We have a new video available for sale today: “Build Your Tool Chest Interior.” In this video, I show you how I make and install the interior structures of a full-size English tool chest (in this case, an “Anarchist’s Tool Chest“) with three sliding tills and their runners, a combination hanging tool rack/backsaw rack, a floor till for full-size hand saws, and a moulding plane till.
Customers – both domestic and international – can purchase it here.
I’ve built dozens of these chests for customers, and have in some ways have refined the techniques for making the tills, tool rack and saw till, so they’re somewhat different than what is covered in the book, “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” (the beginning of the book – “Disobey me” – gave me license…and I think my approach makes the interior just a little easier to build and fit into the chest). Plus, with the exception of the thin till runners, everything is easily reversible (in case you need to seriously rearrange your tools, or the chest gets drafted for holding blankets).
You’ll also learn how to install the hardware: ring pulls for the tills, chest handles, hinges and a “crab lock.” You’ll also see how I installs casters (very carefully!), and a few options for keeping the lid open. Oh – and to finish (or not), and why (or why not).
The video ($24) is nearly two hours long and can be streamed (after logging into your Lost Art Press account), or you can download the video and put it on any device. The video is sans DRM (digital rights management), so the files can easily be moved to any of your devices (now and in the future).
You’ll also get a PDF with construction notes, and sources for the hardware, tools and finishes I show and discuss.
One of Hemmo Honkonen’s Audible Cabinets, from his website that features videos of the cabinets.
Core77 recently featured furniture designer’s Hemmo Honkonen’s series of audible cabinets. Honkonen writes on his website, “The cabinets are a study in mechanically produced sound, movement and interaction. Each cabinet has its own sound that is triggered by opening and closing the doors.”
You can see photos, watch – and listen – to the doors being opened, here. Sounds include a triad, bass triad, cymbal (which is actually fantastic if you want to shock unsuspecting snoopers) and scale. (Oh, and there are audible chairs, too!)
A fun party trick when people visit perhaps, but while reading (and listening) to all of this I was reminded of something my grandma once said. For years she would grow weary of the sound of her screen door being slammed, open and shut, all day long, especially with six kids during the summer months. And then? Once all the kids had moved out, she missed that wooden racket.
There’s an antique dresser in my childhood bedroom, now a guest bedroom. A couple years ago my mom asked me to get something out of it and as soon as I pulled the drawer out, and heard that familiar swish, and felt that familiar hitch in that one spot that requires you to lift up just a bit, I felt like a teen again, looking for one of my T-shirts.
Steve Shanesy turned a large maple bowl for my husband and me as a wedding gift and anytime anyone in our family hears the familiar thump it makes when it hits our dining room table they know we’re having a salad, one of the hundreds that bowl has held (if not more).
Every dog and child knows the sound of a front door opening when a parent is returning home and most kids know someone is hiding under the cellar door when they hear that particular bang during hide-and-seek.
I know the sound that the fallboard makes when someone is about to play the piano, and when it’s late at night and I hear that familiar kitchen floorboard creak, I know that someone is hungry (or sneaking a treat). I know someone is cold and looking for the wool blanket when I hear a struggle with the latches on our antique bedroom trunk, and I know someone needs a pen or a pencil when I hear the lid on the old wooden pencil box slam shut. I know someone is dragging our stool instead of lifting it when I hear a particular rasp across our pine floor and I know someone is starting up the mantle clock again when I hear the delicate open and close of that small, sweet wooden door.
The following is excerpted from “The Intelligent Hand,” by David Binnington Savage. The book is a peek into a woodworking life that’s at a level that most of us can barely imagine. The customers are wealthy and eccentric. The designs have to leap off the page. And the craftsmanship has to be utterly, utterly flawless.
How does one get to this point? And how do you stay there?
One answer to these questions is in this book. Yes, the furniture can be technically difficult to make. But a lot of the hard labor involves some unexpected skills. Listening. Seeing. Drawing. And looking into the mirror and practicing the expression: “And that will cost 20,000 pounds.”
As you will see, it’s a personal struggle – like the production of this book. On the day David began work on his manuscript, he received a cancer diagnosis with a grim prognosis. He wasn’t sure what the book was going to be about or if he could finish it. But David attacked the work with the fervor of a younger, healthier man.
So what is it about? On the one hand, “The Intelligent Hand” is the story of a boy with a stammer who became one of the leading furniture designers in the U.K., working for clients all over the world, including Saudi Arabia and China. It’s a story of extreme failure – bankruptcy – and how he built a new life using the debris from the broken one.
It’s a practical and iconoclastic guide to getting started in woodwork. David has always had pointed opinions about the tools and methods his students should use to get good results. And he shares – in great detail – his recommendations for tools, sharpening, cutting dovetails and building a proper workbench.
There are times when I wonder what is going on. That’s a pretty usual state of mind for me. I seem to get nearer and nearer to waving my stick at the seagulls and shouting at passing cars. But when it comes to “making,” this disconnection usually involves piles of expensive jigs and the spindle moulder (or shaper, as you guys call it). I see a pile of jigs made beautifully and look at the product – in this case four desk legs – and wonder why the desk legs were not made by hand, just as quickly.
I have never been able to win this argument with Daren, and my last workshop sought to become more efficient by making more jigs. We even had a room full of these useless implements. “Ah we should keep the jigs; we may make a chair leg very similar.” That’s how the argument goes, but by that time three things have happened. One, you can never find all the bits of jig for the necessary complex and clever sequence of machining; they are hidden beneath the pile of subsequent jigs. Two, the maker who invented this clever contraption has long since moved on and exactly how these bits of MDF fit together moved with him. Three, your old jig never quite does the new shape and you end up making a new jig.
Many makers love making jigs. Jigs keep us out of the firing line. Making even four identical forms by hand, can of course be done, but when there is a machine that will replicate shapes, most makers will dive for the cover that a jig provides. And jig design enables us to show how clever we are. Well, here we go.
Steve has made a box jig (so-called because it looks a bit like a box and the job fits inside it). The idea is clever and sensitive to the material and the design. (Note that in the photos above, Steve is running a test leg in magnolia, which is why it looks greenish.) In this case we have legs that curve out at the bottom. This means that the grain of the pear would be roughed up if machined in one direction. So, he made this jig, which enables him to turn the job over and machine the short curved ankle from one end and the long straight leg from the other direction. That is because he has two identical guiding surfaces, one directly above the other. You can see in the photos the red line that tells him to stop and turn over. Clever jig, this be.
The photo above shows the cutter block running above a guide ring. The jig is in contact with the guide ring, and the cutters trim the job above to the exact size.
Spindle moulders really are great tools. They do the same thing as a router inverted in a table, but they do it better. The heavy mass of the cutter block provides heft through the cut, so the block spins at lower speed than a router and gives a cleaner cut.
Don’t look so surprised, Steve (see above). Handwork was called “Workmanship of Risk” by David Pye in his wonderful book “The Nature and Art of Workmanship” – what you are doing is “Workmanship of Certainty” – this is the industrial process of replication coming into small workshops.
OK – back to the bench shop. This pair of legs with two rails is what we are after; these will be the outer frames joined by a rail at the back. Each of the two frames has two side rails – a bit of overkill, but our structure is potentially wobbly in the middle so we need stiffness at the side structures, and we need to transfer that stiffness to the centre. We will do that with the addition of the drawer carcases joined to the leg frame. We don’t know for sure that it will be stiff enough – had we made a maquette we could have checked that out – but we are pretty confident. Furniture makers don’t have structural engineers to tell us the tensions involved. We only go on what we have done before, the stuff that hasn’t yet fallen down.
First Steve has to take the machined surface off the legs. Above, he’s working on the twisted surface of the front leg. Careful shaping with a spokeshave is needed. The components are joined together with Festool Dominos – small loose tenons. They give us enough strength for the joint and eliminate a deal of semi-complex joinery.
This, at right [above], is our disc sander, which gets a lot of use. Steve sets it up square to sand the top of a leg component, as shown. He then takes the leg to the table saw and puts it in another jig to cut the foot to length. All the legs will be cut in this jig, so it is essential that the stop’s end is sanded square so we get accurate Leg lengths. We learnt this by making batches of two dozen chairs that didn’t wobble!
This is a big moment – getting the job to stand on its own feet so you can have a good look at the proportions and see what needs fixing. So far so good, but we next need the drawer compartments made and fitted. The exhibition date is looming large, and both Daren and Steve are working weekends – my wages bill is eyewatering. But Daren has not yet booked the van to deliver the piece to the exhibition, which worries me. When he does that, I will know we are going to make it.
OK, last lap. Now it’s on to the final joinery and polishing before assembly. This is critical; you do not want to be polishing into corners if you can avoid it. Above, Steve using our standard shellac and wax finish for secondary and inside surfaces; apply it with a rubber that is kept in a glass jar. The rubber has a lambswool or wadding interior and fine cotton exterior. This holds the polish. As Steve moves the rubber and presses down, the polish is released. The shellac polish in the small bottle is very dilute, maybe less than a 1 lb.-cut (one pound weight of shellac dissolved in one gallon of alcohol). The other bottle contains mineral oil – use just a small dab to keep the rubber moving.
The aim is not a full shine, but to seal the surface and finish with a good wax polish. This is a quick and easy finish in the workshop, as shellac flashes off very fast. You wouldn’t want to polish with someone sanding on the next bench, but you can generally polish in the workshop without too many special measures. If I had a high-shine job to do, I would try to find a dust-free room, or I’d do the polish at the weekend when the dust had settled.
Let’s take a careful look at the glue-up above. There are eight cramps and only four components. Look at the angle-cramping block at the top of the far leg. Notice the support blocks between the double rails to stop them from bending under pressure. Notice also the small paper-faced cramping blocks to stop the blocks from marking the new polish. Ye Gods – the care these guys are now taking as they get near to the finish line.
Now we can see the drawer carcases fit. These are critical to the structure, providing stiffness to the front of the desk. Note how we avoid work that is not necessary; lippings on MDF components that are never seen after assembly are omitted. If, however, this area would be visible, even to a 4-year-old crawling underneath, it would get lipped, then veneered and polished. That 4-year-old could grow up to be a customer.
Whitney Miller, the author of “Henry Boyd’s Freedom Bed” was featured in a solid story this weekend about black craftspeople on the show “Matter of Fact with Soledad O’Brien.”
In addition to Whitney, the story highlights our friend Jerome Bias and discusses his work to try to correct the history of black woodworkers and their contributions to our furniture record. (Jerome is also working on a book for Lost Art Press.)
It’s definitely worth five minutes of your time to check out this segment.
— Christopher Schwarz
Whitney with her nearly completed Dutch tool chest, after a class she took with Megan.
It’s a crude and obvious joke, but what do you do with all the extra kinda-crappy chair parts and chunks of waste that are piling up in your shop? Make stools.
Ever since I began making chairs, I also began designing and making a lot of stools using the leftover chair parts. While simple vernacular stools get little love in the woodworking literature, they are one of the most common pieces of peasant/farmer furniture out there. Sometimes called “creepies” or “milking stools,” these low perches are a great way to hold your butt off the ground while you are working.
While working on “The Anarchist’s Design Book,” I developed a three-legged staked creepie that had been kicking around in the back of my mind for a few years. That stool ended up in the chapter titled: “The Island of Misfit Designs.”
Yet I keep making these stools using leftover chair parts (they take only a couple hours to make), and people are delighted by them. So here is how I make them.
The seat is made from chunks of leftover 8/4 material. When making chair seats or combs, I usually end up with short chunks of wood that are no good for chairs. Rather than throw them away, I make them into stool seats.
Glue the two pieces of 8/4 stock face to face.
The seat is two chunks of 8/4 stock, about 11-1/2″ x 11-1/2″ that are face-glued to make a blank that is about 3-1/2″ thick. The exact thickness isn’t important.
After the glue dries, I cut the square blank into an 11″-diameter circle using the band saw. I rasp off any big lumps or bumps on its rim. Then I tilt the band saw’s table to 30° and saw an underbevel on the blank. I saw right on the seam between the two layers of wood. This helps hide the glue line.
Then I clean up the edges of the seat with rasps, sandpaper and a scraper.
I use 30° here. Try other angles.
To lay out the mortises on the underside of the seat, I first draw a diameter that is 1″ less than the diameter of the underside of the seat. After cutting the underbevel, the seat is about 9″ in diameter. So set your compass to make an 8″-diameter circle.
Now lay out the location of the mortises using the compass. Its current radius (4″) can easily lay out the three mortise locations. Choose a location for one of the legs on the 8″-diameter circle. With the compass, step off twice around the circle. That’s where the second mortise goes. Step off two more times. That’s where the third mortise goes.
Connect these mortise locations with the center of the circle. These three lines are your sightlines for drilling.
Draw the 8″ diameter circle on the underside of the seat.
Choose a mortise location. Step off twice to find the second mortise location. And twice more for the third.
Now drill the mortises with a 1″ auger. Set a sliding bevel for 18°. (This is called the “resultant angle” in chairmaking.) Put the sliding bevel on one of your sightlines. Line up your drill bit in line with the sightline. Tilt the auger bit back toward you to match the 18° bevel. Drill. The mortises should be about 2-1/2″ deep.
The legs are usually leftover 1-3/4″ octagonal sticks that didn’t make the cut to be used in a chair. Usually because of some small defect or color problem. I also have a lot of extra legs sitting around in case I mess up a leg or two while building a chair.
The legs should be 1-3/4″ x 1-3/4″ x 18″-long octagons with straight grain. Cut a 1″ x 2-1/2″-long tenon on the end of each leg. Sometimes I use a 1″ plug/tenon cutter in my drill. Other times I make the tenon on the lathe. Sometimes I taper the legs. Sometimes I do a double-taper. It all depends on what the legs look like and how late in the day it is.
Cut the tenons. I used a plug/tenon cutter in a cordless drill for these.
Before assembling the stool, clean up all the show surfaces. Then glue the legs into their mortises with hide glue. I don’t fox-wedge the mortises. If the legs ever come out, I’ll just glue them back in.
Then level the legs and cut them to length. I like my stools to be between 16″ and 20″ in height. Lower stools for around the fire. Taller stools for work.
These days I usually engrave a spell on the seat as well.
“Please almighty beings, protect this rumpus from harm.”
— Christopher Schwarz
A witch’s mark engraved on this example.
Another finished stool. With leveled legs. A little wonky.
