Get two classic chairmaking books – “Welsh Stick Chairs” and “Good Work” – for one special price. Together, they’re just $ 49 – but only through August 7. The regular price for both is $87 – you save 44 percent.
If you’re wondering where stick chairs came from, these two books will tell you the whole amazing story – and get you started in building them.
Stick chairs have been around for centuries – but they’ve mostly been ignored by museums. In the 1990s, Welshman John Brown wrote and published the landmark book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” This book inspired hundreds of people all over the world to begin researching and making these vernacular chairs.
One of those people who was inspired by “Welsh Stick Chairs” was Welshman Chris Williams. He worked with John Brown for more than a decade making these chairs. Through the years, John Brown’s chairs became more wild and true to the old Welsh character, and Chris was there the whole time.
After John Brown died, Chris wrote the book “Good Work” about his mentor. This biography explores John Brown’s creative genius and his tumultuous character. And it explains how John and Chris built these chairs almost entirely by hand.
There is no better place to learn about the spirit of these chairs and how they were made than with these two books. So we are offering them at a special price until August 7.
Technical Details
“Welsh Stick Chairs”: Using first-edition examples of “Welsh Stick Chairs,” we reset the entire book in the original font to ensure the text was crisp. We rescanned and processed the photos and drawings and cleaned them up. And we spent weeks researching the paper stock of the original to capture the same earthiness and perfection of the first edition. We also made a small but invisible improvement – we sewed the signatures together to ensure the book will last for lifetimes. The book is a softcover, covered in heavy card stock like the original. The book measures 7-1/4″ x 9-5/8″. Our version includes John Brown’s original introduction to the book, plus the additional introduction he wrote for the third edition and an updated essay on John Brown by Nick Gibbs.
“Good Work”: The 208-page full-color book is also filled with historical photographs (many never published before) and beautiful linocut illustrations by Molly Brown, one of JB’s daughters. The book is printed on heavy coated paper with a matte finish to make it easy to read. The book’s pages are sewn, glued and taped – then covered in heavy boards and cotton cloth – to create a book that will last for generations. And the whole package is wrapped in a durable tear-resistant laminated dust jacket, which features linocut illustrations by Molly Brown.
Both books are produced and printed in the United States.
This chair is made of oak and elm. I call it a Carmarthenshire chair, as it is derived from an old chair from that county. The doubling on the arm-back terminates in a ‘swan neck’. This is seen on several old Welsh chairs.
“Life without Industry is guilt, and Industrywithout Art is brutality”
I came back to live in Wales in 1975. I had been made redundant and I was depressed. After years in a job I loved I had been told to go; my skills were no longer appropriate. I had been building wooden boat hulls for years, but now they needed men who could laminate plastics. Had I been prepared to don a plastic boiler suit, wear a respirator and work with nasty, sticky, smelly chemicals, I could have stayed. But I am an uncompromising woodman, I love it. My employers thought the adze as dead as a dodo, so they gave me a small handful of money and told me to pack my box. As I lived in a seaside resort there was not much work that I could do. I wasn’t cut out for selling ice-creams, no killer instinct! My mortgage would be unpayable without a good job. There were plenty waiting to buy my house, so I sold.
I was seven-years-old when we moved from the safety of a large family in the valleys of Wales. Auntie was school-teaching in Kent, Dad came out of the pit and became a bricklayer. So, after a lifetime away, I returned to the ‘Land of my Fathers’. What sort of a living could I make in Wales? There was plenty of building work, but I have a horror of the ‘wet-trades’. I can only work in wood. One day I saw a chair in the window of an antique shop in Lampeter. It was like a vision. I had never seen anything that had made so instant an impression on me. To my eyes this chair was beautiful. I had never had any interest in furniture or chairs. Like most people they were just the things you lived with. Now here was this lovely chair. I couldn’t afford to buy it, but I could make one like it. Well, that is what I did. I made one. It took a long time. Chairs of simple form like the stick chair are surprisingly tricky to make. When you’re building them you have to work from points in the air, angles of sticks, angles of legs; there are so many variables. Anyway, I was quite proud when I finished my chair. It looked alright. Of course, I wasn’t able to put a century or two of patina on it. Now, twelve-years-old, it begins to look right. Family “treatment” and a few thousand hours of bum polishing have done the trick!
At this stage I was interested enough to look for books on the subject. There are quite a few, both American and English. I still hadn’t realised that what I had seen in that Lampeter shop was something quite rare and unique – a Welsh chair. Then it was just a Windsor chair. I went to museums. I visited High Wycombe where there is a museum devoted entirely to Windsor chairs. They have a very comprehensive selection of Wycombe factory chairs and English regional chairs. I don’t think there were any Welsh chairs. The English chairs did not have the same spontaneity the same verve as their Welsh counterparts.
I enjoyed my youth. After the valleys I thought England was wonderful. The war started and we could not live in London, and through a series of events of which I have no knowledge, we ended up with a small-holding in the wilds of Kent. (There were wilds in Kent in those days!) We had no electricity, gas or sanitation, we grew much of our own food and kept chickens and a pig. We didn’t realise it then, but we were living the ‘Good Life’. We made few demands on the world’s resources, and I was happy. So, as the Lampeter chair was one step towards my rehabilitation, the building of a tin shed in a field I bought, and a change to the simple life, completed my return. I live very happily without electricity or any other services. I have a workshop, a wood stove and good health. There’s a saying applied to yachts, which applies equally to life, “Add lightness – and simplify.”
A neighbour asked me to build him a chair like mine. I tried to – but it came out different. It was alright, but it wasn’t the same chair. My neighbour was pleased. He has the chair now, he keeps it in the bookshop he owns. It then occurred to me that the reason for the diversity of pattern in the old Welsh chairs was that the makers did other things as well. They were not chair-makersas such, they were wheelwrights, coffin-makers, carpenters, even farmers. When there was need for a chair, somebody in the village made it, or they made their own. They didn’t have patterns and jigs for continuous production. They had no consistent supply of uniform material. They used their eyes and their experience. It was like a sculptor doing his work, they ‘thought’ the chair, then they built their ‘think’. Some of these chairs are a disaster to sit on, most uncomfortable, but they all have a kind of primitive beauty.
Two particularly good examples of Welsh stick chairs. The comb on the right hand chair isinteresting,for although it has no transverse curvature, the maker has tried to individualisethis lusty chair with a shaped profile.
I now had the idea that maybe I could make a living out of building chairs. I loved making the first ones; it was new and exciting. But if I was going to be successful I had to try to get into the shoes of the old Welshmen who made these lovely chairs, and try to work as much like them as I could. It isn’t possible to get very near it, life today is so different. I was convinced then, and even more so now, that the chairs were made as occasional items, and that none of them were made by chair-makers. Even with my small overheads, we do live in a total money economy – everything must pay. The lack of electricity has been a plus factor in my work. I have a strong back and don’t care for bills.
I am impressed with the simplicity of old Welsh chairs. I have long been of the opinion that the work of ‘fine’ joiners, work with highly complicated joints, all hidden in the finished piece, leads to clean lines and continuous surfaces which make the finished work uninteresting. I am often tempted to ask these clever fellows “and what’s your next trick?” The Arts and Crafts movement was responsible for a refreshing change. Ernest Gimson went to work with an English country chair-maker, Philip Clisset, to learn how to make simple chairs. Sidney Barnsley, working entirely alone, produced beautiful furniture with exposed dovetails; all the working showing. Of course, all this was over the head of the old Welsh craftsman. A great attraction of Welsh cottage furniture is its simplicity. So with the chair-makers, their work is the equivalent of naive painting. You hear people say “a child could paint that.” Try it!
So I had first to unlearn, and then learn. I was lucky in the order that things happened to me. First, I built some chairs – then I got the books and found out how it should be done. By then I was conceited enough to think that I was closer to the men that built the chairs, 200 years ago, than the sophisticated authors. I have no intention of telling anyone how to build a stick chair, but I will tell you how I do it.
Before I go on to tell you about my methods of work, it would be well if I tell you a little more history of the Windsor chair. First a definition: What is a Windsor chair? Fundamental to a Windsor chair is a solid wooden seat; everything grows from this. From this seat the legs project down, and the sticks or laths project up. That’s it. Arms, combs, fan-backs, balloon-backs, stretchers on the legs, different sorts of turning, a thousand variations – once a chair has a solid wooden seat with legs and sticks socketed into it, then it’s a Windsor. The English Windsor started like the Welsh chair as a peasants’ chair in the countryside. At the beginning of the 19th century, tycoons of the Industrial Revolution decided that what was good enough for Adam Smith’s pins was good enough for the Windsor chair. They set up sweatshops in the Wycombe area of Buckinghamshire. The surrounding beechwoods of the Chiltern Hills provided the material for legs, sticks and bent parts, whilst elm for seats was plentiful everywhere. Bodgers with their pole lathes worked piece-work in the woods, turning legs and stretchers, which they sold to the factories on Saturday evenings. In the workshops, bottomers, benchmen and framers did the rest. Wages were poor and conditions appalling, and even in the last century strikes were not unknown. The owners of the factories were not chair-makers but money-makers. Design had a low priority, but the chairs had one major advantage – they were cheap!
Chairs were made at Wycombe – year in, year out – by the thousands. Piled high on horse-drawn wagons they were shipped to London. A month or so before making the journey most of the parts had been growing in the local woods.
Dealers bought these chairs and they were sold on to the less well off. They were bought for public houses, church halls and other places of entertainment. They found their way into the houses of the rich – but only for the people below stairs. Her Ladyship wouldn’t be seen dead sitting in one. British class distinction at work, the chairs were cheap, so they were expendable. Like the herring, when kippered and rare, it was for the rich. When every fishing port had its smokehouse and they were cheap, then the poor could have them. When baked beans first came to England they could only be had at Fortnum and Masons!
There was no development on these cheap chairs. Identical designs on some types lasted for 150 years. These cheap chairs were exported all over the Empire (sometimes in knockdown form), and became known as the English Windsor. It beggars belief that there are today people making replicas of these chairs for sale in stripped pine shops. Fine cabinet-makers confined themselves to making joined chairs in the Sheraton and Chippendale styles. Some small Windsor chair-makers designed Windsor chairs with elaborate backs, highly carved splats, but used cabriole legs. These in many cases were very fine work, but a chair with cabriole legs is not, strictly speaking, a Windsor.
The curators (one is standing in the rear of the photo) were pleasantly bemused by us.
I love books, photos and drawings, but if you want to quickly learn a lot about making and designing chairs, there is one path: Study the suckers in person every chance you get. Up close and slowly.
Last week, Welsh chairmaker Chris Williams arranged for me and some friends to study four old stick chairs in the collection at the Carmarthenshire Museum. Only one of these chairs was currently on display, so it was a chance to see some chairs that aren’t in the public eye. In addition to Chris and me, we had Megan Fitzpatrick, Kale Vogt, Ryan Saunders plus Tim and Betsan Bowen of Tim Bowen Antiques. Lots of eyes, both fresh and old.
This entry is a close look at these four chairs, and some of what I learned from them. There’s no way this blog entry can replicate my in-person experience. But it’s cheaper than a trip to Wales. Note, I didn’t take measurements of these chairs, so don’t bother asking for them. For me, the proportions and angles are far more important than eighths of an inch.
The short sticks were the first thing we investigated.
Brown Comb-back
This is a massive and well-proportioned chair that has a low stance and some curious details.
Let’s start with the obvious: it has only two short sticks holding up the armbow. That’s a rare configuration for a comb-back, so we immediately took a closer look. The thick brown-yellow paint (one of several colors) didn’t show any evidence of missing short sticks. But turning the chair over showed us the truth.
Though the underside of the arm was painted, raking light from a flashlight showed evidence of at least two more sticks that were missing under each arm. This was a relief in some ways, as the single stick under the hand was tempting me to try something stupid in a future chair.
Here you can see how the seat and arm curve inward toward the front of the seat. Also, note the two different hand shapes.
Next, we looked at the seat. Despite what I’ve seen in the past, I’m always surprised by how thick the seats on these chairs can be. I’ve seen them as thick as 3”. This one is a full 2” thick, with a generous bevel on the front of the chair that lightens the visual load (the “vertically striped shirt” of the chair world).
The seat looked like a typical D-shaped seat until we took a look from the rear of the chair. The sections of a D-shaped seat that are usually straight weren’t straight. They curved in toward the front edge of the seat.
When we looked at the shape of the armbow, this made sense. The armbow also curved inward toward the front of the chair. Many Welsh chairs begin with an arm shape, with the seat shape flowing from that. Perhaps the arm was made from a curved branch. Perhaps not. The paint wasn’t telling.
Other interesting details: The hands of the arm were not identical. This happens more than you might think. I don’t think the builder intentionally made two separate hands. I suspect that the hand shapes were determined by the wood itself, its defects or voids.
Note the repair on the arm – a common feature on these chairs and nothing to be ashamed of.
The legs were shaved round – you could still feel the facets.
A straight-on shot of the comb (you’re welcome).
My favorite part of this chair is the playful comb. Its basic shape is common: two Mickey Mouse-like ears on the ends with a raised area between them. But the chair’s builder went further. The ends have a delightful cove on the underside. And the top of the comb has a nice convex curve. The whole thing looks like a crown.
Despite the bark on the front seat, this is a well-considered chair.
Lowback
This tidy lowback has some secrets, some of which we were able to suss out.
First, look at the front edge of the seat. Yup, that’s bark. Wide boards have always been difficult to come by, so they didn’t waste any width on this one.
Evidence of a replaced stick.
The front posts were curious. They looked more English or West Country to my eye. They were joined to the chair with square mortise-and-tenon joints, while the rest of the joints in the chair were cylindrical. A close look under the arm showed us the shadow of a round mortise behind the square front posts. Likely the front posts are a replacement.
Also curious: None of the tenons for the short sticks poke through the armbow. They’re all blind. This feature is isn’t unique to this chair. It got me thinking how the mortises were drilled when the chair was built.
All the mortises through the seat were through-mortises – not blind. I think there’s a chance that some of the mortises were drilled from below the seat and then directly into the arm. The sticks all seem to lean back the same amount. So, it’s possible. Who knows?
Nice shoe. Some would call this a “swan’s neck.“
Finally, take a look at the beautiful shoe. The detail on its ends – an ogee and fillet – are nicely proportioned. And the hands are also tidy. I think this chair was made by a skilled hand.
This piece deserves its own investigation.
Unusual Child’s Chair
The third chair is one I didn’t spend much time with because of its odd construction. You see this in chairs in Ireland and Scandinavia more than Wales. I kinda wonder if it’s an import. The turned legs and insanely thick seat added to its curious stance.
I forgot to ask the curators about the provenance on this chair. Perhaps that will give us some answers.
The charmer of the group (both the chair and Chris Williams).
The Best of the Bunch
The final chair in this group was my favorite (I wasn’t alone). All the details point to the fact it was made by a trained woodworker. The provenance of the chair supported this idea.
A clever and attractive stretcher arrangement.
First, take a look at the undercarriage. The side stretchers are tapered octagons. What is (somewhat) unusual is that they are ovals in cross-section. The stretchers are thicker than they are wide. It’s a trick that allows you to use a thicker tenon for the medial stretcher without adding bulk. I’ve seen this detail before, but not this well executed.
I’ll be stealing that idea.
The hands.
The hands on this chair aren’t identical, but they are close and crisply executed.
Compared to the other chairs in this group, the rake and splay of the legs is dramatic, adding to the overall dynamic stance of the chair. Also, take a look at the long sticks and the comb. The long sticks splay out perfectly. When paired with the undercarriage, the chair has an attractive hourglass shape.
Note how the arm is attached (and another shot of the undercarriage).
The most unusual aspect of the chair is its front posts. They’re tenoned into the arm but then lapped onto the seat and reinforced with screws. It’s another of the joiner-like touches on this chair that points to a trained maker.
This chair is the one the museum has on display for the public. I agree with their choice. This is a special chair.
Earlier this month a John Brown chair surfaced at auction that was a highly unusual form: a comb-back rocking chair.
Commissioned in 1988, the chair was made for a family with a newborn and served as a nursing chair. From the seat up to the comb, the chair resembles JB’s cardigan chair, the chair he built for his book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” (FYI, many people don’t consider the cardigan chair to be a Welsh form, but that’s not part of this tale.)
Below the seat, things become unusual. Instead of an H-stretcher, the chair has a box stretcher and beefy rockers. The seat of the chair is elm, and it looks like the remainder of the chair is oak, though I can’t tell what species the rockers are.
The chair sold for the remarkable price of 550 GBP, according to Chris Williams, who tipped me off to the chair and the auction. Chris is the author of the excellent book “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown.”
JB built the chair before Chris worked with him, so Chris was shocked to see the chair. “Can’t quite believe my eyes!!!” he wrote.
I’ve seen only one other stick chair that was a rocker, and it looked like that chair had the rockers added later.
The letters from JB are neatly typed or beautifully handwritten.
Between 1995 and 2001, chairmaker John Brown and Drew Langsner carried on extensive correspondence about JB’s classes at Country Workshops. In addition to discussing flights and fees, the two men wrote a lot about how they viewed the craft and the world today.
During our research for “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown,” Drew graciously sent copies of the letters to help author Chris Williams. I recently reread the letters during a long flight and copied down some of JB’s more eloquent pronouncements about his work. I have left the punctuation and spelling as JB wrote. Drew agreed to let me publish these excerpts here.
Thanks so much to Drew for preserving these letters and letting us share them with you.
— Christopher Schwarz
John Brown at the Country Workshops’ Chairmaker’s Colloquium
3 January, 1995 I am a Welshman, and I am influenced in the chairs I make or some of them, by old Welsh chairs. Irish chairs are as different as is possible, so are Scottish chairs. Brittany is Celtic. The people of Brittany, Cornwall and Wales speak a language which has little relation to the Irish or Scots Gaelic. Celtic (with a hard C) is difficult to define, but it is a fashionable ‘buzz’ word, as was ‘heritage’ a year or two back. I strongly recommend you do not use it, and I would forbid the word Celtic to be applied to my work, it is Welsh. Welsh.
…One thing is certain, the chair I had seen had no woodturnings. I have a total and complete antipathy towards woodturning. It seems to me a mindless occupation to stand, holding a chisel up to a piece of revolving wood, the epitome of monotony. Without doubt some of the more artistic turning is clever, but the finished product leaves me cold.
When I see competitions for woodturnings at shows, it seems to be the woodworking equivalent of the Eurovision Song Contest, – ‘nil points’. There, I’ve said it, now you know how I feel about woodturning.
…I am not really a craftsman, the standard of my woodwork is very poor, I feel an artist, I work like an artist, each new project starts with a clean canvas. I shall be very disappointed if at the end of the week’s work any two of the chairs made are the same, and, furthermore, the chair that I make with them will probably not be the best one. This is surely a chair workshop rather than a school. Correct me if I am wrong.
…I shall recommend, but there will be no rules. I understand there will no complete beginners. If we have 8 people I would expect 8 different chairs. I would start each day with a short talk on what we must achieve before sundown, energy and commitment from everyone will be more important than skill.
2 May, 1995 I’m getting nervous. 13 students! Will you have enough bench space? vices? etc, etc? I guess you have done all this before and seem very laid back about it. I have some horrors though, for it is important the way my chairs are built. If you look through my book, articles etc you can see the equipment I use. For instance I don’t know how I could operate without an engineer’s vice on top of a bench, three quarters of the process is based on this. A low flat, level board for boring the seat and levelling we can rig up. Since I have been involved with the Country Workshops project I have come to realise myself that the process is as important as the materials. For instance you mention tapered holes, even numbers of degrees – I wouldn’t know what a degree looked like. My methods work. I have no purist views, just that in 1979 when I built the first chair I had no books on how to do it, no example to look at, just a picture in my mind’s eye. I worked with the tools I then possessed and built my ‘think’. It all came together, miraculously, you have sat in the chair, I am sitting in it now – it worked. A few adjustments here and there, a few more suitable tools, and I’m still doing it the same way. Remember, I do use glue (yellow polyurethane, BISON or BALCOTAN, both made in Holland, but there must be American equivalents, PVA is not suitable)
17 November, 1995 Notice, also, that I ALWAYS give credit. Time & again I have said I am only an average woodworker. It is true. Most woodworkers are more expert than I am. But I do it differently, and this, in retrospect was the main problem with my course. I was in awe of you and didn’t do some things as I should. Next time I must do it my way. Welsh Stick Chairs was an anomaly, I was just in charge of cobbling together 12 chairs, no matter what. They could have been Mongolian Chairs. The Spirit of Wales was missing. …I abhor these people who keep their archive under their armpit, I tell anybody what they want to know. But this seems rather different. We live in an age of instant experts… And when I write I always have a respect for other workers. I cannot enhance what little skills I have by criticizing others. But I am truthful, and I want to be kind.
4 June, 1996 The solution is to start a new magazine, which is what I am doing in my spare time. At the moment I am making a dummy to see what it looks like. It will be of smaller format with a square binding, black and white. More a journal that a magazine. 6 issues a year with an annual subscription in the UK of £20. I am going to try and get American readers. It will be called ‘QUERCUS’. Will keep you informed as to progress. I would hope to have first issue JAN/FEB, 1997. The magazine will have a high content on hand tools and techniques, chairs, history and the ‘zen’ of woodworking. I shall look for people who have something new to say, or want to get something off their chest. It’s bound to be a success because the competition is so poor.
1 July, 1996 Without any doubt I broke new ground in woodworking writing – quite unintentionally. I covered all sorts of subjects, from smoking bacon to the breakdown of my marriage. Nick (Gibbs) told me that 50% of their correspondence mentioned my stuff. I’m not trying to blow myself up, but realistically about 70% of woodworking writing is boring, repetitious stuff.
John Brown saddling a seat at Country Workshops.
…Most of the woodworking press has a certain teethgritting fundamentalism which attracts readers with similar problems. I keep wanting to shout ‘woodwork is fun’, let’s have a smile. I hardly know any woodworker who reads any of the magazines. The true market is hardly scratched over here. Then we have this growing inbalance in our population of old people. Add to this that many are now retired at 55 – there is a vast market.
2 April, 1997 I think it is a very retrograde step to be on the internet, there can be no justification for this. I had a man from Paris phone me to tell me what I was doing this summer, even telling me of the seminar. I was very angry. Never mind, I shall continue swimming against the stream, I was born to do it. By joining this latest fashion you will attract the kind of people you don’t need – like the man from Paris.
30 April, 1997 We are gradually handing all our skills over to technology. I imagine the devil appearing and offering me a computer, free, in exchange for my soul, and my ability to write, and my typewriter etc. The router, the saxophone, and now the computer, these are inventions of the devil. I am happy in my stupidity.
I am keen to make better chairs this time. If I don’t make a chair, and if we don’t have twelve students it will be O.K. I will send seat pattern. This is to be a REAL Welsh chair, unmistakable. I will bring a completed one with me in parts as before. This time I will finish it as I do for home consumption. And I will leave it with you, gratis, on one condition. That is that you allow me to put an axe through the seat of the one I left last time. It was a disaster.
18 June, 1997 I want everybody, I mean everybody, to dispose of all their machines and work by hand. However incompetent I am, to me my woodwork is my life. I keep trying to get better.
10 March, 1998 I do not operate in a ‘teaching’ atmosphere. The finest craftsman of the past were never, never ‘taught.’ An apprentice had to learn, most of his life was spent sweeping the floor, fetching and carrying, and doing menial tasks. They watched, they learned, and in the course had many a ‘thick ear’ for their pains. Now it’s all formalised, regularised, and is death to design and imagination. The first instinct of modern woodworkers when they want to make something is to buy a set of plans. This should be made illegal, with death as the penalty. Modern artists are all imagination and no skill, modern craftsman all skill (machine) and no imagination. I am not a strict traditionalist, we do have modern products that are good, but there should be a better ability to recognise what is good, and what is rubbish.
JB sawing a detail on an armbow.
5 January, 1999 This rustic woodworking worries me a little. It’s O.K. to leave drawknifed surfaces, flats on the sticks and legs etc, but to go over sawn parts to make them LOOK rustic is akin to plastic beams, complete with worm holes, in some pubs! If a chair is ‘rustic‘, it should be so because it was made ‘rustic‘. My highly polished chairs are the real modern rustic. I make no effort to cover anything I have done. Most of the proportions are eyeballed, and the sticks and legs are not regular. We live in an age when subtlety is no longer acceptable. Unless an object strikes you between the eyes, the modern punter doesn‘t see it.
22 September, 1999 I fully appreciate that you work on a shoestring, but it annoys me that people take it for granted that craftsmen can‘t be properly paid. Of course, I am not unmindful of the honour of being asked, but I can‘t eat glory.
28 November, 1999 I am getting older, and being a loner can‘t think of having a helper, they wouldn‘t do it right. I refuse to use machines, whereas nearly everyone else does. I have been hungry many times since I started making Welsh chairs. I invented the name Welsh Stick Chairs, and this is what I make. They are not really rustic. I do not bother to smooth them too much. But they are polished. No one is more mystified than I that people will pay so much, but I won‘t knock it. I love my chairs, I hate selling them, some of me, some pain is in them. But they are not rustic. Rustic means poorly made, primitive.
12 June, 2000 My chairs are art, sculpture. Each chair is a new canvas, and they are simple of construction, but sophisticated of design. With my total lack of formal education it has taken a large part of my life to interpret in words the feelings I have. Right, my chairs are INSPIRED by old Welsh chairs. But the slight dished tapers, the shapes and forms, copied by many in the last twenty years, have come from my imagination. Many people have influenced me over the years since I have been making chairs. I looked to many methods, some conventional, some the idiosyncratic workings of others trying to do their own thing, but I used those processes which I felt comfortable with. I am still learning, becoming increasing less interested in processes than the finished article. I have never ceased to try and improve the honesty of my work. Rustic is insult to all the hours of study, all the attempts to grasp the mysteries, all the pain I have had in working my way towards the perfect chair, an object that really doesn‘t exist. It is a mystery, and in trying to solve all the ‘whys‘, I have become increasingly less interested in the ‘hows‘. The hows are the practical side, easy to solve. They are an exercise in engineering and economics. Enough, even if you don’t agree I think you will understand what I am trying to say.
2 February, 2001 Three or four years ago I used to write at least a page a day in my diary, now I don‘t even write it every day, and when I do it‘s just a few lines. I bore myself! Just at the moment I live in a tiny little single story house, central heating and plastic double glazed windows. No ventilation. Too small for a bath, there is a shower. It is warm (hot) and convenient, but the A40 main road passes about 10 feet from the door. I took the place temp(orarily) whilst I got medical stuff sorted and that was 15 months ago. The only prospect that excites me is thought of moving in amongst trees again.
I hope Louise’s garden is as beautiful and fruitful as ever. I remember it so well, I have some good photographs of it. Anyway it is my hope that you are all well. Thank you for phoning. I’ll write more often in future. When I am depressed I try not to contact my friends but to save them for better days.
