As promised, everyone at the storefront has thrown themselves into lump hammer production. We’ve just delivered the biggest batch of lump hammers to our warehouse. They will be entered into inventory and will go on sale later this week.
We’ve had a few customers complain that we don’t give enough advance notice of when tools will go on sale. To help reduce the emotional emails that John and Meghan answer, we’re going to put these hammers up for sale on Friday. I don’t know what time yet, however. Watch this blog for the time.
If you have been waiting to buy a hammer, we hope that Friday is your day.
Also, this week we’re going to start selling Arno burnishers. These are our favorite burnishers (we’ll explain why in a bit). And we will sell them for less thanEDIT: for the same price Amazon does. So stay tuned.
Finally, we still have stock on Crucible Card Scrapers. That’s because everyone in our supply chain bent over backward to help us out. Thank you.
Most furniture designers I know take the wrong approach to attributing designs. They usually ascribe it to some historical piece (without doing the research) or simply omit any discussion of their influences.
Both approaches dump you in the deep end of the pool without your inflatable swimmies.
In the article I offer a short exercise that I use to help me avoid problems. The exercise also offers a roadmap for deciding when I can call a design my own.
As always, I am grateful to Core77 for allowing me to write on these topics. Next month’s column is likely to get me roasted. The working title: “How to be an Anarchist Designer.”
In addition to the Malodorous Mallet Co., we’re pleased to announce this blog is also sponsored by the Hold Harmless Clamp Co., makers of the No Dent Left Behind Squeezy Clamp. Hold Harmless clamps are prized for their patented “Released on their own Recognizance” technology, where the clamp pops open without any assistance whatsoever from the user. Amazing.
The printing plant has finished its work on Peter Follansbee’s new book, “Joiner’s Work,” and it will be trucked to our Indiana warehouse on Monday. We’re not certain when it will start mailing out to people who placed pre-publication orders, but my best guess is it will be this week.
If you haven’t placed an order, this is the last opportunity to get a free pdf of the book with your order. Once the book starts shipping, the price of the book plus the pdf will be $61.25, up from $49.
Yesterday I received a sample from the printer and the book looks great. Oak is featured on 100 percent of its pages. You will not find an oakier tome.
I’ve seen a lot of slideshows of people’s incredible, breathtaking and life-changing work.
For the first 50 years of my life, I watched and was inspired. Graceful furniture forms. Astonishing craftsmanship. Shimmering finishes. All of it made me say: I want to go there. And in my heart, I thought I could.
But something happened in my 50th year. I lost my father, a good friend and some other people I cared about deeply. And the slideshows took a turn in my mind. Instead of seeing what was possible, I saw what was out of reach. Perhaps I started too late. Maybe I don’t have the natural gifts. Or some such.
If you’re a therapist or a kind soul you might disagree. But the rest of us know that there is a certain grinding of the gears – a metal calculus – that says, “This is a hill you cannot climb.” So we spin our wheels at lower elevations and try to find somewhere interesting to steer the bicycle.
On my way home from Fine Woodworking LIVE, I was invited to visit the home and shop of John Porritt, a chairmaker and restorer who works in a picturesque barn behind his home in Upstate New York. On the shop floor in front of his neatly piled stacks of old timber, John had arrayed a handful of original Welsh, American and English chairs he’s collected during his career.
We spent a couple delightful hours examining them and discussing their merits and demerits. As we were leaving the barn to look at some chairs in his house, John said that he might be willing to sell a chair or two.
I froze in my tracks and pointed to the chair pictured at the top of this entry.
“Would you sell that one?” I asked. We shook hands on the price.
The chair is remarkable for a number of reasons I’ll will discuss in a later blog entry. But what struck me was how similar the antique chair’s angles were to my chairs. They look distantly related.
The big difference between the two chairs is the hand that made them. My chair is rather uptight in its craftsmanship. John said as much about my chairs, “You have the angles right, but the older chairs are looser.” It was merely an observation, he wasn’t trying to convince me to change.
“If your chairs are selling,” he said, “Then you are doing something right.”
But I see this as an area where I can grow. I am uptight and obsessive about my chairs. Even if I start with riven stock and work by hand, I fuss over every facet until the chair has a silhouette that is sharp, for lack of a better word. Can I loosen up? Not sloppiness, but an acceptance of the way that work progresses when it is shaped by hand. To allow it to happen instead of bending it to my will.
This week I have a vernacular Irish chair on my workbench. I’m building it in anticipation of a research trip to Ireland this fall for a book. The chair isn’t for a customer so there’s no one standing over the project and expecting a certain result.
Except for me, of course.
This afternoon I’ll take up my block plane to shape the legs and we’ll see what happens.
