Charles Brock and Stephen Price from “The Highland Woodworker” stopped by recently to film a segment on Lost Art Press and our storefront. That day, Brendan Gaffney was teaching a class on building a sector, and Megan Fitzpatrick was editing Christian Becksvoort’s new book, so it was quite a circus.
You can view the entire episode here if you like.
Personal note about my performance: I know that I am likely somewhere on the spectrum when it comes to autism. I have difficulty looking people in the eye (always have). Feel free to make fun of me on this (Megan does). Also, I attended a special school when I was 5 for some of these developmental problems, so I’m easily mocked for that as well (Brendan does).
Suffice to say, I’m not sensitive about it.
Aside from the fact that I look and act like a freak, the episode is excellent! We tour the Covington, Ky., neighborhood where the storefront is located and show Charles the bench room, the research library, the biergarten and the Electric Horse Garage (the machine room). And we chat about three of our newest titles: “Hands Employed Aright,” “Welsh Stick Chairs” and “The Intelligent Hand.”
Thanks to Charles, Steve and Highland Woodworking, which sponsors the show. I am now crawling back into my spider hole so I can build a couple more chairs in peace.
— Christopher Schwarz
The Lost Art Press storefront will be open this Saturday (Nov. 10) from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. with our full array of books available to purchase, including our newest title “The Intelligent Hand.”
In addition to that, Brendan and I will show a wide variety of chairs. Many of them we made and will be for sale. But we’ll also show chairs from other makers that we have collected. If you have any interest in chairs (Windsor, Welsh, ladderback etc.) this show will be a great opportunity to try out a variety of them and talk about the construction process.
The two most interesting (and beautiful) chairs in the show are the chair Larry Barrett built for the forthcoming edition of “Make a Chair from a Tree” by Jennie Alexander, and Chris Williams’s four-stick Welsh stick chair in the show, which is about as wondrous a chair as you can imagine.
We’ll post a full list of chairs in the show later this week.
If you haven’t been to Covington, Ky., recently, the town continues to clean up its act. For some reason all of the prostitutes have left our area (we don’t know why; maybe it was something Brendan said). We’ve also gotten a few more interesting and independent restaurants.
One of our favorites is Peppe Cucina at 39 W. Pike St. It’s a great deli that makes its own bread. And it has a pizza oven – slices are $4 on homemade focaccia. It’s a nice spot to eat lunch. Or you can take your food across the street to Braxton Brewing and get a beer to go with your sandwich or pizza.
Of course, our favorite place in town is still Main Street Tavern. Brunch there is about as good as you can get (right now I am fixated on the breakfast biscuit sandwich with fried chicken, egg and cheese).
The storefront is at 837 Willard St. in Covington, Ky., and we hope to see you there.
— Christopher Schwarz
Yoav Liberman first came to my attention at Woodworking in America in the fall of 2016. We met in the trade show hall and quickly fell into a discussion about reality versus fantasy when it comes to making furniture for a living. Impressed by his openness and intelligence, I made a point of attending his talk on designing furniture using reclaimed wood, a topic of longstanding interest to me.
Liberman came to furniture making via architecture. As a result, he has the perspective of an engineer, as well as that of a craftsman and artist. He is also an accomplished draftsman, many of whose renderings are so beautiful I would gladly frame them and put them on my office wall. But what struck me most in his presentation was the deep respect he gives to the materials used in his work. He seeks out their history and works these stories into his pieces’ design. It’s a process he compares to the challenges faced by chefs who use seasonal produce: “As a chef creates a meal based on the ingredients of the season, I meld the material I acquire to create a completely new and interesting piece that pays homage to the individual history of its ingredients.”
“Homage” is no exaggeration. Liberman’s work gives new life not just to the materials others have rejected, but to the people in whose lives they’ve played a part. Such respect is rare in a culture that encourages us to see things as separable from those who make and use them; this is an exemplary kind of reverence for the everyday. But don’t confuse reverent with stuffy; Liberman’s designs, like his writing, are leavened by a smart sense of humor and refreshing readiness to question convention.
So when Liberman told me he was working on a book, I knew I’d want to read it.
In Working Reclaimed Wood, Liberman provides a useful taxonomy of reclaimed wood and explains the processes involved in turning each variety into material suitable for furniture making. He offers diverse examples of pieces made from reclaimed wood, some mind-bogglingly ingenious in their utilization of discarded wood and metal parts. There are suggested sources for materials, detailed instructions on cleaning salvaged hardware or adding patina, and a very good section on stretching boards (illustrated by some of the most eye-popping pieces in the volume). The book also includes fascinating snippets of history, such as an account of how the peculiar habit of live oak trees made this the timber of choice for constructing ships’ hulls.
Liberman’s character animates the text, whether he’s explaining how he made a particular design decision or sharing a glimpse into life with his young son. He’s thoughtful, funny, principled and kind, all of which contribute to make the book a good, as well as informative, read.* The best examples of this are the sections about his process in designing the signature pieces scattered throughout. The “Flash Teapot,” which started out as a bowl the author turned out of a rotten limb, paired with a silver lid from a sugar bowl (Liberman charmingly calls it “orphaned”), takes a dramatic turn at the first gallery where it’s shown, only to end up being purchased by a pair of collectors in L.A.
For my money, though, the best section is the one about “Attn: John Everdell,” the highboy Liberman had long wanted to build. The materials that presented themselves resulted in a piece that’s less highboy than cabinet on a stand. Liberman’s account of how he created this piece after pulling a pile of coarse crating from a dumpster reads like a romantic adventure. This tale alone is worth the price of the book. I’m not going to spoil it for you. Read it for yourself.–Nancy R. Hiller, author of Making Things Work
*A few errors slipped past the editor, and it’s exasperating that the conclusion of the section on patina was inadvertently cut from page 115.
In 1986, I left Arkansas and the farm and headed to Chicagoland to become a journalist. When I landed at Northwestern, I knew no one, but that changed 30 minutes after I checked into the dorm. During my first night, I met people from Japan, Croatia, Israel, India and (the weirdest dude of all) Normal, Ill.
We talked until 3 a.m. about everything imaginable. (You’re from Arkansas? Have you used a flush toilet?)
The next morning I was drunk on the experience of the night before. I had – finally – left my segregated high school behind, and I gladly entered a melting pot of cultures in a huge city. That day I had to buy my books for my first term, and I walked to the Student Book Exchange (SBX), where my joy lurched to terror when I realized the books for my first quarter cost $300.
I remember standing at the SBX with a huge lump in my throat. Would I be able to afford college? I’d never spent $300 on anything. (My first guitar was $125.) I was standing next to the sweatshirts and saw a grey Northwestern sweatshirt with purple lettering. I put my hand on it. It was nice. Nicer than anything I owned. The price? About $60.
That’s when I said, “screw it.” I grabbed the sweatshirt and checked out – $360 down the flush toilet. If I was going to crash and burn I was going to have a nice sweatshirt in the process.
I’m wearing that sweatshirt now, 32 years later. It’s a Champion. A USA-made brand I love that wears like iron. My sweatshirt has been all over the world, endured raising two children, four jobs, a graduate degree and a failed newspaper business.
This is the long way to say that I am pleased that we are now offering Lost Art Press sweatshirts from Champion. At about the same price I paid in 1986 (we are taking a slim margin on these).
You can order yours here.
I hope you will write fondly about this sweatshirt in the year 2050, perhaps while are you sitting on your zero-g toilet.
— Christopher Schwarz
