Lost Art Press

Author: Lost Art Press

Publisher of woodworking books and videos specializing in hand tool techniques.

Tricking the Banana

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One of the most common errors when planing is to create a gentle banana shape on one face – where the ends of the board end up thinner than the middle.

The cause of this problem resides both in you and in your tool. First off, divide the sole of your plane into two regions: The infeed side of the sole before the blade (the toe). And the outfeed side of the sole behind the blade (the heel). And remember this: The blade of your plane isn’t co-planar with the outfeed side of your handplane.

This feature makes it different than your power jointer. As a result, a handplane has more of a tendency to make bananas. (By the way, you can make bananas – and wedges – with a power jointer as well).

But I think the tool’s role in banana-making is a minor problem. The bigger problem is you and where you are putting pressure on the tool as you plane. Here’s how it’s supposed to work:

At the beginning of the cut, plant the toe of your tool firmly against the work. With the hand on the front knob, put all of your downward pressure right there. Your other hand (on the tote) should only push the tool forward.

As soon as the entire sole is on the work, you should shift your pressure: Use equal and forceful downward pressure with both of your hands.

As soon as the toe runs off the end of the board, release the pressure there but continue to exert downward and forward pressure at the tote.

This work, but it can be a trick to remember for beginning planers. It’s hard to get all your muscles lined up. So I tell them this simple mental trick: Just try your darndest to plane a big old hollow valley in each board by scooping out the middle.

Planing a hollow in this manner is almost impossible to do with a handplane that has a flat sole. So what you wind up with is a board that is fairly consistent in its thickness.

I cannot take credit for this mental trick, but I can’t remember who told it to me years ago. But works like crazy. And with that aspect of planing under control, you can then turn your attention to removing cupping and twisting in your boards.

— Christopher Schwarz

Order, Mistakes and Karma

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John is at it again. We just finished a brutal month of traveling and teaching and John has got back in the shop!

There is a certain order or Karma to life, and when you violate this flow events let you know.Like the time I saw this woman and said “when are you due” to wit she said, “I am not pregnant!” Now the natural order would have flowed thus, a woman appears pregnant, you keep your mouth shut until she admits being pregnant, at which time you hesitantly congratulate her.

Anyway, I am hard at the Trestle Table and got the top supports fitted to the leg via a bridle joint.When all looked great and fit perfectly I took the assembly apart and put the final touches to it with the jointer and smoother plane. Can you guess what I wound up with? Yep, my final touches with the jointer and smoother caused the perfect fit to become a 1/16th gap! I went out of order. I should have made the leg complete then laid out the bridle joint. Oh well, out of the Karma flow and back to plan B.

I learn through mistakes.I could be in the minority here but when I mess something up, I remember why and am less likely to repeat it.Like cutting on the wrong side of a line or jamming a perfectly sharp Barr chisel into my hand and cutting a tendon.Chris and I have been on the road a lot last month and I have not been in the shop much. The project shows my “learning” and I hope someday to make something without learning anything.

To fix the problem I re-sawed a ¼ inch piece of wood and glued it to the full length of one side of the leg. After the glue up was dry, I snuck up on the fit. It now looks like this.

Can you guess which side has the wood glued to it? If you can, I will say that there is another learning experience in here. If you see a small glue line it is a result of that part of the piece not being clamped down to the leg. It could be that the piece was not flat or maybe the clamp is a bit off.Nonetheless, next time I will ensure the “show” side has a seamless glue joint, and yes I am already fixing that nice nick off the bottom edge. Fortunately this will be painted!

-John

In the Birth Canal

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This morning I processed the stock for 18 more sawbenches that we’ll build during the “All About Hand Tools” class I’m teaching this coming week at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking.

I feel a bit like a midwife on these days. I’ve helped build about 60 of these benches during the last few years, but I rarely get to see my babies after they leave the class.

But helping people cut more than 240 angled birdsmouth joints on the legs and 480 half-lap joints always inspires me to find ways to make this design more material-efficient, lightweight and strong.

The first version of this sawbench used twice as much material and took twice as long to construct. The lessons buried in that design (drawboring and wedging tenons) were the driving factors in its beefy-osity. Today I’ve got this design pared down to where I can build a sawbench in about three hours using hand joinery alone.

In addition to making these quick to build, I’ve also put the suckers on a diet. To build 20 sawbenches, I need only seven 2 x 12 x 10’s and five 2 x 8 x 12’s. And the leftover waste from ripping and crosscutting all that stock won’t fill an office wastebasket.

But I’m still not satisfied.

I hate the screws we use to join the legs and stretchers. So today I started planning out Sawbench 4.0 as I ripped the 80 legs. My new sawbench design will use a half-lapped dovetail to join the legs, top and stretchers.

Sure, it sounds intimidating, but once you learn to saw to a line, it doesn’t matter what angle that line is. All angles are the same to a handsaw.

So now I’ve got my Honda piled up with Southern yellow pine (Kentucky’s tropical softwood), and I can turn my attention to other things – like worrying that the next Frank Klausz is registered for this class that starts Monday, and I’m going to look like an idiot.

This, of course, is still better than my dreams of showing up naked to high school French class.

— Christopher Schwarz

The Beginnings of the Tite-Mark

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Kevin Drake was a drummer turned computer programmer turned furniture-maker, and in 2001 he got so aggravated with his marking gauge that he threw it into the street.

The good news was that Kevin saw the solution to his problem in a book by Jim Kingshott, “Making and Modifying Woodworking Tools.” Kingshott had a marking gauge in that book that you could micro-adjust, and Kevin wanted it.

The bad news was that you couldn’t buy it. Kingshott’s had been made by a metalworker.

So Kevin was aggravated.

Sometime after that he saw an ad in the newspaper for a guy who was selling woodworking machines. Kevin needed some machines because he had sold his when he moved out to Ft. Bragg, Calif., to attend the woodworking program at the College of the Redwoods under James Krenov.

He went and saw the guy with the machines; and though the guy didn’t have any machines that Kevin was interested in, Kevin found out he was a metalworker. So Kevin brought him a copy of Kingshott’s book.

“Can you make this?” Kevin asked. He could, and a few days later Kevin had a working version of the marking gauge he’d always wanted.

“I liked it for about an hour and a half,” Kevin said. “Then I saw it had a major limitation. So I redesigned it (the gauge), and the guy made me one of those.”

That was the first Tite-Mark gauge. Kevin liked it so much that he had the guy make him 30 more, which he sold to summer students at the college.

“Then I asked him to make me 100 more,” Kevin said, “and he told me to get the hell out.”

The metalworker put Kevin in touch with a student who did this sort of work, and the business Glen-Drake Toolworks was born. (By the way, “Glen” is Kevin’s middle name.)

Now the parts are made on precision CNC equipment in Northern California for Kevin. Then Kevin tunes up the parts, assembles the tools and ships them out to customers. Since he invented the Tite-Mark, he’s made and sold about 10,000 of them.

For those of you who have been ignoring my writing for the last 12 years, the Tite-Mark gauge is my favorite. No waffling. No equivocation. I knew it from the first moment I picked up the tool, and I feel just as strongly today.

And I know that at least one other person agrees with me (and I’d love to meet them someday). You see, I’ve only had three tools stolen from me in the last 12 years. One was a Wayne Anderson plane that someone snitched from a show at Ft. Washington, Pa. A second was a plane hammer from Glen-Drake. And the third was my first Tite-Mark.

— Christopher Schwarz

Testing Your Intestine-made Designs

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As I consumed Jonathan Hale’s book “The Old Way of Seeing” about 11 years ago, I could feel the excitement and tension twisting in my gut. This was the book that finally was going to show me the secrets to designing well-proportioned furniture.

It was all there. All the famous formulas: The Golden Section (sometimes called the Golden Mean or the Golden Rectangle), the Hambridge Progression, the Fibonacci Series and even some discussion of the mysterious “column orders.”

Perhaps I should never have finished reading Hale’s book. Because somewhere in the second half, Hale makes a passionate argument that following these formulas will not make you a better designer. Instead, they likely will crowbar your work into unnatural forms that will appear forced or bogus.

Instead, we should design like the mechanics and builders of the 18th and early 19th century did (Hale contends that decent architecture ended about 1830). That is: We should be aware of these formulas, but not use them as tools. The formulas describe the patterns found in nature. So our designs will be better off if we draw and build things from nature and from our gut. Oh, and symmetry is overrated.

This week I’m in the shop building a pair of early 18th-century-style wall cupboards. The doors are based off a piece that came from historian Wallace Nutting’s furniture collection. The carcases and mouldings are based on pieces that I saw this fall at Winterthur. But the piece isn’t a copy. I’ve fiddled with it far too much. So whether the piece fails or not is really my fault.

As I was preparing to build the piece, I mocked up the elevation in Foamular insulating foam and made some significant changes, including beefing up the width of the face frame’s stiles to make room for the rattail hinges now lying on my bench.

They weren’t large alterations, but the piece sure looked different. I thought it might be a trick of the CAD drawing because the new mock-up looked great. But to be sure, I wanted to see if I’d made the horizontal dimension too expansive, even though I’d also increased the height to compensate.

So I checked the ratio of the old design vs. the new. And that’s when I got a little shock. The cupboard’s overall dimensions, 36-7/8” high x 23-1/8” wide, are a near perfect and spontaneous Golden Rectangle. It took 11 years, Mr. Hale, but I think I’m finally getting it.

— Christopher Schwarz