Like you, I’ve been bombarded with new privacy policies from Internet companies seeking to comply with the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), which went into effect on May 25.
We didn’t have to update our privacy policy because here’s what we do with your data: Exactly nothing.
We do not mine our lists to market things to you. We don’t sell, rent or give out your data to anyone. Heck, we don’t even have the technical capacity to see your credit card number. The only time you’ll hear from us is if there is a problem with your order.
If you subscribe to our blog via e-mail, you can unsubscribe with a click using the link at the bottom of every post (including this one). I’m sure we could make a lot more money if we did some of the things in the previous paragraph, but we couldn’t live with ourselves.
My favorite countersink for wood has always been the square-drive ones used with a bit brace. They are easy to control and, when sharp, are quite fast.
I forgot to bring a countersink for a project I was working on today, and the only thing I had on hand were two that were made to cut metal. I have had them for a couple of years and use them to countersink the screws in the metal spiders on the candle stands I make, but I had not tried them on wood. Come to find out they work great in wood, too.
These are available from McMaster-Carr for less than $20 each. The two I have are part numbers 2724A122 (cuts up to 7/16″) and 2724A132 (cuts up to 9/16″). These cut the cleanest countersink I have ever seen in both soft and hard woods. They also work well powered by a simple hand drill.
A friend recently saw a picture of one of my kitchen jobs and remarked “You get to work in such cool places.” It’s true. I do, some of the time — though let’s acknowledge that one person’s cool is another person’s yawn (or worse).
In the process of collecting images for the book I’m writing for Lost Art Press, I recently received photos of a kitchen I did in Washington D.C. that certainly qualifies as cool in my view, and its coolness has everything to do with the client’s interest in her home’s history. You can read about the job and see more pictures here.
But I imagine many readers would be just as interested in how I came to get such a job in the first place. I don’t live some charmed existence where cool gigs just drop out of the sky into my lap. I’ve spent years cultivating my niche in the kitchen and furniture worlds.
In this case the client, Lauri Hafvenstein, attended a talk I gave on designing period kitchens at a trade show and conference in the D.C. area in 2009. For years I’d seen notices about the Traditional Building Show (formerly called the Restoration and Renovation Conference) in Old-House Interiors and Old-House Journal, which I’ve subscribed to since the mid-1990s. About 20 years ago I decided to apply as a presenter.
I can’t speak about how the event operates today because I haven’t taken part in several years, but in the past, most speakers were not paid to present their work, nor were our travel and accommodation expenses covered. You wrote a proposal and submitted it, knowing that if you were accepted as a speaker you would make the trip on your own dime. Why bother? you ask. This kind of event can be a great way to make professional connections with people in your field. That’s why I presented at three or four of these events over the years.
It can be hard to gauge the return on such investment if you don’t get jobs directly from them. Lauri’s job, the most hardcore period kitchen on which I’ve worked, is the single one I can attribute directly to any of my presentations.* And even if I hadn’t developed other friendships and professional connections over the years through my participation in these events, this kitchen would have made the writing, the travel expenses, and the shop time lost while out of town worthwhile.
*Full disclosure: If I recall correctly, she had also purchased and read my book The Hoosier Cabinet in Kitchen History, which made her notice my name in the conference schedule.
After five long days in the shop, Chris Williams has sent six new Welsh stick chairs into the wilds of America. My hope is that these chairs work like seeds, and an appreciation for this form will take root and flourish in the United States.
Like with many chairs, it’s difficult to capture its graciousness in photographs. And yet it was photographs that inspired most of the six students to take the class here.
One night after dinner this week, several of the students confessed that they knew little of John Brown when they signed up for the class. Instead, it was the photos of Chris’s chairs that inspired them to sign up (beating out 56 other students now on our waiting list) to be here.
That means we have a lot of work ahead with Chris’s upcoming book, tentatively titled “The Life & Work of John Brown.” John Brown, who died 10 years ago this June, was more than just a chair. He was a set of ideas and philosophies that both inspired and angered people in the United Kingdom, plus a few people in the States who caught wind of his writing.
I think the story of John Brown’s woodworking life plus Chris’s instructions on building his Welsh stick chair will inspire a new generation. It worked with the six students here this week, who were treated to hours of evening conversations about John Brown, woodworking and life in Wales. So let’s hope this approach works on several thousand more people as well.
As to future classes, Chris has agreed to come back to Covington, Ky., next year to teach another six students. We’ll post details on the class as soon as we settle on dates for the class.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. For more of of Chris’s work, follow him on Instagram (@welshchairmaker) or use the hashtag #WilliamsWelshChair to see more examples of his design.
When John Brown taught chair classes in the United States in the 1990s, he famously threw a student’s machinist calipers into a lake to make a point about how his chairs should be built.
Then, while teaching at John Wilson’s shop in Michigan, John Brown lost his temper with Wilson after class one evening. Wilson was hosting the class and was also making one of the chairs. In the evenings, Wilson had to work to keep up with the students because he was busy during the day.
John Brown caught Wilson using machines to quicken the work and lit into him.
Despite his outbursts of temper and strong opinion, every student of John Brown who I’ve met adored or revered him.
Chris Williams, who worked with John Brown for more than a decade, also has very strong opinions, much like John Brown. But Chris doesn’t have the temper. Every sermon on saddling the seat, building the armbow or rounding the sticks ends with this:
“That’s how I do it. You might do it differently. It doesn’t matter, really,” Chris says. (As I’m typing this, Chris is saying those exact words to his students sizing their tenons.)
Which approach is better – fury or flexibility? I can’t say. The students in Chris’s class seem to really like Chris’s gruff but gentle approach.
Me, I’m just glad Chris hasn’t (yet) thrown my dial calipers into the Ohio River.
Like you, I’ve been bombarded with new privacy policies from Internet companies seeking to comply with the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), which went into effect on May 25.
