The following is excerpted from “The Anarchist’s Design Book,” by Christopher Schwarz. The new, expanded edition of “The Anarchist’s Design Book” is an exploration of furniture forms that have persisted outside of the high styles that dominate every museum exhibit, scholarly text and woodworking magazine of the last 200 years.
There are historic furniture forms out there that have been around for almost 1,000 years that don’t get written about much. They are simple to make. They have clean lines. And they can be shockingly modern.
This book explores 18 of these forms – a bed, dining tables, chairs, chests, desks, shelving, stools – and offers a deep exploration into the two construction techniques used to make these pieces that have been forgotten, neglected or rejected.
“The Anarchist’s Design Book” is available for order in print, or you can download a free pdf (and you don’t need to register, sign up for dumb marketing or even tell us who you are). Just click through this link and you’ll find the download in the second sentence of the first paragraph – the one in italics.
Embrace or Reject the History Lesson
If you want to make historical furniture reproductions or pieces that are inspired by vintage work, you must devote yourself to studying old work – in person, up close and without prejudice.
But if you want to make things that are new or modern, you instead must devote yourself to studying old work – in person, up close and without prejudice. Otherwise, how will you know what it is you are rebelling against or rejecting?
In other words, no matter what sort of furniture maker you are, understanding the furniture record will make you a better one. Otherwise you might end up like some members of the Bauhaus, for example, who rejected historical work and set out to reinvent architecture, furniture and other crafts from first principles. As a result, they made a lot of unnecessary and time-consuming mistakes to create a new world. (See armchair F 51 designed for the director’s room of the Bauhaus.)
As I see it, every generation of makers has goals that fall upon these three lines:
Exalt old work to revive principles that have been forgotten by our degenerate society.
Create new work that rejects the principles of our degenerate society.
Make birdhouses.
All three are completely valid ways of approaching the craft. Only No. 3 allows you to skip the furniture record and create something useful with minimal effort.
Another Chinese chair. Hans Wegner’s Chinese Chair No. 1 (1944).
As I write this, I am surrounded by hundreds of books filled with thousands of pieces of furniture that I’ll never build. Many of those pieces are somewhat ugly or, at the least, too ornate for my taste. Yet I am thrilled to study every line and curve of every William & Mary, Georgian or Seymour piece that I can lay my hands on. Some of these pieces are brilliant because of their technicality. Their talented makers found clever ways of making extremely complex pieces in a shockingly simple way. (If you have studied furniture bandings, then you know what I mean.)
Other pieces are notable because of the sheer patience and focus of the maker (see French marquetry).
Still other pieces are forms that are perfectly proportioned in silhouette.
In my personal work, I seek to combine all three of those properties (though I rarely succeed). And the only way I can try to reach that goal is to study old work. So every day I open an old book, go to a museum in a strange city (thank you, crazy teaching schedule) or plumb the Internet.
Example: In a manor house in Cornwall there’s a beautiful Chinese chair. Why is it there, surrounded by 300-year-old English stuff? The house’s docents don’t know. So I buy a book on the history of the manor house and its contents. I explore Chinese chair construction on the Internet. I turn up some Hans Wegner chairs in my search and find a bright string from traditional Chinese furniture through Danish Modern.
Suddenly, the curve of the chair’s crest rail makes sense, across time and cultures. What I do with that information is up to me as a designer – but if I decide to incorporate a wishbone shape into a future design, I have a path to explore all the possibilities. And I can embrace or reject the history lesson.
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.
Saint Jerome in His Study, by Colantonio, c.1445-1446, from the collection of Museo di Capodimonte, Napoli.
Scholars, translators, transcribers and writers have always needed to have multiple books and other resources within easy reach. Illustrated manuscripts give us a good look at how medieval scribes stored and arranged their often large and hefty books.
In the image above, Saint Jerome, identified by the halo, red galero and the lion with a thorn in its paw, is viewed in his study. The shelf above his desk, and the large open shelves surrounding his desk, are cluttered with books as Jerome works on translating the Bible into Latin. The nails on the side of the desk reveal it is of boarded construction, while joinery on the small chest (with Jerome’s red galero atop) is frame and panel.
An image drawn and painted over 700 years earlier gives us a different arrangement.
Codex Amiatinus or Codex Jarrow, completed before 716 in Northumbria, England. Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Amiatino 1.
The Prophet Ezra, a scribe and priest, is illustrated in the Codex Aniatinus, the earliest and most accurate copy of Saint Jerome’s translation of the Latin Bible. He sits in front of a cupboard with a pediment and frame-and-panel double doors. The left-side door has an astragal fashioned into the shape of a column. The frame above and below the doors is carved (or painted) with decorative shapes and symbols. The cupboard resembles a temple, as is appropriate, for within, the shelves hold a Bible in nine bound volumes. Ezra works with his book propped on his lap and seems to have consigned his writing slope to be a footrest.
According to the Library of Congress this “illumination is among the oldest images in the Western world to show a bookcase and the bindings of books.” The codex is also huge. It has 1,030 folios and measures approximately 505 mm by 340 mm (19.9 in. x 13.4 in.) and weighs 34 kg (almost 75 lb.).
The codex was made in Northumbria, England, and was to be a gift to Pope Gregory. Ceolfrid, a Benedictine monk, was in Italy on his way to Rome when he died in 716 (hence the date of before 716). A further note is the codex was one of three copies of the Bible made in Northumbria, but the only copy to survive.
Why Were Books Stored Flat?
Titles of books written on the fore edge and foot edge of books.
Although many medieval books written on thick parchment or vellum and often bound in leather could possibly stand on end, titles were not put on the spine until the 16th century. There was also no standardization of book sizes. Some books were small enough to fit in one hand, while others were so large and heavy it took two people to lift one. As a result, books were placed flat, often with the spine turned inwards. The title might be handwritten on the fore edge or foot edge. Alternatively, the title could be written on the cover.
Boethius turns the pages of a book in Der Renner, last quarter of 15th century, Austria, Morgan Library, MS M. 763, f.195r.
Boethius, in his rather spare accommodations, allows us to see that all the books on his bookshelves have titles on the cover. The titles of the books on the lower shelf are “Musica” and “Arithmetrica.”
Roman de Troie (Romance of Troy), c.1340-1350 by Benoît de Sainte-Maure, Paris, BnF, MS Français 782, f.2v.
In this opening scene of the “Romance of Troy,” the manuscript’s author has imagined the moment when Cornelius Nepos, a Roman biographer, discovers the history of Troy as written by Dares the Phygian. This generous cupboard has sturdy shelves and – not bifold – but tri-fold doors and stands below a small vault that looks to be recessed into the wall. The vault is presumably for the most precious or controversial books.
The appearance of bifold doors in medieval manuscripts makes sense. Books were valuable and needed to be secured in cupboards and scholars and scribes worked in small and cramped spaces. The bifold door with its small footprint was the solution, in fact, it was a very old solution.
Bifold doors were found in ancient Egyptian tombs and have been found in Herculaneum.
Examples of bifold doors, both are dated 1st century CE and from Herculaneum. Top: Fresco of the Shoemakers, from The House of the Stags. Bottom: A small household shrine sealed and carbonized by pyroclastic covering, House of the Wooden Shrine.
The dimensions of the household shrine are 163 cm x 73 cm (64.2 in x 28.7 in). It has all the construction details one would expect in a full-sized cupboard. The Romans used metal for door hinges, as well as bone and ivory. The shrine hinges are an example of bone or ivory.
These types of doors are also described in the temple built by King Solomon in 1 Kings 6:31 and 33.
“For the entrance of the inner sanctuary he made doors of olive wood with five-sided jambs.”
“In the same way he made four-sided jambs of olive wood for the entrance to the main hall.”
A Roundabout Device for More Clunky Books
Left: Cornificia in a Flemish translation of “Le Livre de la Cité des Dames,” c.1475, Bruges, British Library, Add. MS 20698, f.70r. Right: Saint Proba reading at her desk, 1497, Italy, Bodleian Library, Douce 287, f.5v.
On the left, Cornificia, Roman poet and writer of epigrams is unhappy. She needs more books, but her desk is too small. The bookcase is almost full and the wall shelf holds only one measly book. Proba, on the right, also a poet, also has limited work space. She suggests a rotating book holder might be the solution.
“Somnium Scipionis with Macrobius’ Commentary,” 1383, Bologna, Bodleian Library, Canon. Class. Lat. 257, f.002r.
Marcus Tullius Macrobius takes a short break from his commentary on Cicero’s “The Dream of Scipio” to agree with Proba. He suggests a book carousel will double your poetic output.
The book carousel was, and still is, an efficient tool on which to prop, and refer to, multiple open books. It can be a desktop tool and has also been configured as a stand-alone piece.
Left: Saint Luke mending a quill in The Dunois Hours, c.1440-1450, Paris, British Library, Yates Thompson 3, f.15v. Right: Saint Luke, Book of Hours, c.1410-1420, Paris, British Library, Yates Thompson 46, f.14v.
On the left, Saint Luke pauses his writing to mend his quill pen. His study is crowded with a bookcase,desk and a roomy and ornate hexagonal book carousel. On the right, Saint Luke has a double-decker carousel with the possibility of raising the height for improved reading ergonomics.
Left: Benvenuto da Imola commenting on The Divine Comedy, beginning of 15th century, Italy, Bodleian Library, MS Canon. Ital 107, f.001r. Right: Saint Luke, Bedford Hours, c.1414-1423, Paris, British Library, Add. 18850, f.20r.
Benvenuto da Imola and Saint Luke also benefited from the innovative swing-arm carousel. On the left, Benvenuto, nestled in his own private letter, pauses a moment in his contemplation of Dante’s “Divine Comedy.” He has a revolving carousel that he can swing forward as needed. Saint Luke, on the right, has a swing-arm lantern, a really clever addition to a carousel and a clear precursor to today’s task lighting.
The Whole Enchilada
The scribe at work, c.1320-1340, Cambrai, Bibliothéque municipale, 620 (572), f.001.
This scribe, responsible for the manuscript in which he appears, sits ensconced behind his desk. In easy reach are a book cupboard (with bifold doors) and a double-decker carousel. Get a load of the wide book bench with three locking compartments. In his rich and fur-lined garments he mocks us (perhaps that’s just me) with his plethora of book storage. It would serve him right if, despite such bookish ostentation, there is no door behind the blue curtain and he is stuck in this panel of his own making.
What About the Rest of the World?
Many things were underway in other parts of the world. For instance, China invented paper with a full documentation of the papermaking process appearing around 105 CE. Papermaking techniques began in Vietnam in the 3rd century, spread to Korea in the 4th century and on to Japan in the 5th century.
Documents and books moved from handwritten to printing with woodblocks. Printing with moveable wooden type was developed in China around 1040. The printing of the first books with moveable metal type occurred in Korea in 1234.
Although the first 13th-century books printed in Korea with moveable metal have not survived, there is one portion of a 14th-century book that did. “Jikji” is a Buddhist text printed in 1377 and is the earliest extant book printed using this new technology. This treasure is in residence at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France.
Stitch-bound books in China, Korea, Vietnam and Japan had paper covers with the title written on the cover, or a label with the title was affixed to the cover. Similar to the European practice, the title might also be written on the fore or foot edge.
The cover of “Jikji,” earliest extant book printed with moveable metal type, pages from the book and the title written on the foot edge, 1377, Cheongju, now South Korea, collection of BnF, Coreen 109.
Books did not have rigid spines and were placed flat in open shelving. An example can be seen in this chaekgeori, or scholar’s screen, from Korea.
Chaekgeori (books and things) eight-panel screen painted by Yi Eungrok, c.1860-1874, Korea, collection of The Asian Art Museum, San Francisco.
It was painted by the artist Yi Eungrok and is dated 1860-1874. Chaekgeori translates as “books and things.” The things are items, such as vases, flowers, fruit and the scholar’s writing implements. King Jeonjo (reigned 1776-1800) is credited with the introduction of these screens. When his screen was introduced, court officials thought they were looking at real bookshelves.
The Abbasid Library, 1237, Baghdad, illustrated by Yahya al-Wâsitî, école de Baghdad, Paris, BnF, MS Arabe 5847, f.5.
In the 8th century in Baghdad, paper began replacing parchment for administrative documents. The Grand Library shows a similar arrangement to the open and evenly spaced bookshelves in Asia.
Before heading back to Europe, it should be noted one other very important paper item came about when the Chinese invented paper: toilet paper.
The Book Carousel Grows Up
In 1588 Capitano Agostino Ramelli had an idea for a book carousel. In his description of the device he wrote, “…it is very useful and convenient for study, especially for those ill-disposed…because with this type of machine a man can read a large quantity of books without moving from one place.”
Figure CLXXXV111 (188) from “Le Diverse et Artifiose Machine de Capitano Agostino Ramelli,” 1588.
Ramelli’s bookwheel had epicyclic gears, with one gear rotating around another, such that the shelves holding the books are held at a constant 45° angle.
Of course, smaller bookwheels, perhaps inspired by Ramelli’s idea, were made and used in libraries and they have their own kind of elegance.
Much smaller. Left: Bibliotheca Thysiana in Leiden, Netherlands, 1650. Right: Biblioteca Palafoxiana, Pueblo, Mexico, 1773.
Ramelli’s bookwheel did not stay on the pages of his book. The bookwheel and two other learning machines were made for Daniel Libeskin’s exhibit at the 1985 Venice Architecture Biennale.
The program (top-left) and photos of The Reading Machine (based on Ramelli’s 1588 design) for the 1985 Venice Architecture Bienniale.
The link below provides a few more details about the bookwheel’s construction, difficulties encountered in Venice and what happened to the device after the Biennale.
The Robbins Library at the University of Rochester (New York), a non-circulating medieval studies library, has a Ramelli bookwheel. In 2018, the bookwheel was a collaboration between the librarians and four engineering students from the Rochester Institute of Technology. Turning the wheel is described as “an invigorating experience, both physically and intellectually.” The students made a second wheel for the Cary Collection, a graphic arts collection, at RIT.
However you organize your books (alphabetical by author, by subject, by research project, or the I- know-where-everything-is method), Charles Dickens said it best, “We never tire of the friendships we form with books.” Treat them well.
Note: This video is being offered at the special introductory offer of $35 until Aug. 25. After that, the video will be $69.
We’ve long been fascinated with the Swedish tool chest form. Roy Underhill had one at The Woodwright’s Shop, and Chris got a close look at one in Sweden that belongs to Johan Lyrfalk, and came down through his family. It’s similar to a Dutch chest with its slanting front lid, but the Swedish one is in some ways simpler. And it’s larger – at least our version is – it’s not a chest for travel.
The video – which stars and is edited by television professional and do-it-yourself maven Whitney Miller – shows you step by step how to build this Swedish chest – and her joy in making it comes through on screen. (Which is to say she a lot of fun to watch, beyond the woodworking instruction!)
The Swedish chest is assembled with through-dovetails at the corners. The top and bottom are screwed to the carcase. The interior of the chest is fairly open and offers plenty of room for planes and larger tools on the floor. There are three drawers, assembled with rabbets and nails, that will hold your smaller tools and shop sundries. The drawer frame and dividers are assembled with screws, then nailed in place through the outside of the chest, as in our inspiration piece.
The interior walls of the chest are lined with tool racks, and there are saw racks on the lid. The rack layout is easy to adjust to suit your own storage needs.
We built it in cherry, because we couldn’t resist the call of the wide cherry boards at the lumberyard that day. The inspiration chest was painted, and probably made from pine.
The build is an excellent primer on through-dovetails and simple drawer construction – and when you’re done, you’ll have a handsome chest in which to store your tools.
Dimensions are: 32-1/2” wide, 18-1/2” high and 19-3/4” deep. The top is 8-1/2” wide, the drop lid is 13-1/2 wide. Most of the stock for the carcase is 7/8” thick.
The entire video is just more than an hour – tightly edited to be compact but filled with good information that’s fun to watch. It’s an excellent video for beginning woodworkers, with just the information you need.
You also get downloadable PDFs with plans and a cutlist, as well as information on using “marriage marks” for layout, and applying our favorite non-toxic soft-wax finish.
Driving on the comb during a chair class in Bavaria.
I just returned from two weeks (and then some) in Bavaria. For the most part I was teaching classes put on by Dictum GmbH. It’s been more than five years since I’ve taught there, so it was great to catch up with old friends and make some new ones.
Here’s a typical scene at dinner one night with the students. We got our menus and the students were explaining what a “divorce salad” was.
“Is this what you eat when you want a divorce?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” they said.
“No,” I replied. “You are pulling my chain.”
Eventually we realized they were saying “die wurst,” which means “the sausage.” Not “divorce.”
And yes, they put hot sausages on a green salad here. Don’t knock it until you try it.
I’m returning to Dictum next year for two more weeks of teaching. The plan is to teach two chairmaking classes: A big ole comb-back at the workshop in Niederalteich. And an Irish armchair in the workshop in Munich. When registration opens for these classes, I’ll post the links here.
I made a short video of the Dutch tool chest class. Students came from all over the globe.
In between a few too many beers and Bavarian food, I managed to finish editing Megan’s Dutch tool chest book. It was worth waiting for. Soon we’ll begin designing the book, so it’s definitely coming out this year.
After teaching, I traveled to Nuremberg with Lucy to explore the city and see a lot of folk furniture at the Fränkisches Freilandmuseum. I could have spent three or four days there, but we had only one. I made a video of some of my favorite pieces and interiors. Take a look.
And now I’m back in the States. Happy to be home, but falling asleep at odd times until my body adjusts.
