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Linseed Oil Paint Notes (to Date)

Posted on by fitz
On the left are shades of blue (surprise!) from Heron Linseed Oil Paint. Stacked in the center are two shades from Allbäck Paint. The small bottle is “blown” linseed oil from Heron; the large bottle is “purified” linseed oil from Heron. At back is the naughty stuff: odorless mineral spirits.

Chris and I have been experimenting with linseed oil paint for about a year now, since he started working on his next book, “The American Peasant,” and we’ve both painted a lot of wooden stuff with it – from large flat surfaces on chests to fiddly roundish bits on stick chairs to decorative curves and pointy things. We’ve used it on ring-porous woods including oak, ash and elm (looks great; it is a pain in the posterior, like all paints on ring-porous woods) and closed-pore woods such as poplar, linden and white pine (looks great, easy to apply). We have not used it on other material, but I’ve read that it will stick to many other building materials (plaster, metal, masonry and more). I’ve even read claims that it will stick to anything. But I know for a fact only that it sticks to wood (and fabric).

What we have not done is tried every color, brand or brush available. And, all of the stuff we’ve painted is indoor stuff. We have no personal experience with this paint on exterior work…though I am hoping to have some in the near future, if I can find someone to use it on my house for less than the going rate for a kidney*.

A hand detail of a red oak stick chair with one brushed coat (plus a few touch-ups) of Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Holkham Green.

This is what we know, thus far.

Most linseed oil paint is made from raw linseed oil and ground natural pigments – no added binders, driers, solvent or synthetic emulsifiers – so it’s far more environmentally friendly than most hardware store paints. (Milk paint is also environmentally friendly – my hardware store doesn’t carry it or linseed oil paint.)

Linseed oil paint is more expensive than latex, acrylic or milk paint (the other paints we know well). However, it takes fewer coats for full coverage – so penny for penny, it ends up not so expensive after all (plus it takes less of your active time – and no sanding! – if you’re including the human factor in your price calculations). Depending on the wood, we have found that it takes one coat (closed-pore woods) or one coat plus a touch-up here and there (ring-porous woods) for coverage that fully colors the surface and allows the grain to show through (which is what we want). Neither of us has had to apply two full coats to achieve our desired coverage – though if you want to cover the grain a second coat will do it, in our experience. (The hanging cupboard that is now the Anthe bathroom cupboard has two full coats of paint only because Chris decided he didn’t like the green of the first coat on that project, so it’s topped with one coat of blue – and on that piece, the grain no longer shows through. NB: He likes the green, just not on that project. He’s a mystery.)

Spell carvings in linden, that were painted (with a 4″ shed-resistant woven 1/4″ nap roller) with Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Old Blue.

Linseed oil paint is a lot thicker than any other paint we use, and with a good (or at least decent brush), a lot will remain in the bristles, and you should “draw it out” quite a ways from the initial strokes. That is, deposit the paint from the brush onto the project, and make long strokes, pulling the paint with as you go, then go back to the original deposit of paint and draw it out again, overlapping the first stroke. I don’t have to dip the brush back in the paint as often as I do with latex, acrylic or milk paint. But because of its low viscosity, you might find the linseed oil paint more difficult to use at first – or at least different than what you’re used to. Be sure to draw it out a lot and not leave it too thick, or it will drip and/or sag as it dries (and take longer than it ought to dry). It’s kind of like spreading a crumb coat on a cake – you want full coverage, but nothing extra.

Some instructions say to wipe on a coat of washed linseed oil and let it dry before painting, others say to use the paint on bare wood. We’ve done both, and both have worked for us. For what it’s worth, I am now a convert to a base coat of linseed oil. It makes it easier to draw out the paint (much like a second coat of most brushed finishes are easier to apply than the first coat).

At left are very nice brushes given to me by Mattias Hallin, made by Gnesta Penseln. The ones on the right are more readily available: Wooster “Yachtsman.” Both kinds have natural-bristle brushes.

I’ve tried out a number of brushes, and Mattias Hallin, a long-time user of linseed oil paint, says his favorite are the Gnesta Penselns shown above. Hardware store brushes that are decent are the Wooster Yachtsmans. I think you can see from the picture, though, that the brushes on the left will hold a heavier paint load. However…then you have to clean them; they’re too nice to toss. (More on that at the bottom.) Travis at Heron paint recommended to me Escoda Natural Chungking Bristle Brushes, but I’ve not yet tried them (also too expensive to not wash!).

Most of the instructions I’ve read say to use the paint as it comes…but we’re good at disobeying. To make it a little easier to draw out and to make it lay out better with less effort – that is, dry without brush marks (without having to “tip off”) – we sometimes add about 10 percent low-odor mineral spirits and mix it (yes…this makes it less environmentally friendly – and I would not dilute it for exterior work). I cannot stress enough to mix it well…whether or not you add mineral spirits (or turpentine, which the owner of Heron Paint said he uses when he needs to thin the paint a bit). The pigment settles fairly quickly, and you want it to be evenly suspended in the mixture. So, I have made friends with every hardware and paint store between my house and the shop; they are kind enough to shake up the paint as needed in their fancy paint shaker machines. I try not to abuse the privilege…which is why I spread my mixing asks among four locations. (I want a fancy paint shaker machine for our shop – preferably the old kind that clamps top and bottom, and runs the risk of spraying paint everywhere should the top come off the can. The newfangled fully contained ones are no fun – not enough risk. Plus they’re a lot more expensive.)

The poplar top of this stool is painted with one coat in a custom shade of full-test linseed oil paint from Heron Paints. I shook this can by hand, since I was confident it hadn’t been sitting on a shelf for weeks/months/years.

Linseed oil paint takes a lot longer to dry than any other paint we use. So while it takes only one coat, or one coat and some spot touch-ups (either while the first coat is still wet enough to easily work, or after it’s completely dry), it will be dry to the touch after about 24 hours at average room temperature and low to mild humidity – and even then, there will still be some areas where it might have been applied a little too thickly that will transfer to the white shirt you shouldn’t have worn while leaning up against it. We have found it takes two or three days to completely dry (longer in cold and/or humid conditions) to the point where it’s “carveable” without making a small mess (in case you, too, are covering your work in spells). If you have curious pets or curious kids, keep them away from the work for a while. And you do need to be mindful of kicking up dust around a freshly painted piece for 24 or so hours, as it can stick to the wet paint. You can speed up the drying by exposing the work to UV light – but do not put it in direct sunlight to dry (that resulted in a pimply surface when we tried it). Update: This might be due to the thinner; the full-strength stuff dries just fine in the sun, I’m told by several log-time users.


Here, I’m painting an elm coat rack in a custom shade of linseed oil paint from Heron Paints (a close match to Benjamin Moore 2060-30). First, I wiped on a coat of washed linseed oil (as recommended by the paint maker) and let it dry overnight. I then poured some of the paint into a Mason jar, added a splash of low-odor mineral spirits and shook it up by hand for maybe 10 minutes. It was easier to brush than the non-diluted paint I used on the stool, but the color is not as saturated on the surface (that is, more of the wood is showing through, and it will need a touch up in a few places. But also, elm is a ring-porous wood, and doesn’t take paint as well as the poplar. So there are a lot of variables going on. Whatever. We’re happy with the way it looks, and that’s the goal.

About the “easily work” I mentioned above: I’ve found I have about two hours in which I can manipulate the fresh paint and still have it lay out flat as it dries. Any longer, and it’s already dry enough that the brush marks remain where I’ve gone back and retouched an area.

Here, Wally is showing the contrast between velvety black and Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Antique Gold (Chris carved through it after it was dry). I added a topcoat of washed linseed oil, which added a little depth to the sheen, and added a bit of protection to the carved (and thus de-painted) areas.

More coats of paint will make the finished item shinier – so if you like shiny (we prefer no more than a soft sheen), consider more than one coat. After the piece is completely dry, you can add a topcoat to adjust the sheen a bit to your liking, and to blend areas where the paint looks more flat and/or more shiny (which I think might be a result of adding mineral spirits…though I haven’t yet done enough “experiments” to back up that statement). We use soft wax or simply a coat of washed linseed oil.

Allbäck Linseed Oil Paint in Old Red (with spells added afterward, obviously), with a topcoat of purified linseed oil.

So what is this “washed” or “refined” or “purified” linseed oil? It’s a purified version of raw linseed oil, and all we know for sure is that it is lighter in weight, lighter in color (and so results in less yellowing) and dries faster than plain ol’ raw linseed oil. There is also “blown” linseed oil, which is another method of purification that involves air, and is even lighter in weight and dries faster still. We hope to have expert information on these processes in the future, and more experience with the various purified/cleaned/washed/blown/magically delicious versions of the stuff. But for now, we can tell you that “purified” dries faster and yellows less.

What about cleanup? Well…here’s where my argument for using this paint falls apart (a little bit). Linseed oil soap is what everyone says to use for cleanup. And it works. But it does not work quickly or easily. I cleaned one brush and it took three intense rounds of soaping, combing and rinsing…and I still wouldn’t call that brush perfectly clean. I’ve read that the easy solution is to simply suspend the brush in linseed oil, and it remains at the ready for the next use! OK…but the number of blues I have alone…I don’t have room for suspending five brushes, and I have cats. So I use the relatively cheap Yachtsman brushes, and throw them away. (Yes, in this I am a bad person.) And because it’s linseed oil, I let the brush dry hard before putting it in the trash (ditto on any rags I’ve used).

So when would I use linseed oil paint vs. acrylic (faux milk paint) vs. actual milk paint? Well, they all result in different looks, so that’s my first consideration.

Linseed oil paint gives it an old-world look, and, after a topcoat of oil, has a low sheen that I like. And it “feels” like the right choice for any project of Scandinavian or Eastern European origin (but that’s probably because we started using it on American Peasant projects). I have yet to try it on a tool chest – and won’t offer it for commission chest builds until I’ve road-tested it (which I will do soon). Plus it’s harder to clean up afterward…so I have to be a lot more careful when using it than I do with “milk paint” or milk paint. That would be factored into the finishing cost (along with the one-use paint brush). But I’d use it on a personal project for which I had ample dry time during which I could keep any cats away (two scenarios that almost never coincide!).

General Finishes “Milk Paint” is my long-time favorite for ease of use, price and cleanup. It dries with an almost-flat finish, cleans up with water, goes on easily, lays out nicely, dries quickly and typically takes two coats. And because it dries quickly, I can recoat late in the day if my first coat was early that morning. Plus it needs no topcoat – so two coats and done, then easy cleanup. I can apply it with a cheap chip brush and toss it, or use then easily clean one of my long-beloved Purdys. (Sherwin-Williams bought Purdy in 2004 – I don’t remember exactly when the brushes changed, but change they did. I haven’t liked any I’ve bought since.) However, last year, General Finishes severely curtailed the color choices, and got rid of my two favorites, Twilight and Blue Moon. (Yes, I know I sound like the old fart that I am.) And no local paint store carries it – so I’d have to buy it one place, then pay another for the privilege of mixing it to a custom color. Boo. (And that’s high on the reasons why I’m planning a road test soon on the linseed oil paint.)

Actual milk paint is a lot of fun to use. But it’s also a bit of fuss. It takes many coats, and while it dries quickly and cleans up easily, it doesn’t always behave as I might expect, and each color I’ve used performs a bit differently. So, there are a lot of test boards and a lot of time involved in getting a good finish (for me) from milk paint. (Peter Galbert and Travis Curtis both produce gorgeous milk paint finishes – and I think they would agree that it’s not a fast process…even when you use it all the time!) Plus most people prefer it with a topcoat (though I love the dead-flat look it imparts), and that can’t be done until the paint is fully cured – and the more layers there are, the longer that takes (after a few bad experiences, I don’t even think about a topcoat until a week has passed after my final paint coat). But there are a lot of gorgeous colors available, and I love the variegated look I can achieve with it. (Plus, kids can chew on it safely. Not that I encourage such behavior.)

And that’s all the topics I can think of for which have answers…but I expect we’ll have more info to come.

Happy painting!

– Fitz

*A bourbon-loving-person-of-Irish-heritage kidney – so, not worth a paint job.

The same stool from above, now with a coat of linseed oil on top of both the painted and unpainted surfaces. Olivia looks good there.

Mechanical Library: Architecture & Old Favorites

Posted on by fitz

Sorry it’s been awhile since my last library post – I’ll try to finish up the not-yet-covered cubbies in the next month to six weeks (I believe there are still three or four to go).

This week, I had to get out the stepladder and stand on my tippy toes to reach the top left collection, which contains architecture books, part of the David Macaulay collection (I think between us, we have all of his books, though they’re not all on this shelf) and a few outliers.

At far left is “From the Ground Up,” by John N. Cole and Charles Wing (Little, Brown & Co., 1976). Years ago, Chris asked his father, Paul, what had inspired him to buy a piece of land and become a “hippie builder.” His dad told him it was a book, “From the Ground Up,” and that he no longer had a copy, so Chris found one for him as a birthday present…but this was the wrong book. So it made its way back to our library.

Next is “The Lost Meaning of Classical Architecture,” by George Hersey (M.I.T. Press, 1988), which explores enduring tropes that have been around since the Greek and Roman golden ages. Then, there’s a trio of titles on the architecture of three cities: “Unexpected Chicagoland” by Camilo José Vergara and Timothy J. Samuelson (New Press, 2001); the 9th edition of “A Look at Architecture: Columbus Indiana,” by and published by the Columbus Area Vistors Center (2019); and “This is Charleston: An Architectural Survey of a Unique American City,” by and published by the Carolina Art Association. If you’ve never been to Columbus, Indiana (it’s more likely you at least know of the architecture of Chicago and Charleston), you simply must go if ever you’re in the area. It is a truly astounding modern architectural wonderland. (And save time to visit Madison, Indiana, too, which isn’t far; there, you’ll find one of the country’s largest National Historic Landmark districts.)

Then, it’s a handful of the Macaulay books that fascinated both Chris and me (and likely many of you reading this) when we were kids – and we both still love to page through these today: “City: A Story of Roman Planning and Construction” (Houghton Mifflin, 1974); possibly my favorite, “Castle” (Houghton Mifflin, 1977); possibly also my favorite…I’m mercurial, “Cathedral: The Story of Its Construction” (Houghton Mifflin, 1973); “Pyramid” (Houghton Mifflin, 1975); and “Underground” (Houghton Mifflin, 1976). (Another favorite is “Motel of the Mysteries” (Houghton Mifflin, 1979) – it’s around here somewhere!)

Next up are two books that speak to (some of) Chris’s obsessions. First is “Viewpoints on Folklife: Looking at the Overlooked,” by Warren E. Roberts (UMI Research Press, 1988). Among the topics Roberts covers is the Turpin family of Southern Indiana, a 19th-century family that produced generations of makers of post-and-rung chairs. Second is “The Timeless Way of Building,” by Christopher Alexander (Oxford UP, 1979). If you’re at all into architecture, you likely know this one that speaks to architectural pattern language – it’s kind of like “Make a Chair from a Tree” in that it inspired a new generation in its field.

That’s it for the left-leaning books (directionally speaking). After the empty space, and leaning right, we pick up with more architecture titles: “The Illustrated Dictionary of Historic Architecture,” edited by Cyril M. Harris (Dover, 1977); “The Ten Books of Architecture: The 1755 Leoni Edition” by Leon Battista Alberti (Dover, 1986 – obviously a modern reprint of this historic title); and the venerable “A Field Guide to American Houses,” by Virginia and Lee McAlester (Knopf, 1995, originally published in 1984).

From here we move toward miscellanea with “Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy,” by Michael Baxandall (Oxford UP, 1972) (I suspect this one dates in our library to research for “Ingenious Mechanicks“) and volume two of the Dover reprint (1987) of “A Diderot Pictorial Encyclopedia of Trades and Industry: 485 Plates Selected from ‘L’Encyclopédie’ of Denis Diderot,” edited by Charles C. Gillispie.

(Chris here: The Baxandall book is actually one I have had since college, and remains one of my favorites. This was the book that pointed out how the connections between mathematics, music, painting and the way we see the world. Few books are as important to me as this one.)

Next is “The Antique Story Book” – a gift from the incredibly kind Richard Arnold – a delightful collection of stories from English furniture maker/dealer/restorer Bernard Jack on how he acquired some of his pieces (Cooper Combine Printers, 1978). “Cotehele,” published in 2013 by the National Trust, a souvenir guide to an area of Cornwall is next, followed by “Lewis Miller, Sketches and Chronicles,” edited by Robert P. Turner (Historical Society of York County, 1966); Miller was a 19th-century Pennsylvania German folk artist. Joshua Minnich‘s “Ephemera” (self published in 2018) follows – and it’s of great importance to us – Joshua designed the Lost Art Press logo!

(Chris here, again: Joshua’s book is where I encountered the “Nothing Without Labour” billhead. And then I sought out an original for us.)

“Ways of Seeing,” by John Berger (Penguin, 1972) is next – another venerable title; it’s based on a BBC series of the same name, and examines how we view art. (Chris: This Berger book remains mind-blowing to me.) Alongside it is Bruno Munari’s “Drawing a Tree” (Mauruzio Corraini, 1978) – a mostly pictorial how-to of just what the title says. That’s followed by a few on decorative arts and proportion: “Celtic and Anglo-Saxon Art: Geometric Aspects,” by Derek Hull (Liverpool UP 2003) (if I ever take up decorative carving, this one will be among my teachers); “The Sense of Order: A Study in the Psychology of Decorative Art,” by E.H. Gombrich (Cornell UP, 1979); and “The Power of Limits: Proportional Harmonies in Nature, Art & Architecture,” by György Doczi (Shambala, 1981).

Tucked in out of sight are two seminal Arts & Crafts movement texts (both Penguin “Great Ideas” reprints): William Morris’s “Useful Work v. Useless Toil” and John Ruskin’s “On Art And Life.” (Chris: David Savage gave me these as a thank-you for a visit.)

The last book in this cubby is one Chris has had since college; he warns against the instructions for making psychedelics from bananas: worst headache he’s ever had – and that was the only result. It’s “The Anarchist’s Cookbook,” by William Powell (Lyle Stuart, 1971).

– Fitz

p.s. This is the 12th (and long overdue) post in the Covington Mechanical Library tour. To see the earlier ones, click on “Categories” on the right rail, and drop down to “Mechanical Library.” Or click here. NB: I have used the same picture at the top of every post, simply circling the cubby I’m covering in a given post. For the close-ups, I’ve taken new pictures each time. The odds on that cubby still containing all the same books in the same order as the main image are slim indeed (in case you zoom in and see discrepancies).

Oh Yeah, It’s Query Season

Posted on by Lost Art Press

Please forward this to any budding author in your life.

It’s the last week of December, so our inbox is filling up with queries – people who want to write a book and would like us to publish it. We don’t accept unsolicited queries (it’s right here on our “About Us” page where it has been for years). But that doesn’t stop the mighty digital flow of “Dear Sir or Madams….”.

On the one hand, I’m happy that woodworkers still want to write and publish books. Heck, the fact that anyone thinks books should exist is encouraging.

But here’s the deal. If you are a first-time author, a query letter is like telling all your friends about your hot Canadian girlfriend from band camp last summer. There’s a huge chance that you are simply full of deluded crap.

I wrote my first novel, “Fish Eye,” in the 1990s. I got to the end, realized it was a piece of garbage and burned it. I would be embarrassed – even as a desiccated corpse – if it ever saw ink. I wrote my second book (on workbenches) starting in 2006. I wrote it, paid people to copy edit it, laid it out in InDesign and had it press-ready before I told anyone it existed.

It was accepted by F+W Media about 15 minutes after I submitted it (and is now published by Penguin/Random House). Book editors are stressed and over-worked. If you have an article, series or book that is both 1) compelling and 2) ready to go, then you are probably going to receive good news.

Note that I am not talking about fiction writing here. That world is one Inscrutable 8-Ball, and I have no good advice for you.

In the world of non-fiction and technical writing, however, queries are worse than garbage. They are promises of garbage. Mere whiffs of garbage.

And so I implore you: Just write your damn book. I mean COMPLETELY write it: photos, captions, bibliography, forward, afterword, colophon (it’s not about colons), table of contents and author bio. You don’t need me or some other publishing imprint to validate you.

Yes, this is a test. Most authors who decide to write a book will never finish it. I know this; you know this. By writing the book, you are ahead of about 90 percent of the potential authors out there who are pitching their next book idea to someone in the next bathroom stall.

And when you are rejected by every publisher?

Publish the book yourself. There are dozens of places that will print your book “on demand,” where you can order one copy or 40 (heck, the Cincinnati Public Library will even do it). We use Lulu for some in-house skunkworks projects. The quality gets better every year (though still nothing like a casebound, Smyth-sewn book). Give away digital versions of the book for free to people on the internet. Try to build an audience for your next book. Do that, and you will have a track record that other publishers might notice.

But if you do all that, then you might not care when publishers come calling. You might have started your own publishing imprint.

— Christopher Schwarz

Megan Featured by the American Craft Council

Posted on by Lost Art Press
Our fearless and fearsome editor (she once made a Marine cry).

Lost Art Press Editor Megan Fitzpatrick has been featured on The Queue – the American Craft Council’s column on noteworthy artisans and artists. Check out the feature here.

Congrats Megan on some long-overdue recognition.

— Christopher Schwarz

Craft Companionship

Posted on by fitz

The following is Excerpted from “Honest Labour,” a collection of essays from The Woodworker magazine while the legendary Charles H. Hayward was editor (1936-1966). This book is be the fifth and final volume in our series from The Woodworker.

And here’s hoping that, if you want to, you get to enjoy a few hours alone in the workshop today.

— The finest of all tools, the human hand, is determined by the will, mind, character of the man who wields it.

It often surprises me to find how few people can bear to be alone. It is almost as though they regarded time as a vacuum to be filled rather than as something to be used or enjoyed for its own sake. A man will drift along to the local, the club, or the pictures “to pass away the time” rather than spend a few hours in his own company, and yet it is just those hours when one might be alone that can be turned to the most valuable account. But to bear to be alone one needs an interest—any deep, abiding interest will do. With Paolo Uccello, the Italian painter, it was the interest of perspective which he pursued in all its most intricate forms and which so held him enthralled that we are told: “When engaged upon those matters Paolo would remain alone, like a hermit, with hardly any intercourse for weeks or months, not allowing himself to be seen,” taking pleasure “in nothing except the investigation of difficult and impossible questions of perspective.” A passion for the solving of a problem, an impulse to achieve something is already halfway to creation, and it is in the doing of a creative job that we really lose ourselves to find ourselves, and are no longer the bored, indifferent passers of time, but are unconscious of time.

It would be too much to claim that the man who follows a craft like woodwork is never lonely, but it is certain that he will never know the worst kind of loneliness, the apathy of mind and body which is the negation of life. The very acquisition of skill enriches the personality, adding to a man’s resources, making him more independent, developing his judgment and giving him more confidence in his own powers. We never know our powers, indeed, until we begin to use them, and then it is a lifetime’s job to find out how far they will go. Skill develops with the use of skill and it is one of the few things that can be carried to perfection in a lifetime. For, as we learn from the study of the arts and crafts of the past ages, there is no progress in the capacity of the human hand. The knowledge of tools and machines increases as time goes on, but the finest of all tools, the human hand, is determined by the will, mind, character of the man who wields it and does not develop from one generation to another. Indeed, there are examples of arts and handicrafts centuries old that will stand up to any comparison with the best work of today.

It is a humbling but heartening thought. We are challenged by the past to stand or fall by our own merits. It is commonly recognised nowadays how much the mind is bound up with the skill of the hands. It is in the mind that a job is first seen, planned, willed, and, says Ruskin, the work “is noble or inferior, first, according to the tone of the minds which have produced it and in proportion to their knowledge, wit, love of truth and kindness; secondly, according to the degree of strength they have been able to give forth, but yet, however much we may find in it to be forgiven, always delightful so long as it is the work of good and ordinarily intelligent men.” For indeed it is for a man to choose how he will use his mind—“discovering always, illuminating always, gaining every hour in strength, yet bowed down every hour into deeper humility; sure of being right in its aim, sure of being irresistible in its progress; happy in what it has securely done, happier in what day by day it may securely hope; happiest at the close of life, when the right hand begins to forget its cunning, to remember that there was never a touch of the chisel or the pencil it wielded but has added to the knowledge and quickened the happiness of mankind.”