchers and comb to a satisfactory surface. It didn’t work. So, over the entire chair (bar the arms) I painted Arabian Night black milk paint. Things don’t always work out – I think I was pushing too hard for an effect the chair didn’t need. I think this chair, which has a busy appearance, looks better for its unity of surface. This might be considered a fall-back position, but it is one I’m happy with. How much belligerence can one chair take? How much tea can one man drink?
Two quick promotional notes: 1) We have lump hammers back in stock in our store (with no dings, unlike my well-used one shown above).
2) European readers can take advantage of our reluctant sale (to reduce a metric ton – possibly more than a metric ton – of inventory) on “The Anarchist’s Design Book” at Rubank Verktygs through Jan. 19. (For Stateside orders, click here.)
On the left are shades of blue (surprise!) from Heron Linseed Oil Paint. Stacked in the center are two shades from Allbäck Paint. The small bottle is “blown” linseed oil from Heron; the large bottle is “purified” linseed oil from Heron. At back is the naughty stuff: odorless mineral spirits.
Chris and I have been experimenting with linseed oil paint for about a year now, since he started working on his next book, “The American Peasant,” and we’ve both painted a lot of wooden stuff with it – from large flat surfaces on chests to fiddly roundish bits on stick chairs to decorative curves and pointy things. We’ve used it on ring-porous woods including oak, ash and elm (looks great; it is a pain in the posterior, like all paints on ring-porous woods) and closed-pore woods such as poplar, linden and white pine (looks great, easy to apply). We have not used it on other material, but I’ve read that it will stick to many other building materials (plaster, metal, masonry and more). I’ve even read claims that it will stick to anything. But I know for a fact only that it sticks to wood (and fabric).
What we have not done is tried every color, brand or brush available. And, all of the stuff we’ve painted is indoor stuff. We have no personal experience with this paint on exterior work…though I am hoping to have some in the near future, if I can find someone to use it on my house for less than the going rate for a kidney*.
A hand detail of a red oak stick chair with one brushed coat (plus a few touch-ups) of Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Holkham Green.
This is what we know, thus far.
Most linseed oil paint is made from raw linseed oil and ground natural pigments – no added binders, driers, solvent or synthetic emulsifiers – so it’s far more environmentally friendly than most hardware store paints. (Milk paint is also environmentally friendly – my hardware store doesn’t carry it or linseed oil paint.)
Linseed oil paint is more expensive than latex, acrylic or milk paint (the other paints we know well). However, it takes fewer coats for full coverage – so penny for penny, it ends up not so expensive after all (plus it takes less of your active time – and no sanding! – if you’re including the human factor in your price calculations). Depending on the wood, we have found that it takes one coat (closed-pore woods) or one coat plus a touch-up here and there (ring-porous woods) for coverage that fully colors the surface and allows the grain to show through (which is what we want). Neither of us has had to apply two full coats to achieve our desired coverage – though if you want to cover the grain a second coat will do it, in our experience. (The hanging cupboard that is now the Anthe bathroom cupboard has two full coats of paint only because Chris decided he didn’t like the green of the first coat on that project, so it’s topped with one coat of blue – and on that piece, the grain no longer shows through. NB: He likes the green, just not on that project. He’s a mystery.)
Spell carvings in linden, that were painted (with a 4″ shed-resistant woven 1/4″ nap roller) with Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Old Blue.
Linseed oil paint is a lot thicker than any other paint we use, and with a good (or at least decent brush), a lot will remain in the bristles, and you should “draw it out” quite a ways from the initial strokes. That is, deposit the paint from the brush onto the project, and make long strokes, pulling the paint with as you go, then go back to the original deposit of paint and draw it out again, overlapping the first stroke. I don’t have to dip the brush back in the paint as often as I do with latex, acrylic or milk paint. But because of its low viscosity, you might find the linseed oil paint more difficult to use at first – or at least different than what you’re used to. Be sure to draw it out a lot and not leave it too thick, or it will drip and/or sag as it dries (and take longer than it ought to dry). It’s kind of like spreading a crumb coat on a cake – you want full coverage, but nothing extra.
Some instructions say to wipe on a coat of washed linseed oil and let it dry before painting, others say to use the paint on bare wood. We’ve done both, and both have worked for us. For what it’s worth, I am now a convert to a base coat of linseed oil. It makes it easier to draw out the paint (much like a second coat of most brushed finishes are easier to apply than the first coat).
At left are very nice brushes given to me by Mattias Hallin, made by Gnesta Penseln. The ones on the right are more readily available: Wooster “Yachtsman.” Both kinds have natural-bristle brushes.
I’ve tried out a number of brushes, and Mattias Hallin, a long-time user of linseed oil paint, says his favorite are the Gnesta Penselns shown above. Hardware store brushes that are decent are the Wooster Yachtsmans. I think you can see from the picture, though, that the brushes on the left will hold a heavier paint load. However…then you have to clean them; they’re too nice to toss. (More on that at the bottom.) Travis at Heron paint recommended to me Escoda Natural Chungking Bristle Brushes, but I’ve not yet tried them (also too expensive to not wash!).
Most of the instructions I’ve read say to use the paint as it comes…but we’re good at disobeying. To make it a little easier to draw out and to make it lay out better with less effort – that is, dry without brush marks (without having to “tip off”) – we sometimes add about 10 percent low-odor mineral spirits and mix it (yes…this makes it less environmentally friendly – and I would not dilute it for exterior work). I cannot stress enough to mix it well…whether or not you add mineral spirits (or turpentine, which the owner of Heron Paint said he uses when he needs to thin the paint a bit). The pigment settles fairly quickly, and you want it to be evenly suspended in the mixture. So, I have made friends with every hardware and paint store between my house and the shop; they are kind enough to shake up the paint as needed in their fancy paint shaker machines. I try not to abuse the privilege…which is why I spread my mixing asks among four locations. (I want a fancy paint shaker machine for our shop – preferably the old kind that clamps top and bottom, and runs the risk of spraying paint everywhere should the top come off the can. The newfangled fully contained ones are no fun – not enough risk. Plus they’re a lot more expensive.)
The poplar top of this stool is painted with one coat in a custom shade of full-test linseed oil paint from Heron Paints. I shook this can by hand, since I was confident it hadn’t been sitting on a shelf for weeks/months/years.
Linseed oil paint takes a lot longer to dry than any other paint we use. So while it takes only one coat, or one coat and some spot touch-ups (either while the first coat is still wet enough to easily work, or after it’s completely dry), it will be dry to the touch after about 24 hours at average room temperature and low to mild humidity – and even then, there will still be some areas where it might have been applied a little too thickly that will transfer to the white shirt you shouldn’t have worn while leaning up against it. We have found it takes two or three days to completely dry (longer in cold and/or humid conditions) to the point where it’s “carveable” without making a small mess (in case you, too, are covering your work in spells). If you have curious pets or curious kids, keep them away from the work for a while. And you do need to be mindful of kicking up dust around a freshly painted piece for 24 or so hours, as it can stick to the wet paint. You can speed up the drying by exposing the work to UV light – but do not put it in direct sunlight to dry (that resulted in a pimply surface when we tried it). Update: This might be due to the thinner; the full-strength stuff dries just fine in the sun, I’m told by several log-time users.
Here, I’m painting an elm coat rack in a custom shade of linseed oil paint from Heron Paints (a close match to Benjamin Moore 2060-30). First, I wiped on a coat of washed linseed oil (as recommended by the paint maker) and let it dry overnight. I then poured some of the paint into a Mason jar, added a splash of low-odor mineral spirits and shook it up by hand for maybe 10 minutes. It was easier to brush than the non-diluted paint I used on the stool, but the color is not as saturated on the surface (that is, more of the wood is showing through, and it will need a touch up in a few places. But also, elm is a ring-porous wood, and doesn’t take paint as well as the poplar. So there are a lot of variables going on. Whatever. We’re happy with the way it looks, and that’s the goal.
About the “easily work” I mentioned above: I’ve found I have about two hours in which I can manipulate the fresh paint and still have it lay out flat as it dries. Any longer, and it’s already dry enough that the brush marks remain where I’ve gone back and retouched an area.
Here, Wally is showing the contrast between velvety black and Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Antique Gold (Chris carved through it after it was dry). I added a topcoat of washed linseed oil, which added a little depth to the sheen, and added a bit of protection to the carved (and thus de-painted) areas.
More coats of paint will make the finished item shinier – so if you like shiny (we prefer no more than a soft sheen), consider more than one coat. After the piece is completely dry, you can add a topcoat to adjust the sheen a bit to your liking, and to blend areas where the paint looks more flat and/or more shiny (which I think might be a result of adding mineral spirits…though I haven’t yet done enough “experiments” to back up that statement). We use soft wax or simply a coat of washed linseed oil.
Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Old Red (with spells added afterward, obviously), with a topcoat of purified linseed oil.
So what is this “washed” or “refined” or “purified” linseed oil? It’s a purified version of raw linseed oil, and all we know for sure is that it is lighter in weight, lighter in color (and so results in less yellowing) and dries faster than plain ol’ raw linseed oil. There is also “blown” linseed oil, which is another method of purification that involves air, and is even lighter in weight and dries faster still. We hope to have expert information on these processes in the future, and more experience with the various purified/cleaned/washed/blown/magically delicious versions of the stuff. But for now, we can tell you that “purified” dries faster and yellows less.
What about cleanup? Well…here’s where my argument for using this paint falls apart (a little bit). Linseed oil soap is what everyone says to use for cleanup. And it works. But it does not work quickly or easily. I cleaned one brush and it took three intense rounds of soaping, combing and rinsing…and I still wouldn’t call that brush perfectly clean. I’ve read that the easy solution is to simply suspend the brush in linseed oil, and it remains at the ready for the next use! OK…but the number of blues I have alone…I don’t have room for suspending five brushes, and I have cats. So I use the relatively cheap Yachtsman brushes, and throw them away. (Yes, in this I am a bad person.) And because it’s linseed oil, I let the brush dry hard before putting it in the trash (ditto on any rags I’ve used).
So when would I use linseed oil paint vs. acrylic (faux milk paint) vs. actual milk paint? Well, they all result in different looks, so that’s my first consideration.
Linseed oil paint gives it an old-world look, and, after a topcoat of oil, has a low sheen that I like. And it “feels” like the right choice for any project of Scandinavian or Eastern European origin (but that’s probably because we started using it on American Peasant projects). I have yet to try it on a tool chest – and won’t offer it for commission chest builds until I’ve road-tested it (which I will do soon). Plus it’s harder to clean up afterward…so I have to be a lot more careful when using it than I do with “milk paint” or milk paint. That would be factored into the finishing cost (along with the one-use paint brush). But I’d use it on a personal project for which I had ample dry time during which I could keep any cats away (two scenarios that almost never coincide!).
General Finishes “Milk Paint” is my long-time favorite for ease of use, price and cleanup. It dries with an almost-flat finish, cleans up with water, goes on easily, lays out nicely, dries quickly and typically takes two coats. And because it dries quickly, I can recoat late in the day if my first coat was early that morning. Plus it needs no topcoat – so two coats and done, then easy cleanup. I can apply it with a cheap chip brush and toss it, or use then easily clean one of my long-beloved Purdys. (Sherwin-Williams bought Purdy in 2004 – I don’t remember exactly when the brushes changed, but change they did. I haven’t liked any I’ve bought since.) However, last year, General Finishes severely curtailed the color choices, and got rid of my two favorites, Twilight and Blue Moon. (Yes, I know I sound like the old fart that I am.) And no local paint store carries it – so I’d have to buy it one place, then pay another for the privilege of mixing it to a custom color. Boo. (And that’s high on the reasons why I’m planning a road test soon on the linseed oil paint.)
Actual milk paint is a lot of fun to use. But it’s also a bit of fuss. It takes many coats, and while it dries quickly and cleans up easily, it doesn’t always behave as I might expect, and each color I’ve used performs a bit differently. So, there are a lot of test boards and a lot of time involved in getting a good finish (for me) from milk paint. (Peter Galbert and Travis Curtis both produce gorgeous milk paint finishes – and I think they would agree that it’s not a fast process…even when you use it all the time!) Plus most people prefer it with a topcoat (though I love the dead-flat look it imparts), and that can’t be done until the paint is fully cured – and the more layers there are, the longer that takes (after a few bad experiences, I don’t even think about a topcoat until a week has passed after my final paint coat). But there are a lot of gorgeous colors available, and I love the variegated look I can achieve with it. (Plus, kids can chew on it safely. Not that I encourage such behavior.)
And that’s all the topics I can think of for which have answers…but I expect we’ll have more info to come.
Happy painting!
– Fitz
*A bourbon-loving-person-of-Irish-heritage kidney – so, not worth a paint job.
The same stool from above, now with a coat of linseed oil on top of both the painted and unpainted surfaces. Olivia looks good there.
