We’ve just received our shipment of “By Hound & Eye” – the cartoon workbook that will open your eyes to the hidden geometry behind excellent furniture.
The shipment is early – way early. We were expecting it in mid-September. And so we are going to end our special pre-publication offer early as well. (Sorry. FYI, when a book is late, we extend the pre-publication offer.)
So if you want a copy of “By Hound & Eye” with a free download of the book, you have until Sept. 4 to order. After that, the free pdf will not be available.
If you ordered a copy of “By Hound & Eye,” it will be packed up Monday and sent via SmartPost, which can take five to seven business days. We’ve also shipped out copies to all our retailers. We don’t know when they’ll add them to their stores, so keep a sharp eye out.
I haven’t seen the physical printed book (I’m in England right now). but I’m very much looking forward to seeing our first softcover workbook.
During our four-year odyssey of documenting the cabinet and workbench, we also shot high-resolution video of the process, including a complete video of us unloading the cabinet.
For the last few months, woodworker and multimedia artist Ben Strano has been assembling all of our footage into a coherent narrative that covers Studley’s life, the construction of the cabinet, the tools and our adventure in documenting it for the book.
The result is a 1 hour 13 minute documentary on the cabinet that features author Don Williams, photographer Narayan Nayar and – most importantly – the cabinet and workbench.
It is a surprisingly engaging documentary, and I say that as a Studley-weary veteran who was there for every frame of the shoot. Strano edited our footage into something that is eminently watchable and features an original soundtrack of period-appropriate piano music (more on that in a future post from Ben).
The DVD will be released on Sept. 25 – the first day of Woodworking in America. We will offer it for pre-publication sales (with free shipping) within the next week or so. And we will also offer it as a streaming video for international customers or those who don’t wish to own a physical DVD.
The DVD will be $20. The streaming video will be $18.
In addition to the documentary, customers who purchase the video will receive a video showing the unloading of the entire cabinet set to music (it will liven up your next party). This footage is nice because it shows a separate still photo of every tool after it is removed from the cabinet.
One of my recurring dreams is that I’m demonstrating during a woodworking class and everything goes wrong. I have the wrong parts on the bench. Nothing fits. Things split. I am missing parts.
I had that same dream today. Problem was, I didn’t wake up.
I’m at David Savage’s woodworking school this week teaching how to make a traveling tool chest to 18 students. Today about lunchtime I showed how to assemble the carcase with hot hide glue.
I knocked it together. The joints were tight enough that I didn’t need clamps. Nice. One of the joints split slightly at the bottom of the skirt. Grrr. That was unexpected (and unwelcome). But I was happy that it would be covered by the chest’s lower skirt.
I stepped away from the chest and one of the students said, “Chris, I think you assembled your chest wrong.”
She was right. My pin boards were rotated 180°. I thought I had checked my cabinetmaker’s triangle, but obviously I hadn’t done a good job.
On one hand, I was relieved that the carcase had gone together despite this major disaster. But that error was what made the corner split. And it caused a couple odd gaps that I had to fix with “the Bishop” (a ball-peen hammer).
So tonight I am drowning my misery in a Sharp’s Doom Bar and thinking it’s a good thing that I’m not teaching next year.
We are less than five minutes into the tour when David Savage stopped to scold the museum docent.
“You really are doing a poor job of displaying this,” Savage said, pointing to a Morris textile hanging in a shadowy corner. “Really, you can barely see it.”
Savage has a reputation for being a straight talker, both to his students and readers of his excellent blog. And you know what? I had to completely agree with him. The gorgeous and subtle textile looked like a blanket hung off to the side to block a draft.
So began a morning at the Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum with Savage and a handful of his students. Savage brought them there to view the museum’s excellent Arts & Crafts Movement Galley and discuss the history of the relationship between makers and customers.
I got to tag along, and I’m glad I did. The Cheltenham has a small but quite astonishing collection of pieces I never dreamed I’d see all in two rooms.
A Sidney Barnsley Hayrake table? Check. Frederick Rawlence coffer? Yup. Ernest Gimson 1885 ladderback armchair. Check. And this checklist could go on for several more paragraphs.
Savage lectured at bit in front of several of the pieces, pointing out design or construction details for the students. At the Gimson armchair, Savage discussed the relationship of the width of the slats and the negative space between each as they progressed up the back.
Then he paused for a minute.
“That chair,” he said, “more than anything, made me a furniture maker.”
It’s a surprising statement on its face. Savage’s work is so incredibly forward-looking and technical. Gimson and his Cotswold companions were trying to harness a bit of the past with their work.
But after a bit of reflection, the relationship between the two men seems clear. They were both independent craftsmen who were incredibly concerned with proportion, good lines, proper construction and beauty.
Below are some of the pieces from the exhibit. If you are every near Cheltenham, the museum is well worth a visit.
I’m interested in how furniture (and tool) designs change. Typically the trajectory is toward entropy or dissolution. But sometimes it goes the other way (see Lie-Nielsen and Veritas handplanes.)
This week I have been deep into reading the Kaare Klint monograph by Gorm Harkaer. It is a staggering work in both scale and scope. Harkaer covers everything from Klint’s paintings to his sculpture, logo designs and (of course) furniture. It’s the second-most expensive book I own, but I don’t regret a penny.
Today I was examining some of the photos of Klint’s Safari chair, which was born from the Roorkee chair of the campaign-furniture era. The above photo is one of the earliest chairs from 1933.
The legs are teak. And note the folded over and stitched leather arms. Oh and I couldn’t resist noting that the screws are clocked.
Later chairs were mahogany or “smoked” ash, according to Harkaer. “Smoking” involves coloring the ash with ammonia steam.
The chair below is a 1953 version in smoked ash with a canvas seat. Note we now have the familiar non-stitched arms. I much prefer the stitched arms. They sag a lot less over time.
Other interesting details from the monograph:
The seat coverings were available in leather, undyed linen drill or canvas in brown blue or olive.
After Klint’s death, his son designed a footstool to go with the chair.
More than 150,000 official Safari chairs have been made since 1933.
We’ve just received our shipment of “By Hound & Eye” – the cartoon workbook that will open your eyes to the hidden geometry behind excellent furniture.
