Category: Backwoods Chairmakers

Editor’s note: Andy Glenn reports that he is working on the final edit of “Backwoods Chairs” before passing it along. It’ll be in our hands in June when we’ll start the editing and layout process. “I’m excited, and more than a little relieved, for this to join the stable of upcoming LAP books,” he says. All the images in this post are from Andy’s visit to Randy Ogle’s The Chair Shop in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Randy’s a third-generation chairmaker, with a chair shop and gallery just off the Craft Loop road. Randy’s also one of the few makers Andy visited with a storefront and open hours, and Andy highly recommends a visit if you get a chance.

Chris and I first discussed this book a few years back – a book on the backwoods chairmaking tradition, one found deep in the hills and mountain communities of central Appalachia. It excited me – to search for and travel to working makers still engaged in the longstanding tradition of rural chairmaking. I had no idea who I’d find still at it. There are no networks or directories for this sort of thing.

I searched and traveled for makers over a couple-year stretch. Covid complicated things immensely at the beginning. I was already an outsider requesting visits and traveling from away. Now I was visiting their shops with the uncertainty of the virus swirling about. So things paused for half a year or so before traveling started in earnest.

One aspect that made this project such an enjoyable riddle was that I had no idea who I’d find during the search. But I came across plenty of chairmakers (which took me to splendid rural chair shops in Kentucky, West Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina) during this time to the point I needed to end the search and put the book together, or risk this thing never coming together in print.

I found that I needed to write immediately after a visit or my initial impressions would dull away. Details would muddle, smells would fade and I’d forget the punchline to the jokes told by the makers. No matter how thorough my note-taking, writings from a recalled visit didn’t share the same spark as a fresh experience. So I wrote immediately after traveling, sometimes through the night if I was visiting different makers on successive days.

The issue: I had no idea how the book fit together until after the search or how each visit would relate to the others.

The early writings weren’t chapters but more essay-like. In the best case, they were the primordial chapters. When I revisited an essay, sometimes a year after the visit, the vitality of the day would rush back. Later on, once completely finished with the search, the story arch became apparent and I could see how the independent puzzle pieces of essays fit together. That’s when the book began to take shape.

In the earliest days, I also wrote when considering an issue. The following was cut during the latest edit. Like many of the early essays, this doesn’t fit properly into the book. A few early writings were mercifully deleted (there’s nothing quite like the embarrassment that comes from reading your own bad writing), while plenty of others were adapted and absorbed into the final version.

I don’t remember what prompted the entry below, though I imagine it was in response to friends’ and acquaintances’ perplexed responses to hearing about this book. Most people responded with excitement. A few were so overwhelmingly baffled that they offered no follow-up. Just silence (I actually enjoy these responses very much). But, at times, there was a hint of dismissiveness about these chairs and the value of this book. The essay was likely written with that attitude in mind.

This survived the initial fiery purge of the “delete” button, and it doesn’t cause stomach pain or my face to turn bright red, so I thought it’d be fun to share here.

I love the work of authors Wendell Berry and E. B. White. It is my hope that I subconsciously replicated their style and cadence. It is wholly doubtful I will achieve it, but still a resounding desire. 

Their writing styles welcome the reader to share in their experiences through the combination of humor, neighborliness and the strength of their convictions. A running theme in their writings, though maybe more of an undercurrent than a theme really, is the respect each shows toward rural America*. Respect towards its people, their communities and the environment. Seldom explicit (though Berry does speak strongly in defense of rural America against the subjugated qualities of the big, market-based economy and the destructive policies of those in positions of power), the worth of each community member is inherently implied.

To mount a defense for the rural against the urban, either aloud or in writing, immediately puts the defender in the weaker position, and should only be done so when absolutely necessary. As it relates to chairmaking; beyond this, I do not intend to spend any time arguing the value and worth of backwoods chairs when compared to “sophisticated” work or dominant design trends. The worth of the backwoods is inherent, as much as any other place, people and creative work. Rural is only devalued if we choose to devalue it, and, unfortunately, why Mr. Berry must speak to its defense.

Within “Backwoods Chairs,” I follow the chairmaking tradition, rich as it is in the hills and mountains of central Appalachia, out of the rural communities and into larger cities, and even toward different regions when the story points elsewhere. Yet these chairs are most often found in rural areas for a reason; Appalachia has abundant timber for post-and-rung chairs, remote communities in need of seating, along with the low investment and overhead, all of which created an ideal environment for green wood chairmaking.

The beauty of the chair is found in its simple form, the local materials, and the maker’s skill. It’s a subtle chair, one that’s easy to overlook because of our familiarity with the form. But it’s a chair that supported generations of makers, attracts both artists and craftspeople towards its form, and is ripe for contemporary interpretations as the tradition pushes forward.

It’s a chair worth celebrating, along with the resiliency of the makers who continue on this path.

– Andy Glenn

*During their careers, both authors left their homes and opportunities within the city (both lived in New York City at one point) for a rural life. Berry moved toward a familial farmstead along the banks of the Kentucky River while White went northwards to a saltwater farm in coastal Maine.

The early title leader for my upcoming book about Appalachian chairmakers was “Backwoods Chairs,” but I’m now leaning toward “Upwards into the Mountains.” The decision needs to happen soon because my book is nearing the final stages. The search is complete (thank you to those who sent me names and leads after my previous blog posts about the project [post 1, post 2]), the interviews and visits have all happened and the narrative is written. I’m currently editing, adding the photography and working through the chair builds.

As a first-time author I’ve come to recognize two things: 1) I enjoy the process of writing a book and 2) I’m slow at it. But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel at this point.

I’m working toward having the manuscript to Lost Art Press this fall.

Late last week I reached out to Eastern Kentucky chairmaker Terry Ratliff (he’s among those featured in the upcoming book) about a teaching opportunity. That was before I was aware of the severe flooding to hit communities in eastern Kentucky and southwestern Virginia. I followed up with a text to Ratliff to wish him well. He was at a local lutherie shop on the main street in Hindman, Ky., at the time, scraping the thick mud off anything salvageable in the bench room. He relayed the overwhelming mess he saw all around him.

Once the waters receded the full impact and devastation became apparent. The floodwater climbed higher than any time on record in some places. In the charming mountain town of Whitesburg, Ky., near the Virginia border, the North Fork Kentucky River rose more than 20′.

For those unfamiliar with the terrain of eastern Kentucky, there are lower lying, narrow bands of land between the rocky, rugged knobs and mountains. The lower land frequently has a creek or river running through it. Heavy rains funnel into these waterways – this time more than ever before. This was deemed a “once in a millenia” storm: water over rooftops, refrigerators caught up in treetops, homes carried downriver and significant loss of life.

An environmental tragedy immediately became a human tragedy. Entire communities were slammed in the storm. The tight-knit Kentucky towns of Jackson, Neon, Hindman, Whitesburg and Hazard, among more rural other places, were hit hard.

There’s also an impact on the cultural centers within the mountains. The Hindman Settlement School and the Troublesome Creek Stringed Instrument Company are digging out, working to salvage as much as possible. At Appalshop, an Appalachian cultural archive and media center in downtown Whitesburg, a crew works to recover soiled materials before they deteriorate. Those in the community collect what’s floated away.

From an article in Smithsonian Magazine: “‘Some of the film from Appalshop was all through the streets and everything,’ Austin Caudill, a Whitesburg resident, tells the Lexington Herald-Leader’s Billl Estep and Austin Horn. ‘We could lose not just businesses but history.’”

Why mention this here?

Because below I share my travels to Whitesburg in April, 2021, to photograph and study Chester Cornett’s “Appalshop chair.” And because the affected communities are home to a group of eastern Kentucky chairmakers, both past and present. The floods impact Terry Ratliff’s community (while also hitting those of the late Sherman Wooton (Hyden) and Chester Cornett (Perry County). And because within Appalachia, more than any other place I’ve lived or visited, the strands of craft, community, people and place are all tightly woven together.

But most importantly, these communities need immediate resources to aid in stabilization, recovery and rebuilding. There are opportunities to help.

• Red Cross
• Team Eastern Kentucky Flood Relief Fund
• Hindman Settlement School
• Appalshop

Now to the unicorn that is the “Appalshop Chair,” created by the visionary chairmaker Chester Cornett (visionary: as in some of his chairs came to him in visions and dreams), crafted during the recording of the 1981 Appalshop film “Hand Carved.”
Appalshop then purchased the chair. It resides in their archives. I do not know its condition after the flood.

It was unusually cold for April, with flurries in the afternoon. No leaves on the trees just yet. The North Fork Kentucky River ran low and quiet beside Appalshop’s building.

I traveled to Whitesburg to visit Cornett’s chair. I’d wanted to see it in person since reading Michael Owen Jones’s book “Craftsman of the Cumberlands.” In it, Jones shares a photograph of the 13-slat double-rocker, making mention that this was the last chair Cornett built, meaning this was the culmination of Cornett’s fabled and prolific chairmaking career, the pinnacle of his skills and final iteration of his making choices. I hoped to study it myself and photograph it for my book.

The archivist met me at our arranged time. Wearing white gloves, she brought the rocker out of storage. My first impression was how solid and substantial the piece looks in person. Each chair part was shaped with the drawknife before being scraped smooth. Cornett added an extra-special touch to this piece before applying his mystery concoction of finishing oils. He stayed up all night before final filming to add a little “old-timeyness” to the chair by scorching it with a Coleman campfire burner to create a mottled effect. The initial impression by those who witnessed the chair the following day was best described as “aghast.” The scorching has mellowed over time. It’s most noticeable on the back slats.

I was delighted when Elizabeth Barrett and Herb Smith joined us to talk about their time working with Cornett. They are the filmmakers behind “Hand Carved,” and continue to work with Appalshop 30+ years later. It was their skill and insight that brought about the film. Near the end of the recording process, they realized the chair was something special – something Appalshop should own and preserve. They found the money to make it happen (not the easiest thing to do; creative rural organizations are not known for deep pockets) and it’s lived within Appalshop ever since.

While the chair has always resided with Appalshop, it has not lived a life of ease. Terry Ratliff shared that, years back, he was asked to repair the piece. A summer intern’s dog gnawed on one of the rockers. A rung had worked loose. The chair was a fixture in the staff meetings and was available for everyday rocking. Ratliff, who holds Cornett in high esteem and knows the specialness of the piece, suggested the chair receive a more protected status.

Functionally, the double rocker is not a comfortable chair. The sitter must spread their legs or sit cross-legged to avoid the middle posts. The front rungs rake against the sitter’s calves if they’re not careful.

It was not made for comfort; it was made for attention and to earn a decent price for the labor needed to make it. During my visit, someone at Appalshop shared a memory of Cornett carrying his chairs to Hazard on a Friday, setting up beside a busy road to sell them, and him still being there – with his chairs – into Sunday afternoon. He made beautiful, traditional chairs but there was little local market for them. This pressure pushed him toward new ideas, in hopes of recognition and higher income. If people didn’t want his gorgeous traditional rockers, maybe a double rocker would catch their attention. Though it didn’t work exactly as Cornett intended, he began making more fantastical chairs which garnered him increased recognition (including in Jones’ book), though it did not fully alleviate his financial situation.

A few details: The Appalshop double-rocker is 47″ tall overall, with the seat at 17″ from the floor; it’s 18″ deep overall at the seat (not including the rockers). It’s made of sweet gum, with (likely) hickory rungs and a hickory bark seat. The writing on the slats:

1. Chester
2. Hand Carved
3. For the fiming
4. The Appleshop
5. Moviey Caled
6. Check the Chiremaker
7. Direxed buy
8. Heirb Smith
9. Elizabeth Barret
10. President Applshop
11. Pine Mountin Wood
12. Mad I.N. N. OV. A, DEC 1977
13. With Our Lords Help

Scholars debate whether Cornett was an artist or a traditional craftsperson. Being the last of his illustrious career, this chair would fall on the “art” side of Cornett’s creative timeline. But that debate doesn’t interest me all that much.

I’m drawn in by the form, the silhouette that appears compact, well-proportioned and balanced when glancing at the rocker from across the room. It’s hefty but not grotesque. Confusing maybe, but I’ve visited the form enough times to enjoy its uniqueness. Move closer to it and the intricate, tightly woven seat becomes apparent, along with scraped surfaces and the octagonal posts and rungs that became a defining characteristic of Cornett’s work. But I’m most drawn to the carved pegs and the drawknife work – details that are only noticeable on close examination, and that elevate the rocker because of the skill and the time involved and the commitment of the maker. These details are noticeably irregular, because Cornett was human and handwork is not perfect.

With Chester’s chairs, there is incredible beauty found in the imperfections.

— Andrew Glenn