We have a new video available for sale today: “Build Your Tool Chest Interior.” In this video, I show you how I make and install the interior structures of a full-size English tool chest (in this case, an “Anarchist’s Tool Chest“) with three sliding tills and their runners, a combination hanging tool rack/backsaw rack, a floor till for full-size hand saws, and a moulding plane till.
Customers – both domestic and international – can purchase it here.
I’ve built dozens of these chests for customers, and have in some ways have refined the techniques for making the tills, tool rack and saw till, so they’re somewhat different than what is covered in the book, “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” (the beginning of the book – “Disobey me” – gave me license…and I think my approach makes the interior just a little easier to build and fit into the chest). Plus, with the exception of the thin till runners, everything is easily reversible (in case you need to seriously rearrange your tools, or the chest gets drafted for holding blankets).
You’ll also learn how to install the hardware: ring pulls for the tills, chest handles, hinges and a “crab lock.” You’ll also see how I installs casters (very carefully!), and a few options for keeping the lid open. Oh – and to finish (or not), and why (or why not).
The video ($24) is nearly two hours long and can be streamed (after logging into your Lost Art Press account), or you can download the video and put it on any device. The video is sans DRM (digital rights management), so the files can easily be moved to any of your devices (now and in the future).
You’ll also get a PDF with construction notes, and sources for the hardware, tools and finishes I show and discuss.
The following is excerpted from “The Intelligent Hand,” by David Binnington Savage. The book is a peek into a woodworking life that’s at a level that most of us can barely imagine. The customers are wealthy and eccentric. The designs have to leap off the page. And the craftsmanship has to be utterly, utterly flawless.
How does one get to this point? And how do you stay there?
One answer to these questions is in this book. Yes, the furniture can be technically difficult to make. But a lot of the hard labor involves some unexpected skills. Listening. Seeing. Drawing. And looking into the mirror and practicing the expression: “And that will cost 20,000 pounds.”
As you will see, it’s a personal struggle – like the production of this book. On the day David began work on his manuscript, he received a cancer diagnosis with a grim prognosis. He wasn’t sure what the book was going to be about or if he could finish it. But David attacked the work with the fervor of a younger, healthier man.
So what is it about? On the one hand, “The Intelligent Hand” is the story of a boy with a stammer who became one of the leading furniture designers in the U.K., working for clients all over the world, including Saudi Arabia and China. It’s a story of extreme failure – bankruptcy – and how he built a new life using the debris from the broken one.
It’s a practical and iconoclastic guide to getting started in woodwork. David has always had pointed opinions about the tools and methods his students should use to get good results. And he shares – in great detail – his recommendations for tools, sharpening, cutting dovetails and building a proper workbench.
There are times when I wonder what is going on. That’s a pretty usual state of mind for me. I seem to get nearer and nearer to waving my stick at the seagulls and shouting at passing cars. But when it comes to “making,” this disconnection usually involves piles of expensive jigs and the spindle moulder (or shaper, as you guys call it). I see a pile of jigs made beautifully and look at the product – in this case four desk legs – and wonder why the desk legs were not made by hand, just as quickly.
I have never been able to win this argument with Daren, and my last workshop sought to become more efficient by making more jigs. We even had a room full of these useless implements. “Ah we should keep the jigs; we may make a chair leg very similar.” That’s how the argument goes, but by that time three things have happened. One, you can never find all the bits of jig for the necessary complex and clever sequence of machining; they are hidden beneath the pile of subsequent jigs. Two, the maker who invented this clever contraption has long since moved on and exactly how these bits of MDF fit together moved with him. Three, your old jig never quite does the new shape and you end up making a new jig.
Many makers love making jigs. Jigs keep us out of the firing line. Making even four identical forms by hand, can of course be done, but when there is a machine that will replicate shapes, most makers will dive for the cover that a jig provides. And jig design enables us to show how clever we are. Well, here we go.
Steve has made a box jig (so-called because it looks a bit like a box and the job fits inside it). The idea is clever and sensitive to the material and the design. (Note that in the photos above, Steve is running a test leg in magnolia, which is why it looks greenish.) In this case we have legs that curve out at the bottom. This means that the grain of the pear would be roughed up if machined in one direction. So, he made this jig, which enables him to turn the job over and machine the short curved ankle from one end and the long straight leg from the other direction. That is because he has two identical guiding surfaces, one directly above the other. You can see in the photos the red line that tells him to stop and turn over. Clever jig, this be.
The photo above shows the cutter block running above a guide ring. The jig is in contact with the guide ring, and the cutters trim the job above to the exact size.
Spindle moulders really are great tools. They do the same thing as a router inverted in a table, but they do it better. The heavy mass of the cutter block provides heft through the cut, so the block spins at lower speed than a router and gives a cleaner cut.
Don’t look so surprised, Steve (see above). Handwork was called “Workmanship of Risk” by David Pye in his wonderful book “The Nature and Art of Workmanship” – what you are doing is “Workmanship of Certainty” – this is the industrial process of replication coming into small workshops.
OK – back to the bench shop. This pair of legs with two rails is what we are after; these will be the outer frames joined by a rail at the back. Each of the two frames has two side rails – a bit of overkill, but our structure is potentially wobbly in the middle so we need stiffness at the side structures, and we need to transfer that stiffness to the centre. We will do that with the addition of the drawer carcases joined to the leg frame. We don’t know for sure that it will be stiff enough – had we made a maquette we could have checked that out – but we are pretty confident. Furniture makers don’t have structural engineers to tell us the tensions involved. We only go on what we have done before, the stuff that hasn’t yet fallen down.
First Steve has to take the machined surface off the legs. Above, he’s working on the twisted surface of the front leg. Careful shaping with a spokeshave is needed. The components are joined together with Festool Dominos – small loose tenons. They give us enough strength for the joint and eliminate a deal of semi-complex joinery.
This, at right [above], is our disc sander, which gets a lot of use. Steve sets it up square to sand the top of a leg component, as shown. He then takes the leg to the table saw and puts it in another jig to cut the foot to length. All the legs will be cut in this jig, so it is essential that the stop’s end is sanded square so we get accurate Leg lengths. We learnt this by making batches of two dozen chairs that didn’t wobble!
This is a big moment – getting the job to stand on its own feet so you can have a good look at the proportions and see what needs fixing. So far so good, but we next need the drawer compartments made and fitted. The exhibition date is looming large, and both Daren and Steve are working weekends – my wages bill is eyewatering. But Daren has not yet booked the van to deliver the piece to the exhibition, which worries me. When he does that, I will know we are going to make it.
OK, last lap. Now it’s on to the final joinery and polishing before assembly. This is critical; you do not want to be polishing into corners if you can avoid it. Above, Steve using our standard shellac and wax finish for secondary and inside surfaces; apply it with a rubber that is kept in a glass jar. The rubber has a lambswool or wadding interior and fine cotton exterior. This holds the polish. As Steve moves the rubber and presses down, the polish is released. The shellac polish in the small bottle is very dilute, maybe less than a 1 lb.-cut (one pound weight of shellac dissolved in one gallon of alcohol). The other bottle contains mineral oil – use just a small dab to keep the rubber moving.
The aim is not a full shine, but to seal the surface and finish with a good wax polish. This is a quick and easy finish in the workshop, as shellac flashes off very fast. You wouldn’t want to polish with someone sanding on the next bench, but you can generally polish in the workshop without too many special measures. If I had a high-shine job to do, I would try to find a dust-free room, or I’d do the polish at the weekend when the dust had settled.
Let’s take a careful look at the glue-up above. There are eight cramps and only four components. Look at the angle-cramping block at the top of the far leg. Notice the support blocks between the double rails to stop them from bending under pressure. Notice also the small paper-faced cramping blocks to stop the blocks from marking the new polish. Ye Gods – the care these guys are now taking as they get near to the finish line.
Now we can see the drawer carcases fit. These are critical to the structure, providing stiffness to the front of the desk. Note how we avoid work that is not necessary; lippings on MDF components that are never seen after assembly are omitted. If, however, this area would be visible, even to a 4-year-old crawling underneath, it would get lipped, then veneered and polished. That 4-year-old could grow up to be a customer.
We have a small number of “regular” Crucible Lump Hammers back in stock, with more on the way. So if you’ve been lamenting the late lack of lump hammers, fret no more.
We also have a handful of the special edition engraved Crucible Lump Hammers remaining, to temp you fancy lads and lasses.
With the release of our 1:4 Dovetail Template, which is now in the shop alongside our slightly older 1:6 & 1:8 combo Dovetail Template, I’ve received a few emails from folks lamenting there’s no way on our site to tell the difference both in how they look and how the resulting dovetails perform.
The second is easily answered: they perform the same – or close enough. Each of those three angles – and just about anything in that general vicinity, will outlast you – even if relatively poorly cut. Just look at pre-industrial drawers if you don’t believe me; on drawers that are still working just fine after more than a century, some of the dovetails look as if they were gnawed out by a beaver.
The first is fairly easily – if not particularly elegantly – answered, too. Above is a corner of joints, two each per angle, that I hurriedly cut using some scraps from the burn bin. Note that there isn’t a whole lot of difference between the look of the 1:6 (9.5°) and 1:8 (around 7°) joints. I prefer the 1:6, simply because it’s what I first cut, and have done so pretty much ever since; my wrist now has that angle ingrained. So while it felt weird to cut the 1:4 (around 14°) and 1:8, it’s certainly doable. If you can mark the line, you can saw a line.
But I also think it’s kinda funny that we sometimes fret over those angles. Do you always cut exactly on your lines? I don’t – not for the first half of the joint (in my world, that’s usually tails). The second half of the joint must (ideally) perfectly match the first half, no matter what the angle. So if my wrist tilts to, say 10° or 8° instead of 9.5° on one side of a tail, oh well. (That said, to me, the 1:4 looks a bit hefty…’cause I’m such a delicate flower.)
Anyway, above, you can see the difference in the template angles we offer. Both templates are in stock as of the moment I published this (and if we run out, I’ll order more!). Click here for the 1:6/1:8 (my favorite), and here for the 1:4 (Chris’s favorite).
– Fitz
p.s. Why doesn’t the 1:4 offer, say, 1:5 on the other end? The square end of the tool allows you to also use it as a saddle square (and to not get turned around by two similar-looking angles).
Here I’m using a zig-zag rule and a carpenter’s pencil to lay out the cuts on the pine stock for the Packing Box. I dislike zig-zags for this work because they don’t lay flat. They have the precision of a hand grenade.
The following is excerpted from “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker,” by Anonymous, Christopher Schwarz and Joel Moskowitz.
It begins in 1839. In that year, an English publisher issued a small book on woodworking that has – until now – escaped detection by scholars, historians and woodworkers.Titled “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker,” this short book was written by an anonymous tradesman and tells the fictional tale of Thomas, a lad of 13 or 14 who is apprenticed to a rural shop that builds everything from built-ins to more elaborate veneered casework. The book was written to guide young people who might be considering a life in the joinery or cabinetmaking trades, and every page is filled with surprises.
Unlike other woodworking books of the time, “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker” focuses on how apprentices can obtain the basic skills needed to work in a hand-tool shop. It begins with Thomas tending the fire to keep the hide glue warm, and it details how he learns stock preparation, many forms of joinery and casework construction. It ends with Thomas building a veneered mahogany chest of drawers that is French polished. However, this is not a book for children. It is a book for anyone exploring hand-tool woodworking.
Thanks to this book, we can stop guessing at how some operations were performed by hand and read first-hand how joints were cut and casework was assembled in one rural England shop.
Here’s what you’ll find in our expanded edition of this book:
• A historical snapshot of early 19th-century England. Moskowitz, a book collector and avid history buff, explains what England was like at the time this book was written, including the state of the labor force and woodworking technology. This dip into the historical record will expand your enjoyment of Thomas’s tale.
• The complete text of “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker,” unabridged and unaltered. We present every word of the 1839 original (plus a chapter on so-called “modern tools” added in a later edition), with footnotes from Moskowitz that will help you understand the significance of the story.
• Chapters on the construction of the three projects from “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker.” Schwarz built all three projects – a Packing Box, a dovetailed Schoolbox and a Chest of Drawers – using hand tools. The construction chapters in this new edition of “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker” show the operations in the book, explain details on construction and discuss the hand-tool methods that have arisen since this book was originally published.
• Complete construction drawings. Lost Art Press drafted all three projects in SketchUp to create detailed drawings and cutting lists for the modern woodworker.
The two-foot rule was the standard measuring device for woodworking for hundreds of years. The steel tape was likely invented in the 19th century. Its invention is sometimes credited to Alvin J. Fellows of New Haven, Conn., who patented his device in 1868, though the patent states that several kinds of tape measures were already on the market.
Tape measures didn’t become ubiquitous, however, until the 1930s or so. The tool production of Stanley Works points this out nicely. The company had made folding rules almost since the company’s inception in 1843. The company’s production of tape measures appears to have cranked up in the late 1920s, according to John Walter’s book “Stanley Tools” (Tool Merchant).
The disadvantage of steel tapes is also their prime advantage: They are flexible. So they sag and can be wildly inaccurate thanks to the sliding tab at the end, which is easily bent out of calibration.
What’s worse, steel tapes don’t lay flat on your work. They curl across their width enough to function a bit like a gutter. So you’re always pressing the tape flat to the work to make an accurate mark.
Folding two-foot rules are ideal for most cabinet-scale work. They are stiff. They lay flat. They fold up to take up little space. When you place them on edge on your work you can make an accurate mark.
They do have disadvantages. You have to switch to a different tool after you get to lengths that exceed 24″, which is a common occurrence in woodworking. Or you have to switch techniques. When I lay out joinery on a 30″-long leg with a 24″-long rule I’ll tick off most of the dimensions by aligning the rule to the top of the leg. Then – if I have to – I’ll shift the rule to the bottom of the leg and align off that. This technique allows me to work with stock 48″ long – which covers about 95 percent of the work.
Other disadvantages: The good folding rules are vintage and typically need some restoration. When I fixed up my grandfather’s folding rule, two of the rule’s three joints were loose – they flopped around like when my youngest sister broke her arm. To fix this, I put the rule on my shop’s concrete floor and tapped the pins in the ruler’s hinges using a nail set and a hammer. About six taps peened the steel pins a bit, spreading them out to tighten up the hinge.
Another problem with vintage folding rules is that the scales have become grimy or dark after years of use. You can clean the rules with a lanolin-based cleaner such as Boraxo. This helps. Or you can go whole hog and lighten the boxwood using oxalic acid (a mild acidic solution sold as “wood bleach” at every hardware store).
One leg of this scale has been cleaned with lanolin. The other has been wiped with wood bleach, which lightened the boxwood but didn’t affect the markings.
Vintage folding rules are so common that there is no reason to purchase a bad one. Look for a folding rule where the wooden scales are entirely bound in brass. These, I have found, are less likely to have warped. A common version of this vintage rule is the Stanley No. 62, which shows up on eBay just about every day and typically sells for $20 or less.
The folding rule was Thomas’s first tool purchase as soon as Mr. Jackson started paying him. I think that says a lot about how important these tools were to hand work.
When marking out his stock, Thomas uses chalk in conjunction with the rule. The author also notes that Thomas always has chalk in his pocket. What gives?
Chalk is ideal for marking out coarse measurements on boards because it won’t snap like a pencil lead on a rough-sawn wooden surface. It’s also far easier to see than pencil lead. In my shop, I’ve always used chalk at every stage in construction. You can make very bold (but easily removed) marks on your parts to keep them organized. I also use chalk to mark all the areas of tear-out that need to be addressed on a nearly finished piece of work. (Does chalk dull your edge tools? I haven’t had a problem.)
I also like how the chalk dust in my pocket absorbs excess moisture on my hands, which is a trick from the rock climbing and billiards set.
The third unfamiliar thing at this stage of the book is the way the author throws around the word “deal.” It’s easy to get the impression that deal is merely an English word for dimensional pine. But if you dig around, it can become confusing. “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker” instructs you to build one project using either “pine or deal.”
Huh? Let’s hit the books.
In my library, the accounts I dug up all agree that a “deal” is a plank of pine or spruce that is 9″ wide. But they disagree on the thickness. According to Bernard E. Jones’s “Practical Woodworker” (10 Speed Press), deal is 9″ wide and no more than 4″ thick. Charles H. Hayward’s “Carpentry for Beginners” (Drake) agrees that deal is 9″ wide, but says the thickness is between 2″ and 4″. And Paul N. Hasluck’s “The Handyman’s Book” (Senate) states that deal is 9″ wide and 2-1/2″ thick.
What is also helpful to know is that deal is just one word that English books use to describe standard sizes of wood. According to Hayward, a 20th-century author, here are some others:
Plank: A piece of wood that is 11″ wide or wider and 2″ to 4″ thick.
Batten: A piece of wood that is 5″ to 8″ wide and 2″ to 4″ thick.
Board: Anything that is more than 4″ wide and less than 2″ thick. This term is usually used with floorboards and tongued-and-grooved boards.
Scantling: Small bits that are 2″ to 4-1/2″ wide and 2″ to 4″ thick. Strip: Pieces that are less than 4″ wide and less than 2″ thick.
But that’s not all. There are different kinds of deal. Deal that is Northern pine (Pinus sylvestris) can be called Baltic red deal, Dantzic deal or yellow deal. And Spruce (Picea excelsa) shows up as white deal. And Canadian spruce (Picea nigra) can be called New Brunswick spruce deal.
