In fact it might be said that one cannot do good woodwork and think about the war at the same time. Most readers, of course, have found this out for themselves. When war first came our postbag brought us countless stories from readers, telling us of the wonderful relief they had found in just getting on with their jobs. And in the present violent phase of the struggle calmness comes to those who carry on quietly with their hobbies.
— The Woodworker, July 1940
It’s a good thing my wife doesn’t read my blog because what I’m about to tell you would probably force me into sleeping on the couch for a week.
I’ve always wanted a tattoo. I don’t know why. It must be the redneck in me.
Today I got the next best thing to a tattoo. I received my beloved Type 11 Stanley No. 5 plane in the mail after letting engraver Catharine Kennedy have her way with it. I asked her if she could engrave the shape of the English layout square that is the motif in my upcoming book “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” on the sidewalls of the plane.
You know, something simple.
But like tattoos, things got out of hand quickly. After Kennedy sent me some sketches I went for the full-blown scrolls on both sidewalls that you can see here.
The work is simply stunning. I am a decent photographer, but I just cannot do justice to her work. The level of detail on the scrolls – each one is beveled on the inside like it was done with a V-tool – is intoxicating. And unlike the “engraving” you see on trophies or anniversary plates, this engraving is deep and obviously done by hand.
The engraving job cost me $350, and now that I’ve blogged about it I can write it off in 2010. Yes, I know you hate me for that. I hate me, too.
You are going to be seeing a lot of this tool on this blog and my blog at work so I hope you like it as much as I do.
To see more of Kennedy’s work, view her impressive woodworking resume and to discuss an engraving job with her, visit her web site at catharinekennedy.com.
— Christopher Schwarz
I will not give away my hard-earned skills to a machine. It’s a bit like robbery with violence, for (machines are) not only intended to diminish my bank balance, but also to steal my power.
— John Brown (1932 – 2009), Welsh stick chairmaker
The taste or style (or lack of it) of the hollowed tree-trunks of far back in the Middle Ages was probably founded upon (1) necessity, (2) usefulness, (3) the primitive tools of that day, and (4) the fact that there was no previous furniture from which their primitive imaginations might wander to other things.
But let us doff our hats to those people of the past, for their age represents the birth-time of our English furniture. Later in the Middle Ages, when our forbears were learning how to work up wood, the chest must have stood as a standard from which a new style was to evolve. When it had evolved, and chests were seen for the first time, they must have been regarded as not being far removed from the miraculous.
Probably that was the greatest change in furniture that has been made in its history.
— The Woodworker, April 1933
But to get the best out of it, we have to let it absorb us, to take us right out of ourselves. Then it will be the best kind of antidote to brooding and worrying and war nerves. And to do this, we want to make it as many-sided an interest as possible. Not to be content with advancing the skill of our hands alone, although this is no small thing, but to find out all we can about furniture – good furniture – and design, all we can about past masters of the craft.
And last, but not least, to train ourselves to see beauty in all its forms, from a shaft of sunlight striking like a shining sword athwart a dingy street, to the glory of an evening sky; to watch for it in books, in pictures, in poetry, in music, anywhere and everywhere, according to our own natural predilections.
For it is that which moulds the taste, makes us able to create lovely things as well as appreciate them.
— The Woodworker, June 1940