Lost Art Press

Category: The Belligerent Finisher

John Porritt: Details of His Work

Posted on by fitz
Future armbows and combs for stick chairs in a corner of John Porritt’s shop. (Photo by Sue Porritt.)

by Brian Crawley

John Porritt recently gave a stick chair talk in Austerlitz, New York (click here to read about it). With so many of his chairs gathered in one place, I was able to take some quick photos of John’s different approaches to armbows. The joints are all based on those he has seen in traditional Welsh pieces. I’ve added a few more comments, too, on how he fashions sticks, legs, tenons, seats etc., intended less as prescription than permission to explore. Given that so many Welsh chairmakers look to have figured things out for themselves, there are an endless variety of solutions to be found, both within the tradition and outside it.

In the woods nearby, John looks out for near 90° bends he can use for armbows, and gentler bends for combs. His friends know by now to keep a lookout for him, too. If a bent branch is big enough, John can get bookmatched grain on the arms by sawing the limbs in two. But whether sawn from one limb or two, the armbow pieces need to be joined together in the middle somehow.

The two antique chairs John brought with him to the talk display two different common solutions. One has a long scarf, which stretches about 5″ across four of the chair’s six long sticks. The scarf is pegged at the center, I presume before the holes for the sticks were drilled, to help keep the assembly together. (The joint is not glued.)

The other, shorter of the two chairs uses a small square-edged half-lap, and a doubler above. There is no visible peg in the doubler, but there is a cut nail by the left side of the moulding. Maybe this is a later fix, as there is not one in the parallel position on the right. But there are several large builder’s cut nails underneath, one of which goes through the half-lap; of course the sticks going through reinforce the assembly too.

John suspects this chair may have been a lobster pot style, where the outer two sticks on each side bend inward toward a small comb. The doubler helps hold against the extra tension introduced by the bent sticks. John felt the more extreme bend of the outermost sticks of a lobster pot chair might be steamed, where the gentler bends beside it might not.

Two antique armbows, one a long scarf, the other a half-lap.

John’s chair with birch burl armbow uses the same scarf joint as the antique, pegged through the center (and glued). It strikes me that such a joint might be the first solution a self-taught woodworker might come up with, after the first time a butt joint fails on them. Though a simple joint, the two long slopes, angles matched with hand tools, are likely trickier to get right than a beginning craftsperson might imagine.

Six-stick black birch armbow, pegged scarf. (Photos by David Douyard.)

Sometimes John uses a doubler to bridge a long scarf joint. It might be called for if the grain in the arm’s bend is getting short, and will break over time, without support. Or it might be more a design choice, prompted by a visual need. John likes to consider how to bolster the confidence a sitter has in the look of a chair. (I have a light Texas ladderback chair, with a seat of woven twine. People always ask if I’m sure it will support them before they take a seat. They have no such insecurities with John’s chairs!)

Six-stick red chair, pegged scarf, doubler.

And as seen in the second antique chair, John sometimes uses a half-lap in his armbows. His joint is a bit more elaborate. The half-laps have angled outer edges, and central wedged and tapered keys to lock it together. After it is hammered home it is pegged from above once or twice, the number of pegs dependent on how deep the armbow.

Two chairs with half-laps, wedged and pegged.

It looks almost like a large timber-frame joint, and is in fact patterned after one John saw in a ridge board in a house in Wales. Another variation is a longer half-lap that extends across four sticks, not two.

A chair with a longer half-lap, wedged and pegged.

Two of the chairs John had in Austerlitz feature three-piece armbows with more elaborate timber-beam-style joinery. In both cases these joints span the middle of the armbow. The grain of these arms is too short to have stood the test of time without the extra support. The central piece has a dovetail in its bottom half; in the upper, there are angled edges at the sides, with pinned and tapered wedges at either side of the central two sticks. Tim Bailey, an antiques dealer in Nassau, New York, showed John how local German cabinetmakers from the Mohawk Valley wedged their dovetails. He admired their use of “belts and braces” (Brit-speak for suspenders!).

 Eight stick chair, three-piece armbow, dovetailed, wedged, and pegged.

John’s current chair of soft maple and ash has a central insert cut from a piece of wood twice as thick as the arms. A dovetailed section abuts the arm, and a longer section above with a long-grained glue surface. I thought the upper half was a fourth piece to the armbow, but that’s a trick of the grain. It has two big locust pegs, wedged top and bottom, wide of the five sticks, down through the central piece into the arms, inspired by those German cabinetmakers. (“Belts, braces, and concrete abutments,” quipped John.) 1

 Five stick chair, three-piece armbow, dovetailed, pegged and wedged.

John uses a limited tool set to make his chairs. The first stage of removing waste from a comb or an armbow is done with a band saw, one of his few powered tools. He keeps more wood than he thinks he’ll need, until late in the process. After the band saw, he uses a drawknife, not with a shavehorse, but with a big, old Record vise he uses while standing. We took turns working on the leg shown below, winded ourselves, then broke for tea.

John working on a leg with his drawknife. Note the bandsaw behind him.

John favors a Siegley or Hahn jack plane (prior to the c. 1901 acquisition by Stanley, when they still looked distinct from a Bailey plane). The iron is thicker than a Stanley, so it doesn’t flex in use. There is no chipbreaker; the lever cap, set back from the cutting edge, secures the iron. The single blade “just works better for green wood … rather than have …shavings getting jammed in there,” says John. It is also a pound lighter than a Stanley No 5.

With a very sharp blade, John uses it to shape the legs, sticks and their tenons. Next he uses one or more of several shaves. The largest of these is a Stanley cast iron shave with a cutter he has reground to work as a scraper. With diamond sharpeners, he makes two flats that meet at just under 90°. The scraper removes any tear-out left by the jack. It cuts at the arris, not with a burr. The mouth is quite open.

The block plane, a Stanley No. 60-1/2 set up as a scraper plane, further refines those surfaces. He does not round off all the flats and ridges, but leaves them for textural interest. John likes the surface to look worked, but not careless.

 John’s tools. Note the surface of the finished sticks in the green box behind the bench.

A second, more recent power tool, is what John calls a planer, which I call a jointer; it’s a Craftsman pedestal model from the ’50s. (I think a Yank’s “planer” is a Brit’s “thicknesser.”) John needs to fix the Craftsman tool up, but the idea is to save some of the wear and tear on his wrists. He has a lathe, too, but rarely uses it for chairs. He did do a chair with a front turned short stick, like one of the antique chairs pictured above. John was little worried he’d managed to turn the front stick into a cricket bail; maybe there’s a design memory, akin to muscle memory?

The front sticks were turned on a lathe. Howzat!

John likes to leave the ends of tenons on his short sticks and legs a little proud – the same with pegs. Given wood movement, a perfectly flattened tenon won’t be flush with the chair’s seat or arm for long, so why fuss over it?2 John thinks the tenon’s extra height, and the mushrooming effect on its edge, gives a wedge a little extra to hold onto. He shaves them from the perimeter of the tenon toward the center, with a spokeshave set fine, or a chisel. He then burnishes them with a deer antler.

The short stick, leg and peg tenons are proud by a bit more than 1/16″, a bit less than 1/8″, which done by eye, not measured. John has kept some of the wane in this armbow.

The tenons on the underside of the seat protrude a bit further, maybe 3/16th” and are also done by eye. John likes to leave the ridges or “dawks,” made by a round moulding plane set up like a scrub plane.

To saddle a seat, John uses a scorp and adze. One chair has an unsaddled seat – common in the tradition. Most of John’s, though, are lightly saddled. He used the adze more in the past than now. “I’m actually ruining my hands, with too much handwork … though I don’t ever want a machine to dictate what I do,” he says. He uses a handsaw to trim tenons down, and a sliding bevel to set angles. (You can see more of his kit in a photo essay of John’s shop Megan Fitzpatrick did for Fine Woodworking.)

Though most of his chair seats are from one piece of wood, when John joins two, he uses pegged loose tenons. I’ve done a similar joint in a cricket table top, in a Derek Jones class. There, we cut the mortises as deep and wide as a Domino 500 could manage, made our own tenons, and drawbored them to close the joint as tightly as possible. John does the same process – minus the Domino.

A seat made from two pieces often has pegged loose tenons.

John’s stretcher configurations are as various as the armbows. Some have none; others have stretchers on the side, back to front; still others have a medial stretcher as well, resulting in an H-shape. Several chairs have seats of white elm, which, with its interlocking grain, it is very difficult to split. “If that’s dry, and the legs are dry, and they’re driven in, and they’re wedged” it doesn’t need stretchers, says John. With a seat of ash or oak, though (eminently splittable), stretchers “just give more confidence,” to the maker and the sitter, he says

Sometimes, not usually, John leaves the tenons of the long sticks proud of the comb. (Photo by David Douyard.).

For reference, John recommends the website and Instagram of Tim Bowen Antiques. Tim and his wife, Betsan, wrote about some of the pieces that passed through their hands in The Welsh Stick Chair.3 Harvard & Harvard Antiques is another website John tracks. I found a couple of nice lobster pot chairs pictured there on a recent visit. 1stDibs, an conglomerate site of different antique dealers’ wares, often has a few good stick chairs among its offerings.

John sometimes shares a wry lament about the length of time it takes him to build a chair, but at this point in his life he’s unwilling to rush it. He does a variety of other work to make ends meet. He fixes plane totes, saw handles, infills and the like, for major antique tool dealers in the U.S. and private clients. He works on other, larger antique pieces as well. Passing through his workshop I’ve seen an original Holtzapffel lathe, with many missing pieces he had to fabricate, and a harp made in a medieval style.  It had a key piece of wood the soundboard was anchored to; its grain was tearing apart under pressure of the strings, so John had figure out how to rebuild and reorient the piece, without modernizing the design. Both pieces are back in use now.

A few years back, Martin Donnelly posted a picture to a Facebook saw group that caused quite a stir. A very rare 17th-century saw was restored by John and his friend Tom Curran. After together working out how the missing piece might look, John added the wood to complete the missing section, and wood to fill old fastener holes. Tom carved the added piece in a style sympathetic to the original, and John colored the new to match the old. One of Tom’s specialties had been making beautifully worked flintlock rifles, from whence his carving skills derived.

A saw handle restored by Tom Curran and John Porritt (Photo by Martin Donnelly).

John did a simpler repair to a J. Nicholls saw of mine (Nicholls was one of the mid-19th-century Philadelphia saw makers Henry Disston eventually bought out). Simpler but not simple – the large chip missing from the lower ogee curve had sprung the alignment back to front. I watched John do the repair, with minimal intrusion on the old surface, and the color matching he’s perfected over his years of working on antiques.

I’d found out John is interested in teaching, but not in travel. So I asked if we could work for a couple of days one fall. I brought two stools I’d made, and we worked on finishing them; I brought some old saws in as well, and he worked on the Nicholls while I tried fixing an old Groves saw handle.

My J. Nicholls saw handle, restored by John Porritt.

There’s a sense of adventure, and play to John’s work that struck me in watching him. Once a wood repair is in place, he’ll add a stain, maybe burn it off, add another color, wipe it off, rub in some roofer’s cement, scrub it off. It’s a back-and-forth process that mimics the dings and furrows of outrageous aging. Hours are involved, but fun, too, in working toward beautifully imperfect patinated surfaces, which I think because they remind of our own temporality, and our connection to those who came before us, and those who will follow after.

Brian Crawley is a woodworker, screenwriter and award-winning playwright.

To see more of John Porritt’s work in aging a surface, check out his book, “The Belligerent Finisher” (Lost Art Press).

  1. Near to John’s home is a place called Germantown, clearly named for those who settled there. I remember driving north on the Taconic Parkway years before I met John, joking with my daughter on the madcap tour of Europe we were on, given the place names on the exit signs: Athens, Nassau, Ghent, Rotterdam, Guilderland, Troy. Some of these were doubtless settled by corresponding Europeans. But Austerlitz was named by the eighth U.S. President, Martin van Buren, to piss off a political rival who had named a town Waterloo. (At Austerlitz, Napoleon won his battle. Which we in the States would be more likely to know if Abba had recorded a follow-up to “Waterloo.” As they still could. I think they’re all still with us. “Austerlitz! Could be the next of our megahits, whoa whoa whoa whoa, Austerlitz! Martin van Buren says it’s the tits.”
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  2. I took a class with Mike Pekovich once, and by a similar line of thinking, Mike prefers his dovetail pins proud. If a pin will only stay perfectly flat for one season, he makes a design feature of the height difference.)
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  3. Editor’s note: Lost Art Press is currently out of stock; we hope to have it available again soon. ↩︎

John Porritt Sermon on Stick Chairs

Posted on by fitz
 John Porritt at the Old Austerlitz Historical Society’s chancel. (Photo by David Douyard.)

by Brian Crawley

On a bracing day this past Sunday – cold enough to move the event from a large unheated barn in Austerlitz, New York, to a little body-heated church – John Porritt gave a talk on his masterful stick chairs. He brought two Welsh antiques he’d found in nearby Hudson, New York, and 20 chairs by his own hand, mostly Welsh-style stick chairs, an English-style forest chair, and several side and children’s chairs. A few he brought over from his workshop, but mostly his friends and customers brought their own Porritt chairs along to show off and share a sit in. 

A congregation of chairs. A pride of chairs? A throng.

John views making a chair as a journey. In one sense, the journey is the improvisatory interplay between the wood sourced for arm bows and crowns, then the seat, legs and sticks shaped to complement these. In another, the journey is more literal, actually starting with walking the dog. While John used to find curved pieces in the trees and limbs linemen left cut at the roadside, once they started using chippers, he began to rely instead on himself and his friends spotting roughly right-angled trunks and boughs on their walks.

A “forest” stick chair, more English than Welsh in style.

John spoke of one such tree, a black birch on a friend’s property, which was a sapling when a terrible ice storm in 1983 bent it parallel to the ground. It was held in that position long enough to be set that way. In time it grew upward normally again, and formed, as the trunk grew up and bigger around, two nearly 90°-angled sections that John used some 30 years later in one of his chairs. John spotted a similar ash trunk, pictured below, while on a walk with his dog. (With this one, nobody knows exactly why it grew that way.) During a visit with Chris Williams, Kevin Adams and me a year and a half ago, John had enough helpers on hand to harvest this pair of angled turns. The armbow in his latest completed chair is from this ash. A fire wood, ash dries quicker than most.

John and Chris Williams harvest some promising arm bows.

The advantage of a naturally curved piece is that the grain is continuous and strong along its length. It also allows for (or suggests? requires?) the wide variety of shapes found in vernacular Welsh chairs. You can get continuous grain strength by steam-bending chair parts, but the old chairs John is referencing, and building typically have 1-1/4″ or thicker arms, which can be very hard to bend successfully. And, it requires extra tools and experience – and is outside the tradition.  

Woodworkers who make Windsor, or forest, chairs typically employ steam-bending to impose a consistency on the wood, to make a repeatable production form. It is a different aim than allowing found wood to spur design. A person who is looking to make a few chairs for family and neighbors, a side hustle perhaps, hasn’t the same need for a uniform, easily replicable chair. This is the type of person we imagine a 19th-, 18th- and 17th-century Welsh chairmaker to have been.

In the 20th century, John’s commissioned chairs are likewise destined for family, friends and neighbors. One was made to place by the wood stove a friend tends for warmth. It sits deeper than most so she can push back from a just-stirred fire; its fore-edges are developing a rich patina. Another made for a fellow craftsman lacks the “belligerent” finish John often uses — because Tom wanted to distress it himself, by shoving it under the table after dinner to abrade the arms and butt-burnishing the seat. A kitchen chair made for Lydia, who carries on Tom’s work at Monster Machine in Chatham, New York, is armless so that she might more easily spring to stove, sink or counter in the course of a meal.

A use-weathered chair. (Photo by Lydia Curran.)

But John more often builds his chairs on spec. Then the only client to please is himself. A four-stick chair made at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic marked a turning point. John answered one question, as to how much time each chair takes, with: “Far too long! Up to a point I don’t care how long it takes me, because I really want to do it the way I want to do it.” One example of mid-chair change of direction was in the chair with the black birch arm bow, from the tree mentioned above. The two arms were colored with nitric acid and burnished “like crazy” with a chain-mail pot scrubber and a deer’s antler. At first they were square in section, but when viewed with the seat, the shapes didn’t look right to John’s eye. So he visibly softened and rounded the arms with a rasp and scraper to better suit the piece. This had the happy accident of making the short stick tenons a little more visibly worn, with the arms falling away from those high spots, like the thumbprints you can sometimes see on an old, well-loved saw’s handle or plane’s tote.

These arms started square in form, but didn’t look right to John, so he rounded them as work progressed. (Photo by David Douyard.)

Another example: His most recently completed chair is made of soft maple, with ash arms sourced from the tree he is sawing through in the photo above. John said he colored it with a milk paint he made himself from powdered milk and lime. A first thin wash looked good, but a second went on too heavy, so he cut it back to almost nothing. Rather than continue on to a darker color and an aged finish, his wife, Sue, suggested he bring it to the talk as-is. (The final stage of a chair’s journey comes in deciding how to finish it.) John has a keen sense of color, texture and their interplay, developed through long experience in restoring and refinishing antique furniture and tools. His book The Belligerent Finisher (2022, Lost Art Press) goes into detail on those techniques. 

He had planned for the chair to have more sticks, five, maybe seven, in the lobster-pot style. But that felt overcrowded when he mocked it up. He liked the fifth stick at the top, but it was too crowded at the bottom. So he removed the bottom half of the stick. Chris Williams saw a photo and loved it. And given the diversity of form in the tradition, Chris noted that Welshmen have done the same thing in the past. So that’s how it stands today.

John’s soft maple and ash chair is the frontmost here of … an assembly of chairs? A flock of them? Or, a muster of chairs. There, that’s the term: a muster of chairs from a master of them. (Photo by Sue Porritt.)

I’m guessing a quarter of John’s audience last Sunday were fellow woodworkers. I recognized some, professional chairmakers includinng David Douyard and Charles Thompson, and hobbyists including Kevin Adams and me. Others I didn’t know, but their questions revealed them. Lay members of John’s congregation were just as involved in the talk. (“Do you find all your own wood?“ ”How long does it take to cure?“ “Why do some have rungs, and some do not?“) The head of the Old Austerlitz Historical Society said they’d never had a talk quite like it. I imagine because John, after a brief introduction, asked for questions rather than give an academic talk. One thought then followed another very naturally, and he had a bevy of chairs nearby to hoist up and illustrate his answers. John’s daughter, Mia, came up from college for the weekend to help lug and place all the chairs, and to sell copies of his book. And we all hung around in the churchyard afterward, until rain started to fall on the chairs that hadn’t yet been tucked away in everyone’s cars and trucks.

Brian Crawley is a woodworker, screenwriter and award-winning playwright.

A Look at Some John Porritt Belligerent Finishes

Posted on by fitz

The following is excerpted from “The Belligerent Finisher,” by John Porritt. After walking you step by step through creating a believable aged finish, the book includes a gallery of just some of John’s gorgeous work.

Top: the “hands” of two chairs. Above: A scarf joint on one of the armbows of my chairs. The details of the finish are extremely important to me.

I think the phrase “standing on the shoulders of giants” has the ring of truth, certainly in woodworking. That, and the idiosyncratic nature of many vernacular woodworkers, plus the vagaries of time, have inspired me to try to understand some of the mystery of the old stick chairs. To work with that, simulate it (or “stimulate” as my old friend Johnny Jones would have said) and then, on occasion – having fallen short – sitting down in an odd chair with a restorative cup of tea, to ponder having another go. That’s my form of belligerence, and these are some of my chairs.

My first Welsh-inspired stick chair, made circa 1994 in Shropshire, England. I sent photos of several English and American-influenced chairs along with one of this chair – which draws on what at the time I thought of as a Welsh stick chair – to John Brown. He kindly wrote back to me and for a while we had a correspondence. He went so far as to speak highly of the chair and published a photo in Good Woodworking magazine. Looking back I now feel this chair is an amalgam of John Brown’s work with the steam-bent arm and an American way of shaping the hands, along with an exaggerated Welsh comb. It was my jumping-off point as I started to look more carefully at what the old Welsh chairmakers, in all their diversity, had achieved.

The chair has lived in Shropshire ever since and is a well-used and appreciated member of a friend’s family. It has an elm seat and steam-bent ash arm-bow, with ash legs, sticks and comb. The green paint was my first attempt at making a milk paint. It was not waxed and has had no intentional distressing other than the normal wear and tear of family life. It’s doing well.

This commissioned chair was an adventure. I found a curved ash branch, so I was able to make my first two-part scarfed and wedged armbow. The chair has a piece of oak with character for the seat, 10 ash sticks and an ash comb, legs and stretchers. The naturally curved ash arm supports have that gnarly grain that seems to encapsulate the life of a small tree in a harsh environment. The wood was never aged. It was painted with Lexington green milk paint, with a little added black, then waxed. Nearly 20 years later, every-thing has mellowed to a pleasing warmth with that dry bloom look some of the old chairs have. I once heard an elderly antique furniture dealer describe this look as “sleepy.” It was a pleasure to exhibit this chair at Westonbirt, The National Arboretum in Gloucestershire in “Chairs 2004.”

This, and the following chairs, were made in Spencertown, N.Y. The seat of this chair is English-grown burr oak from Picklescott, Shropshire. Ash sticks, legs and comb. Three-part arm in hard maple. Side stretchers and two arm posts in white oak, center stretcher hickory.

Finished with boiled linseed oil, no wax involved. I left the seat unfinished, owing to burr wood taking up the linseed oil quite aggressively in parts. It’s coloring down well with time. It’s my daughter’s favorite chair.

This and the two previous chairs are known as “lobster pot” chairs. Linseed oil and wax finish. English elm seat with ash throughout, scarfed and wedged armbow. Neither this chair nor the previous one had any wood-aging treatment. After several years, the color is getting good and mellow.

This chair, made at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, was a major step for me down the road of getting the feeling I needed into a chair. It’s the only chair I have ever pictured completely in my head, then built and finished. It seemed to flow through me. Most chairs are a journey from armbow to what is possible, and I will work through various cul-de-sacs and hiccups along the way. Not this one.

The finishing process on this chair was similar to that described in chapter one. This one was finished with homemade black milk paint. American white elm seat (extremely difficult to work – much belligerence needed). Scarfed and wedged ash armbow. This was my first North Wales four-stick-inspired chair. It owes a lot to the chair on the over of John Brown’s great book, “Welsh Stick Chairs.” I consider this to be the most important chair I’ve ever made, certainly in my understanding and development.

Inspired by a chair from the wonderful book “The Welsh Stick Chair” by Tim and Betsan Bowen. Finished using nitric acid, Lexington green milk paint with a little added black, shellac, cement dust, linseed oil and 10-percent roofing cement with wax. The scarfed arms are in black birch – a great wood to work and color. They were eventually burnished with heavy brown paper after the chainmail burnisher and antler. White oak seat, American white elm comb; red oak legs, stretchers and sticks.

My first attempt at working a chair in red. Before painting, I used nitric acid, then Salem red paint, most of which I took right back off, scrubbing with coarse and medium 3M pads with thinners. After that, I painted it over with one coat of a mixture of red, brown and black milk paint. Shellac, cement dust, linseed oil, 10-percent roofing cement and wax completed the process. English elm seat, black birch two-part armbow, white oak comb. The legs, stretchers and sticks are red oak.

Soft maple two-part seat, cross-tenoned and pegged with scarfed hickory arms and sticks, oak comb, ash arm supports, legs and stretchers. Finished using nitric acid, a workshop-mixed thin brown milk paint, then shellac, cement dust, linseed oil and wax, with 10-percent roofing cement. I enjoy its stolid, “I’m here. That alright with you?” stance.

Another version of a North Wales four-stick chair. This exceedingly comfortable chair was left in the paint and waxed to allow Tom, its owner, to perform DIY chair distressing, at least three times a day. Oh yes, and let’s not forget the tea breaks. American white elm two-part seat, cross-tenoned and pegged, scarfed black birch armbow, hickory sticks and legs with an ash comb.

I really enjoy the visual movement of this chair. It is entirely made of white oak, apart from the scarfed and pegged arms of ash. The chair was fumed for 72 hours with ammonia then (minus the use of vinegar iron and brown mahogany oil stain) it was worked in a similar fashion to the green chair, Backstool No. 2 in chapter two. I did over-paint a lot of the Lily Pad green to get that crusty look, which I later distressed with the chainmail burnisher.

Apart from being stung by a tiny wasp while foraging by the roadside – where I managed to find an excellent piece of white oak for the comb – this chair came together happily.

Another very comfortable red chair. The photo of the entire chair was taken right after it was made; the two detail shots are after several months of use.

Note how the workshop-mixed milk-paint surface of mulberry is chipping with use to let the thick flag-red milk paint come through. Not introduced wear. I have enjoyed watching this evolve. Better than watching paint dry. White oak seat, legs, stretchers and comb, hickory sticks, ash armbow and doubler.

Over the years, I’ve made quite a few child’s chairs. To my eye, this one works well for proportion. The paint is Lily Pad green with a coat of Lexington green over the top, cut back to let the Lily Pad come through on the seat. The wear-through to the wood on the seat front, and slight wear all around, is my suggestion of rough-and-tumble in a nursery. Soft maple cross-tenoned and pegged seat, black birch two-part scarfed and pegged arm, ash legs, stretchers and sticks. Two outer sticks red oak.

I spent a long time attempting to get the white oak seat, hickory sticks, and ash arms and doubler, legs, stretchers and comb to a satisfactory surface. It didn’t work. So, over the entire chair (bar the arms) I painted Arabian Night black milk paint. Things don’t always work out – I think I was pushing too hard for an effect the chair didn’t need. I think this chair, which has a busy appearance, looks better for its unity of surface. This might be considered a fall-back position, but it is one I’m happy with. How much belligerence can one chair take? How much tea can one man drink?

Why Finish with ‘Belligerence’

Posted on by fitz
A comb-back chair I built that was finished using the techniques in this book.

The following is excerpted from John Porritt’s “The Belligerent Finisher.”

Porritt, who works from a small red barn in upstate New York, has been at his trade for many decades, and his eye for color and patina is outstanding. We’ve seen many examples of his work, and it is impressive because you cannot tell that any repair or restoration has been done.

His techniques are simple and use (mostly) everyday objects and chemicals – a pot scrubber, a deer antler, vinegar and tea. How you apply these tools – with a wee bit of belligerence – is what’s important. 

The book is lavishly illustrated with color photos that clearly explain the process. With the help of this book, you’ll be able to fool at least some of the people some of the time with your own “aged” finishes.

I have always loved pieces of country furniture that have come out of the hills – objects that have been touched by time with all its nuances but have never been cleaned or worked over. To my eye some of these pieces can possess a beauty not yet attained in a new, unfinished piece or one left with a simple paint, oil or wax finish.

Living in America, feeling somewhat cut off in the midst of the 2020-2022 pandemic, I found myself remembering and missing some of the things from the borderland of England and Wales, where I had my home. The light on the hills, the glorious landscape, the characters at the Welshpool Friday market.

And then Ian Anderson’s antique shop: there I would see, touch and enjoy some of the pieces he had bought at auction or come across by invitation throughout Mid Wales. Form, color and surface – he found some delightful things. I missed the joy of the old oak dressers, the tables and chairs with their marvelous well-worn surfaces. That is why I started playing with my chair finishes, to get some of that feeling into my newly made chairs. You see, I have no interest in making fake antiques. Instead, with my finishing techniques I strive to create chairs that I want to see, chairs that I cannot find or even if they were about, chairs that I couldn’t begin to afford.

In addition to the finish, texture and toolmarks are important to creating a chair with a magical old quality.

This book will take you through the steps and techniques I have used in my work as a chairmaker, and furniture and tool restorer, to simulate the textures, colors and the mellow glow that is prized in old work. It requires simple tools, such as a deer antler I found on a walk, some stones I picked up from a beach walk in Rhode Island and a chainmail burnisher/pot scrubber. Plus, some chemicals – some relatively harmless (cement dust) and some that require great caution (nitric acid).

Multiple layers of finish and wear create a believable surface.

These finishes also require a bit of “belligerence.” And by that, I mean mostly perseverance. Creating these finishes requires you to apply finish, wipe it off, burnish it, heat it or even gently burn it off (I definitely do not mean char it). Then stop to take a look at your progress. You may have to do it all again (and again) until all the parts of your chair are to your liking, and you have created a believable surface.

Like restoring furniture surfaces, this process is about “play” – working and reworking a surface until you get the desired result.

Should you feel somewhat nervous piling in with these techniques on a new chair, practice on small boards, chair legs and spindles. Using different woods, take notes of the effects you have come across and build yourself a parts library to refer to.

I do think these finishes are worth the work. I find that they inspire me and lift my spirits.

– John Porritt

Meet the Author: John Porritt (Part 2)

Posted on by Kara Uhl

Read “Meet the Author: John Porritt (Part 1)” here.

John with his first stick chair, elm and yew, 1987, and a child’s highchair, also elm and yew, 1988.

Early on John Porritt (author of “The Belligerent Finisher“) enjoyed playing around with bits of wood in his spare time. In the early 1970s, he carved a face into a piece of hazel and strung it onto leather as a necklace. He used a heated rod to create and carve a pipe. During a difficult period in his life, he made a carving out of soft maple based on Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”  

In 1979, John attended Shrewsbury Technical College (now Shrewsbury College) for one year. At first, they refused him a grant, but John appealed and won, “which was marvelous,” he says. He studied fine furniture making with John Price who trained with Edward Barnsley in the Arts & Crafts tradition. 

“I remember the first week I virtually shook with nerves about being in the college and being back in school because I didn’t have great experiences in school and it felt odd being there,” he says. “John Price came by, and he looked at my work and laughed. And I said, ‘Don’t laugh; show me what I’m doing wrong. Show me – go on. After that, we started to get on, and it was grand.” 

John loved his time at Shrewsbury College. He remembers playing football at lunchtime (and a woman from Liverpool, nicknamed Carol Keegan, who was studying ceramics, beating them all every time) and an exhibition they had at Shrewsbury Castle. John showed a cabinet based on Chinese forms.

A cabinet John built while attending Shrewsbury. Walnut, ash, ebony and silver. 1980.

“At Shrewsbury, the finish we used (this was between 1979 and 1980) was polyurethane thinned 50/50, and put on really thin with a clean, well-washed rag,” he says. After several coats we gently cut back with flour paper, then applied a couple more thin coats, burnishing with a taut cloth pad as we went. This gave a great finish. I remember saying to the design lecturer, after using it on a cabinet, What a fine finish! He said, There is no such thing as a fine finish. There is only a finish appropriate for the job. This shut me up. He was a serious, definite man given to pronouncements; however, over the years this thought does come back to me – that’s just another can of worms. But I suppose we all decide what is appropriate – it is fluid after all.”

John says he loved his time at Shrewsbury. After Shrewsbury, John worked briefly as a carpenter then, in 1980, he went off on his own, working out of his parents’ single-car garage, trying to get commissions. 

“And that was very hard,” he says. “I was very naïve about it, really. It was hand-to-mouth as I recall.”

Zippo the Clown and his assistant Tommy. A prop John made in collaboration with Alfie Van Derplank in 1981 as a prop for a theater show for kids about energy.

In 1982, he got a commission from Winchester Cathedral, “which was quite something,” he says.

The piece was to be used as a stand for The Book of Remembrance in the Epiphany Chapel in the cathedral. John designed the piece within about three minutes of the meeting. The cathedral, he says, which was built from 1079 to 1532, is a mishmash of styles.

“I tried for a few days to find other designs, but the first one was the best. The cathedral has a stunning roof, and it’s got superb columns and mouldings. And I designed this piece as three columns, two in the front and one in the back, as a symbol of Calvary.”

The Book of Remembrance Stand, designed by John, 1982 to 1983. The silver gilt lettering was designed and made by P.C. (Phil) Craze.

The columns, made out of brown oak, are held together with laminated curves of soft maple designed to echo the ribs in the roof. John used Indian ink to gradate the stain of the rails from blue to purple and back again, carrying the colors of the chapel’s stained glass windows designed by Edward Burne-Jones with William Morris & Co.

John hoped more work would come from this commission than did. People did, however, start to ask him about restorations. 

“And I really didn’t want to do restoration work,” he says. “I hadn’t trained for it, I didn’t know a lot about it. But I did it. And as time went on, I got somewhat better at it. And I had help from two great guys, my friends Spike Knight and Johnny Gould. I started to understand color and texture, and surface. And that was a wonderful thing and that’s added to what I do. And that has come back again, to my interpretations of the Welsh chairs.”

In 1981, John had met Keith Rand, who trained as a cartographer, went on to art school then studied sculpture in Scotland. Keith made fine sculptures and occasionally chairs for a living, as well as teaching. Keith and John ended up becoming good friends and shared a workshop for a while; he was John’s best man at his wedding. John taught Keith about tools – how to sharpen them, how to work them – and Keith taught John how to better understand and explore form.

“For a while, we were embryonic chairmakers,” John says. “He worked from leaning seats onto chairs inspired by agricultural forms using tines. Then years later onto beautifully realized Windsors with very few components. They really worked so well. Mine were firmly in the country furniture mould, inspired by the yew-wood Windsors that I was often restoring. Keith was a great man to know and share with.”

In the early ’80s, John became interested in paint, particularly industrial paint. A friend, Phil Craze, an artist and inspiration, showed him the joy of coral and turquoise together. He partnered pigments and created stunning effects. He put the colors onto plywood and made simple, geometric objects. Phil had designed and made the silver gilt lettering for the Book of Remembrance stand John made for Winchester Cathedral.

Paint samples, Hammerite and cellulose, 1982-1983.

“One thing that did come from this commission was that Phil and I were invited to an aluminum anodizing plant to experiment with different effects using color and shape on the raw aluminum,” John says. “This was actually a lot of fun. We kept some of the work, and they kept some for their gallery.”

John tried to do craft fairs, selling things like mirrors made out of thin plywood, but he had trouble selling fine furniture or colorful things. He did, however, successfully sell a cricket table at a fair in the Guildhall Winchester. However, he made it as a joke. 

“I made a small top and then I had three legs coming out of it at odd angles and then an even smaller base so it was actually quite unstable,” he says. “I did the top blue like a sky and I did the legs white in ash and the base green. I got a turned piece of wood and I colored this up red so my cricket table was like the three stumps and a ball in a game of cricket. I made a couple of bales on the base that were knocked off so the guy was out. And it got me on the front page of the local paper. The headline was ‘John Bowls the Maiden Over.’ It was a play on words which in Britain people do a lot and I’ve always enjoyed. A ‘maiden over’ is six bowled balls with no runs made from any of them.”

Mirror frame photographed with the sky, soft maple, green copperas with Indian ink and enamel paint. John says Dexion industrial shelving served as inspiration. 1983.

In 1983, John’s father died, “which was as huge blow for me,” he says. “It was huge.” In his grief he carved a massive head, shaped liked a world, and painted it blue, with rockets going off all over it. 

“My mum said, ‘What are you doing that for?’ And I remember saying, ‘I have just got to do this,’” John says. 

Falling in Love in Paris, Making a Life in England, Moving to the States

In 1984, John went to France. Sue, an American who was in Paris studying art, was standing outside of a hotel on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. They talked. They fell in love. Eventually, John had to get back to England to make some more money. They planned to meet next outside the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy. The meeting spot was a lot bigger than they each realized, and they spent a lot of time walking around, looking for each other.

“When we finally bumped into each other I had my one small bag filled with clothes and she had massive amounts of luggage,” John says. “We traveled over northern Italy together, discarding bits of her luggage along the way.”

A simple table inspired by the massive oil platforms on the North Sea, 1985.
A flat-top table base John made during his first trip to the U.S. in 1985. Everything was purchased at a local hardwood store: plywood, yellow pine and maple dowels. The top looked like it wasn’t flat, but it was. John says he was inspired by military aircraft, “the wonder and the horror.”

John and Sue got married in 1987 and moved to Shrewsbury, England, where they lived for 20 years and had a daughter who is now 18.

“I never thought I’d have a child,” John says. “It’s like having a room opened, another room in your life, full of stuff you never realized. It’s an astonishing thing. It’s not really explainable.”

Davenport desk, early Regency design, 1988, commissioned.
A chair based on West Country forms, ash, colored with caustic soda (lye), 1988.
John built three of these chairs. This is the second one and he still owns the first. Yew with burr elm seat, 1988.
Welsh-inspired cricket table, burr elm and ash, 1989.
Windsor chair based on Michael Dunbar’s C-arm design, 1989.

Around this time John got into spoon carving. He liked the idea of creating things with small tools and bits of wood that he could carry around, a traveling workshop of a chisel, small axe and a couple of knives. He liked the simplicity. 

A spoon that John made in the Catskills. Hard maple, 2009.

“I think spoon carving is a fantastic thing for people to do and gain a better understanding of line and form,” he says. “I look at the spoons that people make today and some of the work is just lovely. Wonderful, wonderful things.”

John’s mother died in 2006.

“It was almost inconceivable that my mum died,” he says. “We were very close. She was always very encouraging about whatever I was doing. And she’d always like coming out to places with me and meeting different people. That was good.”

Welsh-inspired 10-stick chair, oak and ash, 2004. “I enjoy this one a lot,” John says.
Gothic-attempt chair, soft maple and yew from the owner’s estate. The chair is situated in Pontesford House, a regency mansion in Shropshire, England. The home’s arch gothic window inspired the back of the chair. “I’m glad I made it,” John says. “It is almost successful, like a lot of things in life.”

John and Sue decided to be nearer to her family so they moved to the U.S. in 2008. They lived in the Catskills for a year and then bought an 18th-century house with a red barn situated next to a picturesque stream in Spencertown, New York, near the Shaker Museum in Chatham. Sue loves to help John with advice on color. 

“There are a lot of great people here,” John says. “I’ve got a couple friends here who I wouldn’t agree with on very many things other than our friendship and our woodwork. They have completely different views from me but they’re great people. It’s an interesting thing to think of the different ways people see things. Celebrate the similarities and enjoy the differences, where possible.”

Photographs Spilling Out of a Book: How ‘The Belligerent Finisher’ Came to Be

John has done a lot of restoration over the years for well-known English and Welsh antique collectors and dealers, including Tim Bowen and Richard Bebb. Tim suggested John send pictures of his chairs to “a lad down here who likes stick chairs.” So, John did.

Nicholson plough plane, restored 2012. This restoration project launched John’s career as a tool restorer in the U.S.

“Many, many years later, I got a phone call completely out of the blue,” John says. “And it was Chris Williams. And he said, ‘Why all those years ago did you send me those pictures?’ And I said, ‘Because Tim Bowen told me you were interested in chairs and I just wanted to share them with you, reach out, for the camaraderie.’ And he stuck them in a book and completely forgot about them. And then many years later, Chris Schwarz came to see him. He was looking at a book and these pictures fell out. And they had a look at them. And that’s how Chris Schwarz heard about me, I think.”

Around the same time, Chris Williams heard about John again through Tim. Tim and Richard had separately been talking about restoration projects John had done and they couldn’t work out how John had done them.

And then the COVID-19 pandemic hit.

“I thought to myself, My god, this could be it,” John says. “We could die from this. I didn’t know what to expect or think. So I decided I’m going to go out and do stuff I really want to do that I put off that I couldn’t afford to do or that I didn’t think people wanted. So I made the chairs that are featured in the book. Starting with the black North Walian four stick chair, and I’m really glad I did that. It’s hard to make speculative stuff and run a business as well.”

John sent pictures of these chairs to Chris Williams who then sent them on to Christopher Schwarz. And that’s how “The Belligerent Finisher” was born.

“Some of them are good I think,” John says, when talking about his chairs. “I’m not vain but I know some of them are good. Because I’ve looked at a lot of stuff I’ve made that isn’t good. I’ve always felt that the only person I’m in competition with is me. I’m inspired by other people and occasionally disappointed by them. But I’m not in competition with them. To create, a person’s got to be honest with themselves, look at something they’ve done, assess it, praise it, destroy it even (this decision is often better slept on), whatever, but really be honest about it and walk away and move on and think about the next thing. You learn from what’s happened.”

Talking about the chairs he’s making now, John says: “They almost frighten me because they’re quite hard to do, to get the proportions together. They have to look right and be comfortable. You know, I think I’ve made two or three really comfortable chairs, ones that you want to sit in and just not move from and a lot that are OK and some that aren’t that good. I have to make all my chairs, regardless of what they look like, comfortable. And that’s not always an easy thing to do.”

John currently has chairs on order. He’s also working on restoring Cesar Chelor planes for a collector and, for another collector, he’s restoring a 1696 handsaw with the help of his friend Tom Curran. Also there’s a rare, small, Holtzapffel miter plane that needs attention. But what he most wants to do is build – and finish – chairs. John recalls one comment he saw in response to his book, from a professional finisher, who said, “When I saw this, I was initially appalled.”

John says, “I love that phrase. He was ‘initially appalled.’ The fact that I made someone initially appalled, I like! But I would also agree with him. He went on to say that now that he’s looked at the book, there are things he wants to try.”

While in the states during Covid, John thought a lot about the places he has loved throughout his life. In his head he’d re-walk the hills and lanes in Shropshire and mid-Wales, and spend imaginary time in the meadows around Winchester. 

“I would think about some of the things I have come across, seen and enjoyed,” he says. “I wanted to get that feeling, that flavor. I wanted to touch that. That’s really why I make those chairs.”

John says the finishing techniques he used on his chairs in the book and today are not an attempt to create fakes. 

“They’re not even copies of antiques,” he says. “They’re interpretations of ideas, ideas of how a chair and finish could be. And some of them are successful and some of them aren’t quite successful. I think the black one, the first one I did that seemed to flow through me, is very, very successful. I loved that. And the green one, the big green one. And there’s a red one on the next page that’s very good. And there are some good effects on the others. I try to get an effect like grading color, like when you see a sky in the evening and it’s changing. That is in my mind, as well as the look of worn furniture surfaces. You see that a lot in England during October and November. The light and the color and the amount of water in the atmosphere. The color and the sharpness— but also the mystery. I’m trying to get that. I’m trying to get a good depth of color. I’m trying to get texture, with the wood having refraction and depth. 

“I just wanted to find something to do,” he says. “That was really important to me. I wanted to find something that had value. And I think I found it. I don’t think I’ve always worked on it. I think I spent a lot of time paying bills. But now I want to pay bills with these chairs.

“Enthusiasm and encouragement. The following was said to me by a woman at a show in Upstate New York, and it still makes me smile and laugh. She sat in the North Walian four stick chair with a worn finish, looked up and said: Harmony for my cheeks. I said, That’s it.”

— Kara Gebhart Uhl