A stupid word game I play with myself on my morning walks.
Miss Trees or Mysteries
Casualties or Casual Trees
Poultry or Pole Tree
Infantries or Infant Trees
Poetry or Poet Tree
Toiletries or Toilet Trees
His tree or History
The following is an excerpt from Christopher Williams’ book “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown.”
I was 16 when I started my apprenticeship as a carpenter and joiner in 1986. I had an early passion for woodwork – or at least I enjoyed woodwork at school (it was probably the only subject I enjoyed). I was fortunate in that my employer had a joiner’s workshop as well as a team of both bench joiners and site carpenters. My foreman took an instant liking to me, which was fortunate. He had done his apprenticeship just after World War II with a local village carpenter. His master had also been the undertaker and wheelwright in his village. I can remember looking into his wooden toolbox with awe. His tools were nothing like the tools I had been given by my employer. A Stanley No. 8 was like a giant compared to my No. 4. Boxwood-handled chisels; mine were blue plastic. Various handsaws all with wooden handles. I was curious about all of these hand tools and eager to learn how to sharpen and set them proficiently.
The workshop was fully mechanised but, on reflection, quite basic. The bulk of the work was the construction of box sash windows in the Georgian style – and always made to match the existing ones. On reflection it was an interesting mix of power and hand tools, which was definitely unusual for the time. It was a good grounding for the future.
During one of my terms at the local technical college, I took out a book from the library on furniture making by Aldren A. Watson. The book stirred something inside me, and I started to get interested in furniture making. But I was unsure what I wanted to make. I remember well buying my first lathe at 17 and teaching myself how to turn in the garden shed. Peter Child’s book “The Craftsman Woodturner” was a godsend to me at the time because I didn’t know anyone who turned.
Nearing the completion of my apprenticeship, I also had a possible promising rugby career ahead of me. But then I told my father that I didn’t want to play rugby anymore. As punishment, the garden shed was locked so I couldn’t do any turning. My solution: I unscrewed the shed roof and climbed in. My father shook his head, and he later left me and my mum for good. This, in turn, had a profound negative effect on me and, for various personal reasons, I left my employer. Anxiety was to be a constant shadow from that point on.
I spent a few years doing various carpentry jobs, but I was somewhat lost and depressed. It was at this point whilst at a local sawmill I was told of a man in Pembrokeshire who made chairs by hand and had no electricity. He went on to tell me about how the chairmaker ran a band saw off an old tractor and was a real character. I was intrigued, but my life carried on as normal, going from job to job as an itinerant tradesman – totally uninspired with the work.
I started to tinker with cabinetwork while using my mother’s kitchen as my workshop. My bench was the kitchen table, along with a Black & Decker Workmate as a vice. I decided to build a chair, but as to what type I had no idea. I knew that elm was a chair timber, so I rang the sawmill to see if they had any. I soon found myself in familiar territory in Pembrokeshire, humping large planks of timber around and rejecting lots of it. My few years in the workshop told me that planks come in 9″ x 2″ etc. and were mostly flat and sound. I quickly learned that local native hardwoods were anything but, and they were difficult to find and process.
During that visit, the sawmill owner told me over a cup of tea about “John Brown,” the mythical wild man and chairmaker. At last I had a name! John Brown was a customer of the mill owner and had recently bought a large amount of elm. I was told that he had written a book about chairs, plus where in Pembrokeshire he lived and sold his chairs. I learned of his Fordson Major tractor that ran his band saw and about how difficult he could be.
This time I was hooked! On my journey home from the mill, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could learn more about John Brown and his chairs, and possibly get to meet him. It would, alas, be several years before that happened.
The Book ‘Welsh Stick Chairs’
I decided to head west again to North Pembrokeshire, where I was told that a gallery in Fishguard sold John Brown’s chairs and copies of his book, “Welsh Stick Chairs.” I was in my early 20s by then. I still didn’t know who I was or where I was going. I was Welsh, insecure and awkward in speaking to people (particularly intelligent ones). But I knew that I had a calling, and I needed to make this trip.
I entered Workshop Wales gallery in Fishguard and felt completely out of my depth with all of the artwork on show. Fortunately, I was the only customer. I shuffled around the gallery nervously, but could see neither a chair nor a book. I heard footsteps and then a voice: “Can I help?”
I mumbled that I had come to buy a book on chairs. I was told they had sold out of both the book and the chairs. The voice was John Cleal, the owner and resident artist. Cleal picked up the telephone and rang John Brown – sometimes we call him “JB” – to ask him if I could call at his home to pick up a copy of his book. I almost ran from the gallery in horror. I couldn’t possibly meet this guy. I wouldn’t know what to say.
I stuck it out and was told that the bookshop in Newport would have the book. I thanked John Cleal and left. It’s a short journey between the towns, yet a spectacular one. The sea is visible for large parts of the journey, with the formidable Dinas mountain on the other side. I reached Newport, parked the car and went for a cup of tea in the cafe. I found the bookshop on the main street and headed in. I held the door for someone, and because I was nervous, didn’t pay much attention to the person.
I was greeted by the owners, who were very welcoming, and asked how could they help. I asked for a copy of “Welsh Stick Chairs” by John Brown. I was shocked when they replied, “That was John Brown who had just left.” He had just dropped off a box of books. I was slightly taken aback, yet relieved not to have met him.
Tony and Eiry at the bookstore started telling me about JB and that they had a bought a chair from him. Did I want to see it? I was ushered into a side room where this chair sat, like a vision to me. I was in awe of it and of the whole situation. I forget how long I was in the bookshop, but I ended up going home with my copy of “Welsh Stick Chairs” safely in the car and a head full of enlightenment. It’s strange how one chair, a man and some woodwork can help find a happy place in your brain, and that it’s somewhere you can go to visit when times are difficult. These three things in no doubt changed the course of my life.
I read the book over and over, trawled through the photos again and again. I started to purchase Good Woodworking magazine, where JB wrote monthly columns. It was nail-biting stuff, waiting to see what he would get up to each month. His writing was like a monthly fix, but more like a healing rather than a high.
Bench.Talk.101 has just posted my “Chairmaking for Flat Woodworkers” talk on its YouTube page. Click here to watch it. I gave a 25-minute presentation (with props) and then took questions for another 30 minutes.
It was a fun format, and it was very kind of them to invite me.
— Christopher Schwarz
For the last nine years I’ve experimented a lot with “cold-bend hardwood,” which is also known as “compwood.” It’s basically wettish wood that can be bent radically when it’s at room temperature. And when it dries, it keeps its shape.
I first learned about the stuff from furnituremaker Jeff Miller, who showed it to me during a shop visit. Since then, I’ve purchased it from a variety of sources, including one local place that used to make its own (now they don’t) and Pure Timber LLC.
I don’t want to repeat the basic information you can get from Pure Timber. If you read the company’s descriptions and watch the videos you’ll get a good idea of what this stuff is capable of.
Instead, this blog entry is to talk about my experiences with the material and why I use the stuff.
First, let’s get the economics out of the way. Cold-bend Hardwood is expensive when compared to green wood that you’ve split from a log or lumber that you’ve bought from the yard. However, the math works for me.
Obtaining, moving and storing green lumber when you live in a dense urban area is possible. I’ve done it many times. But my supply is sporadic. The tree service I work with keeps its eyes peeled for me, but street trees are not always the best for splitting.
Then there’s labor and time of splitting it out and containing the mess in our small garden. Then there’s the agony when a bend goes sideways. The stick breaks or delaminates – or cracks when drying.
With Cold-bend Hardwood I’ve had only one bend fail in nine years. And there is almost no waste. It shows up in a box. I cut it to shape on the band saw and bend it in the form without a windlass or hydraulics. I then put it in an insulated box with a couple lightbulbs for a day (sometimes two days for big pieces). It comes out of the form ready to use with no springback.
For a chair, I need about $70 to $90 in Cold-bend Hardwood to make the armbow and crest. The time I save makes this expense work for me.
Cautions
Before you use the stuff, please read all the directions. Don’t try to machine the stuff on a jointer or planer when it’s wet. It will self-destruct. Cut it to size on the band saw. I use a single-point fence on my band saw for ripping. You can crosscut it by hand or with any power saw with no problem.
If you have a drum sander, you can use that to clean up the band saw marks before putting the stuff in the form.
After it’s dry, I have had decent luck working with it most electric and hand tools. I plane and scrape the stuff. But have your handplane prepared as if you are working curly stuff – you need a tight mouth or a tight chipbreaker. If you run into trouble, rasps and sandpaper will get you out of trouble.
My No. 1 recommendation: Start with a light cut with any machine or hand tool. See what it gets you. Learn from there.
It finishes fine – just like regular wood.
All in all, I like the stuff. I also like steambending furniture components when I can get the right wood. I don’t see the two techniques as mutually exclusive. Instead, it’s another option that is open to all of us. And there are some projects where Cold-bend Hardwood is the best solution for highly unusual bends.
— Christopher Schwarz
Disclaimer: As always, I purchase all my materials and have never received anything of value from Pure Timber (or any other manufacturer). This post is not sponsored by anyone.
One of the many ways you can judge a person’s woodworking experience is watching them at the bench. Beginners move a certain way – too fast, too slow or they look like me at a junior high dance.
Not all professionals glide like swans. After years of working with and observing woodworkers, I can quickly tell who spends most of the day at the router table when they hold a block plane like it’s a radioactive turd.
In the end, of course, what’s important is the result – what you make – and not what you look like at the bench. But I love watching people and their different ways of moving.
The most graceful woodworker I’ve watched is Nancy Hiller (author of the forthcoming book “Kitchen Think”). I spent two days last year observing her class on building a plate rack and was struck by her work at the bench. It was similar to watching T’ai Chi being performed. No motion was wasted. No sudden bursts of activity. Just flow.
Kelly Mehler has a similar grace at the bench. He never seems to be working hard but suddenly he is done.
Peter Follansbee is my second favorite instructor to watch. Follansbee (the author of “Joiner’s Work”) is a walking, talking, mortising and carving machine. Watching him plane a board is almost shocking. He goes from completely still, tapping the iron and wedge here and there. And then he’s in 100 percent attack mode, moving at a speed that seems impossible (it’s one of the many joys of planing white pine). And just as soon as he’s started, he’s done.
But this is the fun part. He hasn’t stopped talking at any point. After years of working at Plimoth Plantation, it’s like his mouth is independent from the rest of him.
Frank Klausz moves similar to Follansbee. I once watched him using a moulding plane and felt sorry for the wood. It was like Frank was willing it into shape, and the wood had no say in the matter.
In the book “Good Work,” Chris Williams describes John Brown sawing to the cadence of a mechanical watch. That image has stuck with me for years. I wish I could have seen it.
And finally there is Mike Siemsen (the “Naked Woodworker”). He’s like the Columbo of woodworking. His Midwestern aw-shucks attitude and corny jokes belie his incredible talent, both at the bench and with his machines. It almost feels like a magic trick or a con job.
If any woodworker could pick your pocket or sell you a bridge, it’s Mike. Watch out for that guy.
— Christopher Schwarz