“I can teach a man to sail but I can never teach him why.”
— Timothy E. Thatcher, published in “The American Scholar”
I Can Never Teach Him Why
Category: Personal Favorites
Nix the Castle Idea
We are still actively looking for a building for Lost Art Press that will serve as a woodworking laboratory, a home for a burgeoning library, photo studio and a place to live.
I’m investigating properties in the Covington and Newport areas every month, but I am picky and am in no hurry. This will be the place where I hope to die while standing at my bench, so I want a lot of natural northern light for that event. Hardwood floors. Exposed brick.
But in the back of my mind I’ve always wondered about taking over the Gatehouse Tavern, a long-closed medieval-themed restaurant and bar that was built during the medieval restaurant craze of the 1970s.
The Gatehouse Tavern is on one of my running routes and is part of a massive complex of faux half-timbered restaurants, a hotel, convention center, salon, offices and swimming pools in Fort Mitchell, Ky. The hotel was called The Drawbridge, and it was one of the odd centers of community in our town. Elvis look-alike convention? They’d book the Drawbridge. Mannequin convention? Cross-stitching dominatrixes? Yup. All here.
In recent years, the Drawbridge had fallen on hard times and was closed sometime last year. They sold all the suits of armor, tapestries, wooden indians and wacky shields during a fire sale this fall.
The Gatehouse Tavern (or as I call it, Castle Brown) is on the edge of the campus. It has a moat – a fricking moat – plus giant doors. And some tiny towers from which we could defend the deep fryers. I always wondered what they would sell this derelict masterpiece for.
Now I’ll never know. They’ve chained off the entire campus to tear it down and redevelop it as something more modern.
Oh well. Dumb idea anyway.
— Christopher Schwarz
Outsider Art & the Furniture of Necessity
“You can have art in your daily life if you want it, but you don’t. You prefer fountain-pens and motor cars.”
— Eric Gill, the creator of the Gill Sans typeface, as quoted in “Country Craftsmen” by Freda Derrick (1945)
Since the day my wife and I started work as newspaper reporters, we have collected what is called “outsider art.” The broad definition of the term is that it’s art made by people who lack formal artistic training. Usually, these people also have some sort of quirk or disability that shapes the way they see the world.
We first learned about this style of art from Mary Praytor, who runs a gallery on Main Street in Greenville, S.C. My wife and I would walk up there from the office of The Greenville News and Mary would tell us about all of the artists from her rotating stock. We were captivated. And, just as important, we could afford a few pieces. And so Lucy and I ate hot dogs plus mac and cheese in box so we could purchase our first pieces – two magic marker drawings on Formica by R.A. Miller.
Twenty-four years later, our house is filled with the stuff. I know a lot of visitors think our taste is odd (“It’s so cool that you have your childrens’ drawings on every wall,” is a common comment.) But I find this work important to me as both a writer and a woodworker.
Here’s why.
Whether you know it or not, newspaper journalism is one of the most formal and highly structured types of communication. I find it suffocating, and yet I cannot for the life of me shake loose from my four-year brainwashing. Even as I write this condemnation, I am paring back the words as I type, selecting simpler sentence structures and arranging things in series of threes to regulate the cadence.
So the outsider art is a visit to a place I cannot go. What does it look like to be a painter who doesn’t follow rules of composition, color and perspective? What if you didn’t start out by painting a bowl of fruit? And – most importantly – what does it look like if you do all these things without trying to do all these things?
With my woodworking, I had a glimpse of this non-formal approach. When I made my first pieces, I didn’t know what the heck I was doing, and I didn’t know that it mattered. I designed my pieces around my materials, my needs and what “looked kind of good.” I didn’t know there were rules for joints, unsupported spans or proportions.
Of the pieces I built, only about one in four was a success. The other three were recycled into something else or went to the fireplace. It wasn’t until I started work at Popular Woodworking in 1996 that I realized that .250 was a lousy batting average.
And so began my indoctrination into the rules of the craft. Like my journalism training, I am grateful for the knowledge. It puts food on the table, speeds my time in the shop and ensures my batting average is near 1.00. But the knowledge is also stifling to the design process.
The art around our house keeps me off-balance. I love it.
I don’t suspect these images will have the same effect on you, but I put them up here in the hope that you might think about the non-formal approach to the craft and how that relates to the “furniture of necessity.”
R.A. Miller
We own four R.A. Miller pieces (actually three; my daughter won one from me in a card game). Miller lived a half-day’s drive from us in Greenville, and we tried to go visit him once. This was in 1990 (pre-GPS), and we got turned around and lost.
The two Formica pieces we purchased are my favorites. One is a self-portrait of Miller yelling “Blow Oskar” to his uncle – asking his uncle to sound his horn as he drove by. The second piece is of Satan.
Though we were never able to visit Miller, two of our friends managed to find his place and bought some pieces from him where the paint was still wet.
Miller is also known for his animal, snake and dinosaur cutouts in metal.
Howard Finster
Howard Finster is probably one of the best-known artists of this genre and his “Paradise Garden” is an amazing place to visit. Lucy and I went there one weekend in 1991 and spent the day wandering around. We hoped to meet Miller, but he wasn’t around that day. So we got to spend the afternoon chatting with his family.
We purchased these two pieces for $35 each (and I think they knocked $5 off the total).
“Paradise Garden” is being restored and is open to the public. If you are ever in the Summerville, Ga., area you should go. It was built entirely by his hands and is jaw-dropping in its beauty and complexity.
Barbara Moran
I first encountered Barbara Moran’s work during a street festival in Cincinnati. The festival was put on by the Visionaries + Voices foundation, which seeks to cultivate artists with disabilities. In my view, the program is a stunning success, and it has made the city a hotbed of outsider artists.
Moran’s drawings were all in a pile – there must have been 50 or more. Many of them were of people who had their heads shaped as buildings. Or there were stoplights that walked. And a train with a person’s face, if I remember right.
I should have bought the whole pile. I was totally mesmerized.
But I just bought this piece, which hangs over me whenever I write.
Raymond Thunder-Sky
Raymond Thunder-Sky was one of Cincinnati’s best known outside artists. He was known as the “construction clown” because he would dress up in a clown outfit, don a hard hat and walk onto construction sites in Cincinnati. There he would record the events on the site.
I met Raymond once on the streets downtown. At the time I had no idea he was an artist.
I love his pieces, and I wish I could afford an original – they are hard to come by. My family bought me two prints from the gallery that now bears his name.
T7D
This guy is a volunteer at Visionaries + Voices and outsider artist himself. I’ve met him a few times, but I cannot recall his name. This chalk image, called “fuel,” is in my office.
The artist is well-known for his paintings of elephants and superheroes. I hope to run into him again.
— Christopher Schwarz
By Request: Details of my Corner Chair
The chair shown here was the first piece of furniture to ever register in my young consciousness. My grandparents had it in their house in New York, and I can remember it clearly when we lived there during my dad’s tour in Vietnam.
I was struck by the chair because it didn’t fit into the Platonic ideal form of a chair. Since that time, I’ve always loved this Victorian chair, and when it was up for grabs in my family, I snatched it.
Several readers have asked for some details on the chair after seeing the chair as a prop in a post last week.
The chair was made by E.F. Peirce & Co. (sometimes spelled E.F. Pierce & Co.) of Boston and was sold by Payne’s Furniture Co., also of Boston. Both companies marked the underside of the original rattan seat. Peirce was active as a chairmaker in Boston during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
The chair is almost certainly oak.
The legs all have a major diameter of 1-9/16”. The spindles are 1” in diameter at the center and taper to 3/4” at the mortises. The front leg is 18” long. The three long legs are 26-7/8” from the floor to the point where they enter the armbow.
The armbow is made in three pieces. The hands are 1-1/8” thick. The backrest on top of the hands is 1-3/4” thick where it meets the arms and tapers to a point 3” above the two hand pieces. The seat is 16-1/4” square.
I have posted the photos at a resolution that is higher than normal. If you save them to your computer you should be able to use the dimensions above to piece together turning profiles and mortise locations.
Hope this helps.
— Christopher Schwarz
Proof that Schwartz is a Blinking Idiot and Should be Ignored
Look at that moron. He’s obviously holding a Moxon-style saw (see plate 4, the unlabeled saw above the whetting block) and he is using a four-fingered grip. I mean, do you need to see another scrap of evidence that “the Schwarcz” is just a self-promoting pretender?
Just a journalist? Ha, he’s barely a boy.
Look, I’m willing to ignore the boy’s poor fashion choices. It was 1975, and the open-collared shirt and ox-blood cords are not his fault. But his fly is undone! It’s foreshadowing that he obviously wants to violate each and every woodworker on the planet with his misinformation on saws, planes and workbenches.
Speaking of workbenches, Master Schwarz, what the heck is up with that thing in the photo? Clearly you are willing to preach your French three-dimensional clamping surface crap while using a bench that clearly violates every single one of the principles in your two workbench books.
Hypocrite.
And look at the tool chest the little pretender has “built.” More like the “Entropist’s Tool Chest” if you ask me. Bet that thing fell apart in about five minutes. Hard to believe anyone has actually built the “chest from his “book” – everyone knows chests are built from poplar or oak, not pine.
And one more thing: That’s a plainishing hammer on the benchtop, not a joiner’s hammer. And I assume the Scotch tape on the bench was used in substitute for real joinery.
<drops the mic>
— Charlie Roberts (my real name’s nunya business)