Books that purport to be a “history of everything on a topic” are almost always crushingly disappointing. They are pretty, light on details and focus on the low-hanging fruit you could find on Wikipedia. When these sorts of books make it into my hands (usually as gifts) they end up getting pulped – so they don’t deceive others.
I was therefore skeptical of “Atlas of Furniture Design” – if only from the title. But it was published by the Vitra Design Museum, for which I have great respect. And so I decided to take a look.
The book’s title is indeed deceiving. It is not an atlas of furniture design at all. It is an atlas of chair design. About 90 percent of the objects in the “atlas” are chairs or chair-adjacent objects (stools, low tables, daybeds, settees etc.). Plus some tables and shelves.
But that’s OK, because the book as a whole is an overview of industrialized furniture design from 1851 to the present. The book’s timeline is divided into five major periods: 1780-1914, 1914-1940, 1940-1973 and 1973 to 2017. Each period includes an illustrated history of the technology, culture and design sensibilities that shaped the period. And then there are hundreds of pages of the objects made during that period.
Each object (usually a chair) is put in context – where it came from and what became of it. There are all the facts you need (of course) such as gross dimensions, materials and designers. Plus an engaging history of the object that goes beyond the shallow museum cards in most decorative art wings.
Plus, at the end of each time period are pages and pages and pages of objects of (seemingly) lesser importance with some details. These objects fill in the gaps between the more important iconic pieces.
The last section of the book is a who’s who of designers, with short biographies of the people and companies that brought these designs to life.
All of the information is gloriously cross-referenced (sometimes in crazy ways), which makes the entire book a delight to explore.
Also, as an object, “Atlas of Furniture Design” is a technological feat. The 1,028-page book is assembled from smaller book blocks. Some are different paper stock. Other book blocks are different sizes so you can quickly find your way to a particular date range.
All of this is glued and casebound into a huge object that is still humane. It sits easily on your lap as you browse through it. I have already lost many hours paging through the book and dipping into areas of furniture design of which I have no knowledge (the 1970s?).
At 160 Euros, this book is an astonishing bargain. It took more than 20 years to produce and is a manufacturing achievement as well as an informational one. The book was released in 2019, and I hope it is in print for many years. But you should buy one now. You never know when books like this will disappear.
“Atlas of Furniture Design” is available in either English or German from the Vitra Design Museum, and it is sold by a variety of sellers worldwide.
Wooden spingerle cookie mold for the First Day of Christmas.
Christmastide, the twelve days from Christmas Day to Twelfth Night, is one of my favorite times of the winter season. The long rush to Christmas is over and, for me, it has always been a time to relax. I spend time out-of-doors bird watching and squirrel wrangling. All of our many oak trees have shed their leaves and the loblolly pines, the magnolias and other evergreens are easier to see and admire. This is the time of year I like to reread a favorite book and this year my selection is “The Outermost House” by Henry Beston. January 5, or Twelfth Night, calls for another read of Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night or What You Will.”
The deconstruction of the partridge in a pear tree involves a dip into one of the origin stories of woodworking from the ancient world followed by an article by a very-much-missed modern-day woodworker.
The Partridge
This is a drama involving gifted inventors, ambition, jealousy, treachery, broken familial bonds and a goddess. It must be a three-hankie opera, you are probably thinking. No! That’s very close, but incorrect. It is a sordid episode from Greek and Roman mythology. The story has two possible endings, neither of which is of particular benefit to the victim. There will be some confusion about the name of the victim but it will possibly be made clear for you.
First, we will hear from Book V of Diodorus of Siculus (Greek 60-30 BC): “Talus, a son of the sister of Daedalus, was receiving his education in the home of Daedalus, while he was still a lad in years. But being more gifted than his teacher he invented the potter’s wheel, and then when once he had come by chance upon the jawbone of a snake and with it had sawn through a small piece of wood, he tried to imitate the jaggedness of the serpent’s teeth. Consequently he fashioned a saw out of iron, by means of which he gained the reputation of having discovered a device which would be of great service to the art of building. He likewise discovered also the tool for describing a circle and certain other cunningly contrived devices whereby he gained for himself great fame. But Daedalus becoming jealous of the youth and feeling that his fame was going to rise far above that of his teacher, treacherously slew the youth.”
Fresco from Pompeii in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Photo taken in 1895, Goodyear Archival Collection, Brooklyn Museum.
You might know this fresco as The Procession of the Carpenters. In the 19-century museum handbook the fresco is identified as the Death of Perdix (should be Talus) and is described: “This picture represents the murder in the workshop, with apprentices sawing and planing. It is painted on the plane of a catafalque carried by four bearers.” At the forefront of the catafalque we see the scene of the crime. To the left of the apprentice busy planing you will notice what appears to be a surfboard. It is Athena’s shield, however most of Athena herself, at least in this fresco, has disintegrated. Daedalus is one of her favorites and she knows what deed he has done.
Daedalus wrapped the body of Talus in cloth and rushed to bury him. A passerby was suspicious and asked Daedalus what he was burying. Daedalus said it was a snake and his murderous act was discovered. Diodorus provides this pithy conclusion: “Here a man may well wonder at the strange happening, that the same animal that led to the thought of devising the saw should also have been the means through which the murder came to be discovered.”
Next, Book VIII of Ovid’s Metamorphosis gives us a different ending: “Your sister, Perdix, oblivious to the fates, sent you her son, Talus, to be taught: twelve years old, his mind ready for knowledge. Indeed, the child, studying the spine of a fish, took it as a model and cut continuous teeth out of sharp metal, inventing the use of the saw. He was also the first to pivot two iron arms on a pin, so that, with the arms set at a distance, one part could be fixed, and the other sweep out a circle. Daedalus was jealous, and hurled the boy headlong from Minerva’s sacred citadel, claiming that he had fallen. But Pallas Minerva, who favors those with quick minds, caught him, and turned him into a partridge, masking him with feathers in mid-air.”
Neither of these two illustrations capture the drama of Talus transforming from human to partridge. We need a better example of, as Ovid put it, “His inborn energy was transferred to swift wings and feet, and he kept his mother’s name, Perdix, from before.”
This is much better. We see Daedalus and the force of the push. Athena (Minerva) is well-positioned on her cloud to save Talus by transforming his fall into the flight of the partridge, Perdix.
Perdix perdix, the gray partridge.
One last line from Ovid: “But the bird does not perch above the ground, and does not make its nest on branches or on high points, but flies low on whirring wings over the soil, and lays its eggs in a sheltered place.” Poor Talus/Perdix! Such a gifted inventor. Whether it was the jaw of a snake or the spine of a fish that served as his inspiration for the saw we will never know for sure (myth).
As for Daedalus, he escaped a more severe punishment and was banished from Athens. He eventually makes his way to Crete. His story comes full circle when his invention leads to the loss of his son Icarus as they try to escape Crete.
The Pear Tree
The following article by the late David Savage, founder of the Rowden Atelier & Woodworking School, first appeared in the July 2008 issue of British Woodworking Magazine. David posted it on his Fine Furniture Maker blog in August 2008. On his blog it is titled “An Article on Pearwood.” He grabs you with the first line and doesn’t let go.
“Pear wood is one of the most sensual and satisfying of hardwoods that a furniture maker can encounter. The structure of the wood is hard, so hard that the sharpest of tools are required to work it. This allows you to cut the finest of details and form the most delicate of shapes. pear wood is also, unlike almost any other hardwood, without figure. I say without figure meaning without the usual graphics of timber. Pear wood is a timber that hasn’t lines running through it, but instead has a colour shift. The general colour of pear wood is almost dark fleshy colour, pinky brown is a favorite description. That colour can shift orangey or purpley brown on either side of the main colour. On rare occasions you can get dark purple, blacky contrasting heartwood colour but that is rare. Generally the colour of pear wood is fleshy pink.
Unlike our other exotic timbers, pear wood is a wood that is sensitive to work. Hand tools will take silky shavings from pear wood. There’s no need to scrape and scratch around to take out interlocking grain for there almost never is interlocking grain on pear wood. It’s what I call a well mannered wood. Pleasant to be with. It doesn’t stink or make you feel itchy or scratchy, it doesn’t get up your nose, it’s a nice wood to be around. In fact one of the most pleasant things about it is the way it works. The way fine silky shavings will come off with a well sharpened bench plane. The way new hues and colours are exposed with each shaving. Working with pear wood is a genuine sensuous experience, and one that should be cherished.
I first came in touch with pear wood over 30 years ago when I read about it in books by James Kenov. I then found myself a dealer near Bristol who had recently felled a small log of English pear. If I was prepared to buy the whole lot he would mill it up for me to the sizes I wanted. At the time I’d never dried any timber before and my London workshop hadn’t much space for me, let alone stacks of half dry timber. But I did have a flat roof that I thought would be a suitable place to stack this wood out. I read up about how to do it, got the pear wood home, dragged it up three flights of stairs, stickered it out with 1” square sticks at 12” intervals between each of the boards so that air could get round and covered it with a corrugated iron sheet to keep the direct sun off the boards. I sat back and looked with satisfaction at my precious stack of soon to be exquisite furniture. About that time an old craftsman said something to me that has stayed with me. He said “In timber lad there’s as much joy as heartache” and I didn’t know that this was going to be one of those heartache moments. In the Handbook of English Hardwoods which was the reference book I used at the time it said “pear wood is timber that is inclined to twist on drying,” which is why I put concrete blocks on top of the drying stack. What I should have done was put two or three tons of timber on the top of the stack as well. As my precious pear wood boards dried during that summer they turned into unusual wooden propellers. Each board twisted approximately 1” to 2” in each direction. I think I got a few small pieces of furniture from that stack but nothing larger than a jewellery box. Needless to say that was the last time I’ve attempted to dry English pear wood. Most of my pear wood these days comes from Switzerland. The Swiss are wonderful people and they grow pear wood as a shade tree in many of their cities. The pear wood they grow is steamed as part of the drying process. The steaming slightly changes the colour of the timber from being fleshy pink to a slightly darker, redder fleshy pink. The steaming is done to remove and kill the huge borers that can munch their way through the entire tree. I found a few of those borers in my stack of pear wood propellers. They made gigantic holes, not just down the sweet sapwood but right in the middle of the heartwood, and you found them only by putting the board over the jointer, suddenly your immaculate board now had a great long hole in it and you’d shaved the top off this living creature, yeuch! Steamed pear wood suddenly had great attractions.
It’s not an enormous tree the pear tree, but I’ve found in my time boards coming from Switzerland can be 10’ long and 2’6” wide. The bark on the tree is coarse but the sapwood, like cherry wood, is almost indistinguishable from the heartwood, meaning you can use the timber almost edge to edge.
You have to be careful what you use pear wood for. This is a timber that is in scarce supply and it is a relatively expensive timber. Also it’s not available in really big boards so it would be unusual to find a dining table being made in pear wood, certainly in solid form, though I have seen veneered pear wood boardroom tables occasionally. Over the years I have made small cabinets and small occasional tables and card tables in solid pear wood and wall hung cabinets and very occasionally chairs, and I can safely say it has been one of the most enjoyable timbers I’ve ever used. Now just ‘cos I say so don’t go out and cause a world shortage by buying it all.
“Swiss Pearwood Bench” by Ted Blachly.
Ted Blachly note for this bench says, “This bench was made from luscious Swiss pearwood from the Jere Osgood wood collection…A rare treat.”
The next time you hear the first verse of The Twelve Days of Christmas perhaps you will remember the story of the young inventor of the saw and compass and a bird that prefers to stay close to ground. And also pear wood that can become unusual wooden propellers or be well-mannered, produce silky shavings and exquisite furniture.
CCC workers in the 1930s with some nice pullover shirts. Killer trunk scaling calipers, too.
Editor’s note: Today we are launching our pullover work shirt, which is in the warehouse and ready for shipment. Because of massive delays in the country’s delivery systems, we cannot guarantee delivery before Christmas. You can read all the details about the shirt’s construction on the page in our store. It is, of course cut and stitched here in Cincinnati from high-quality materials. Below, you can read our clothing designer’s account of how he developed the shirt.
— Christopher Schwarz
When Chris and I talked about designing a work shirt, we knew we’d want to make a pullover style. That’s been a good choice for hundreds of years. No placket or buttons to interfere with planing, shaving or hewing at belly level. Simple in cut and detail, not festooned with living history museum ruffles. Sleeves that can be easily rolled up. Unstructured and comfortable, but presentable, too.
Havasupai man with a pitch-lined water basket and a very nice shirt, c. 1900
I found a rich mid-weight indigo cotton from Japan, and the team at Cincinnati’s own Sew Valley cut and sewed a batch of shirts. It took a lot of development. Like wood’s worst warping happening between felling the tree and drying the lumber to a reasonable moisture content, fabric’s big shrink happens at the first wash after weaving. During the first wash of this fabric shrank it by 3″. That was startling. So we calculated that big shrink into the pattern, sewed up some very odd-looking shirts, then laundered them all down to normalcy before sending them to the warehouse. The shirt you receive won’t shrink hardly at all, especially if you follow the instructions (wash cold, hang dry).
Another CCC group, from Maine in 1938. Nice shirts, fellas.
This is a real indigo – not a vegetable dye, but chemically identical. It will rub off if you grind your shirt on a white couch. In everyday life, it shouldn’t be noticeable, but do know that the dye can transfer. It’ll fade like that old pair of blue jeans – slowly and handsomely.
Look at that nice square bottom placket. This is what I based our placket on.
The cut was intended to have enough room for easy work while not feeling like a balloon or a costume. It’s long enough to tuck in, but not dress-like. The sleeves stay rolled up pretty well thanks to a shorter cuff placket than is typical on a dress shirt. The collar is unstructured. It’s as simple and steady as a shirt can be.
We’re not taking much of a margin on these. They’re made of good fabric, by a factory that pays its workers a living wage, and that ain’t cheap. But we think it’s the way to go.
A pile of my early designs from the 1990s that were vetted by my fellow editors.
If you want a good critique to help you grow as a designer (or a writer) here’s something to consider: Ask for the criticism before you touch the tools (or crank up the printing press).
Because of my odd path through life, almost all of my early furniture designs were vetted, savaged and usually improved by a group of experienced woodworkers before I started the construction process. For 15 years, all of the editors at Popular Woodworking would gather occasionally around a table to plan out future issues of the magazine. We would review proposals from outside authors and we would present our own designs for review.
The short critiques sounded like this: “That rail is too heavy. You don’t have enough meat in that joint. That overhang looks clunky. You might consider adding a sympathetic curve here. It needs a cup holder. If you tapered the legs it would look a lot lighter.”
Everyone had to go through the process, even the boss who went to a fancy furniture school.
This sort of pre-construction critique is so helpful, that I seek it out even now. Before I build a new chair or cabinet design I like to show my drawings to someone who knows their stuff and isn’t afraid to speak up.
I don’t act on every piece of criticism, but it always makes me think. And sometimes it pushes me down a new path.
On the other hand, criticism that comes after a piece is built is a different animal. With pointy fangs.
I’ve spoken to woodworking clubs all over the country. Many times they invite me to critique pieces made by their members. The first time I was asked to do this, I thought: “What a brave bunch of woodworkers.”
Then the club’s president took me aside and said: “Please be nice about it. One speaker was so mean that a couple of the guys ended up in tears.”
I empathize with this approach. Most of the members of a club are there to have a good time, learn about woodworking and help their community. They aren’t looking for a withering critique that will thicken their skin and question their choices as a designer. And so when I critique a finished piece I focus on what they did right and (I hope) encourage them to keep building.
One of the pieces from a recent “Chair Chat.” I loved this chair so much I made this drawing of it.
Another Way to Do It
What if you don’t have any friends who are experienced designers? One thing you might try is to get a few friends together and have something like our “Chair Chats” (we have two more publishing real soon). During each chat, Rudy Everts, Klaus Skrudland and I dissect the design of a few chairs. Because these are historical pieces, we are free to be as honest as possible.
What has been amazing to me is to see these pieces through the eyes of someone else I respect. We all pick up on different aspects of a piece. And by the time we completely take apart a chair verbally, I find that I understand the piece much better than I did before.
We do it via a texting program (Whatsapp) so that everyone’s opinions are heard. No one can talk over the others and dominate the discussion. It doesn’t take a lot of time, either. We spend about 30 to 40 minutes on a chair. And at the end of each critique I feel oddly refreshed, energized and full of ideas.
Our newest bandana design has arrived in the warehouse and is available for immediate shipping. These bandanas are sewn and printed in the USA.
The design features our logo in the center, a swarm of bees and four “skeps” (not igloos) at the corners. Skeps are an early form of beehive. And bees and skeps were common symbols for woodworkers.
We use bandanas for a lot of things, from protecting our lungs when changing the dust collector to keeping our faces warm in cold weather. Bandanas aren’t the best protection against disease, but they are better than a sharp stick in the eye.
These bandanas feel a little coarse right from the factory. Wash yours before you use it, and it will become as soft as a bee’s belly.
The bandanas are $24. We have a limited quantity. Once they are gone, they are gone.
