The American Elm (Ulmusamericana) known for its rapid growth and and hardiness was the perfect tree to enhance the towns and cities of a young America. Although there are many Elm Streets and Elm Avenues the devastation of Dutch elm disease (DED) left few of the namesake trees standing.
If you are age 40 or younger you may never have seen the elms of a truly majestic Elm Street. Trees were planted to form vistas of cathedral ceilings. Unfortunately, planting the elms in such density contributed to the spread of DED.
American elms resistant to DED, stands that have been carefully managed and varieties bred for disease resistance can be still be found.
One of the best known stands of old-growth elms can be found in Central Park in New York.
The poet and essayist Stanley Plumly died earlier this month. He was born in Barnesville, Ohio and grew up in Winchester, Virginia and Piqua, Ohio. He was most recently a professor at the University of Maryland and served as Maryland’s Poet Laureate from 2009-2012. In 2016 he was interviewed on the Kenyon Review podcast during which he read his poem ‘Dutch Elm.’ As woodworkers I think you will appreciate how he expresses what was lost, and what can be lost, when part of our natural world is damaged.
If you would like to listen only to his reading of the poem, it starts around minute 19:55. Click here to listen.
The gallery below shows the leaves, flowers, fruit and bark of the American elm.
I first encountered Kentucky-style furniture when I visited the workshop of Warren May of Berea, Ky., in the early 2000s. While working with Warren on an article for Popular Woodworking Magazine, he invited me to his barn to see his collection of unrestored Kentucky pieces.
I was skeptical that it was a true regional furniture style. At the time I thought it looked like Ohio Valley Furniture that had gotten some airbrushing at the boardwalk. I said something along those lines. That elicited a scowl from Warren.
But it is a real style. And it is something to behold.
Today I spent the afternoon at the Speed Art Museum in Louisville, Ky., which has the largest collection of the stuff to my knowledge. There’s not a lot of published and public scholarship on the style out there. Some magazine articles. Some data at the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts (MESDA). And a book called “Collecting Kentucky.” So the best way to experience the style is a visit to the Speed.
It has been years since I last visited the Speed, and the museum has been through an extensive and impressive renovation. There’s a good permanent collection of paintings and objects that make it a legit city museum (Mummy – check. Chagall – check. Assorted Dutch masters – check). But it’s the museum’s Kentucky floor that is the crown jewel. This gallery offers an open floor plan. Not only does this allow you to examine the objects from many dimensions, it lets you to get behind and under the furniture pieces. Photography is encouraged.
The truth is that Kentucky furniture does share a lot of structural characteristics with Ohio Valley furniture, which I see all the time because that’s where I live. It’s a slightly heavy frontier style. The Kentucky element is that many pieces feature simple and beguiling inlay. The inlay can mimic high-style furniture, such as bellflowers. But it also can be playful and step outside the norms of what you might find in a furniture pattern book. Also interesting: The woods are local – nothing terribly exotic as near as I can tell (though it’s difficult to say for certain with some of the inlays).
I think it befits the state. It’s not flashy. From a distance, it’s easy to underestimate it as a simple vernacular-style piece. But get close, and it reveals its true charms.
Next time you are on your way to our storefront or points beyond, I recommend you take a couple hours to check it out.
I’ve taught a lot of woodworking students of all different skill levels – from beginners to professionals – all over the world. Despite that, I was shocked and delighted by the full-time students at Rowden Atelier in Devon when I taught a tool chest class there in 2014.
Most of the Rowden students had less than a year of coursework under their belts when we ran the course, and David Savage instructed me to push them to work at a professional pace through the week.
David thought they would be accurate but a bit slow. I had no idea what to expect. When I teach a tool chest class, I usually have time to instruct, time to build the project, time to work with each student one-on-one and time for many cups of coffee or tea.
Not so at Rowden. The full-time students were monsters and nipped at my heels all week.
It turns out the training there is even more impressive than David suspected. And after watching the students for more than two weeks, I remained deeply impressed. Not only did they have a firm grasp of joinery, machine work and hand work, they also knew how to draw, paint and do a bunch of tricky veneer and inlay stuff that’s frankly beyond me.
They had been schooled in the realities of business – all of the instructors there are hard-bitten professionals. And they had been given the opportunity to work at an extremely high level on some of David’s own designs for clients.
Had I been in my 20s, I would have dropped everything in my life and enrolled myself.
When David Savage died on Jan. 18, he had already stepped away from day-to-day management of the school and put it in the good hands of instructors he hand-picked and trained. Many of them – David admitted – were even better woodworkers than he. Daren Milman, Ed Wild and Jon Greenwood are all world-class woodworkers and instructors.
“Despite (or even fuelled by) David’s recent death, his vision for teaching the next generation of cabinetmakers at Rowden continues to surge onwards,” according to Matthew Lacey at Rowden. “We knew this was coming, of course, and his presence is greatly missed by all of us. But, because of the work he did over the last 15 years setting up the group there today, day to day nothing has changed.
“The same goes for the students at Rowden, learning the craft of cabinetmaking, pushing themselves as they move through this part of their furniture-making adventure. The next generation of students are now coming through Rowden to start their cabinetmaking story, lead by David’s philosophy and guided by the team he put together to achieve this.”
If you are considering a woodworking education, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better school than Rowden. Its roots stretch back to the English Arts & Crafts Movement, but the design aesthetic is entirely contemporary. The shop is located deep in Devon where you are surrounded by nature, high-quality machinery, beautiful bench rooms and drawing/painting studios.
Though I miss my friend, David, I am glad he left Rowden in the hands of these capable instructors. And I look forward to meeting the future generations of capable and confident woodworkers that will come from Rowden.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. We’ve never published a single sponsored post here at Lost Art Press, and we’re not starting now. The above opinions are my own.
The carpenters at the Heinzelmännchenbrunner in Köln.
While you work feverishly to finish a commission for a customer or gifts for family and friends do you sometimes find yourself giving the side eye to those acquiring gifts with the mere click of a button? Perhaps you are feeling a bit Heinzelmännchen-ish? Let me explain.
Although the full history of the Heinzelmännchen is lost in the mystery and mists of time the modern story of these gnome-like spirits was written almost 200 years ago. A popular version of the story is August Kopisch’s 1836 poem “Die Heinzelmännchen” with scheerenschnitt (scissor cuts) by Regina Gebhard.
Scheerenschnitt by Regina Gebhard.
As the story goes, the citizens of Cölln did not work. While they slept each night the little gnome-like Heinzelmännchen were the workers of the town. They cooked, baked, brewed and sewed. They were the butchers, sausage makers, masons and carpenters.
The townspeople woke each morning to clean homes and another day of leisure – some would say laziness.
Here is an English translation of Kopisch’s verse about the carpenters:
From Stein Collectors International.
The easy life of the carpenters and other residents of the town did not last, and you can blame that on the tailor’s nosy wife. She could not contain her curiosity and was determined to see who was making the wonderful garments for the tailor’s shop.
By Regina Gebhard.
Her plan was to throw peas over the floor to cause the Heinzelmännchen to slip and fall, and in the morning she would be she be able to see the little spirits sprawled about the floor. Let’s assume she threw dried peas on the floor and not proper British mushy peas.
As with most malfeasance her plan did not go well. Yes, the Heinzelmännchen did trip and fall and land in vats. They also became enraged, yelled and cursed and…they left!
Illustration by F. Gareis for a 1935 edition of August Kopisch’s poem.
The Heinzelmännchen disappeared and were not seen again. And you know what happened next: the townspeople had to work for themselves and their dream-like existence was over.
Fairy tales are supposed to scare us and convince us to always check under the bed before going to sleep (and don’t forget to make sure the closet door is closed). So, what do we learn from the Heinzelmännchen? In Thomas Keighley’s “The Fairy Mythology” from 1833 he concludes his telling of the Heinzelmännchen with:
”…and since that time the Heinzelmännchen have totally disappeared, as has been every where the case, owing to the curiosity of people, which has at all times been the destruction of so much of what was beautiful in the world.”
Carry on woodworkers! Although you may not see it, your efforts to carve a spoon, turn a bowl, make a chair or a heart-shaped box will be rewarded! The handle of the spoon will fit perfectly in the hand stirring the soup, the bowl will hold apples picked from an orchard, the chair will be passed down to great-grandchildren and the heart-shaped box will hold the small treasures of a loved one.
Postcard of the Heinzelmännchenbrunner in Köln. The tailor’s nosy wife is the figure at the top.
One last note on the Heinzelmännchen concerns the town of their origin. There is some back-and-forth on Cölln on the Spree River (now part of Berlin) or Köln (Cologne) on the Rhine. The good people of Köln built a fountain for the Heinzelmännchen, and I think that might settle the question.
You can read “Die Heinzelmännchen” (in German) here. English versions are available, and because I’m not your fairy godmother you can be a Heinzelmännchenn and look it up for yourself.
At the beginning of every class I teach, I try to remember to make a little speech. It goes something like this:
You are welcome to take photos or videos of everything you learn here. And you can post these wherever you like. You can write in detail about the techniques you learn here and share them with others – I don’t even care if you credit me.
In fact, nothing would please me more than if you went home and ran this same class with some friends. You are welcome to use the plans and class materials I provided. This belongs to you now. In fact, this belongs to everyone.
Surprisingly, some people take me up on it. And today I received an email from one of my students, Klaus Skrudland of Norway (follow him on Instagram here). I’ll let Klaus tell the story.
I hope you and your family are doing well. I reckon you’re well into Lutefish preparations for Christmas! I’m home from work today with my youngest son who has a fever and a running nose, as well as a stitched cut in is forehead, which he got from being pushed down the stairs by his older sister. In other words, all is normal.
Anyway, yesterday was the last day of my Staked High Stool class. We’ve spent the last four Mondays, from 6 to 9 PM. I taught five people who had never before made a chair or a stool or anything besides flat work, and they all completed each their beautiful staked stool.
When I came back from Munich I managed to decipher my own scribblings and arranged them into a four page handwritten pamphlet with some sketches and measurements. I could’ve just handed them your text from the ADB expansion, but I wanted to add a personal touch to it. I was a bit nervous, but I figured it was good for me to teach the course as soon as possible to be sure that I remembered it all.
It all went pretty smooth. Each night, for good luck and spirit, we put up a vintage photo of Samantha Fox the wall over the benches. I’m sure that helped a lot. We ran into some issues here and there (a split leg, some wedges that broke even before entering the kerf, as well as some weird and unexpected leg angles), but we solved them together and the stools all came together just fine.
Perhaps the most rewarding outcome of this was that none of my friends had ever considered making a stool like this, and they LOVED it. It was really a bit moving for me to see how they engaged in this and how satisfied they were when they had a finished stool that they could actually sit on! I remember the feeling my self from your class earlier this year. It was kinda magic. It’s also very cool to see how newly acquired skills quickly manifest in people’s hands and eyes when they get to assist each other and explain the concepts to each other during the workshops. Myself included.
It’s Tuesday morning here. And thanks to Klaus and his email, I feel I can take off work for the rest of the week (I won’t – too many dovetails to chop). This stuff brings me more joy than a plate of grits and barbecue. So thanks to everyone who supports our work by buying furniture, books and taking classes. And an even greater thanks to those who pass the information on.
The American Elm (Ulmus americana) known for its rapid growth and and hardiness was the perfect tree to enhance the towns and cities of a young America. Although there are many Elm Streets and Elm Avenues the devastation of Dutch elm disease (DED) left few of the namesake trees standing.
If you are age 40 or younger you may never have seen the elms of a truly majestic Elm Street. Trees were planted to form vistas of cathedral ceilings. Unfortunately, planting the elms in such density contributed to the spread of DED.
One of the best known stands of old-growth elms can be found in Central Park in New York.
