Category: Carving the Acanthus

The following is excerpted from Mary May’s “Carving the Acanthus Leaf.” Learning to carve the acanthus leaf is – for carvers – like a pianist learning a Chopin étude, a young oil painter studying the genius of Rembrandt or an aspiring furniture maker learning to cut dovetails by hand. 

For carvers, especially those who focus on Classical Western ornament, there comes a time they will inevitably encounter the acanthus leaf, learn it, master it and finally incorporate it into their own designs. 

“Carving the Acanthus Leaf” is a deep exploration into this iconic leaf, which has been a cornerstone of Western ornamentation for thousands of years. May, a professional carver and instructor, starts her book at the beginning. She covers carving tools and sharpening with the efficiency of someone who has taught for years. Then she plunges the reader directly into the work.

It begins with a simple leaf that requires just a few tools. The book then progresses through 13 variations of leaves up to the highly ornate Renaissance and Rococo forms. Each lesson builds on the earlier ones as the complexity slowly increases.

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Experiences in life often grow us and define what we become. But certain attitudes and ways of living create who we are. I can easily pinpoint various times and events throughout my life that steered me toward a somewhat curious life. This is the story of how I went from being a shy but adventurous girl to discovering woodcarving as a way of life.

My mom, the second oldest of seven children, was born to a conservative Calvinistic minister with a small church in Denver, Co. My dad was the oldest of 13 in a hardworking Dutch farm family in Iowa. They married just out of college, and within seven years had a brood of five rambunctious children.

Dad, even as a young man, dreamt of building a sailboat and traveling the world. Perhaps he imagined the seafaring adventure stories of his youth, or maybe he just thought it would be an opportunity to see the world. He was a man of few words, so it was often a mystery as to why dad did some of the things he did. But he was going to achieve his dream of building, traveling and living on a boat … and his wife and five children aged 4 to 11 (I was the 4 year old) were going to join him. My parents saved every penny and headed toward their dream. At the time, my dad was working as a systems analyst – a first-generation computer programmer. I remember long lengths of paper tape with multiple holes in it that we had a lot of fun with (as frugal as my parents were, we had to be creative with our toys).

Dad started building our 50′ trimaran in the back yard of our home in West Chicago, Ill., in the evenings and weekends. Trimarans consist of three complete boat hulls joined together, with the largest hull in the center and two smaller hulls on either side. Curious neighbors would ask why my dad was building three boats. Was he expecting a flood? In his quiet, humorous Dutch way, Dad let them guess for a while.

It took three years of hard work, discipline, countless focused hours and all of our family’s resources to build dad’s (and now the family’s) dream. When the boat was finished, dad christened it “Pilgrim,” a name he chose after being touched by a sermon where the minister spoke of life being a day-to-day journey or pilgrimage. The minister expressed that if we live too much in either the past or future, we forget to experience the “pilgrimage” or “now” of life. Dad was deeply moved by that sermon and whether he realized it or not, this pilgrimage of his started all of his children on a course of unique and adventurous lives.

Where some have created a wall in their life that says, “here and no further,” dad taught us that it was OK to step over that wall and see what was on the other side. What touches me deeply to this day is that dad was not trying to prove anything to anyone through this adventure. Dreaming is one thing, but living that dream is so much more. He taught us not so much with words, but by how he lived.

The next year was spent experiencing the “live-aboard” boater’s life, enjoying the scenic river towns while traveling the length of the Mississippi River. Then we sailed to the Bahamas, visiting and exploring both inhabited and uninhabited islands. The early ’70s were a unique time to live on the water as many fellow boaters were hippies who had dropped out of society. From my 4-year-old vantage point, life was very curious. I remember a man with his long hair and a beard, rowing by our boat stark naked. (Is it possible to get this image out of my head?) After a while, nothing in the boating world seemed out of the ordinary. I just hope the man remembered to put sunscreen on.

We returned from this wondrous trip, adjusted to a “normal” life on land and within seven years, dad got the boating bug again. He, along with our uncle Don, built another boat: Pilgrim II, a 54′ motor-sailer. By this time we had reached the wonderful teenage years. How my parents survived on a boat filled with five smelly teenagers for an entire year escapes comprehension.

On our second boat trip I was older and remember much more. We spent another year living aboard, and I cherish memories of exploring more islands, snorkeling in crystal blue waters, catching fresh fish and throwing my brattiest brother overboard when my sister and I thought he deserved it. Some islands we visited were uninhabited, and our five young imaginative minds lived our own “Gilligan’s Island”… I mean “Van Abbema’s Island.”

Because the boater’s life was our day-to-day existence, it became normal. We were not immune to the typical problems that arise in family life – teenage woes, the stress of living closely together and the Spam-inspired doldrums of eating it and canned corned beef day after day. We may not have recognized it or appreciated it as teenagers, but our boating adventures taught us that life is to be experienced, and dreams are to be lived.

And that story leads to how my hands learned to think.

With the wandering spirit instilled in me as a young child, my head was filled with dreams of travel and adventure. During my second year in college I spent an amazing semester studying in London. Much of my time was spent exploring its museums, grand cathedrals and glorious architecture. My mediocre grades proved I was not a great book student, but London’s sidewalks became my school, and my textbooks were its historic buildings. After completing my semester of study in London, I spent an adventurous month backpacking across Europe and becoming even more enchanted with the carved details found in the historic art and architecture. The seed of desire to learn carving was solidly planted.

When I returned to Minneapolis, I began to search ways to learn woodcarving. I did not want to learn just any woodcarving; I wanted to learn how to carve the beauty I had been captivated by throughout Europe.

For $5 at a garage sale, I bought a beginning woodcarving and whittling book, plus a large curved gouge and a heavy rubber mallet. I picked out a project from the book and dove in, teaching myself woodcarving using a salvaged piece of wood from a pile of my neighbor’s construction debris. The project I chose was to carve a mask of a man’s face. Despite that my carving gouge was dull, the wood was dense and splintery, and that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I completed my first carving project and it looked somewhat like a man’s face. The only reason I was able to achieve what I did was that my mallet was massive and my determination equal to it. Perhaps a butter knife would have been a better tool. My first attempt at carving taught me that if I wanted to carve anything close to what I saw in Europe, I would need to find a teacher. Where to start? I looked in the Yellow Pages under “Woodcarving” and discovered “Artistic Woodcarving Studio.” “Art” and “woodcarving” sounded exactly like what I was looking for. I called and spoke with Greek master carver Konstantinos Papadakis. After explaining my desire to carve, he invited me to his workshop, and from the moment I walked in I was in awe. I tried not to blink for fear of missing some amazing detail. I was consumed by the wood smell, the carving tools lying amongst the workbenches, the half-finished carvings hanging on the walls or sitting in corners or clamped to benches. I knew this was my world.

Mr. Papadakis began his training in Greece as a boy of 12. Like many young European men learning a trade, he spent years studying as an apprentice, then progressed to a journeyman, after which he was respected as a highly skilled master carver. I wonder if I would have made the best career choice if I were required to make a life-long decision at the age of 12. I doubt it, as I seem to remember wanting to be an Olympic gymnast at that age.

Within months of studying with Mr. Papadakis two nights a week, it seemed that every moment of my day was consumed with thoughts of woodcarving. I was happily obsessed with this new art, as an amazing and exciting new world opened to me. I discovered something that I truly loved to do. Every aspect of this work – from designing it, to learning its tools, to exploring forms and shapes in wood – I loved it all.

As Mr. Papadakis learned the “old world” ways of carving as a young man in Greece, these were the techniques and styles he graciously shared with me. I learned to carve various styles of classical European carving, but focused primarily on the Byzantine style that is often seen adorning the interiors of Greek Orthodox churches.

In an attempt to be a responsible citizen and have a “real” job, I spent several years studying graphic arts and design. This paid the bills and put food on the table while I became engrossed in my new love of woodcarving.

While working as a graphic artist, I focused every minute of my extra time to learn carving. As time went on, my day job became less interesting as I found myself drifting off, daydreaming of the carving designs I had waiting for me when I got home. There were clear signs that I was becoming obsessed. Sometimes when I was having conversations with people, I would catch myself studying the details and shapes of their faces and taking note of what tools I would use to carve that particular feature. I knew I was going down a path of no return.

Restless and eager to carve full time, I tried to discover a way to make that a reality. The sensible side of me said, “That is so irresponsible to give up a lucrative, secure job and to jump into an unknown dream.” But my not-so-sensible (and more influential side) said, “Why not?” As I was pondering when and how to make this major change in my life, the decision was made for me. I was laid off from my job. I even got severance pay.

After Mr. Papadakis generously shared and passed on his carving skills to me for three years, I thought it time to venture out and learn more and different techniques from other masters. To give me his blessing on this new venture, Mr. Papadakis connected me with a third-generation carving shop in Athens, Greece. It was a workshop where he first worked when starting his carving career. I traveled overseas again to the studio of Theofanis Andravidiotis and learned and worked alongside several Greek master carvers and their apprentices for three months. The workshop was famous for its carved interiors of Greek Orthodox churches in two classical styles: the Byzantine and Cretan (a style similar to Rococo and Baroque, also called Barocco). I spoke just enough Greek to lose an argument with a taxi driver and to recognize when I was sworn at by others in the workshop, which fortunately was not frequently. The other carvers must have thought it peculiar for a young American female to work in a traditional all-male workshop in a foreign country. I enjoyed the unique learning experience, so the environment was all part of the adventure. The workday consisted of starting precisely at 8 a.m., taking a break for thick, Greek coffee and tasty pastries around 10 a.m. and stopping for lunch at 1 p.m. After lunch we rested, started up again at 3 p.m. and continued until 7 or 8 p.m. They were long days, but it was fascinating to work as carvers have done for countless generations.

After my Greek adventure, I returned to London with a desire to study with more and varied master carvers. I attended City & Guilds of London Art College, focusing again on traditional classical carving designs and techniques. For three months I studied with several highly talented woodcarving instructors. During this period, I continued to spend time studying and absorbing the multitude of carved details of historic buildings throughout London. I also drank a lot of tea and feasted on deep-fried fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. I love England.

While I was studying in England, I jumped at an opportunity to work as a stone carver in Malaysia. You can read the full story of this in Chapter 10.

After so much traveling, learning and studying, it was time for me to settle down, stay in one place and focus on what I hoped would become my career: that of a professional woodcarver. I settled in an area that I thought would appreciate and recognize the type of work I do because of the historic nature of the city: Charleston, S.C. That was where I met my wonderful and patient husband, Stephen, who built a cozy carving studio for me. It is my sanctuary, and I spend countless hours joyfully lost in my carving world. The fateful story of how Stephen and I met is shared in Chapter 5.

The early part of my career was spent happily sequestered in my workshop to carve commissions for architects, furniture makers and designers. This time was spent fine-tuning the techniques and skills I had learned from the European master carvers. I was content to continue working in this secluded and isolated way, but life had other plans.

The next stage of my carving journey brought me out of my quiet workshop and dragged me kicking and screaming to once again socialize with my fellow man. Several members from the Society of American Period Furniture Makers (sapfm.org), a wonderful organization focusing on all aspects of traditional period American furniture, discovered that I carved furniture details in this style and asked if I would be willing to teach a class on carving the ball-and-claw foot. I reluctantly agreed, but I’m so glad I did. Since that time, the exciting world of teaching and sharing woodcarving has opened wide and has been yet another amazing journey for me. It was time for me to step out, get past being a wallflower and share what others had taught me. I had been perfectly happy making chips in the solitude of my workshop, but now it was time to share.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that sharing this art was fun. As I began to teach at woodworking clubs and schools around the country, my “shyness” quickly disappeared as I discovered how many people had a desire to learn. It’s exciting to see the look on students’ faces as they grasp difficult concepts such as “carving with the grain.” When they share their completed carvings, it is rewarding to have been a part in their carving success.

Traveling and taking classes at different locations can be challenging for many people for any number of reasons. My ultimate desire is to make this art available to all, and as I recognized the difficulty for some to attend in-person classes, I started “Mary May’s Online School of Traditional Woodcarving.” Students with access to the Internet are now able to learn carving from their home and workshop. Starting with a single standard-definition video camera, we have grown to three high-definition camera angles, and my son, Caleb, is now my video editor (so I have time to do other things, such as write books). The carving topics range from simple beginner lessons to highly detailed ornamental carving, and a new video is added each week. The video lessons are virtually “real time” without much of the process removed. I even leave the mistakes in so that students can learn from me before making their own “oops.” I have been asked whether I will ever run out of carving topics to teach, and the answer is a definite “no.” I am eager to discover the new directions my school will lead.

With my parents introducing me to such an adventurous life at a young age, I recognize now how those experiences prepared me. They taught me to be unafraid of living my dreams and that seeking a dream is a way to a fulfilled life. Some people have commented, “You’re so lucky to have a hobby that has turned into your career.” I feel fortunate, but I believe it is far more than luck, as I see the hand of God in every opportunity that came my way. I am excited to see what my next adventure is.

Mary May
August 2017
www.marymaycarving.com/carvingschool

The following is excerpted from Mary May’s “Carving the Acanthus Leaf.” Learning to carve the acanthus leaf is – for carvers – like a pianist learning a Chopin étude, a young oil painter studying the genius of Rembrandt or an aspiring furniture maker learning to cut dovetails by hand. 

For carvers, especially those who focus on Classical Western ornament, there comes a time they will inevitably encounter the acanthus leaf, learn it, master it and finally incorporate it into their own designs.

“Carving the Acanthus Leaf” is a deep exploration into this iconic leaf, which has been a cornerstone of Western ornamentation for thousands of years. May, a professional carver and instructor, starts her book at the beginning. She covers carving tools and sharpening with the efficiency of someone who has taught for years. Then she plunges the reader directly into the work.

It begins with a simple leaf that requires just a few tools. The book then progresses through 13 variations of leaves up to the highly ornate Renaissance and Rococo forms. Each lesson builds on the earlier ones as the complexity slowly increases.

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Drawing the Details of the Leaf
The details in the leaves can often be formed using geometric techniques, but not always. There is scant detailed instruction available on the specific techniques of drawing historical acanthus leaves, but the following step-by-step instructions explained in each project chapter work well for many designs. The process of drawing that I have shown in each chapter may not be the best technique for everyone, as we all think and design differently. The instructions are presented for the mathematical mind with a desire to discover the “formula” for designing and drawing the acanthus leaf. This is to satisfy those who have ruler and compass poised and ready for battle.
There may be others who wish to learn to draw the designs freehand, discovering this leaf’s deep secrets by observing, studying, tracing and drawing the leaf multiple times. Refer to the drawing instruction shown in each chapter to understand the positioning of the different details of the leaf and the curvatures of the lines. If you choose to draw the leaf freehand, you may find it easier to identify the overlapping lobes first, before locating the eyes. The geometrical process I have shown is reversed where the eyes are positioned first and are based on various guidelines drawn.

Drawing a Symmetrical Leaf
The following is an overview of how to use geometry and guidelines to draw a basic, symmetrical acanthus leaf. You can see a more detailed explanation of how to draw this particular leaf in Chapter 4. Some designs easily fit into this “formula,” while others vary depending on their shape and application. The main variation would be the number of lobes on the leaf, with the general rule being the longer and more stretched the leaf, the more lobes there are. Keep your eraser handy, as many of the guidelines used will need to be removed as the drawing progresses. Details such as eyes, pipes and overlapping lobes are discussed in more detail later in this chapter.

1. Draw a basic outline of the overall leaf with a midrib down the center that curves and splays out at the base of the leaf.

2. Draw four horizontal guidelines along the leaf, getting slightly closer together as they go toward the tip of the leaf.

3. Draw two straight guidelines starting at the tip of the leaf that angle out as they reach the base of the leaf.

4. Draw eyes at the intersection of the horizontal and angled guidelines.

5. Draw six circles, increasing in size as they reach the base of the leaf. These circles should touch the upper three horizontal lines, intersect with the outer edge of the leaf as shown, and touch the eyes at the approximate halfway point on the circle. These locate the upper, overlapping edges of the lobes. Once these are located, erase the parts of the circle that are no longer needed (dotted lines).

6. Draw curved lines to complete the lower edges of the lobes. These should start at the pointed end of the eye and finish at the outer edge of the leaf as shown, joining with the line drawn in STEP 5. The dotted lines represent the parts of the lobe that are positioned and hidden underneath. Read more about the “eyes” later in this chapter to understand these in more detail.

7. Draw the pipes that flow down from each eye and flow alongside and blend into the midrib.
8. Draw the primary vein lines on each lobe curving in the same direction as the pipes.

9. To help locate the position of the small serrations on each lobe, draw lines halfway between the eye and the tip of the lobe. Position these lines so they are angled and roughly perpendicular to the primary vein line of each lobe.
10. To help find the correct curvature of the serration edges, draw circles as shown on the left side of the leaf above.
11. Erase the parts of the circles that are not needed. The resulting curve should start at the edge of the lobe and end at the line drawn in STEP 9. The dotted lines show the correct direction these serration lines should aim, and should flow toward and blend with the primary vein line of each lobe.

12. Complete the edges of the leaf by drawing lines connecting the inside end of the serration edges with the tip of the leaf.
13. Draw any secondary veins flowing toward and running alongside the primary vein of that lobe.
14. Draw any wrinkle cuts on the pipes.

In addition to her expert instruction on carving a classical leaf motif, in”Carving the Acanthus Leaf,” author Mary May also shares stories from her life, such as the one excerpted below.

The book is a deep exploration into the iconic acanthus leaf, which has been a cornerstone of Western ornamentation for thousands of years. May, a professional carver and instructor, covers carving tools and sharpening with the efficiency of someone who has taught for years. Then she plunges the reader directly into the work.

It begins with a simple leaf that requires just a few tools. The book then progresses through 13 variations of leaves up to the highly ornate Renaissance and Rococo forms. Each lesson builds on the earlier ones as the complexity slowly increases.

– Fitz

Being a student of woodcarving is not at all like being in a school program where there is a “final exam” at the end of the term to determine passage into the next level. My first woodcarving teacher, Konstantinos Papadakis, is a true master carver who specializes in the Byzantine style of woodcarving, one of the defining features of the beautifully ornate interiors of traditional Greek Orthodox churches. Stepping into the foyer of one of these churches, you are often greeted with an intricately carved “icon stand,” created to hold a vibrant painting of a venerated saint. Walking into the main sanctuary, you will be amazed by the remarkably detailed altar screens covered on every surface with carved leaves, vines and symbols of the Christian faith.

On one side of the altar will be a beautifully carved wooden structure called an Epitaphios, which holds a sacred tapestry depicting the laying of Christ in the tomb, an important symbolic part of the Eastern Orthodox Easter celebration. The annual springtime tradition is for children of the church to decorate the Epitaphios with flowers, threading the stems through the pierced carvings.The priest and several elders of the church carry it in a somber funeral procession around the outside of the church as the entire congregation follows in mourning. Their collective sadness at the death of their Savior is soon replaced when they re-enter the church for a grand celebration, rejoicing in the discovery of Christ’s resurrection.

Needless to say, when I began to learn woodcarving from Konstantinos, his teaching focused on mastering the nuances of the Byzantine style. I practiced carving what seemed like miles of continuous vines, curling and twisting along flat paneled surfaces, intermixed with grapes and symbolic images, especially the traditional peacocks and doves. This Byzantine style is easily recognizable, featuring highly stylized leaves that are splayed and pointed. Sharp “V” cuts shape the surface of leaves and vines. And the many angles and sharply defined lines create dynamic shadows. When viewed from a distance, these elements combine to decorate pieces that have a 3D, almost lifelike quality.

After three hard and rewarding years working and studying under the guidance of Konstantinos, I decided to venture across the globe to learn different styles and techniques from other master woodcarvers. It was to be much like the journeyman of old, beginning their working lives by setting out to work in various workshops to glean as much knowledge as possible from different masters. So without a formal “exam,” how could I prove that I was ready to take this next big step? I needed to design, build and carve a traditional Byzantine-style icon stand, and that is just what I set out to do.

It was finally time to bring together all of the skills I had learned in my three years with Konstantinos. I began by designing the four carved panels that made up the main body of the icon stand. The two side panels had a stylized peacock carved in the center surrounded by curling, twisting grape leaves. The front and rear panels were decorated with the same pointed, scrolling leaves around two medallions. I drilled countless holes into every tiny space between the details to prepare the way for cutting out all of the background wood. By inserting a thin scroll saw blade into the holes and patiently following each twisting curve, each little background shape finally dropped cleanly to the floor to create the pierced panels. It was a grueling week sawing out every portion of the background, but I was motivated by the knowledge that I was just preparing for the fun part.

Finally, after all of the drawing, drilling and sawing, I began the carving. I spent the next three weeks intently detailing all of the panels, carving the peacocks, finalizing the edge mouldings and capitals, and hand-shaping the tall spiral legs. It was a long and exhausting month, but when I proudly unveiled the finished icon stand, I was filled with a deep satisfaction, knowing that I had passed the test. I was now ready to continue my journey, working with and learning from other master carvers. I do look back fondly on those long years of practice and study, and though I have completed many challenging carving projects in the years since, the icon stand holds a place of honor in my portfolio. I have carried it with me for 22 years. These days, it may inspire me with its company in my workshop, dominate the corner of our living room or occupy a place in a furniture show or exhibit, but it will always have a special place in my heart as a representation of two major passages in my life. The first was the “final exam” that marked a major transition in my carving life, and the second was when my husband and I knelt before it humbly as we were married, the priest using it as a lectern in our beautiful outdoor wedding.

The following is extracted from “Carving the Acanthus Leaf” by Mary May.

Learning to carve the acanthus leaf is – for carvers – like a pianist learning a Chopin étude, a young oil painter studying the genius of Rembrandt or an aspiring furniture maker learning to cut dovetails by hand. 

For carvers, especially those who focus on Classical Western ornament, there comes a time they will inevitably encounter the acanthus leaf, learn it, master it and finally incorporate it into their own designs.

“Carving the Acanthus Leaf” is a deep exploration into this iconic leaf, which has been a cornerstone of Western ornamentation for thousands of years. May, a professional carver and instructor, starts her book at the beginning. She covers carving tools and sharpening with the efficiency of someone who has taught for years. Then she plunges the reader directly into the work. Below is chapter 7, which teaches you step by step how to carve an acanthus leaf in a rosette.

Various styles of rosettes have been used since the Roman Empire as decorative accents and are often used as appliqués (applied to a surface) to adorn furniture and architectural features.

Here are some of the design elements for rosettes:

• They are symmetrical and can be circular, oval, square or rectangular.
• There is a small bead in the center that is either plain or carved.
• In oval or rectangular designs, this center bead is also oval.
• Square or round rosettes that are symmetrical can be turned on a lathe before carving to establish the basic profile.
• There are typically four primary leaves evenly positioned around the rosette.
• The leaves start at the center bead and flow outward toward the edge, with the tips of the leaves defining the outer edges.
• For square or rectangular rosettes, the tips of the leaves end at each corner.
• The midribs or center stems get narrower as they reach the ends of the leaves.
• They often have small, secondary leaves that are between and appear to be positioned under each primary leaf. This example does not contain these secondary leaves.

HOW TO DRAW THE LEAF
This design has similar structural elements to other leaves, but some details, such as positioning the eyes, will need to be visually located without guidelines.

STEP 1: Draw a square. This example has slightly curved edges. Draw the center circle and the mid-rib (center stem) of each leaf ending just before each corner. Notice for this design that the midrib connects from one leaf to the next. This is often done to create a continuous flow between the leaves.

STEP 2: Draw the eyes close to the center circle. These eyes represent where two leaves overlap.

STEP 3: Draw eight circles as shown that intersect and slightly overlap at the pointed end of the eye. These locate the edges of the overlapping lobes.

STEP 4: Erase the parts of the circles that are no longer needed. The remaining lines should extend from the pointed end of the eyes. The dotted lines represent the edges of the lobes underneath.

STEP 5: Erase the dotted lines. Draw the two eyes on each leaf about a third of the way up the leaf at a slight distance from the midrib.

STEP 6: Draw circles as shown that represent the overlapping secondary lobes. The edges of these lobes should extend from the eyes drawn in STEP 5. The dotted lines represent the parts of the lobe that are underneath. Sometimes drawing the edges of the lobes first can help locate the eyes, so steps 5 and 6 can be reversed.

STEP 7: Erase the dotted lines. Draw the pipes that start from the eyes drawn in STEP 5 and curve and flow them alongside the midrib.

STEP 8: Draw the lines that locate the serrations as shown. These are typically positioned perpendicular to the center veins on each lobe, but in this design there are no center veins on the side lobes.
Draw these lines at an angle located approximately halfway between the eyes and the tip of each lobe. Note that the center lobe has two of these guidelines that are perpendicular to the midrib. After learning how to position the serrations in the next few steps, these lines are usu-ally no longer necessary as guides.

STEP 9: Take a deep breath. It really isn’t as complicated as it looks. Draw small circles that locate the serrations along the edges of the leaf. These lines should start at the edge of the leaf and curve down to meet the guidelines drawn FIG. 7.14 in STEP 8. The dotted lines show the correct direction of the curve. These circles are simply used to show the curvature of the serrations. Erase the parts of the circles that are not necessary. This process of drawing the circles is often not necessary after learning to understand the shape and position of these serrations.

STEP 10: Erase all lines that are no longer needed. Complete the edges of the leaf by connecting the serration lines as shown and also complete the tips of the leaves.

STEP 11: Erase any unnecessary lines.

STEP 12: Draw lines starting from the inside corners of the serrations that flow down each lobe. These lines represent a high edge (or high corner) in the leaf.

HOW TO CARVE THE LEAF

STEP 1: Prepare the Wood. Study Chapter 2 to learn about different methods to transfer templates to wood. I used carbon paper. Transfer all the lines from the template at the beginning of this chapter and cut out the outline of the design on a band saw or scrollsaw. This will be an appliqué.

STEP 2: Carve the Center Bead. With a 6mm V-chisel, make a 1/16″-deep cut along the outside edge of the center circle. Define the edge of the bead by making vertical cuts directly on the line with a #5, 8mm. With the same #5, 8mm, round over the bead to a half-sphere. Use the #5, 8mm to lower the leaf to the edge of the bead, starting 1/2″ from the edge of the bead.

STEP 3: Round the Leaves. With a #3, 18mm, round over the tips of each leaf starting 1″ from the tip and carving down 1/4″ at the tip (to make the rosette more shaped, this can be rounded deeper). Re-draw any lines that were carved away. NOTE: STEP 1 and STEP 2 can also be done on a lathe.

STEP 4: Carve the Midribs. With a 4mm V-chisel, make deep cuts that define the edge of the mid-ribs. These should be 1/16″ deep toward the center and fade off just before they reach the leaf tips. With a #7, 10mm, carve a slight hollow in the midrib as it comes toward the center bead.

STEP 5: Round the Leaf Next to the Vein. With a #4, 14mm, round over the surface of the leaf down to the edge of the midrib.

STEP 6: Define the Overlapping Lobes. With a 3mm V-chisel, start in the middle of the eye and make a 1/16″-deep cut along the edge of all overlapping lobes.

STEP 7: Carve the Eyes: Study Chapter 3 to learn more about carving eyes. With a #11, 3mm veiner, make a 45° cut at the base of each eye. With a #5, 5mm, continue this cut on either side of the eye to create a teardrop shape that has a sharp, inside corner.

STEP 8: Define the Overlapping Lobes. With gouges that fit the edge of the overlapping lobes (#5, 5mm and #7, 10mm), define the edges with vertical cuts directly on the line.

STEP 9: Lower the Underlying Lobes. With a #5, 8mm, lower the parts of the leaf that appear to go under the overlapping lobes and create a slight hollow cut. Make sure that the sharp edges created by this cut flow in the correct direction.

STEP 10: Carve the Pipes. Study Chapter 3 to learn more about carving pipes. Re-draw pipes that have been carved away. With a #11, 3mm, make long, sweeping cuts along each side of the pipe, starting on either side of the eye.

STEP 11: Round the Leaf. With a #3, 6mm, soften any sharp edges in the leaf surface that were cre-ated by carving the pipes. NOTE: Often pipes are rounded over also, but because these are so small, it would cause them to lose definition.

STEP 12: Hollow the Secondary Lobes. With a #7, 10mm and #7, 8mm, hollow the three secondary lobes in each overlapping lobe.

STEP 13: Hollow the Remaining Secondary Lobes. With a #7, 8mm, hollow all remaining secondary lobes.

STEP 14: Carve the Serration Notch Cuts. Study Chapter 3 to learn more about these defining cuts. With a #5, 8mm, make one cut defining the serration edge and a second cut at a slight angle creating a small triangular notch cut.

STEP 15: Clean the Edges. With a #3, 6mm, make a 45° chamfer along all edges. This will create a clean, well-defined edge and will remove remaining template or pencil lines.

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Where shall we put these? How about as decorative details on the upper corners of door frames? Small rosettes can be added to the corners of kitchen cabinets or accents on dressers or headboards. Then there is that wonderful architectural feature that just begs for carved details – the fireplace mantel. Be creative and either make the rosette a central design feature, or a secondary detail for a simple accent. How about custom coasters and leave a large flat area in the center for wine glasses to fit? I’ll have to think about that one over a glass of wine.