House & Garden magazine in the U.K. has a nice feature on vernacular stick chairs and cricket tables in its current issue. You can read the article here.
Tim Bowen of Tim Bowen Antiques is quoted throughout. Tim and Betsan Bowen authored “The Welsh Stick Chair,” a lovely book that we stock. (It is the only non-Lost Art Press title in our store.) We are awaiting stock on this book from its third printing.
If you are interested in learning more about vernacular pieces, we have you covered. Check out:
Between 1995 and 2001, chairmaker John Brown and Drew Langsner carried on extensive correspondence about JB’s classes at Country Workshops. In addition to discussing flights and fees, the two men wrote a lot about how they viewed the craft and the world today.
During our research for “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown,” Drew graciously sent copies of the letters to help author Chris Williams. I recently reread the letters during a long flight and copied down some of JB’s more eloquent pronouncements about his work. I have left the punctuation and spelling as JB wrote. Drew agreed to let me publish these excerpts here.
Thanks so much to Drew for preserving these letters and letting us share them with you.
— Christopher Schwarz
3 January, 1995 I am a Welshman, and I am influenced in the chairs I make or some of them, by old Welsh chairs. Irish chairs are as different as is possible, so are Scottish chairs. Brittany is Celtic. The people of Brittany, Cornwall and Wales speak a language which has little relation to the Irish or Scots Gaelic. Celtic (with a hard C) is difficult to define, but it is a fashionable ‘buzz’ word, as was ‘heritage’ a year or two back. I strongly recommend you do not use it, and I would forbid the word Celtic to be applied to my work, it is Welsh. Welsh.
…One thing is certain, the chair I had seen had no woodturnings. I have a total and complete antipathy towards woodturning. It seems to me a mindless occupation to stand, holding a chisel up to a piece of revolving wood, the epitome of monotony. Without doubt some of the more artistic turning is clever, but the finished product leaves me cold.
When I see competitions for woodturnings at shows, it seems to be the woodworking equivalent of the Eurovision Song Contest, – ‘nil points’. There, I’ve said it, now you know how I feel about woodturning.
…I am not really a craftsman, the standard of my woodwork is very poor, I feel an artist, I work like an artist, each new project starts with a clean canvas. I shall be very disappointed if at the end of the week’s work any two of the chairs made are the same, and, furthermore, the chair that I make with them will probably not be the best one. This is surely a chair workshop rather than a school. Correct me if I am wrong.
…I shall recommend, but there will be no rules. I understand there will no complete beginners. If we have 8 people I would expect 8 different chairs. I would start each day with a short talk on what we must achieve before sundown, energy and commitment from everyone will be more important than skill.
2 May, 1995 I’m getting nervous. 13 students! Will you have enough bench space? vices? etc, etc? I guess you have done all this before and seem very laid back about it. I have some horrors though, for it is important the way my chairs are built. If you look through my book, articles etc you can see the equipment I use. For instance I don’t know how I could operate without an engineer’s vice on top of a bench, three quarters of the process is based on this. A low flat, level board for boring the seat and levelling we can rig up. Since I have been involved with the Country Workshops project I have come to realise myself that the process is as important as the materials. For instance you mention tapered holes, even numbers of degrees – I wouldn’t know what a degree looked like. My methods work. I have no purist views, just that in 1979 when I built the first chair I had no books on how to do it, no example to look at, just a picture in my mind’s eye. I worked with the tools I then possessed and built my ‘think’. It all came together, miraculously, you have sat in the chair, I am sitting in it now – it worked. A few adjustments here and there, a few more suitable tools, and I’m still doing it the same way. Remember, I do use glue (yellow polyurethane, BISON or BALCOTAN, both made in Holland, but there must be American equivalents, PVA is not suitable)
17 November, 1995 Notice, also, that I ALWAYS give credit. Time & again I have said I am only an average woodworker. It is true. Most woodworkers are more expert than I am. But I do it differently, and this, in retrospect was the main problem with my course. I was in awe of you and didn’t do some things as I should. Next time I must do it my way. Welsh Stick Chairs was an anomaly, I was just in charge of cobbling together 12 chairs, no matter what. They could have been Mongolian Chairs. The Spirit of Wales was missing. …I abhor these people who keep their archive under their armpit, I tell anybody what they want to know. But this seems rather different. We live in an age of instant experts… And when I write I always have a respect for other workers. I cannot enhance what little skills I have by criticizing others. But I am truthful, and I want to be kind.
4 June, 1996 The solution is to start a new magazine, which is what I am doing in my spare time. At the moment I am making a dummy to see what it looks like. It will be of smaller format with a square binding, black and white. More a journal that a magazine. 6 issues a year with an annual subscription in the UK of £20. I am going to try and get American readers. It will be called ‘QUERCUS’. Will keep you informed as to progress. I would hope to have first issue JAN/FEB, 1997. The magazine will have a high content on hand tools and techniques, chairs, history and the ‘zen’ of woodworking. I shall look for people who have something new to say, or want to get something off their chest. It’s bound to be a success because the competition is so poor.
1 July, 1996 Without any doubt I broke new ground in woodworking writing – quite unintentionally. I covered all sorts of subjects, from smoking bacon to the breakdown of my marriage. Nick (Gibbs) told me that 50% of their correspondence mentioned my stuff. I’m not trying to blow myself up, but realistically about 70% of woodworking writing is boring, repetitious stuff.
…Most of the woodworking press has a certain teethgritting fundamentalism which attracts readers with similar problems. I keep wanting to shout ‘woodwork is fun’, let’s have a smile. I hardly know any woodworker who reads any of the magazines. The true market is hardly scratched over here. Then we have this growing inbalance in our population of old people. Add to this that many are now retired at 55 – there is a vast market.
2 April, 1997 I think it is a very retrograde step to be on the internet, there can be no justification for this. I had a man from Paris phone me to tell me what I was doing this summer, even telling me of the seminar. I was very angry. Never mind, I shall continue swimming against the stream, I was born to do it. By joining this latest fashion you will attract the kind of people you don’t need – like the man from Paris.
30 April, 1997 We are gradually handing all our skills over to technology. I imagine the devil appearing and offering me a computer, free, in exchange for my soul, and my ability to write, and my typewriter etc. The router, the saxophone, and now the computer, these are inventions of the devil. I am happy in my stupidity.
I am keen to make better chairs this time. If I don’t make a chair, and if we don’t have twelve students it will be O.K. I will send seat pattern. This is to be a REAL Welsh chair, unmistakable. I will bring a completed one with me in parts as before. This time I will finish it as I do for home consumption. And I will leave it with you, gratis, on one condition. That is that you allow me to put an axe through the seat of the one I left last time. It was a disaster.
18 June, 1997 I want everybody, I mean everybody, to dispose of all their machines and work by hand. However incompetent I am, to me my woodwork is my life. I keep trying to get better.
10 March, 1998 I do not operate in a ‘teaching’ atmosphere. The finest craftsman of the past were never, never ‘taught.’ An apprentice had to learn, most of his life was spent sweeping the floor, fetching and carrying, and doing menial tasks. They watched, they learned, and in the course had many a ‘thick ear’ for their pains. Now it’s all formalised, regularised, and is death to design and imagination. The first instinct of modern woodworkers when they want to make something is to buy a set of plans. This should be made illegal, with death as the penalty. Modern artists are all imagination and no skill, modern craftsman all skill (machine) and no imagination. I am not a strict traditionalist, we do have modern products that are good, but there should be a better ability to recognise what is good, and what is rubbish.
5 January, 1999 This rustic woodworking worries me a little. It’s O.K. to leave drawknifed surfaces, flats on the sticks and legs etc, but to go over sawn parts to make them LOOK rustic is akin to plastic beams, complete with worm holes, in some pubs! If a chair is ‘rustic‘, it should be so because it was made ‘rustic‘. My highly polished chairs are the real modern rustic. I make no effort to cover anything I have done. Most of the proportions are eyeballed, and the sticks and legs are not regular. We live in an age when subtlety is no longer acceptable. Unless an object strikes you between the eyes, the modern punter doesn‘t see it.
22 September, 1999 I fully appreciate that you work on a shoestring, but it annoys me that people take it for granted that craftsmen can‘t be properly paid. Of course, I am not unmindful of the honour of being asked, but I can‘t eat glory.
28 November, 1999 I am getting older, and being a loner can‘t think of having a helper, they wouldn‘t do it right. I refuse to use machines, whereas nearly everyone else does. I have been hungry many times since I started making Welsh chairs. I invented the name Welsh Stick Chairs, and this is what I make. They are not really rustic. I do not bother to smooth them too much. But they are polished. No one is more mystified than I that people will pay so much, but I won‘t knock it. I love my chairs, I hate selling them, some of me, some pain is in them. But they are not rustic. Rustic means poorly made, primitive.
12 June, 2000 My chairs are art, sculpture. Each chair is a new canvas, and they are simple of construction, but sophisticated of design. With my total lack of formal education it has taken a large part of my life to interpret in words the feelings I have. Right, my chairs are INSPIRED by old Welsh chairs. But the slight dished tapers, the shapes and forms, copied by many in the last twenty years, have come from my imagination. Many people have influenced me over the years since I have been making chairs. I looked to many methods, some conventional, some the idiosyncratic workings of others trying to do their own thing, but I used those processes which I felt comfortable with. I am still learning, becoming increasing less interested in processes than the finished article. I have never ceased to try and improve the honesty of my work. Rustic is insult to all the hours of study, all the attempts to grasp the mysteries, all the pain I have had in working my way towards the perfect chair, an object that really doesn‘t exist. It is a mystery, and in trying to solve all the ‘whys‘, I have become increasingly less interested in the ‘hows‘. The hows are the practical side, easy to solve. They are an exercise in engineering and economics. Enough, even if you don’t agree I think you will understand what I am trying to say.
2 February, 2001 Three or four years ago I used to write at least a page a day in my diary, now I don‘t even write it every day, and when I do it‘s just a few lines. I bore myself! Just at the moment I live in a tiny little single story house, central heating and plastic double glazed windows. No ventilation. Too small for a bath, there is a shower. It is warm (hot) and convenient, but the A40 main road passes about 10 feet from the door. I took the place temp(orarily) whilst I got medical stuff sorted and that was 15 months ago. The only prospect that excites me is thought of moving in amongst trees again.
I hope Louise’s garden is as beautiful and fruitful as ever. I remember it so well, I have some good photographs of it. Anyway it is my hope that you are all well. Thank you for phoning. I’ll write more often in future. When I am depressed I try not to contact my friends but to save them for better days.
The following is excerpted from “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown,” by Christopher Williams. It’s the first biography of one of the most influential chairmakers and writers of the 20th century: Welshman John Brown.
The book’s title of “Good Work” was an expression John Brown used to describe a noble act or thing. He once mused he wanted to create a “Good Work” seal that could be applied to truly beautiful and handmade goods – like the “Good Housekeeping” seal of approval.
“Good Work” is the kind of woodworking book we live for at Lost Art Press. It’s not about offering you plans, jigs or techniques per se. Its aim instead is to challenge the way you look at woodworking through the lens of one of its most important 20th century figures. And though this appears to be a book on chairmaking, it’s much more. Anyone who is interested in handwork, vernacular furniture, workshop philosophy or iconoclastic characters will enjoy “Good Work.”
Author Chris Williams spent about a decade with John Brown in Wales, building Welsh chairs and pushing this vernacular form further and further. This book recounts their work together, from the first day that Chris nervously called John Brown until the day his mentor died in 2008.
This book is about a man, a chair and a set of ideals. It’s a journey of enlightenment, inspiration and heartbreak as I experienced it. There are many facets to John Brown’s life and his life less ordinary, but my story concentrates on John Brown the chairmaker. Other important voices will be heard throughout, each will give an account of the time they spent with John Brown, or JB as he’ll often be referred as. His daughter Molly Brown has beautifully illustrated the book; each illustration tells its own story, be it a chair, landscape or Celtic cross, all relevant to what John Brown held dear. I’m indebted to Lost Art Press, which secured the rights to 19 of John Brown’s wonderful columns from Good Woodworking magazine. These essays will give you a flavour of his writing and philosophical approach to life in the years after writing his book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” But before we dive into that, here’s some brief housekeeping to fully acquaint you with the country that gave birth to both the man and chair.
Wales: The name given to us by the Anglo-Saxons. They were one of the many who tried to conquer our land. The Romans, Vikings and Normans all left their mark, yet we are still here as a proud nation. Wales is known to its indigenous people as CYMRU. Sadly the name Wales and its people, “The Welsh,” have stuck. And for the broader subject of this book, we’ll stick with this term.
Wales is a small country that along with Scotland, England and Northern Ireland make up what is known to most as Great Britain or the United Kingdom. The country lies on the western seaboard side of the UK. Its population is approximately 3.1 million people. Its topography is mostly mountainous, with a coastline of more than 2,700 km. Its coal, iron and slate industries are now shadows of their former selves. Agriculture is now one of our main industries, particularly sheep farming in the hills and dairy farming in the lowlands. Tourism also is a large part of the Welsh economy. People are drawn to its spectacular coastline, mountains and abundant castles.
Wales is a bilingual country. The Welsh language has survived despite centuries of persecution by the English and the powers in Westminster. It is now spoken by more than 560,000 people; for many it is still their first language.
During Britain’s recent history, huge swathes of people emigrated to the New World. The Irish, Scots and English all colonised enormous areas of the British Empire. The Welsh mostly stayed at home, yet small numbers went to Patagonia, North America and Australasia. As a result, Wales is little known on the world stage. The Irish identity, for example, remains a huge part of life in the New World. The Scottish are known for whisky and kilts, but the Welsh… we seem indifferent to many.
If anything, we’re known for the Welsh male voice choir and rugby. This frustrates me, even more so when people see a map of Great Britain and they deem it “England.” It definitely is not! The Welsh are the original inhabitants of Britain, which is known as YNYS PRYDEIN, or “The Isle of Britain” to its indigenous people. There are myriad books on the history of Wales and its people, but this book is about one Welshman in particular and a chair.
“John Brown” was born in Wales, yet spent half of his life in England. He returned to his homeland of Wales as a middle-aged man with an English accent. Culturally different, Wales must have felt alien and different to the Wales of his childhood in the industrial valleys. After a few moves he settled into the predominantly Welsh-speaking area of Cilgwyn in rural North Pembrokeshire. His flamboyant character must have stood out in that parochial community. Twenty years would pass before I would meet him in person, but during those years in that most beautiful corner of Wales he regained his sense of Welshness. For those early years other voices will be heard in this book, for that story is theirs to tell. What I write is from my personal experience and perspective.
John Brown once told me that he felt like an outsider because of his English accent, yet he was born in Wales and was a Welshman. He would have been deemed a “Saeson” – an Englishman in many Welsh-speaking communities. It’s an arbitrary distinction. Yet, this sense of identity based on how we speak raises much passion in Britain. It was a conundrum for John Brown, no doubt. I do know that at least he never suffered the remarks that many have endured for having a Welsh accent. Britain is a diverse country with wonderfully different dialects and accents. Yet, why is it that unless you speak with a posh, plummy English accent you are immediately deemed as stupid?
John Brown was a maverick, and he knew his cultural history. He was the most well-read man I ever met. The knowledge that he amassed was staggering, and it had to be vented at times. John Brown relished getting his strong opinions over and out. These rants became quite the norm for me. I couldn’t call them debates, as I would have had to say something. I learnt to say nothing, as I was young and naive. Yet, perversely, I learned much from them.
During one of these rants, he said something that touched a nerve. We were having a pot of tea. I was taking a sip when he announced: “Your average Welshman is an arsehole!” I nearly spat out the contents of my now-gaping mouth. Myself, Welsh born and bred, and definitely Mr. Average. I listened tentatively to his sermon until he got to the crux of his outburst: Why did the Welsh let everyone walk all over them? Why couldn’t the Welsh voice be heard? These frustrations are why he had written the book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” He’d found a culture rich in history and a chair that would become an obsession. He was intuitive and foresaw his beloved chair being annexed as some form of English regional chair. For John Brown, this couldn’t happen.
I forgave his outburst as he was correct. We don’t need any experts other than ourselves. “Welsh Stick Chairs” is a wonderful source of information. It’s a brief history of Wales, a chair and one man’s obsession with it, all encapsulated into a small book that became a cult object. It planted a seed that has been sown around the world. Its message is different for all who have read it.
How to Enter Wales Just before entering Wales from England on the M4 motorway you have to cross the Severn Bridge. The bridge spans 1.6 km over the River Severn, and on reaching the other side you’re soon greeted by a road sign that reads “Croeso i Gymru,” which translates as “Welcome to Wales.” From this point on, every road sign in Wales is bilingual. This particular location is relevant and poignant to this story. During a passionate conversation (or lecture), John Brown told me how he wanted to see a giant sculpture erected of a Welsh stick chair on entering Wales, similar in scale to Anthony Gormley’s “Angel of the North” near Gateshead in Northern England. He thought that the humble Welsh stick chair should become the cultural icon of Wales. That particular conversation holds me to this day. Read on. I hope that at the end of the journey (this book) you’ll realise that it’s OK to dream of giant chairs and to let your imagination run riot with this (or any) aesthetic in chair design. I’ll try and explain….
Whilst travelling by car to Wales from the south or west of England you can see the Severn Bridge looming from several miles distant, its huge white towers slung with miles of wire, supporting the carriageway beneath. As a child it always excited me to see the old Severn bridge whilst on my return home from family holidays in England. It’s a milestone in that I knew I was nearing my homeland and friends. Decades later I still get that feeling when I first see the bridge, but my thoughts are now different. So here we go….
Slowly my daily mind drains away, transcending into something more ethereal in nature, a vision begins. I’m looking at a colossus – a primitive chair, six long sticks piercing the clouds, four eccentrically raked legs rooting it to the Welsh soil, its form hoary with age and its colour patinated dark by the elements. Its silhouette screaming “I’m Welsh” against a brooding skyline. It looks outwardly from Wales. A sentinel for the past, present and future. A voiceless yet powerful symbol. This surreal moment holds me for several minutes. Its finale is when I tip my imaginary cap to John Brown as I see the road sign welcoming me back to my homeland. The moment passes and reality returns. I usually think about chairs and JB from then on until I reach home. Melancholic, maybe. Yet, this won’t be the last you’ll read about giant chairs as they prove to have an important role in the tale that will unfold.
John Brown’s book “Welsh Stick Chairs” is a classic. It gives us insight into a craftsman’s life. The book’s section on building a chair, with its beautiful black-and-white photos of the chair’s construction, had a huge impact on me. This inspired me to build chairs, yet there are no plans in his book. This subject of plans is an integral part of this book – integral because there won’t be any plans, but the subject will crop up constantly for good reason.
Why no plans? John Brown wrote in a Good Woodworking magazine column, “It is never so valid building from other people’s plans as seeing an object in your imagination and then making it. I would like to see purveyors of plans go bankrupt.”
I’d hate to see his words being taken out of context. He then went on to write, “There are, of course, many exceptions.” This might sound extreme, but it’s fundamental to the way JB felt about chairmaking. He fully understood the origins of the early chairs and their makers. No two chairs were identical, so how could a plan work? How could he ever make the same chair twice? This would become sacrosanct to his philosophy as well to me personally.
JB would happily and freely give advice on tools and workshop practise, including plans for tool chests, workbenches etc. in his monthly columns. Yet, plans for chairs weren’t up for discussion. As you read this book I hope you’ll be inspired and realise that the lack of plans isn’t a negative! This isn’t meant to alienate you, I promise! I hope that you’ll embrace it as a different way of woodworking and design. Reread “Welsh Stick Chairs.” Read this book over and over, become a monk for a while, let this mantra invade your veins. This approach worked for me! So first let me give you some insight into how this works.
When I was in my late teens I built my first chair. I didn’t own a set of French curves or anything in particular to aid me in drawing a fair curve. I hadn’t thought about buying a plan (even if one was available). I can well remember using a bin lid (trash can lid) to draw in the back curve of a chair seat, as well as using a coffee mug to draw the curves on the front corners of the seat. Once I had the curves looking fair I was away. It was my first tentative step into a new world of chairmaking. I felt at times that I was almost plucking shapes from the air. Did I have insecurities about what I was doing? Definitely! What I made was in truth a mediocre chair. It was, without doubt, a fundamental part of my learning, and it helped me think outside the box. I hope that you will get this message, accept it and fully immerse yourself into a journey of self-discovery as a free thinker and maker. It’s OK if your chairs don’t look like what you see in your mind’s eye – embrace it! Your work will become better for it.
If, at the end of the book, you feel that you’re in need of a plan, please know that there’s a plethora of wonderful books out there on the subject of chairmaking. If you’re stuck on the Welsh chair aesthetic, Christopher Schwarz’s excellent book “The Anarchist Design Book” has a chair plan of an American Welsh Stick Chair.
When Welsh chairmaker John Brown put down roots in Pembrokeshire, Wales, he and his wife, Anne, lived in two railway cars – Fyffes Banana wagons – that had transported fruit around the U.K. up until the 1950s.
The railway cars were used as living spaces for many years, until the 1990s when they fell into disrepair. But now Anne and David Sears have fixed them up and turned them into a lovely place to stay on their grounds that is near Newport, a nice seaside town, and Carningli mountain, Tycanol woods and Bluestone Brewery.
I’ve spent a few days at Pantry Fields while working with Chris Williams on his book “Good Work,” and can attest that the plot of land is gorgeous. A serene and green spot of great beauty.
It also is an important landmark for those who appreciate Welsh stick chairs. John Brown wrote his book “Welsh Stick Chairs” there and built his chairs inside an addition to the original house. (Which is now Anne’s studio.)
The grounds also include David’s workshop (he is JB’s nephew), where he makes furniture, bread, beer and other good things. They also have a showroom of the articles they produce at Pantry Fields, including Anne’s pottery, David’s furniture and the illustrations of Sally Seymour (Anne’s mother).
The price is very reasonable for the space in the railway cars. Details are here.
Even if you have no interest in stick chairs, Pantry Fields is a lovely place to visit. And if you want to plan the ultimate trip to Wales, with stops at St Fagans National Museum of History and Tim Bowen Antiques, then staying at Pantry Fields is a must and a privilege.
As always, I have no affiliation. I just love the people and the place.
If you or a woodworking friend are wondering what the heck a stick chair is, we’ve made a page that is a quick but complete introduction to the form. It also explains how all our stick chair products relate to the form. So you can better decide if you should go Old School (“Welsh Stick Chairs” by John Brown) or American (“The Stick Chair Book“) or historical (“The Welsh Stick Chair: A Visual Guide“). So yes, the page is a bit commercial. Selling books keeps the lights on here at the blog.