Our relationship with wood is complicated. When I see a beautiful maple in my neighborhood, I want to kill it, tear it open and use its guts to make something.
But I also appreciate the beauty of its canopy.
When I try to rive locust, I want every locust tree to catch flame and its locust children to suffer a similar fate. (Locust, by the by, is a tough species.) But when I drive locust pegs into a drawbored joint, I laugh with joy.
Woodworker Geremy Coy recently attended a talk by Jennie Alexander, one of the authors of “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree” where Jennie said something interesting:
“People in the 18th century were trying to find the beauty in wood. People in the 17th century were trying to hide it.”
It inspired a blog entry that I think you should read. Check it out here.
The workbenches we built this week at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking this week are a little different than the French benches I’ve built at other classes. The biggest change: We attached the top to the base with four through-mortises instead of the combination mortise-and-dovetail joint I’ve used in the past.
Why? Time and volume.
We had to make 17 8’-long workbenches in only five days using 6,000 pounds of material. In past classes we’ve done this class in six days, built shorter benches or let the students worry about vises when they got home.
So I set out to engineer a design that was suited to our material – 6×6 Douglas Fir beams – the limited number of workshop hours when we could use the machinery – 42 hours – and for a class that was made up of mostly beginners.
The above design is what I drafted, and it almost worked.
I eliminated the four sliding dovetails and increased the size of the four through-tenons. I’ve seen this feature on surviving benches so I know it works. And it saved us hours of handwork to cut the dovetails. The through-mortises in the top were cut before assembly by kerfing the extents of the mortise and removing the waste with a mortiser. This worked remarkably well. All the benches slid together with few problems.
The real star of the class was the material itself – 6×6 beams of kiln-dried Douglas Fir that the school purchased from the J. Gibson McIlvain Co. The material arrived in our hands with an actual dimension of 5-1/2” x 5-1/2”. My hope was that we would be able to plane the stuff down to 4-1/2” x 4-1/2”. The stuff was remarkably stable and well-behaved. We surfaced almost every stick down to 5-3/8” x 5-3/8”, so it wasn’t very twisted, cupped or bowed.
That saved time on machining and emptying the dust collector.
So where did my plan stumble? I think we all ran out of energy by the fifth day and didn’t push hard enough at the end to get everyone’s vises on. Everyone who wanted to assemble their bench got it assembled (I think that’s correct). But most of them only got a start on their vises by the time we started cleaning up by 2 p.m. Saturday.
I’m quite happy with the design of this bench and the material. It was darn clear and almost entirely free of heart, so it didn’t split as much as some construction timbers. If I had an extra day, I might add the dovetail back onto the design, just because it looks so nice. But I don’t think the addition of the dovetail or the lack of it will change the usability of the bench.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. You can download a SketchUp drawing of this design from Google’s 3D Warehouse using this link.
The latest French work which treats of joinery is Rondelet’s “L’Art de Batir.” It is also the best foreign work on the subject that we have seen; but it is not at all adapted to the state of joinery in England. In practice, the French joiners are very much inferior to our own. Their work is rough, slovenly, and often clumsy, and at best is confined to external effect.
The neatness, soundness, and accuracy, which is common to every part of the works of an English joinery, is scarcely to be found in any part of the works of a French one. The little correspondence, in point of excellence, between their theory and practice, leads us to think that their theoretical knowledge is confined to architects, engineers, &c. instead of being diffused among workmen, as it is in this country.
In cabinet-work the French workmen are certainly superior, at least as far as regards external appearance; but when use, as well as ornament, is to be considered, our own countrymen must certainly carry away the palm.
— Encyclopaedia Britannica 7th Edition 1842 Joinery Article by Thomas Tredgold C.E.
It must not be forgotten, however, that tools are for use, not for show. The man – and such, though scarce, are to be found – who regards his tools as if they were so many dolls, and is never weary of counting them, polishing the handles and arranging them, simply makes himself ridiculous.
On the other hand, the tools of some carvers might well complain of “offended dignity” (if they were entitled to any) on account of the careless manner in which they are thrown about the bench. They lie in every conceivable position, and present an appearance which (bar the horrors) might be taken to represent a deserted battlefield.
— The Cabinet Maker, Jan. 1, 1881, from the column “The Workman’s Corner.” This was a series of articles on tools, particularly carving tools, featured in the magazine. You can read the complete excerpts by downloading them from Jeff Burks’s web site via this link. All thanks to Jeff, who has been digging up and organizing some excellent material of late.
“Make a Joint Stool from a Tree” is now available for sale at Classic Hand Tools Ltd. in the U.K. You can purchase the book (and other Lost Art Press books) using this link.
The price is £34.95.
In other foreign distribution news, Highland Hardware in Atlanta is also selling “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree.”
