Final notice: We have fewer than 100 copies of “The Book of Plates” left in stock. When it is sold out, it will be gone forever. The book is at the almost-losing-money price of $49.
If you live outside the United States, you can buy the book at this rock-bottom price at Lee Valley, which is also closing out its stock. Link here. Highland Woodworking also has it for $49.
For those of you who have purchased the book, thank you for helping us clear out this title, which was gobbling up storage fees at our warehouse because it is so massive.
Today I dropped Chris Williams off at the airport for his journey home to Wales, and I cannot believe how quickly the last three weeks have rushed by.
In addition to Chris teaching two classes on making Welsh stick chairs, Chris and I spent a lot of time working on his forthcoming book, “The Life & Work of John Brown.” The book has – like all books – taken some hard left turns as it germinated below the soil. And Chris and I have spent many evenings sorting out the important chapters.
But the biggest discussion has been over whether or not to include detailed plans of a chair in the book.
After much thought, Chris concluded that adding plans to the book would go against the spirit of how John Brown made chairs during his life (and how Chris makes chairs now). John Brown and Chris contend that no two Welsh stick chairs should ever be identical. Instead, each chair should be built to suit the materials at hand, the skills of the maker and the tools available.
Don’t worry. You’ll be able to build a Welsh stick chair after reading Chris’s book. But your chair will start from a personal place instead of from an established pattern.
That’s how Chris built his first chair. He’d read John Brown’s “Welsh Stick Chairs,” and then figured out his own way by observing the chairs in John Brown’s book.
It’s not an easy way to make a chair. But it is satisfying. I built my first chair in a class, but my second chair went in a different direction than the first one. Even today I don’t expect my chairs to end up how I envision them in my mind or on paper. Each has a life of its own.
Chris tries to imbue his classes with the same spirit. His students were encouraged to go their own direction with their chairs. There are, of course, limits to what you can do during five days. But I was impressed by how some students took this idea to heart.
All of the chairs in the classes had four back sticks, but that’s where the similarities ended.
In the real world, Welsh stick chairs have enormous variations – in the number of back sticks (three sticks up to 11 or so). The shape of the seat (circle, rectangle, D-shaped etc). The construction of the arm. The undercarriage (if there even is an undercarriage). The comb. Plus the length of all the long stocks and short sticks, and the rake and splay of every component.
So when you look at Chris’s chair, or mine, or one of the thousands being built, know that your chair shouldn’t look like that. Exactly. Or at all. But it should look Welsh. And that is something you have to develop an eye for and will definitely be covered in Chris’s book.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. When will this book be out? Chris plans to have the writing done this fall. I’ll design it in November and December. And we hope it will be in your hands in February or March 2020.
Long-time readers of this blog probably saw this one coming. My June column at Core77 is about how I mix my anarchism with my design work. It’s a summation of how I work, with examples from projects you might be familiar with.
So come for the anarchism; stay for the trolling.
The column is free to read – click here to dive in.
Some people say I work too hard. But whenever I look at the above family photo, I think: I’m not working hard enough.
The photo is one of my favorites, and I first saw it as a young child. It shows my grandfather, Joseph T. West, at left. At right is my great uncle, John W. West. And in the center is my great grandfather. They’re about to begin a hike at Vermont’s Lincoln Gap on the Long Trail, the oldest long-distance trail in the United States.
The photo was taken at 2 p.m. on Aug. 29, 1932.
That day, my great grandfather died on the hike from a heart attack. My grandfather instructed his brother John to stay with body while he climbed back down the trail to get help.
My great grandfather was 45 on the day he died.
My family has a history of heart problems. My grandfather endured bypass surgery and then collapsed from a stroke while on a walk to the local market in the 1980s. My uncle, Tom West, died of a heart attack – way too young – in 2011. And that’s for starters.
So every time I encounter this photo I am reminded of two things.
Watch my numbers. I’ve closely monitored my cholesterol and blood pressure since I was in my 20s. Exercise, diet and pills keep my numbers in check. This might not be enough (ask my cardiologist about my gene pairs) but it’s better than fatalism.
Do not delay. I kind of assumed I’d leave this world at age 45. Not for any good reason – brains are funny and stupid – but merely because of the photo and the family story behind it. So I worked like hell to get “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” out before my 45th birthday. Every other book I written since has been a gift.
None of us know when we’re leaving this earth. But this photo always reminds me that my days are numbered. So I don’t sit around. I tell myself: build something. Write something. Get the next book published. Get everything out of your head and onto paper before your head is a cinder in a cremation furnace.
Is this morbid? I don’t really care. I do know that this photo has kept me going since age 11 or so, and so I am weirdly thankful for it.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. In regards to the title of this blog post, my mother’s copy of this photo has a handwritten note on the back from Uncle Johnny. “The day dad died. Aug. 29, 1932. 2:00 p.m. Lincoln Warren Gap. I was there!”
When people start venturing into hand tools they struggle mightily with what tools to buy and where to get them. As far as what tools you need, I’ve tried to cover that with “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest.”
When it comes to the question of where to buy the tools, my usual response is to attend a Mid-West Tool Collectors Association meeting. Or a meeting of the Early American Industries Association. I’m a member of both organizations and am so glad they exist. The tool tailgating at these meetings is epic.
But not everyone can plan their lives around these meetings. Or they can’t wait for a meeting to roll around to get started. Or something something something don’t wanna.
If you live in America’s Great Middle, I suggest you plan an excursion to Colonial Homestead in Millersburg, Ohio. I’ve written about Dan Raber’s tool store before for Popular Woodworking and discussed their classes yesterday on the blog.
But I just want to say here, on this blog, one more time, that Colonial Homestead is a Midwestern jewel.
What is so good about this place? The depth and quality of the stuff on his shelves. He has more woodworking and metalworking vises for sale than I’ve seen anywhere. Need dividers? There’s a whole section of them. How about a tool chest? Yupper. He’s got a bunch with prices starting at $275. There are drawers filled with spokeshaves, beading tools and Perfect Handle screwdrivers. A glue pot section. Boxes of complete sets of auger bits (in the bit section). So so so many saws. A wall of chisels, arranged by size.
After years in the craft, I’m pretty jaded by tool stalls in antique malls, which are usually filled with stuff that should be melted down. Buying stuff on eBay isn’t much better (unless you know the seller). And amassing a kit from people such as Josh Clark at Hyperkitten or Patrick Leach at Supertool can take a long time as you wait for the right stuff to come up for sale.
Colonial Homestead is a way to get a good working kit in one long visit.
To be honest, I haven’t bought much from Dan. I already own a complete kit of hand tools. During my most recent visit I bought a bunch of blacksmith-made rosehead nails (yes, they sell those). And I found a gorgeous cast-iron Defiance utility knife to replace the crappy zinc one in my chest. But I love to look over his wares when I visit. He’s got great taste in tools.
As always, I’m compelled to mention that this enthusiastic post isn’t sponsored. I am simply an admirer of what Dan has built in Millersburg. And I think you will be a fan as well.
