Most modern Windsor chairmakers, myself included, can make a side chair in about 30 hours. Two hundred years ago, chairmakers worked at five times that speed. Their shops were smaller than ours, their tools were simpler, they had fewer jigs and no electricity. How did they do it?
I spent the last month traveling to museums to study old chairs, chairmaking tools, and chair parts that never made it into a chair. Samuel Wing’s half-finished chair seats at Old Sturbridge Village, Mass., reveal the exact order of the sawing, planing, drawknifing and hollowing steps he used to carve a seat in 1810. A loop back chair at Philadelphia’s Independence Hall, stamped “WING”, shows subtle marks in its bow from a bending form or drying rack, suggesting how it was bent.
I intend to make two-dozen copies of the Independence Hall chair. I will use the same tools and techniques that the original chairmaker used, as best I can discern them. I will try to make all two-dozen chairs in 140 hours. I have no idea if I can do that, but I will try. And I will write a book about my process, about how the chair is built, how the tools work. There will be lots of photos too. It should be fun.
But first, you must understand something important: I am not embarking on a race. If you watch old chairmaking videos from the ‘30s, the workers aren’t moving particularly fast. In fact, they look half bored. The cameraman holds more of their attention than their work does, yet the work gets done in a trice.
Good speed comes from knowledge. It comes from knowing where you are going and the most efficient way of getting there. From knowing how to use your body and how far to push each tool. From freeing your mind from useless details. Most of all, it comes from repetition. From doing the same thing repeatedly, endlessly, till your brain turns off and your body keeps doing the work – and the work is better for it. This is how I want to work.
I’m excited to say that Lost Art Press is publishing the book. For now we’re calling it “Built For Speed: An Exploration of 19th-century Chairmaking.” I’ll soon be building a few prototype chairs to memorize the process, but first I need to make a better spring pole lathe (maybe based on the Dominy lathe), learn how octagonal leg tenons can be driven into a pine seat, and get Bill Anderson to make me a moulding plane. You can follow my progress on my blog. Happy chairmaking!
The “Family Tree of Chairs” letterpress poster is now available in green ink. (It is also available in black at the same link – so make sure you select the color you want before adding it to your cart.) There are 200 numbered copies of these 16” x 20” posters, printed on a thick, textured 100-percent cotton paper.
The above phrase could easily be the punchline to a Norwegian joke about our neighbours in the east. Here in Norway it’s a cultural staple to tell jokes about the Swedes. Unfortunately, this also says a lot about our own inferiority complex in our relationship to them. And I’ll be the first to admit it: We’re not as cool as they are. While we all agree that they talk weird, eat horrendous food (like rotten herring) and that IKEA is just an evil plot against the world. But they’re actually annoyingly successful at almost everything.
The Swedes are both great innovators and traditionalists. They even successfully export a lot of their ideas to the rest of the world. Among others, they’ve given us Abba, Wille Sundquist, Volvo, Bluetooth and Spotify. And even dynamite! Oh, and they designed the classic Coca-Cola bottle! And us Norwegians? Well, we’re famous for killing whales, raiding and pillaging villages around the world, skiing and brown cheese. How about that!
Therefore it’s no surprise that they also did some groundbreaking scientific research on chair design. Surprisingly, I’d had never heard about this. Which is a bit weird, considering I’m a nerdy chairmaker myself and live just next door to them. Instead, it all came to me when I excavated a dusty Åkerblom Chair from a Norwegian barn earlier this summer. When I started reading about the chair, I learned it was an interesting part of chairmaking history that has been long forgotten and perhaps little known outside our Scandinavian borders.
The Åkerblom Chair that I found stowed away in the red barn in the backgroun
The Chair Doctor
The story starts with Bengt Åkerblom (1901-1990), a Swedish doctor who became a pioneer in the field of electromyography. This is simply put a method of studying and evaluating the muscular strain induced by different body positions and movements. It is done by measuring the electrical nerve activity in skeletal muscles. Dr. Åkerblom had a special interest in sitting postures. Through his studies, he pretty much laid the foundation for the science of modern ergonomics. In 1949 he released his 187-page long thesis called “Standing and Sitting Posture with Special Reference to the Construction of Chairs.” It was also sold as a hardcover book.
The Journal of the American Medical Association from Nov. 1949, announcing Dr. Åkerblom’s new study.
Åkerblom’s thesis, hard bound as a book.
Bengt Åkerblom’s goal was to scientifically prove that a chair could be designed to minimize muscular strain and discomfort. In other words: to become the most comfortablechair possible. The main findings of the study were:
The position and shape of the backrest, which is applied to the weakest part of the spine
The importance of the height of the chair seat from the floor
The slope (also called the tilt) of the seat
The seat must allow for the sitter to move around and change between positions
He came to his conclusions through both lab experiments and observational studies of people using chairs in daily routines and work life. He found that chairs formed to mimic the human body usually gave no or too-little support to the lumbar spine. In other cases, the supporting area of the chair back was too high up. Åkerblom also proved that the seat would have to tilt the sitter backwards in order for the back rest to function properly. He also found that a chair seat that was too high above the floor would induce pressure on the underside of the sitter’s thighs. This would impair blood flow to the legs and result in fatigue and discomfort. Lastly, a pommel-less seat with only a shallow saddling to it would let the sitter easily shift position, which increases the sitter’s comfort over time.
It Takes Two to Tango
In 1931, another Swede, Gunnar Eklöf from Stockholm, graduated as an interior architect. After working for a lamp factory and some furniture makers for a few years, he was offered a job as a furniture and interior designer at Karolinska University Hospital in 1936. This is where his life took a turn.
During his work at the hospital he developed an interest in ergonomics. Although I have not been able to find out how, he must have met Dr. Åkerblom during this time. Immediately after the war, Åkerblom was finishing his thesis at the Karolinska University Hospital and was probably keen to try out his theories in real life. However he was a scientist, not a chairmaker. One can only imagine it must have been love at first sight between Åkerblom and Eklöf.
And so Gunnar Eklöf designed a simple stick chair based on Åkerblom’s findings. As you can see from the protoype drawing below, all of the main principles have been incorporated: The low seat (15-3/4″ above the floor), the 6° seat slope and the star of the show – the bent back sticks providing lumbar support at 6-1/2″ above the seat. The seat is almost flat and has a very subtle saddling, allowing the sitter to easily shift her weight.
Bringing it to the Masses
Neither Åkerblom or Eklöf were chairmakers. They needed help to bring the chair into life and about 1950 they contacted the Nässjö Chair Factory to manufacture the conceptual chair. The Åkerblom Chair required exact engineering, including steam-bending. At this time, the Nässjö Chair Factory was already one of the largest chair factories in the Nordic countries. Nässjö had started producing stick chairs and rocking chairs in 1870, so by the time they were contacted by the two young designers, they already had 80 years of experience under their belt.
The Nässjö Chair Factory photographed in 1932A chairmaker at work at the chair factory, working beside a mountain of chair seats. The photo was taken about 1950-1960.
During the years 1949 to 1958, more than 120,000 Åkerblom Chairs were produced and sold. All were made from solid Swedish birch and had the same conceptual features. Gunnar Eklöf designed several variants of the chair, including side chairs, dining chairs and arm chairs. The most popular model was the “SZ03,” a light and elegant armless stick chair that had all of Åkerblom’s ergonomics baked into the design.
The best selling SZ03 Åkerblom Dining Chair
An ad in a Swedish magazine for Åkerblom Chair variants, listing the scientifically proven features that guarantees comfort to the sitter.
The one I found in the barn however, was the Åkerblom Karmstolen – the armchair version of The Åkerblom Chair. It features a so-called “captured arm,” where the outer back sticks are mortised through the back part of the armrests. This is a common arm joint, but it is most common in old Irish stick chairs. The armchair is made from both solid and laminated birch. The seat is glued up from several pieces of solid wood. All of The Åkerblom Chairs had a maker’s mark under the seat to prove their authenticity.
Åkerblom Karmstolen – The Åkerblom Armchair in original paint, made around 1950 at Nässjö Chair Factory
So, How Does it Sit?
I’m pretty sure Dr. Åkerblom meant for his sitters to be upright and working at a desk. I’m not a desk guy, and I usually sit like a sack of potatoes. So I figured I’d put the chair to a test and sit like an office worker. And let me tell ya, it was dang comfortable. I almost felt like having a Swedish meatball and humming “Dancing Queen.” And for a Norwegian, that ain’t bad!
Robert Wearing’s “The Essential Woodworker” was the second Lost Art Press book, and it was a lesson for us in how badly publishers treat authors. First, let me say that Wearing’s book is one of the most important books on out there on hand-tool woodworking (read about my first encounter with it here).
The original publisher of the book had let it go out of print. When that happened, they were supposed to return the photos or drawings to the author. But they didn’t. And then they claimed they had lost all the original materials – breaking one of the essential covenants of publishing. Wearing, in the meantime, was living on a fixed income in an assisted-living facility.
So John and I went to work. We wrested rights from the original publisher and set about to rebuild the book without any of the original materials. We typed the entire book back into the computer, scanned and edited every illustration and recreated all the photos that had been lost. And we created an entirely new layout.
The process took a couple years, but we are proud to say that Wearing then received a royalty for every one of the 37,000 copies we’ve printed since 2010. And his estate now receives these royalties.
For me, “The Essential Woodworker” was the landmark book that connected all the dots about hand-tool woodworking into a cohesive explanation as to how the craft works. You can read it in an afternoon, but its lessons will stick with you for the rest of your life. The illustrations are brilliant.
Bringing Wearing’s book back into print led us into our first massive republishing project: The Woodworker series by Charles H. Hayward. You can read more about that series of important books here.
The following step-by-step instructions on how to hinge a door are perfectly indicative of Wearing’s clear instructions and illustrations. We miss Robert, but we are happy that his book lives on to help others.
— Christopher Schwarz
Hingeing a door
The majority of doors are fitted with butt hinges (Fig 434) – for best-quality work they should be solid drawn brass not folded or merely plated. The illustration shows the two styles: the manufactured, broad suite (B) and the narrow suite (A), the second being more commonly used for furniture. The broad suite type is useful when a door is slightly outset, because in this case if a narrow suite hinge is used, the screws are liable to come too close to the carcase edge.
Three gauge settings will be used in the marking out (Fig 435, A, B and C). Three separate gauges, though not essential, save time and re-setting. Note that in setting A the gauge point should be just short of the hinge pin centre; 1mm (1/32in.) is about right.
The location of the hinges is important, particularly for their appearance. On a framed door the hinge lines up with the inside edge of the rail (Fig 436A). On a flush door the hinge is generally placed at its own length from the end (Fig 436B). The same rules apply to the hinges on a planted door (Fig 437). Hinges let into both door and carcase (Fig 438A) interrupt the straight line between door and carcase. In Fig 438B the hinge is let into the door only, preserving the continuous line, a more pleasing effect.
Mark the door first (Fig 439). The length is taken from the hinge itself and marked with a knife and square. Gauge the hinge width, A, on the edge and from the outside, i.e. the true face. Gauge the thickness, B, on the face. It is vital that this size is not exceeded otherwise the door will not close fully; if it is slightly undersize, the lesser evil, there will be a gap between the door and carcase which can be corrected. An overdeep socket will need packing up with veneer or card, or filling in and a fresh start, all unsightly.
The socket is formed by making a number of sawcuts (Fig 440) then removing the waste with a broad chisel (Fig 441). Notice that the socket reduces in depth towards the back where it finishes to a depth C, the thickness of the hinge leaf. Obviously this cannot be gauged, it must be found by trying the hinge. A socket too deep here will not affect the door closing but only its appearance. However the knuckle end is most critical as has already been mentioned. A block cramped to the door will prevent the chisel from accidentally bursting through.
Brass hinges need brass screws. With very hard woods it is easier to insert steel ones first, preferably one gauge smaller; these are replaced by brass when the hingeing is completed. Hinges sometimes need extra countersinking to ensure that the head does not stand proud. Provisionally fit the hinges to the door with only one screw in place.
The door with its hinges is located in the carcase, standing on one thickness of the packing card. Mark the hinge position on the carcase and remove the door. Square these marks onto the inside and gauge the hinge width, A (Fig 442). Chop a chisel lightly across the grain in the manner of the sawcuts in Fig 440, remove the bulk of the waste and trim back the socket carefully to the lines. The maximum depth (Fig 443B) is the total hinge leaf thickness (Fig 435B). Again slight excess will not harm the fitting. Nothing must be removed at the carcase edge. Fix the hinge with one screw. Note that pilot holes for the screws must be drilled at right angles to the sloping bottoms of the sockets not to the face of the carcase.
Try the door for fit; a strip of thin paper should just pass down between the hinge stile and the carcase. The closing stile may now need easing, at a slight angle. The odd shaving may still be needed elsewhere but with accurate marking and careful working this should be minimal.
For the best-quality work the hinges should now be unscrewed and rough scratches removed from the knuckles with successively finer grades of emery cloth, then metal polish. At the final screwing on, use brass screws and line up all their slots the same way.
If a stop is needed it can be made in the same manner as a drawer stop.
Common faults when fitting doors are that either the door is ‘screw bound’ where protruding screw heads prevent the hinge from closing, or ‘hinge bound’ where the socket has been cut deeper than the total hinge thickness.
I’ve had a few questions lately about fitting the lid to the Anarchist’s Tool Chest, so I’m betting there are at least 10 other readers who need the same answers.
In a non-class situation (that is, when I have the leisure of waiting on stock prep), I wait to cut lid parts to final size until the carcase is completely done. That way, I can measure the glued-up carcase at the top, then cut my rails, stiles and lid panel so that the lid assembly is a perfect fit (including an extra 1/8″ or so at the front and sides) to the top edges of the carcase.
Here’s my “stunt lid” assembly (a teaching tool) aligned with the top edges of my ATC. I aim to have this assembly overhang the chest edges by about 1/16″ on either side, and between 1/16″ to 1/8″ at the front.
Then, after I glue up the lid assembly, I can set it atop its chest and show the dust-seal pieces to the lid to mark them off the work instead of measuring. I’m far more likely to get good results that way.
By showing the dust seal pieces to the work, I can get the perfect width and thickness without using numbers.
Once the lid is done, it’s time to attach it. At the back, it is flush to the carcase – the hinge gains get cut into the top of the back edge of the chest, and the underside of the lid’s back rail, and you end up with a gap of about 1/16″ to 1/8″. Yes, a little dust can get in, but I’ve had tools in my first ATC in my basement shop for more than five years, and they’ve remained rust-free. For five years before that, my shop at home shared space with my books and computer…so it was well heated, air conditioned and humidity controlled. In either case, that little gap? No problem.
