We are all but out of chair badges. The very few left are for those letters/pictures/SASEs already on their way to us in the mail stream (and I’m fervently hoping we have enough for those…I’ll fulfill them on a first-come, first-served basis if I don’t have enough).
So I’m afraid that those of you currently building a stick chair, and those of you planning to build a stick chair, will have to be satisfied with the admiration of your friends and family for your chair feats of glory (pretty good recompense!). And/or, you can download your own badge pdf file below and take it to a maker space (such as the one at the fabulous Cincinnati public library) that has a machine to embroider your own badge/sticker/magnet/button.
Yes, I clamp my joints as I drive the drawbore pegs. I’m a chicken, OK?
On Friday, I knocked together a cupboard inspired by Romanian peasant furniture for my next book, “The American Peasant.” The piece was made entirely by hand, but using Western tools instead of Eastern European ones.
All the joints are drawbored and glued (with gelatin glue I made here in the shop). When I went to make the drawbore pegs, I decided to first look at what is in the Jennie Pipe in the machine room. Jennie Pipe? Read on.
After Jennie Alexander died, the family asked us to take any of the spare tools and bits of wood that other woodworkers didn’t want. I took a hacking knife and some scratch stocks. But somehow I also ended up with a piece of 6″ PVC pipe (sealed at one end) that is filled with Jennie’s dowel stock.
I usually split out my own drawbore pegs, but there was a 5/16”-diameter white oak dowel in the pipe that had grain that was as straight as if it were split. I thought: Why not?
I used the dowel and found that I had exactly enough to drawbore the 16 mortise-and-tenon joints, plus make the hinges for the doors, which rotate on dowels.
In the end, I had about 1/16″ extra, which is painted red. I took it as a sign that I had made the correct choice.
It’s funny how I can’t throw away some things (which is totally not like me). I still have my father’s stationery from his medical practice (printed in the 1980s) and his Rolodex. These things take up space I don’t have to spare, but I can’t part with them. Perhaps I’m destined to mail a letter to someone in the Rolodex.
I also have a sizable chunk of bright orange Plexiglas that Jennie used for making go/no-go gauges and other dingus (dingi?).
I can’t wait to see the cabinet I’m destined to build using that….
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. What’s The American Peasant? It’s my substack. It’s a somewhat foul-mouthed open wire of my progress on my next book. There’s practical information (how to sharpen and use a timber scribe) and “thoughts on craft” that would make David Pye roll his eyes – and then over in his grave. You can subscribe for free (about one-third of the posts are free). And there’s a trial subscription that lets you sample everything for free for seven days. I enjoy the heck out of writing it.
If you don’t want to mix up your own soap finish – or if you just want to give it a try – the Pure Soap Flake Co. offers it pre-mixed in jars for as little as $10.
The product is called Pure Castile Cream Soap, and it is available in 8 oz. to 64 oz. jars. I don’t know its exact water-to-soap ratio, but it is like a mayonnaise consistency and is ready to apply to wood.
The product behaves exactly like the soap finish I make from flakes.
Apply it with a soft cloth. Let it dry. Then buff it a bit. As I’ve mentioned before, a soap finish isn’t durable, but it is easily repaired and renewed with more soap. And no, your furniture won’t foam up if you spill a little water on the finish. It’s a traditional finish in Scandinavia. Non-toxic and pleasant to use and touch.
I’ve had soap finish on my work desk here at Lost Art Press for more than eight years. I love it.
Fisher was the first settled minister of the frontier town of Blue Hill, Maine. Harvard-educated and handy with an axe, Fisher spent his adult life building furniture for his community. Fortunately for us, Fisher recorded every aspect of his life as a woodworker and minister on the frontier.
In this book, author Joshua A. Klein, the founder of Mortise & Tenon Magazine, examines what might be the most complete record of the life of an early 19th-century American craftsman. Using Fisher’s papers, his tools and the surviving furniture, Klein paints a picture of a man of remarkable mechanical genius, seemingly boundless energy and the deepest devotion. It is a portrait that is at times both familiar and completely alien to a modern reader – and one that will likely change your view of furniture making in the early days of the United States.
Chapter 7 of the book is a catalog of Fisher’s tools and furniture; these pieces are included therein.
Round-top Stand
Made by Jonathan Fisher
Dimensions: W: cross-grain 16-3/8″, with grain 16-5/8″ top 3/4″ thick; legs 1″ thick; bottom of pedestal 3″; cleat width 6″ H: 28″
Wood(s): cherry
Inscriptions/stamps: n/a
From the collection of: Jonathan Fisher Memorial
Construction: The round top is screwed to a cleat. The pedestal is tenoned into the cleat. There is a turned shelf at the top of the dovetails and there is a circular thin metal plate in place of a spider nailed to the underside with three nails. The tops of the legs are rounded rather than coming to a point as in other stands.
Tool Marks: There is minor tear-out on the top’s underside. There is traversing tear-out on the underside. The cleat demonstrates a double chip in the plane iron’s marks. There is plane chatter on the cleat. There are layout lines for the tenon on the cleat. The underside of the legs have turning saw, spokeshave, chisel and rasp marks.
Condition: There is a large gouge in two areas of the pedestal but otherwise stable.
Inscriptions/stamps: underside of lid: sawmill tally marks, three large chalk mark swirls; small pencil “x” on back
Accession Number: Collection of the Farnsworth Art Museum, Rockland, Maine; Museum Purchase, 1965.1465.11
Construction: The chest is rabbeted and nailed (with T-headed nails). The bottom is in dados and a groove (sides and back) and in a rabbet in front. There are three nails through each end securing the bottom and one in front but no nails through the back. The ogee-moulded lid has cleats that are tapered and fastened with nails clinched up through the top. The lid is attached with cotterpin hinges. The chest has a lock.
Tool Marks: Only the front, sides and top of the lid were smooth planed – all other surfaces have fore plane marks. The underside of the bottom is rough with lots of tear-out from a heavily cambered plane, and there is large tear-out on underside of PL cleat. There are saw marks under the profile of the feet with a considerable chamfer on the inside. The till’s layout lines are visible.
Condition: There are minor repairs to the moulding. Two clinched cleat nails have pulled through the lid. (They were clinched parallel to the grain.)
Linseed oil paint requires a lot of stirring at first. I used a stick. The Allbäck company recommends using a whisk.
For the last 20 years I’ve used mostly milk paints and acrylics on my furniture. I have reservations about both kinds of paint.
On milk paint, I find it inconsistent and a lot of work. When it works, it’s great. But it takes significant effort and time (for me) to get good results. And just because you know how to use red milk paint doesn’t mean you can use the same methods for black or blue.
That said, the paint has a lot going for it. It’s non-toxic. It is hard-wearing and looks better after a lot of wear. And it doesn’t create a plastic film over the wood like other paints do.
From the perspective of someone who sells furniture, however, I need to charge more for pieces that use milk paint because of all the extra time and steps involved.
Acrylics, on the other hand, are consistent and fast. I can spray a chair in the morning (about 45 minutes of work total) and have it sittable by the end of the day. The major downside is that it is a plastic finish. I’m not a fan of plastic – full stop. Nothing about plastic makes me happy. Acrylic wears fairly well, but it hasn’t been around for all that long (only since the 1930s). So the jury is still out on it (as it is on plastic glues such as polyvinyl acetate – aka yellow glue).
About seven years ago, we started working with the Canadian distributors for Allbäck, a Swedish finishing company that makes excellent linseed-oil-based finishes. The distributor also became our Canadian distributor for Lost Art Press for a time (we parted on amicable terms).
As we got to know one another, the Canadians sent us a bunch of their products for us to try. I became a huge fan of the Allbäck linseed oil wax. So much so that I sought to make our own variation on it for our shop (which we call Soft Wax 2.0).
They also sent us some of the Allbäck linseed oil paint. I’d made my own linseed oil paint before, and it’s a bit of a pain to get the pigment mixed into the oil. And then the paint takes a long while to dry. So I was a bit skeptical.
But I decided to give the Allbäck paint a try because everything else the company made was really good.
I painted it on our chopping block outside. The next day, the paint was still wet. Three days later, it was still wet. It took a full week for it to dry to the touch. At the time I remember saying: “I can’t wait a week for a single coat of paint to dry. I’ll starve.”
However, I was amazed by how good the paint looked, even after it was subject to our Midwestern climate with its extreme heat, humidity, snow and ice.
I set the stuff aside until I started work on “The American Peasant.” After much thought it became clear that linseed oil paint was the right paint for all these projects. It looked right. It was simple. It was low-VOC. Natural. I decided to give the paint a second go.
This time I read up on the paint a lot before using it. I experimented with adding a thin coat of oil on the wood the day before painting – this seemed to really help. And after applying the paint, I kept it in a room with low humidity. Plus I exposed it to lots of sunlight (a tip from Jögge Sundqvist).
The first paint sample basking in the February sun (and low humidity).
The coat of oil before painting made the paint go on very smoothly (like I was applying a second coat of paint). Controlling the drying conditions reduced the paint’s drying time to less than 24 hours.
And the linseed oil paint looked great with just one coat. You could still see the wood’s grain, the paint was fairly matte and there was no plastic feel.
My first finished paint sample. I love it.
I’m sold.
For the book, I’ve bought three colors of paint. (I could have bought all of them. The Allbäck colors look absolutely gorgeous to me.) Here they are: Old Blue, Holkham Green, and Old Red.
It’s a little more expensive. Allbäck is about $2 an ounce. (Quality acrylics are about $1.70 an ounce.)
But the quality of the Allbäck is outstanding. In fact, now that General Finishes is reducing its acrylic offerings, I’ve decided to try linseed oil paint on my chairs to see how much time it adds to my process. I suspect it won’t add much labor. But I will need to be patient and allow the paint to dry.
