Join the Lost Art Press gang, along with four score of the world’s best hand tool makers and teachers, and 5,000 or so of your closest woodworking friends for the hand tool event of the year:
Roy Underhill, entertaining the Saturday morning crowd in 2023.
Admission to the event is free (though donations at the door will be much appreciated by the organizers) – but do register in advance on the Handworks website. That way, you’ll be eligible for some fabulous door prizes donated by the vendors.
On Saturday morning, Christopher Schwarz and Mike Siemsen will kick things off at 10 a.m. with what I am sure will be a slightly unhinged and thoroughly entertaining presentation. (Doors will open at 9 a.m. that morning to allow folks to find a spot.)
This is the fifth Handworks, and while I didn’t think it possible, it grows more amazing every time. It truly is a not-to-be-missed event.
A fuzzy shot from 2017 (I hope it’s similarly temperate this year; last year was a scorcher!). Who’s that young man?!
Now available in our store is Ed Zappen’s book “Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration Desk.” Inside, you’ll find construction drawings, details and techniques, as well as plenty of color photos, to guide you as you build your own faithful replica of the Declaration Desk. Plus, an overview of events that led to the American Revolution and some of the people involved, as well as a bibliography for those who wish to further study the period and the Declaration of Independence.
The original Declaration Desk, on view at the Smithsonian.
The original Declaration Desk (shown above) was made by Philadelphia cabinetmaker Benjamin Randolph (1721-1791). It’s a typical 18th-century desk for a man of letters, with a baize-covered bi-fold writing surface that is adjustable via a hinged support that rests in stops atop the desk box. The delicate drawer features tiny half-blind dovetails at the front, along with a thin inlay of satinwood that is mirrored on the back of the mitered box. The drawer interior is cleverly divided with two inkwell compartments and a longer cubby in between for quills, with room behind for paper. It’s a lovely little build – and a lovely little compact book – for those interested in 18th-century furniture and furnishings.
Below is the foreword from “Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration Desk,” written by Harry R. Rubenstein, Curator Emeritus and former Chair of the Division of Political History National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution
Within the vast collections of the Smithsonian Institution, one small item stands out for its association with the nation’s founding. It is the small wooden writing box on which Thomas Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence. Like many of Jefferson’s designs and writings, this seemingly plain desk reveals a greater complexity with further examination, even as it reflects his desire for simplicity and order.
As a delegate to the first meeting of the Second Continental Congress in 1775, Jefferson lodged with Benjamin Randolph, a prominent Philadelphia cabinetmaker; Jefferson commissioned Randolph to make a writing box of Jefferson’s design to keep his papers and writing instruments.
In June 1776, the Continental Congress appointed Jefferson to the five-member committee to draft the Declaration of Independence. Scribbling on scraps of paper on the slanted boards of his writing box, Jefferson outlined founding principles for a new nation and listed grievances against the British crown that led the Colonies to their decision for independence. The finished text inspired many colonists to a revolutionary cause and continues to stir democratic aspirations worldwide.
With an open mind and a bit of imagination, objects like this desk make the seemingly mythic past more real and offer insights into the lives of those who still influence us today. For those who follow Ed Zappen’s carefully drawn plans and instructions, you will have not only the opportunity to produce an excellent and faithful replica of Jefferson’s writing box, but also the chance to enter a world of talented cabinetmakers from another era. It was a time when writing required its own set of tools, when handwritten notes were a principal form of communication, and when revolutionary ideals of democracy and freedom were taking shape to create a new nation.
One of Ed Zappen’s reproductions of the Declaration Desk.
Editor’s note: Our Mind Upon Mind series is a nod to a 1937 Chips from the Chisel column (also featured in “Honest Labour: The Charles H. Hayward Years”), in which Hayward wrote, “The influence of mind upon mind is extraordinary.” The idea being there’s often room for improvement.To that end, we’ve asked you what else you have thought of, tried out and improved upon after building projects from our books.
Send us your own ideas! Email [email protected]. You can read more about the submission process here.
This tip may not rise to the level of a breakthrough, but I’ve found it very convenient in my shop.
For a sharpening station, try a sandwich of plastic lunch trays.
It keeps the dust off the stones when not in use, collects swarf water from a squeeze bottle, and keeps the stones in place while carefully draining the pond. I ended up with two different tray sizes and have never seen reason to change, but I don’t think it matters one way or another.
This version of the cupboard was made by Peter Follansbee to look as it would have fresh out the door of the unidentified shop of its original maker in Essex County, Massachusetts, circa 1670-90.
I uploaded the interior files to our printer on Tuesday for Peter Follansbee’s latest book, “17th-Century Essex County Cupboard” – so by the time you read this, I hope we’re finalizing the cover. This one is a tour de force – a twice-in-a-lifetime project (though I’ll bet Peter wouldn’t mind making it again) that we are honored to be preserving in this 200+ page book. Below is Christopher Schwarz’s foreword. (Barring delays, this book will likely be in house by the end of May.)
– Fitz
I think it’s fair to say that Peter Follansbee doesn’t dabble in much. Sure, he builds some Windsor and ladderback chairs, he carves spoons and constructs the occasional Chinese firewood carrier.
But for most of Peter’s life, he has focused his research and woodworking on one thing: the furniture and workshop practice of 17th century New England. While our best furniture scholars dedicate themselves to the materials, provenance, culture and forms from a particular era, Peter went even further.
He trained to become a 17th-century joiner to understand how the tools were used, why pieces were made the way they were and how the dang things were put together. And that training began with help from scholars and woodworkers. It’s a good list: Jennie Alexander, author of “Make a Chair from a Tree,” Drew Langsner, founder of Country Workshops, and Robert F. Trent, then the curator at Winterthur Museum. They all helped train Peter’s mind, eye and hands.
But then Peter took a huge leap and became a full-time joiner at Plimoth Plantations (now Plimoth Patuxet Museums) in Plymouth, Massachusetts.
For 20 years, Peter built furniture there every day while exploring the tools, processes and furniture forms common to the period. He figured things out by doing the tasks of a 17th-century joiner day after day. The turning, the mortising, the tenoning, the unusual crease mouldings and the processing of green oak into beautiful riven boards.
It takes a deep knowledge of all these things to make furniture that looks and feels right when you encounter it in person. A joint stool made with home center oak and dowels just looks wrong. You have to go all the way and embrace the materials, tools and limitations of the 17th century woodworker.
Well, except for the clothes. Peter always seems to be wearing 20th century cargo shorts and tie-dyed shirts (we challenge you to count the total shown in these pages).
Of all the woodworkers I know, Peter comes closest to living the professional life of the joiners he studies. It’s not just his hobby. Since he left Plimoth in 2014, Peter has made a living making furniture in the 17th-century way. No machines. No power tools. And he does it in a small timber-frame shop behind his house. He makes a little money from teaching and writing. But making furniture is what puts food on his family’s table. He’s learned much more about the craft this way than someone who plays “historical re-enactor” in their shop on the weekends. Such as? Well, if you ask him a question about “How did they do this operation back in the day?” you’re likely to get the response “Everyone who knows is dead!”
But if you press him, he has some interesting ideas to share.
Which brings us to this book. When Peter began work in early 2021 on the two 17th-century Essex County cupboards shown in this text, he began documenting his work. Eventually, in September of that year, he approached us: Would we consider publishing a short book that captured his notes, drawings and processes concerning the cupboard?
I replied, “I definitely am game.”
That day, Peter wrote the first 2,000 words of this book and kept going until he turned in 40,000 words of text and 1,200 images in January 2025.
This is not a short book.
As we dug into the text, we realized that this book is about as close a description as we’ll ever get to how complex pieces of 17th-century furniture began in the forest and progressed through the workshop. This particular cupboard contains a multitude of operations: riving stock, insane amounts of tricky (and simple) joinery, drawboring, nailing, faceplate and spindle turning (some of it on a massive scale), plus sometimes-wild mitering jobs to add all the decoration to this enormous and beautiful piece.
Building a cupboard like this isn’t just figuring out the joinery. It’s also figuring out how the original makers may have held some of the odd-shaped bits to work on them. It’s puzzling over the order of operations to assemble the components. It’s figuring out when to carve and paint, when to rive and when to cut joints to keep the whole operation moving forward.
Even if you never plan to build this cupboard, you’ll find Peter’s book a gripping account of a twice-in-a-lifetime project. After reading the book’s final proof in March 2026, I was a bit awe-struck. Not just by Peter’s commitment to the time period and its forms, but also by the original joiners who made these pieces in early America.
It made my own work at the bench feel a bit small. But it also nudged me to be better. To get the details right. To chase after the materials used by the early woodworkers I study. And I hope you will find that the same inspiration as you read through Peter’s text.
It isn’t often that Lost Art Press gets to publish a book like this. Written by a joiner at the top of his game after a lifetime of research, training and daily work. Plus a project that is worthy of all the long years of toil it took Peter to be able to build it.
This is what furniture research should look like. And it’s what the best woodworking books should be like, too.
Good news – we’re adding Tuesday hours to the storefront. Starting on March 24, the Lost Art Press store (407 Madison Ave., Covington, Ky., 40411) will be open from 10 a.m.-2 pm. every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.
Kara Gebhart Uhl, author of “Cadi & the Cursed Oak” and Lost Art Press copy editor (among other things), will be there on Tuesdays to help with all your LAP book-, apparel- and tool-related needs.
