The following is excerpted from “Shaker Inspiration” by Christian Becksvoort.
Not too many woodworkers can claim five decades of business success, but Becksvoort is among them. In “Shaker Inspiration,” he shares not only his woodworking knowledge and some of his best professional techniques for producing top-quality work, but also the business advice that helped him establish and sustain his long career in a one-man shop. Plus, he shares measured drawings for 13 of his own well-known furniture designs and seven Shaker pieces that he’s reproduced.
I stack my parts four or six high. That way I only clamp once on each side, for all parts. Let’s say it takes four hits per side to get halfway into each socket, or eight hits altogether. That means I have to switch chisels eight times (a wide chisel for the baseline, then a narrow chisel to remove the waste). If I do one socket at a time, and I have 12 sockets to chop, that means I switch chisels 96 times. By cutting all baselines on all pieces, then switching chisels and removing the first 1/16″ (.16cm) of waste, I save a lot of time.
3-13B. Here’s the first hit, with a 1/2″ (1.27cm) chisel and a very light tap directly in the scribe line.
Switching to a narrow chisel, I take out a thin sliver of waste on all the tails. Then I set the other chisel up against the shoulder I’ve just created at the scribe line, and give it a profound whack. I tend to tilt the chisel forward about 1°, to undercut the waste. Again I chop all of them, switch chisels, remove waste and do it once more, until I reach the middle of the tail boards. Then I flip them all over, re-clamp, and proceed in the exact same manner on the other side.
3-13C. Once all the light hits are done on all the pieces, I use a 3/16″ (.47cm) chisel to take out a thin sliver of waste on all the sockets.
When done, I clamp each board upright in my vise, then clean the corners with a thin-bladed knife. Remember that bevel-edged chisels have a narrow 90° edge, and the dovetail angles are less. There is almost always a bit of waste in each corner. We like crisp, clean tails, right into the corners.
3-13D. With the shoulder of the socket established, my second hit is a vigorous whack. I tilt the chisel forward about 1° or 2° for a slight undercut. In pine, that hit should easily reach half way into the socket. For hardwoods, it may take two or three hits (removing the waste each time) to reach the middle.
3-13E. Once I reach the middle of the socket, I use the narrow chisel to remove a much thicker waste piece.
3-13F. When one side is done, I flip the whole pile over, re-clamp it, and follow the same process on the other side.
The following is excerpted from Christian Becksvoort’s “Shaker Inspiration.”
Opinionated? Yes. Informative? Absolutely. Interesting and inspiring? You bet.
Not too many woodworkers can claim five decades of business success, but Becksvoort is among them. In “Shaker Inspiration,” he shares not only his woodworking knowledge and some of his best professional techniques for producing top-quality work, but also the business advice that helped him establish and sustain his long career in a one-man shop.
Plus, he shares measured drawings for 13 of his own well-known furniture designs and seven Shaker pieces that he’s reproduced.
One of the most difficult tasks when starting a business is pricing your work or product. Many woodworkers, especially those just beginning, seriously underprice their work. Hobbyists, especially, have no idea. Let me tell you, it’s really tough to be at a show next to Joe Basement, who is selling his very nice coffee table. He has no concept of the actual hours he spent, but his $140 worth of wood has turned into a $200 table. Wow, a $60 profit…wrong. The most basic pricing involves the cost of materials + overhead + profit. Lets take a look at these one at a time.
Materials are your wood, hardware, glue and finishes – anything that ends up in the customer’s possession. When working with a variety of woods, you’ll have to refigure the price for each species. That can run the gamut from a couple of bucks for No. 3 pine or poplar to $60 per board foot for exotics, to more than $100 per sheet for top-grade plywood with fancy veneers (in 2017 dollars, as are all prices in this book).
Working almost exclusively in cherry, and paying roughly the same amount for the past 20 years, makes pricing for me much easier. Not only that, but I get to use leftovers and offcuts for the next project. At this point in my career, I know the exact board footage for all pieces in my catalog. When starting out, you’ll have to do a bit more math. When you come up with the board footage, add 10-20 percent for waste, depending on how fussy or frugal you are regarding knots, defects, sapwood and general waste. Besides the wood, also include screws, hinges, locks, knobs, glides, glass, hangers and your glue and finish of choice. Speaking of hardware, I always buy the top grade. It takes just as long to install a cheap hinge as an expensive one. Cheap hardware will come back to haunt you, and result in unhappy customers.
Overhead is an all-encompassing term that includes the expenses you pay as the cost of doing business, but of which the customer does not take possession. Here is a partial list: your shop building or rent or mortgage, insurance, vehicle, electricity, heat, office supplies, telephone, internet, tools, advertising, freight charges, accounting, postage, licenses and taxes, and a few others that I may have overlooked. The bigger items, such as the mortgage, vehicle and large power tools can be amortized over a long period of time. Don’t, however, forget to include small tools such as routers that need to be replaced, specialty bits and tooling for a specific project, etc. Again, it will be difficult to estimate these costs when first starting, but after a year or more of good bookkeeping, you’ll have a pretty good handle on what it takes to run your shop. Divide the yearly total expenses by 12 to give you a monthly figure, divide that by 30 to give you a daily figure, and divide the last by eight to give you an hourly overhead cost.
Buy the best-quality hardware you can get your hands on – including extruded hinges and cast locks. It takes just as long to install cheap hardware as that of highest quality. These are by Whitechapel, Horton Brasses and Ball & Ball.
Finally, your profit. Yes, we’d all like to make $100 per hour take-home pay, but let’s be reasonable, especially when you’re just starting out. My profit, or hourly wage, when I opened my shop in the mid ’80s was $20 – which I thought was pretty good. It has since gone up considerably, but only after a few years. You can’t start out with astronomical prices when you have no track record, no reputation and no customer base. That comes with time, working efficiently, keeping your nose clean and keeping your customers happy.
A few random thoughts on prices and shop finances in general. First, if you give a customer a price quote, stick with it. You’re only as good as your word, and your word is your reputation. I’ve eaten my fair share of underpriced projects. It’s all part of the learning curve. Customers don’t want to hear “This took a lot longer than I thought….” They want results, not excuses. On the other hand, if a customer requests changes for alterations to the original design, then a change in price is warranted. Keep track of any additions or alterations made after the original quote.
I don’t dicker, and I try to be fair. I don’t gouge customers because they drive up in a Mercedes. The same hourly rate applies to everyone. Once that price is established, it’s fixed, unless times and circumstances change. My shop rate is based not just on time, materials, overhead and profit, but also on my experience, craftsmanship and reputation as a craftsperson. When potential customers try to talk my prices down, I tactfully end the conversation. Now they are messing with my self-worth. Remember, once a customer asks for and receives a discount, they will expect one from then on. And word spreads.
I have a policy in my business that once a customer leaves a deposit, that price is firm, no matter what the delivery time. That can be due to my backlog, or the customer’s circumstances. I’ve had a few instances where the customers’ houses took far longer than anticipated, or their financial situation changed, and the piece was not actually delivered for three years. Even though my prices had gone up, their deposit locked in their price until they were ready to take delivery.
Which brings me to yet another important point: a business escrow account. You need to have one for customer deposits. Remember that a deposit is not your money until the piece is actually finished and delivered. I check with my customers before I start to build, both to see if there are any changes needed and that they are ready to take delivery on a given date. If they’ve changed their minds after a nine-month wait, then I return their deposit. I keep the interest. It’s only happened twice in my career, but you need to be prepared, just in case.
A few thoughts on scheduling. Again, your word is your bond. Nobody likes to be put off, especially when they’ve been expecting a handcrafted creation for which they’ve been waiting almost a year. I used to schedule very tightly but soon discovered that was not a good idea. There are always circumstances beyond your control that affect your schedule and work output: supply hang ups, illness or subcontractors who don’t deliver on time. For the past few years, I’ve arbitrarily added a few months to my anticipated delivery schedule. For a desk that should be done in June if all goes well, I tell the customer July or August. That gives me a nice time cushion. Then if the piece is really done in June, the customer is thrilled and it makes me look good. It’s way better to deliver before the anticipated due date rather than after.
Hand-carved letters. These are way more work than routed letters, but so graceful and elegant. The craftsman’s touch is clearly in evidence.
The following is excerpted from “Shaker Inspiration,” by Christian Becksvoort.
There is a misconception among some woodworkers that working with hand tools only is better, or downright holy, while power tools are pedestrian, not real woodworking, and should be avoided. Not so. It depends on what your aim is. Is this a hobby, or are you doing this for a living? (More on this in Chapter 8.) I think that the British craftsman, professor and philosopher David Pye best puts it in more understandable terms. There is a sharp distinction between what he calls the “manufacture of risk” and the “manufacture of certainty.” The manufacture of risk means that a tool, guided by hand, whether powered or not, introduces risk. It is totally dependent on the skill of the user. On the other hand, the manufacture of certainty guarantees an identical outcome each time. When I carve cherry chair seats, I use an electric grinder with carbide cutters. The depth, proportion, shape and symmetry of the seat are determined by my hand-eye coordination. One slip and the seat is toast. Using a scorp is also the manufacture of risk, only slower, with less chance of making a major mistake.
To all you smug woodworkers out there: Not all hand-tool work involves risk. Some actually involves the manufacture of certainty; the results are guaranteed to be identical, each time. When using a straightedge and knife to make a cut, the cut will be straight every time (unless you let go of the straightedge). There are even folks making hand-cut dovetails and using clamp-on, magnetic dovetail guides. Come on, who are you fooling? Each cut is pre-determined and will be identical. Where is the fun and skill in that? Freehand is cheaper – no jigs, templates or gadgets. That’s where skill and practice lead to craftsmanship. Dovetail jigs are merely a crutch.
I think that one of the best examples is carving. There are still lots of carvers who use traditional carving chisels. All hand work – the manufacture of risk. However, more and more carvers, especially in the competitive world of bird carving, are using electric hand carvers, wheels, burrs and diamond bits. It’s still hand guided, and one slip results in disaster – also clearly the manufacture of risk. The source of power, be it muscle or electric, is inconsequential. I couldn’t run my business without my jointer, planer, drill press, lathe (although I used to turn knobs on the drill press before I acquired a lathe), mortiser or table saw. Ripping 40′ (12.2m) of cherry moulding with a handsaw is not my idea of a good time, therapy or craftsmanship. To me, that’s monkey work. If you get off on that, more power to you.
So what makes craftsmanship special? I maintain that it is evidence of the human hand. Yes, there will be mistakes. No one is 100-percent perfect (that’s why I own a SawStop). The Navajos professed that there is no such thing as perfect work, and all their rugs and pottery had an asymmetrical error of one sort or another. I’ve never turned out a perfect piece, yet I strive for perfection each time I come into the shop. What constitutes evidence of the human hand? Small mistakes, certainly. But they have to be nearly invisible. Large mistakes are just another growth and learning opportunity. They need to be fixed, rectified or replaced. Examples of the human hand? Hand-carved letters will never be as perfect as routed ones, but they are by far more elegant. Chair spindles, tapered with block plane or spokeshave, reveal minute facets but appear round. Chair seats, carved with grinder or scorp, will always have slight irregularities. Hopefully, they’re not noticeable, but they are present. Pins or through-tenons that are trimmed with a chisel are not perfect. I’ve even had the surprising pleasure of restoring a Shaker desk only to discover that the tenons were slightly chamfered, hidden inside of a mortise. That, ladies and gentlemen, is craftsmanship.
A few random thoughts on tools in general. Buy the best, and buy only once. Early in my career, I had a set of those blue-handled chisels, six for $39. When I started working full-time, banging dovetails all day, I discovered that I had to re-sharpen at least once or twice a day. At the end of a few weeks, that’s four to five wasted hours (I got to be really good at freehand sharpening, though). Even at a reliably low per hour shop rate, at the end of two weeks I could save enough to afford a set of Lie-Nielsen Toolworks chisels. Now I can do two or three large cherry case pieces before having to pull out the waterstones. What about used and antique tools? Those can be a real find and a real bargain. On the other hand, if it takes two or three days of shop time to fix, restore and tune a bargain plane to get the rust pits out, it might be better time-wise to buy new. If you enjoy fixing tools that’s one thing, but if you’d rather spend time working wood, then choose the other option.
It has also been my observation that a skilled craftsman with minimal and humble tools can do a much better job than someone with no or minimal skills and great tools. It’s all in how your implements are used. I recall that when Brian Boggs started making chairs, he cut his mortises with a sharpened screwdriver. His chairs were, and still are, masterpieces. Incidentally, he’s the only woodworker I’ve bought furniture from. His chairs are the perfect combination of thoughtful design, ergonomics and meticulous craftsmanship.
Chair spindles shaped with block plane and spokeshave. These reveal subtle signs of the handmade. The spindles are air-dried and rived, so the grain runs top to bottom.
CNC & 3D Printing It seems that our world is awash in consumer glut. Gadgets, products and devices that were once considered luxuries are today available to the masses. Decades ago, portable phones were naught but a pipe dream. Now, two-thirds of the population on this planet use and enjoy them. And in two years, they will be obsolete and need replacement. Mass production, on a scale never imaginable, has made it all possible. I agree that every human should be able to live a satisfying life, but where does it end? Walk into a big box store, and most everything you see there will be in the landfill in about five years. Is that sustainable?
Where exactly does craftsmanship end and mass production start? Anything perfectly reproducible, be it one, 10 or a million copies, is mass production. That’s where I see 3D printers. Some schools used to have craft areas, but now the latest is a “maker space.” Many of these don’t actually let you make anything; instead gadgets can be re-built or re-purposed, and the latest widgets are spit out by a 3D printer. Granted, the future of 3D printing is unfathomable, especially in science, medicine and machinery. But in crafts? Yes, coding and programming are skills, but you are not making an object. Press a button and the machine makes the object. Is that craft? The same can be said for CNC production. Every piece perfect. Every piece identical. It’s the ultimate manufacture of certainty. It’s just the ticket if you’re making kitchen cabinets, or have a line of furniture that you want to sell, but not make. Every piece identical, with no sign of the human hand. Just mass-produced. Is that why we are woodworkers? Is that what craft is evolving into? I suppose the same gripe was aired when Linotype machines cast lead letters as you typed. Who remembers Linotype? We’ll see where it all leads us.
One place that it’s led us: The word “custom” is now completely meaningless. You order your new Mercedes, in that beautiful metallic pearl color, with the engine size you specify, the sound system that you desire and a few other trendy options. That’s custom, right? Yup – there are 2,384 cars identical to your baby out on the road. In a world of increasing conformity, however, I think there will always be a perceptive and discriminating few who will in fact value the individually handcrafted piece. In my business at least, I know most of my clients value having something handmade, by me, that no one else has. They appreciate the finer things: art and craft. Let’s face it – only one person (or institution) can have the original “Mona Lisa,” but anyone can have a print. What’s the difference? You decide.
Please note that I’m not bad-mouthing mass-production. All of humanity needs a place to sit, a table to eat at and a bed to sleep in. Individually built furniture will never fill that need. The axe I’m grinding concerns those folks who buy pre-turned chair legs, pre-turned spindles, have their chair seats CNC-carved, then have the whole thing assembled by a minimum-wage employee, and sell the finished product as a “handcrafted” chair. Does that pass your straight face test? Is that your definition of craftsmanship?
In the long run, you decide what type of business you’ll operate, and exactly how you’ll make it work. And consumers will decide what they want to purchase: a big screen TV or a hand-made cabinet.
Full-panel construction, sometimes called slab or wide-panel construction, consists of a single board, or a series of boards glued up to form a wider panel. In a case piece, the grain would run up one side, across the top, down the other side and along the bottom. As reiterated from Chapter 1, wood moves across the grain but not in length. Consequently, a carcase built using wide panels will retain its height and width, but the front-to-back depth will vary depending on the seasons and humidity. In the case of a blanket box, the grain wraps all the way around, and the height varies from summer to winter.
Frame-and-panel (or stick-and-panel) construction consists of a relatively narrow frame running around all four sides of a panel, which, no matter what the size of the panel, is free to “float” in the frame, and has no bearing on the wood movement of the frame. Because the frame has long grain running up, across, down and back, the frame remains the same size year-round. There are pros and cons to both approaches, so let’s have a closer look.
Wide-panel pine blanket box. In this example, the depth and width remain the same, while the height changes slightly from summer to winter. DENNIS GRIGGS PHOTO.
Until the Middle Ages, Western furniture was all constructed of wide boards or joined panels. However, the Egyptians, as early as the reign of Tutankhamun around 1,300 BCE, used frame-and-panel construction for some of their very ornate pieces. The obvious advantage to wide-board construction is that it’s much less work. A six-board chest requires six boards, joinery or nails, and voilà, you’re done. If you’re going to use frame-and-panel construction for all six surfaces, you will require at least five pieces of wood for each surface, or 30 pieces of wood for the entire exterior case. All those pieces have to be edged, grooved and mortised or tenoned. Right off the bat, the frame-and-panel construction is much more work. Most frame-and-panel building is actually a hybrid, utilizing frames and panels for the sides, bottom and back, and a wide board or panel for the top. Nobody wants an expansion gap on a desktop or cabinet top. The same goes for shelves, and sometime bottoms, if the interior is to be used as a shelf. It just invites dust and crumbs to collect on any horizontal surface gaps. So the top of a desk or cabinet, or shelves made with single panels, have to be attached in a manner that allows wood to move with the seasons. With all that extra work, you get a cabinet that is extremely stable, and all those frames can be glued together in any configuration without having to deal with movement (except for the top and shelves).
Frame-and-panel Shaker tailor counter in figured cherry. This is more complex to construct than a wide-panel construction, but it’s very stable. DENNIS GRIGGS PHOTO.
Wide-panel cases go together much faster and look a lot cleaner, because there are not gaps or interruptions in the grain. Once the four sides are together, expansion and contraction becomes a major issue whenever grain runs perpendicular to an existing panel. Think doors, backs, web frames and mouldings. Most woodworkers opt for an approach that is a hybrid in those situations.
Even before frame-and-panel doors come into widespread use, larger doors had to accommodate seasonal wood movement in one way or another. The most common method was to use a series of individual boards, rabbeted, splined or shiplapped, with small spaces in between to allow movement. These doors, sometimes two or even three layers thick, were held flat with battens on the inside. The battens were nailed, “clinched,” or killed (yes, dead as a door nail). Nowadays, screws are often used instead.
Almost all furniture doors are made with frame-and-panel construction. Let’s go over some of the options. For cabinet doors, a 1/4″ (6.4mm) groove is run into the top and bottom rails, and likewise the two stiles. Panels can be flat, flush on one or both sides, raised, carved, moulded or inset. In any event, if the panel is solid wood, it is allowed to move, or “float,” in the grooves. Some woodworkers purchase small rubber balls to keep panels from rattling. I find that a cheaper and easier method is to center the panel, and drive a small brad (from the inside of the door) through the middle of the rails, close to the edge through the panel tongue, and into (but not through) the front of the frame. A bit of filler, or a tiny wood plug makes it all but invisible.
On fine furniture, the corners of doors are usually mortised, tenoned and pinned, for maximum glue area and strength. On tiny clock or desk doors, a bridle joint can be substituted for increased glue area. Kitchen cabinet shops often use stick-and-cope construction. A moulding profile is run along the stile and coped into the rail end, forming a snug, yet relatively weak corner joint. Alternatively, many woodworkers use dowels in the corners, while biscuits are another alternative. Although stronger than a stick-and-cope joint, these methods don’t have much glue area and are therefore not as structurally strong as a full mortise-and-tenon joint.
Dovetail batten, visible only from the sides and interior.
So what about slab doors? As stated above, battens are necessary to keep the slab flat. However, I find them cumbersome and gawky looking, and I have been using several alternative techniques. The first is the fairly traditional fitted dovetail batten. It’s flush with the inside of the door, and anchored with a small brad at the center.
Door with breadboard ends – just like a tabletop.
The second is to make breadboard ends. After all, if you can use breadboards on tabletops and desk lids to keep them flat, why not on doors?
Hidden breadboard batten, visible from the top, bottom and both edges.
The third procedure is a bit trickier: the hidden breadboard. Cut a groove into the top and bottom ends of the door, and insert the breadboard, or batten, inside the groove. Again, anchor it in the middle.
Totally invisible batten. Lots more work, but really cool.
Finally, the coolest of them all: the totally invisible batten. Make a core of the same wood as the rest of the door, and rip off strips on both sides. Then cut off both ends of the center section, and groove the edges you just cut. Make a batten of the desired width with tongues along both long edges, and cut it slightly shorter than the center of the core. Glue the whole back together and flatten it. Then glue a face veneer, 1/16″ to 1/4″(1.5mm to 6mm) thick, depending on the size of the door, to both sides. Edge all four sides and you have a stable slab door. Nothing showing.
