This week I’m the guest on a podcast that is less about woodworking and more about life in general. “A Life Well Designed” is a website, blog and podcast that are aimed at simply making your life better, saner and perhaps more successful.
I was interviewed by the founder of the site, Jonathan Pritchard, who is also a woodworker and a mentalist. While we touched on the topics of craft throughout the hour-long chat, it’s more about the “why” behind what I do, both in the shop and for Lost Art Press.
I’m not used to talking about these things, so I sound like a bit of an dolt. But I do say a cussword by accident, so it’s definitely worth listening to for that. Jonathan teased out a lot of personal information (my father was a Yeti; my mother was an elite duckpin bowler) and I can honestly say that I had a great time chatting about oddball things.
If you’d like to listen in, the direct link to the podcast is here.
We now sell our books in Canada with all the same benefits that U.S. customers receive – shipping is included in the price, and all books that I’ve written include a letterpress bookplate personally signed by me.
Canadian customers check out in our store just like U.S. customers. You’ll be charged in U.S. dollars on your credit card plus the Canadian goods and services tax (GST). Then your order will be mailed via Canada Post from Kingston, Ontario. Customers will not encounter duty charges or any other international transaction fees.
Our Canadian operation is run by Michael and John Sinclair, two brothers who run Swede Paint Enterprises. Swede Paint sells a number of remarkable products that I’ve been using since April with great success. Many of these products are solvent-free and extremely easy to use.
Though I’ll be writing more specifically about these products in the future, here are a couple that I have become totally enamored with:
Allback Organic Linseed Oil. This linseed oil does not contain metallic driers. It’s just flaxseed oil that has been treated with oxygen so it will dry readily. I’ve used this on five projects now and it is a pleasure to use. It smells a lot less than the stuff from the home center and dries quickly.
Linseed Oil Wax. This soft wax is made using organic linseed oil and beeswax. It has the consistency of a gel stain and makes an excellent topcoat over any finish. I’ve been using it over milk paint, shellac and even on raw wood. It goes on very easily and gives a little more lustre than the straight oil.
I’m eager to experiment with their varnish and their linseed oil paint, too.
We decided to work with Michael and John after meeting them personally in March. They have the same approach to treating their customers (and the planet) that we do. They deal in only high-quality stuff and treat their customers with great care. We highly recommend them (otherwise we wouldn’t have gotten into business with them).
So Canadians, please do check out our store and know that you are helping a family-run Canadian firm (and us!) to thrive.
My favorite T-shirt. I used to wear this to the first day of class when I taught at woodworking schools.
The best thing I can say about graduate school is that it taught me to think.
When someone presents an idea to you that is the opposite of everything you’ve read before and everything you believe is true, how do you react? Most people reject the new information like a kidney grafted to the place where the liver should be.
I used to be like that until I started reading Noam Chomsky’s criticisms of how mass media works.
Here’s the dime-store paperback version: Look for information that doesn’t match the conventional wisdom. This new information may not be correct either, but you should examine it closely because it will teach you something.
Here’s how this plays out in the workshop.
In 2007, we re-published Joseph Moxon’s “The Art of Joinery” – the first English language book on woodworking – with some commentary from me. In the book, Moxon discusses “traversing” a board with a fore plane to clean it up and remove twist. I demonstrated this operation in the book and readers on the discussion forums howled.
Sadly, posts on the forums expire, so digging up the discussion is difficult. But here’s the gist:
“Traversing” doesn’t really mean working across the grain.
You never work across the grain with a plane. You work “with the grain,” that’s why we have this expression in our language.
Moxon wasn’t a woodworker so he’s wrong.
You interpreted Moxon wrong.
You are wrong.
Please die.
Ten years later, it seems funny that this conversation ever happened. That’s because enough people (the Fox Mulders of the world) tried Moxon’s techniques and were able to discredit the Cotton Mathers.
After 20 years in this business, I’ve seen this happen time and again.
A.J. Roubo’s workbench from Plate 11 is for carpentry. Not furniture making.
The bark side of a board cups and the heart side bows? Ridiculous.
You have to finish both faces of a board or it will warp.
You have to alternate growth rings in a panel glue-up or the panel will warp.
Hide glue is outdated.
Paint is for covering poor workmanship only.
Nails are for carpentry, not fine furniture.
Workbenches need a tail vise.
I could go on and on. And it would soon sound like I’m giving you a list of things to believe, or not to believe. All I really want to say is my favorite Russian paradox: “Disobey me.” And I’d like add one more bit of information to that: There is a way out of the paradox, but you have to find it for yourself.
Leonard Lee, December 2014. Photograph by Narayan Nayar.
One of the long-term projects I’m involved with is a chronicle of modern toolmakers, which Konrad Sauer, Narayan Nayar and I are hoping to publish one day. While that chronicle is still off in the future, the first thing we did after hatching the idea was to arrange a meeting with Leonard Lee, the founder of Lee Valley Tools.
And so, in December 2014 the three of us traveled to Ottawa, where his son Robin Lee graciously arranged time for us to sit and speak with his father.
I don’t mean to tease anyone hungry – and you should be hungry – to hear about the history and stories we recorded that day. I do want to explain, though, why I was so moved today to hear that a man I’d met only briefly, in the twilight of his life, had passed from this mortal coil.
And I was moved.
I do not think I’m easily impressed, or overly free with my admiration. But while Mr. Lee had earned my admiration long before I met him, it increased exponentially after a few hours in a room with him.
I found him inspiring (and I do not use that word lightly – if ever) not just for his accomplishments and his legacy – impressive though both are. What I was most struck by was his way of being – even as his mental and physical health were showing concessions to age.
He was obviously, and visibly, quite proud of his company and his family. But somehow he exuded that pride while at the same time was absolutely and unceremoniously humble about both – as though he’d simply been the man who was standing in the right place when the doors to the treasure chamber happened to open up.
In an era when it seems everyone yearns for celebrity and attention for mundane reasons, he seemed unconcerned with credit or attention. He was proud of Lee Valley, but not proud for it. And that distinction, it seems, is in short supply these days.
Every Lee Valley employee, every Lee family member and friend that we met were universal in their absolute respect and affection for Mr. Lee. Every one of them referred to him as “Mr.” Lee, and on every person’s lips that title seemed to convey an almost sacred respect.
Mr. Lee left behind a company, a family – a legacy – that is noteworthy, impressive and historic. But more than that, he left behind an indelible and obvious trail of influence on the people he interacted with – even if they met him only for a brief time, and even if (like me) they tend too much toward cynicism and disdain for much of humanity.
The Lee family – and the Lee Valley family – both have my most sincere and heartfelt condolences on their loss.
If you’ve been following my work for more than a few weeks then you might have winced a bit when you saw the image at the top of this blog entry.
The curly oak figure in the chest is a bit of a departure for me. For the last 20 years I’ve sought out boards that have a mellow, understated grain. This has always been intentional. Loud woods can obscure a good form or – put another way – attract unwanted attention away from a weak form.
For me, the form of a piece is what I like (or dislike) the most. Incidentally, that’s why I like paint. Nothing strips away the bread and circuses of fiddleback hoo-ha like a democratic coat of pigment.
So what the heck is going on in the above photo? Short answer: I don’t believe in free will.
Longer answer: I’ve had this chest design in my sketchbook for many months and decided in May to release itself on its own recognizance. My initial plan was to build it in white maple or Baltic birch. But while buying some oak at Frank Miller Lumber in Union City, Ind., there were four boards of curly quartersawn white oak sitting in the middle of the warehouse.
I put my measuring tape on them and realized that there was exactly enough to make my chest design. The price was ridiculously cheap. I had the money.
The oak is outrageous, and so I did what I could to turn down its visual volume. Usually you’ll read articles about how to accentuate curled woods with an undercoat of linseed oil or dye. I did neither of these things. In fact, I muted the curl by using a super blond shellac instead of my typical favorite, garnet.
Even so, I was worried about the curl obscuring the piece’s form.
I’m not quite done with the finishing process. I still need to rub out the shellac and add a coat of a linseed oil/wax that I’ve become quite fond of (more on that later). That should tone down the gloss of the shellac and I’ll end up where the figure and the form are in balance.
