In fact it might be said that one cannot do good woodwork and think about the war at the same time. Most readers, of course, have found this out for themselves. When war first came our postbag brought us countless stories from readers, telling us of the wonderful relief they had found in just getting on with their jobs. And in the present violent phase of the struggle calmness comes to those who carry on quietly with their hobbies.
— The Woodworker, July 1940
It’s a good thing my wife doesn’t read my blog because what I’m about to tell you would probably force me into sleeping on the couch for a week.
I’ve always wanted a tattoo. I don’t know why. It must be the redneck in me.
Today I got the next best thing to a tattoo. I received my beloved Type 11 Stanley No. 5 plane in the mail after letting engraver Catharine Kennedy have her way with it. I asked her if she could engrave the shape of the English layout square that is the motif in my upcoming book “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” on the sidewalls of the plane.
You know, something simple.
But like tattoos, things got out of hand quickly. After Kennedy sent me some sketches I went for the full-blown scrolls on both sidewalls that you can see here.
The work is simply stunning. I am a decent photographer, but I just cannot do justice to her work. The level of detail on the scrolls – each one is beveled on the inside like it was done with a V-tool – is intoxicating. And unlike the “engraving” you see on trophies or anniversary plates, this engraving is deep and obviously done by hand.
The engraving job cost me $350, and now that I’ve blogged about it I can write it off in 2010. Yes, I know you hate me for that. I hate me, too.
You are going to be seeing a lot of this tool on this blog and my blog at work so I hope you like it as much as I do.
To see more of Kennedy’s work, view her impressive woodworking resume and to discuss an engraving job with her, visit her web site at catharinekennedy.com.
— Christopher Schwarz
I will not give away my hard-earned skills to a machine. It’s a bit like robbery with violence, for (machines are) not only intended to diminish my bank balance, but also to steal my power.
— John Brown (1932 – 2009), Welsh stick chairmaker
Roubo reveals a clear passion for leaving the generations after him in good stead regarding their access to the knowledge he has compiled. Clearly he reflects with pleasure the task he has just completed in the below passages from his work.
— Don Williams
… it is to be hoped that perfection results from the care and zeal with which I created these volumes. I am persuaded that if it were perfect, the Public, and especially my young companions, would have nothing to desire in this regard. I can well assure you that I have not spared pain nor expense in creating this work(*), so that nothing could compete with its perfection either in the order and arrangement of materials which are presented here, or regarding the research and experiences that I have been obliged to recount.
(*) The most considerable expense which I have been obliged to incur, and that which has been the most onerous to me, is the loss of my time (at least with regards to my establishment) which has necessarily impacted my well-being, a loss perhaps irreparable, and of which nothing can reimburse me other than the pleasure of having been useful to my co-citizens. To be happier still, if my work and my troubles can be really useful, and if the sacrifice which I made (of which I don’t regret, however) can count for something, and counter-balance is some way the inadvertent mistakes of which my work is surely not exempt!
I have also not taught anything by combining example and precept without making remarks of the advantages and disadvantages, and the different occasions where certain forms of works, or certain ways of operating, should be preferred over others, and of which I have shown the advantage on other occasions. This has sometimes placed me in the position of making critiques, perhaps a bit lively, but when speaking badly of a piece I have always respected the worker, at least that was my intention.
As to the arrangement and division of this work (set of books), I have paid attention to do it so that the woodworkers could access the part necessary to them while remaining independent of others, although all the portions fit together and make a complete body of work they should however acquire for the reasons which I gave above. Finally, after seven years of continuous and assiduous work spent in composing and making the designs of the many plates of my work I enjoyed the sweet satisfaction of seeing it completed….
The taste or style (or lack of it) of the hollowed tree-trunks of far back in the Middle Ages was probably founded upon (1) necessity, (2) usefulness, (3) the primitive tools of that day, and (4) the fact that there was no previous furniture from which their primitive imaginations might wander to other things.
But let us doff our hats to those people of the past, for their age represents the birth-time of our English furniture. Later in the Middle Ages, when our forbears were learning how to work up wood, the chest must have stood as a standard from which a new style was to evolve. When it had evolved, and chests were seen for the first time, they must have been regarded as not being far removed from the miraculous.
Probably that was the greatest change in furniture that has been made in its history.
— The Woodworker, April 1933