Students from our first scholarship class with The Chairmaker’s Toolbox.
This fall, Megan and I are each teaching scholarship classes for The Chairmaker’s Toolbox, which offers free training for people who have been historically excluded from the trade.
I’m teaching a stick chair class Sept. 16-20. And Megan is teaching a Dutch tool chest class Oct. 11-13. Megan and I both volunteer our time and the workshop here for the classes. We also cover the students’ materials, plus breakfast and lunch during the class.
For that last few years, readers have asked to donate to help cover the materials and the food for these scholarship classes. If you would like to help out, you can send a donation via this link. Any amount helps. (Please note a donation is not tax deductible. We are not a charity or nonprofit.)
If we collect more money than we need, every penny gets donated to The Chairmaker’s Toolbox to help fund its expenses. We do not make any money off these classes.
Thanks to everyone who has donated in the past. Many of our students from these classes have gone on to teach chairmaking to others or have launched their own businesses. (In other words, it’s working!)
Here’s the link again (because they tell me we are supposed to do that).
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. Don’t bother leaving a comment that craps on the program or us. No one will ever see it. At Lost Art Press, we help anyone who wants to enter the craft. We teach scholarship classes (and donate money) for need-based students, students who have been historically excluded and those who serve (such as our military). Don’t get ugly about something beautiful.
Saint Jerome in His Study, by Colantonio, c.1445-1446, from the collection of Museo di Capodimonte, Napoli.
Scholars, translators, transcribers and writers have always needed to have multiple books and other resources within easy reach. Illustrated manuscripts give us a good look at how medieval scribes stored and arranged their often large and hefty books.
In the image above, Saint Jerome, identified by the halo, red galero and the lion with a thorn in its paw, is viewed in his study. The shelf above his desk, and the large open shelves surrounding his desk, are cluttered with books as Jerome works on translating the Bible into Latin. The nails on the side of the desk reveal it is of boarded construction, while joinery on the small chest (with Jerome’s red galero atop) is frame and panel.
An image drawn and painted over 700 years earlier gives us a different arrangement.
Codex Amiatinus or Codex Jarrow, completed before 716 in Northumbria, England. Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Amiatino 1.
The Prophet Ezra, a scribe and priest, is illustrated in the Codex Aniatinus, the earliest and most accurate copy of Saint Jerome’s translation of the Latin Bible. He sits in front of a cupboard with a pediment and frame-and-panel double doors. The left-side door has an astragal fashioned into the shape of a column. The frame above and below the doors is carved (or painted) with decorative shapes and symbols. The cupboard resembles a temple, as is appropriate, for within, the shelves hold a Bible in nine bound volumes. Ezra works with his book propped on his lap and seems to have consigned his writing slope to be a footrest.
According to the Library of Congress this “illumination is among the oldest images in the Western world to show a bookcase and the bindings of books.” The codex is also huge. It has 1,030 folios and measures approximately 505 mm by 340 mm (19.9 in. x 13.4 in.) and weighs 34 kg (almost 75 lb.).
The codex was made in Northumbria, England, and was to be a gift to Pope Gregory. Ceolfrid, a Benedictine monk, was in Italy on his way to Rome when he died in 716 (hence the date of before 716). A further note is the codex was one of three copies of the Bible made in Northumbria, but the only copy to survive.
Why Were Books Stored Flat?
Titles of books written on the fore edge and foot edge of books.
Although many medieval books written on thick parchment or vellum and often bound in leather could possibly stand on end, titles were not put on the spine until the 16th century. There was also no standardization of book sizes. Some books were small enough to fit in one hand, while others were so large and heavy it took two people to lift one. As a result, books were placed flat, often with the spine turned inwards. The title might be handwritten on the fore edge or foot edge. Alternatively, the title could be written on the cover.
Boethius turns the pages of a book in Der Renner, last quarter of 15th century, Austria, Morgan Library, MS M. 763, f.195r.
Boethius, in his rather spare accommodations, allows us to see that all the books on his bookshelves have titles on the cover. The titles of the books on the lower shelf are “Musica” and “Arithmetrica.”
Roman de Troie (Romance of Troy), c.1340-1350 by Benoît de Sainte-Maure, Paris, BnF, MS Français 782, f.2v.
In this opening scene of the “Romance of Troy,” the manuscript’s author has imagined the moment when Cornelius Nepos, a Roman biographer, discovers the history of Troy as written by Dares the Phygian. This generous cupboard has sturdy shelves and – not bifold – but tri-fold doors and stands below a small vault that looks to be recessed into the wall. The vault is presumably for the most precious or controversial books.
The appearance of bifold doors in medieval manuscripts makes sense. Books were valuable and needed to be secured in cupboards and scholars and scribes worked in small and cramped spaces. The bifold door with its small footprint was the solution, in fact, it was a very old solution.
Bifold doors were found in ancient Egyptian tombs and have been found in Herculaneum.
Examples of bifold doors, both are dated 1st century CE and from Herculaneum. Top: Fresco of the Shoemakers, from The House of the Stags. Bottom: A small household shrine sealed and carbonized by pyroclastic covering, House of the Wooden Shrine.
The dimensions of the household shrine are 163 cm x 73 cm (64.2 in x 28.7 in). It has all the construction details one would expect in a full-sized cupboard. The Romans used metal for door hinges, as well as bone and ivory. The shrine hinges are an example of bone or ivory.
These types of doors are also described in the temple built by King Solomon in 1 Kings 6:31 and 33.
“For the entrance of the inner sanctuary he made doors of olive wood with five-sided jambs.”
“In the same way he made four-sided jambs of olive wood for the entrance to the main hall.”
A Roundabout Device for More Clunky Books
Left: Cornificia in a Flemish translation of “Le Livre de la Cité des Dames,” c.1475, Bruges, British Library, Add. MS 20698, f.70r. Right: Saint Proba reading at her desk, 1497, Italy, Bodleian Library, Douce 287, f.5v.
On the left, Cornificia, Roman poet and writer of epigrams is unhappy. She needs more books, but her desk is too small. The bookcase is almost full and the wall shelf holds only one measly book. Proba, on the right, also a poet, also has limited work space. She suggests a rotating book holder might be the solution.
“Somnium Scipionis with Macrobius’ Commentary,” 1383, Bologna, Bodleian Library, Canon. Class. Lat. 257, f.002r.
Marcus Tullius Macrobius takes a short break from his commentary on Cicero’s “The Dream of Scipio” to agree with Proba. He suggests a book carousel will double your poetic output.
The book carousel was, and still is, an efficient tool on which to prop, and refer to, multiple open books. It can be a desktop tool and has also been configured as a stand-alone piece.
Left: Saint Luke mending a quill in The Dunois Hours, c.1440-1450, Paris, British Library, Yates Thompson 3, f.15v. Right: Saint Luke, Book of Hours, c.1410-1420, Paris, British Library, Yates Thompson 46, f.14v.
On the left, Saint Luke pauses his writing to mend his quill pen. His study is crowded with a bookcase,desk and a roomy and ornate hexagonal book carousel. On the right, Saint Luke has a double-decker carousel with the possibility of raising the height for improved reading ergonomics.
Left: Benvenuto da Imola commenting on The Divine Comedy, beginning of 15th century, Italy, Bodleian Library, MS Canon. Ital 107, f.001r. Right: Saint Luke, Bedford Hours, c.1414-1423, Paris, British Library, Add. 18850, f.20r.
Benvenuto da Imola and Saint Luke also benefited from the innovative swing-arm carousel. On the left, Benvenuto, nestled in his own private letter, pauses a moment in his contemplation of Dante’s “Divine Comedy.” He has a revolving carousel that he can swing forward as needed. Saint Luke, on the right, has a swing-arm lantern, a really clever addition to a carousel and a clear precursor to today’s task lighting.
The Whole Enchilada
The scribe at work, c.1320-1340, Cambrai, Bibliothéque municipale, 620 (572), f.001.
This scribe, responsible for the manuscript in which he appears, sits ensconced behind his desk. In easy reach are a book cupboard (with bifold doors) and a double-decker carousel. Get a load of the wide book bench with three locking compartments. In his rich and fur-lined garments he mocks us (perhaps that’s just me) with his plethora of book storage. It would serve him right if, despite such bookish ostentation, there is no door behind the blue curtain and he is stuck in this panel of his own making.
What About the Rest of the World?
Many things were underway in other parts of the world. For instance, China invented paper with a full documentation of the papermaking process appearing around 105 CE. Papermaking techniques began in Vietnam in the 3rd century, spread to Korea in the 4th century and on to Japan in the 5th century.
Documents and books moved from handwritten to printing with woodblocks. Printing with moveable wooden type was developed in China around 1040. The printing of the first books with moveable metal type occurred in Korea in 1234.
Although the first 13th-century books printed in Korea with moveable metal have not survived, there is one portion of a 14th-century book that did. “Jikji” is a Buddhist text printed in 1377 and is the earliest extant book printed using this new technology. This treasure is in residence at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France.
Stitch-bound books in China, Korea, Vietnam and Japan had paper covers with the title written on the cover, or a label with the title was affixed to the cover. Similar to the European practice, the title might also be written on the fore or foot edge.
The cover of “Jikji,” earliest extant book printed with moveable metal type, pages from the book and the title written on the foot edge, 1377, Cheongju, now South Korea, collection of BnF, Coreen 109.
Books did not have rigid spines and were placed flat in open shelving. An example can be seen in this chaekgeori, or scholar’s screen, from Korea.
Chaekgeori (books and things) eight-panel screen painted by Yi Eungrok, c.1860-1874, Korea, collection of The Asian Art Museum, San Francisco.
It was painted by the artist Yi Eungrok and is dated 1860-1874. Chaekgeori translates as “books and things.” The things are items, such as vases, flowers, fruit and the scholar’s writing implements. King Jeonjo (reigned 1776-1800) is credited with the introduction of these screens. When his screen was introduced, court officials thought they were looking at real bookshelves.
The Abbasid Library, 1237, Baghdad, illustrated by Yahya al-Wâsitî, école de Baghdad, Paris, BnF, MS Arabe 5847, f.5.
In the 8th century in Baghdad, paper began replacing parchment for administrative documents. The Grand Library shows a similar arrangement to the open and evenly spaced bookshelves in Asia.
Before heading back to Europe, it should be noted one other very important paper item came about when the Chinese invented paper: toilet paper.
The Book Carousel Grows Up
In 1588 Capitano Agostino Ramelli had an idea for a book carousel. In his description of the device he wrote, “…it is very useful and convenient for study, especially for those ill-disposed…because with this type of machine a man can read a large quantity of books without moving from one place.”
Figure CLXXXV111 (188) from “Le Diverse et Artifiose Machine de Capitano Agostino Ramelli,” 1588.
Ramelli’s bookwheel had epicyclic gears, with one gear rotating around another, such that the shelves holding the books are held at a constant 45° angle.
Of course, smaller bookwheels, perhaps inspired by Ramelli’s idea, were made and used in libraries and they have their own kind of elegance.
Much smaller. Left: Bibliotheca Thysiana in Leiden, Netherlands, 1650. Right: Biblioteca Palafoxiana, Pueblo, Mexico, 1773.
Ramelli’s bookwheel did not stay on the pages of his book. The bookwheel and two other learning machines were made for Daniel Libeskin’s exhibit at the 1985 Venice Architecture Biennale.
The program (top-left) and photos of The Reading Machine (based on Ramelli’s 1588 design) for the 1985 Venice Architecture Bienniale.
The link below provides a few more details about the bookwheel’s construction, difficulties encountered in Venice and what happened to the device after the Biennale.
The Robbins Library at the University of Rochester (New York), a non-circulating medieval studies library, has a Ramelli bookwheel. In 2018, the bookwheel was a collaboration between the librarians and four engineering students from the Rochester Institute of Technology. Turning the wheel is described as “an invigorating experience, both physically and intellectually.” The students made a second wheel for the Cary Collection, a graphic arts collection, at RIT.
However you organize your books (alphabetical by author, by subject, by research project, or the I- know-where-everything-is method), Charles Dickens said it best, “We never tire of the friendships we form with books.” Treat them well.
Traditional shop in miniature. This workbench scene, owned by tool collector John Sindelar, shows a complete, functioning shop. But what if you don’t own a bench?
The following is excerpted from “The Anarchist’s Workbench,” by Christopher Schwarz. The book is – on the one hand – a detailed plan for a simple workbench that can be built using construction lumber and basic woodworking tools. But it’s also the story of Schwarz’s 20-year journey researching, building and refining historical workbenches until there was nothing left to improve.
Along the way, Schwarz quits his corporate job, builds a publishing company founded on the principles of mutualism and moves into an 1896 German barroom in a red-light district, where he now builds furniture, publishes books and tries to live as an aesthetic anarchist. Oh – and the PDF of the book is free (see the first sentence at this link.)
There’s only one reason that the cheap-o workbench industry exists. And that’s because people think they need a workbench to build a workbench (or are truly delusional and think it will be fine for furniture making).
So many woodworkers I’ve met have spent $200 to $500 on a bench that isn’t worth the BTUs to burn. The things wobble like a broken finger. The vises hold like the handshake of a creepy vacuum salesman. They are too lightweight for even mild planing tasks.
You don’t need one of these benches to someday construct a “real” bench. In fact, I build benches all the time without the assistance of a workbench. It’s easy. Start with sawhorses. Glue up the benchtop on the sawhorses. Sawhorses + benchtop = ersatz bench. Now build the workbench’s base on top of that ersatz bench. Put the base and the benchtop together. You’re done.
If you want a temporary workbench until you build a “real” workbench, there are ways to get the job done with just a little money and a little frustration. This brief chapter seeks to give you some options. I know that some of you will insist on buying something as soon as you anoint yourself a woodworker. It’s an instinct we’re trained into as consumers. Here are a few things to put in your shopping cart instead of a cheap workbench:
Buy an industrial steel packing table with a hardwood top. You can get these from many, many suppliers (McMaster-Carr is one). These feature a heavy welded steel base and a wooden top that’s maple, if you’re lucky. These metal tables don’t rack like a cheap workbench and cost less (way less if you find a used one). You can screw thin pieces of wood to the top as planing stops so you can plane the faces of boards and legs and the like. And get a large handscrew clamp to stabilize boards when planing them on edge. These packing tables don’t come with any vises, of course, but you can fix that with your credit card.
Buy a couple bar clamps (you’ll need clamps no matter what) that are long enough to span the width of the top of the packing table. Screw a 4×4 below the benchtop right at the front edge of the top – this will allow you to clamp your work to the front edge of the benchtop so you can work on boards’ edges and ends.
That’s one solution. How about a simpler approach?
Use your kitchen cabinets, kitchen table or dining table as the workbench. You can clamp planing stops to the tabletop (you’ll need a couple F-style clamps for this). Don’t forget to buy a large handscrew clamp to help stabilize boards when planing them on edge on the tabletop.
For working on edges and ends of boards, buy a commercial Moxon vise, which you can clamp to any tabletop or countertop. This vise will let you work on the edges and ends of boards. Even after you build a “real” workbench, you’ll continue to use the Moxon and the handscrews.
Is that still too much money? Do you have a public park nearby?
Use a picnic table. Drive nails or screws into the top to serve as planing stops. With a picnic table you get both high and low working surfaces. You can drive some nails into the picnic table’s benches to act as a planing stop and use them like a Roman workbench.
Buy a couple big handscrew clamps (every woodworker needs these anyway). Clamp or screw these handscrews to the picnic table so they work like vises so you can work on boards’ edges or ends.
Here are other time-honored solutions I have observed in the wild.
Take four pieces of 3/4″ x 24″ x 96″ CDX cheap-o plywood and screw them together face to face to make a 3″-thick benchtop. Screw this benchtop to a used metal desk. The old metal desks that populated schools, warehouses and government offices are ugly, cheap and widely available. They are almost all 30″ high. Add a 3″-thick benchtop and you are in the right height range for most Americans. Some of these desks have MDF desktops. Some have sheet metal tops. Either way, you can screw your plywood benchtop to the desk. Bonus: The drawers give you tool storage. Add workholding as above.
Conscript an old dresser/bureau. This is a three- or four-drawer cabinet for storing clothes. One 19th-century book I read showed how to turn this into a workbench. Attach planing stops to the top of the bureau/dresser. For sawing, keep it simple – use 5-gallon buckets as sawbenches (thanks for that tip, Mike Siemsen). You also could clamp a Moxon vise to the top. The lower drawers are for storing tools. The upper drawer can catch sawdust (not my idea – it was mentioned in the book).
The Apocalypse Workbench When I teach or demonstrate woodworking on the road, the venue is occasionally luxurious and other times it’s more like “Lord of the Flies.” I’ve showed up at woodworking clubs where the workbench on offer was a folding table with metal legs and a particleboard top.
After years of encountering this problem, I learned to travel with an emergency kit of things that allowed me to work without bursting into sweat and tears in front of an audience. Here’s the kit:
Two large handscrews
Two 36″ bar clamps
Two F-style clamps (usually with 12″ bars)
Thin strips of plywood, usually 3″ x 24″ and in two thicknesses: 1/4″ and 1/2″
Small clamping pads of scrap plywood, to prevent denting my work when I pinch it
A few softwood shims
A couple simple bench hooks for sawing.
This kit has converted many desks and tables into somewhat-functioning workbenches. The handscrews and bar clamps act as face vises. The plywood scraps can be made into planing stops for planing with the grain or across it. And the F-style clamps can clamp my work – or other clamps – to the tabletop.
To be sure, I’m always happy to return home to my workbench. But until I find a way to fit it in an airplane’s overhead compartment, this kit has become a way that I can work almost anywhere.
Chris’s photo from his current class in Munich, Germany.
I woke to a text this morning from Chris: “Found this tip for making our carving vises lower.” (See above.)
“Put the base on the underside. Works great. Might be helpful for you.”
Even though he’s off teaching in Germany, he’s still looking for ways to improve our shop here in Covington.
It’s no secret that I’m the most vertically challenged person in the shop (with Megan just a few inches taller). Megan’s two benches are 30″ high; the other six are 33″ and 34″ – and because I want the larger surface and good window light of the Holtzapffel (34″ high), this forces me to finagle myself into some awkward positions when performing certain tasks.
When building my first chair with Chris, I had block planed only half of my first long stick against Chris’s carver’s vise before my shoulder nearly gave out. Chris quickly corrected this by bringing the low Roman bench into the shop from the back room. Using my body weight, I propped the long stick against the Hulot block with my chest to plane. Instant relief.
So needless to say, I was elated to wake up to this little spark of ergonomic hope from Chris. I was eager to give it a go.
I mounted the carver’s vise to my bench. First with the base on top, in its typical location. Then with the base underneath. I measured the height of the base beforehand out of curiosity. 1-3/8″. Could it really make that big a difference?
Block planing a short stick with the vise base in its usual location on top of the bench.
Block planing the same stick against the vise, this time with the base located underneath the bench.
Now the difference in the photos may not look dramatic to you, but I truly could feel a difference. The ability to lower my hands nearly 2″ allowed my shoulders to relax. This immediately relieved tension and allowed my arm muscles do most of the work.
I also noticed the stick’s placement against my body. With the base located underneath the bench, the stick was able to sit lower on my chest, nearly against my belly. Lowering the stick’s gravity and having the stick land in an area that has more cushion than my sternum was more comfortable overall.
I know what you’re thinking and sure, this trick may not be the be-all and end-all solution to short-person-on-tall-bench carver’s vise issues. But I think this is a great start. My shoulders will be thanking me for this technique after planing seven long sticks.
Note the vise handle on the right making contact with the bench.
There is one problem with this arrangement, however. Because the vise is flush with the benchtop, the handle used to tighten the jaws bumps into the bench. You have to have the handle hanging fully off the edge, which limits the vise position.
All in all, though, I’m pleased with this simple modification. I plan to keep my vise in this position while working to continue feeling it out and work out any kinks along the way. What do my fellow shorties think?
When Chris Williams was visiting from Wales, he extolled the virtues of “drawing salve” – an ointment that pulls splinters out of one’s hand or what have you. And I’ve heard the same praise from other friends from across the Atlantic – the stuff is certainly more popular there than here. So what is this stuff, and does it actually work?
Christopher Schwarz bought some, got himself a splinter (possibly on purpose?) to find out. He reports that it did indeed help to express the bit of wood that was lodged too far beneath his skin to remove it with tweezers. What I don‘t know is how long it took for that to happen – and might it have happened in the same time span without the salve application?
We also don’t know is if there is any scientific proof that this stuff works, so we asked our friendly medical expert, Dr. Jeffrey Hill, to weigh in. He’s the author of “Workshop Wound Care,” an emergency room physician and an avid woodworker (and gardener). I’m sure he’s had plenty of his own splinters (almost certainly not on purpose), and removed more splinters from others than most of the people reading this. Below are his thoughts on drawing salve.
The term “drawing salve” somehow conjures impressions of both comfort and trepidation. Is it a soothing medicinal ointment that has been healing boo-boos since the times of Galen and Hippocrates, and is still around due to centuries of successfully treated patients? Or is it snake oil, still around because someone can make a buck or two off it? As with most things in life, the answer is probably: it depends.
A good first question might be: why is an article on medicinal ointments showing up in a woodworking blog? Well, working with sharp objects, we all tend to get nicks, scratches, and – often most maddeningly – splinters that seem to only get more painful as time goes on. In my book, “Workshop Wound Care,” I cover approaches to removing splinters. The basic approach is to first determine the direction in which the splinter fragment is oriented, take some sharp, pointed tweezers, grasp firmly, and pull with axial traction (pull in the direction the splinter is oriented).
Push the splinter in the same direction it traveled in, and there isn’t additional pain. Push it in the opposite direction, and you’ll feel it.
An 18-gauge needle can be used to enlarge the splinter opening. Then use tweezers to pull it out in the correct direction.
If this is successful, and the splinter is wholly removed, you’re likely in great shape. Just wash the wound, maybe cover it with a bandage, and move on with your day. If, however, some tiny bit of the splinter remains (maybe it was too small to grasp initially or it broke off under the skin surface), you might be in for a painful couple of days as your body reacts to the foreign invader that breached the protective shield of your skin. In response to the splinter, your body sends inflammatory cells to the site to try to wall it off and kill any bacteria or fungi that might have hitched a ride on the piece of oak.
If all goes well, the inflammatory cells stream in and destroy any bacteria and fungi. The splinter is, however, far too big for a macrophage’s mouth, so the body and this inflammatory process will slowly push the splinter out past the skin. If things don’t go well, the bacteria win the day, besting the inflammatory response, and forming an abscess (perhaps more commonly known as a boil) around the splinter that will eventually need to be incised and drained. Whether things go well or poorly, the inflammatory process a splinter causes is a painful one.
Enter the drawing salve.
Drawing salves (and salves in general) are not one monolithic thing. They are, at their base, an ointment (a thick viscous liquid) often supplemented with chemicals with varying degrees of real or purported medical benefits. One should use appropriate caution and reason in interpreting the stated medical benefits of these preparations. Because these salves often get classified as cosmetic products, they may not undergo the rigorous testing or standards required of medications (in the eyes of the Food and Drug Administration). The FDA, in fact, specifically cautionsagainst salves with potentially corrosive ingredients (graphic images warning at that link) or salves that claim to be able to treat or cure skin cancer, moles, warts or boils. Even salve preparations containing known medical benefits (such as the ichthammol discussed below) should be used with caution and careful attention to how your body is responding. Should your symptoms of pain and redness worsen, or should you develop fever, pus draining from the wound or streaking redness from the wound, you should, of course, seek the care of a medical professional.
The 10-percent ichthammol salve is the one Chris tried.
Ichthammol, or ammonium bituminosulfate, a common ingredient in drawing salve preparations, is derived from sulfur-rich shale oil and has theorized antibacterial, antifungal and anti-inflammatory properties. It has a weak recommendation by expert consensus for the treatment of the terrible skin condition Hidradenitis Suppurativa (subtext here is that this means there’s no good evidence of its benefit, but smart people suggest it, so we sometimes do it). There’s no direct evidence that it would help get a splinter out of your body more quickly. However, its inclusion in a drawing salve makes sense from a pathophysiological standpoint. It has a sticky, thick consistency ideal for inclusion in an ointment where the goal is to hydrate and soften the skin. Its likely antibacterial, antifungal and anti-inflammatory effects might lessen the pain associated with the process of expelling the splinter from the body and may lend a hand in the eternal battle of the human immune system vs. bacteria. If the skin is soft and hydrated, it should be easier for the body to push out the tiny splinter fragment. And, if the inflammatory response (which is often overly robust) is held slightly in check, it should lessen the pain associated with having a sliver of oak under your skin.
So what’s the verdict on drawing salves? Are they snake oil or helpful, healing ointments? Should you slap them on every splinter you have and save yourself the pain that comes with pulling one out with a sharp pair of tweezers? They may have a benefit for those splinters too small to pull out, or those splinters that fracture and stay under the surface of the skin as you try to pull them free. In general, the best course of action is to get the splinter out as soon as possible, but if you can’t, a drawing salve (like ones that contain ichthammol) might help the body rid you of the splinter (and probably will make the process less painful).
This one smells nice. I might try it on my cuticles (the lid says its good for dry skin).
