The Crucible GoDrilla extends the reach of your drill bits (and other tooling) without introducing any run-out or wobble. This precision-machined tool (made in Tennessee) allows you to perform many unusual boring and fastening operations with immense ease and accuracy. Home center bit extenders are cheap, poorly made and are designed for operations where run-out is OK. An oversized hole will be hidden behind drywall. In most woodworking operations, however, an oversized hole is an ugly, gappy disaster.
So when we sat down to design a bit extender, we wanted a tool that:
Holds a bit fiercely and concentric with the chuck
Can be tightened by hand, but also can be cinched with wrenches when you need it to stay put
Is able to extend the reach of a bit from 6” to 24”
The GoDrilla works like a router collet, but with two ends. By tightening the steel nuts (knurled with flats for wrenches), one end grabs a hex bar that’s chucked into a drill. The other end of the collet grabs 1/4”-shank tooling. You can put anything you like in the collet, from a spade bit to a screwdriver bit to a countersink bit to anything with a 1/4″ hex shank.
It basically extends the reach of any of the thousands of tools that have a 1/4” hex shank.
The collet locks great with hand pressure. But you can make the bond unbreakable with 1/2″ wrenches.
The GoDrilla includes a 12″ length of hex bar – a common length for chairmaking – that is easy to swap out for whatever length you need. The body of the GoDrilla is made from hard-anodized aluminum. The nuts are steel and coated in manganese phosphate for rust protection and to lubricate the threads.
Bean the Shop Cat is here to report that Katherine Schwarz spent a few days this week making and packing a fresh batch of soft wax, and it is now available in her Etsy store.
Aw geez…are you using me for marketing again?
Instructions for Soft Wax 2.0
Soft Wax 2.0 is a safe finish for bare wood that is incredibly easy to apply and imparts a beautiful low luster to the wood.
The finish is made by cooking raw, organic linseed oil (from the flax plant) and combining it with cosmetics-grade beeswax and a small amount of a citrus-based solvent. The result is that this finish can be applied without special safety equipment, such as a respirator. The only safety caution is to dry the rags out flat you used to apply before throwing them away. (All linseed oil generates heat as it cures, and there is a small but real chance of the rags catching fire if they are bunched up while wet.)
Soft Wax 2.0 is an ideal finish for pieces that will be touched a lot, such as chairs, turned objects and spoons. The finish does not build a film, so the wood feels like wood – not plastic. Because of this, the wax does not provide a strong barrier against water or alcohol. If you use it on countertops or a kitchen table, you will need to touch it up every once in a while. Simply add a little more Soft Wax to a deteriorated finish and the repair is done – no stripping or additional chemicals needed.
Soft Wax 2.0 is not intended to be used over a film finish (such as lacquer, shellac or varnish). It is best used on bare wood. However, you can apply it over a porous finish, such as milk paint.
APPLICATION INSTRUCTIONS (VERY IMPORTANT): Applying Soft Wax 2.0 is so easy if you follow the simple instructions. On bare wood, apply a thin coat of soft wax using a rag, applicator pad, 3M gray pad or steel wool. Allow the finish to soak in about 15 minutes. Then, with a clean rag or towel, wipe the entire surface until it feels dry. Do not leave any excess finish on the surface. If you do leave some behind, the wood will get gummy and sticky.
The finish will be dry enough to use in a couple hours. After a couple weeks, the oil will be fully cured. After that, you can add a second coat (or not). A second coat will add more sheen and a little more protection to the wood.
Soft Wax 2.0 is made in small batches in Kentucky. Each glass jar contains 8 oz. of soft wax, enough for at least two chairs.
The Whitesburg, Ky., Appalshop building (center) following the late July 2022 floods. Credit: Appalshop staff via Smithsonian Magazine
The early title leader for my upcoming book about Appalachian chairmakers was “Backwoods Chairs,” but I’m now leaning toward “Upwards into the Mountains.” The decision needs to happen soon because my book is nearing the final stages. The search is complete (thank you to those who sent me names and leads after my previous blog posts about the project [post 1, post 2]), the interviews and visits have all happened and the narrative is written. I’m currently editing, adding the photography and working through the chair builds.
As a first-time author I’ve come to recognize two things: 1) I enjoy the process of writing a book and 2) I’m slow at it. But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel at this point.
I’m working toward having the manuscript to Lost Art Press this fall.
Late last week I reached out to Eastern Kentucky chairmaker Terry Ratliff (he’s among those featured in the upcoming book) about a teaching opportunity. That was before I was aware of the severe flooding to hit communities in eastern Kentucky and southwestern Virginia. I followed up with a text to Ratliff to wish him well. He was at a local lutherie shop on the main street in Hindman, Ky., at the time, scraping the thick mud off anything salvageable in the bench room. He relayed the overwhelming mess he saw all around him.
The School of Luthiery in downtown Hindman after the floodwaters receded. Credit: Zoe Oldham
Once the waters receded the full impact and devastation became apparent. The floodwater climbed higher than any time on record in some places. In the charming mountain town of Whitesburg, Ky., near the Virginia border, the North Fork Kentucky River rose more than 20′.
For those unfamiliar with the terrain of eastern Kentucky, there are lower lying, narrow bands of land between the rocky, rugged knobs and mountains. The lower land frequently has a creek or river running through it. Heavy rains funnel into these waterways – this time more than ever before. This was deemed a “once in a millenia” storm: water over rooftops, refrigerators caught up in treetops, homes carried downriver and significant loss of life.
An environmental tragedy immediately became a human tragedy. Entire communities were slammed in the storm. The tight-knit Kentucky towns of Jackson, Neon, Hindman, Whitesburg and Hazard, among more rural other places, were hit hard.
There’s also an impact on the cultural centers within the mountains. The Hindman Settlement School and the Troublesome Creek Stringed Instrument Company are digging out, working to salvage as much as possible. At Appalshop, an Appalachian cultural archive and media center in downtown Whitesburg, a crew works to recover soiled materials before they deteriorate. Those in the community collect what’s floated away.
Clean-up efforts at Appalshop. Credit: Justin Skeens
From an article in Smithsonian Magazine: “‘Some of the film from Appalshop was all through the streets and everything,’ Austin Caudill, a Whitesburg resident, tells the Lexington Herald-Leader’s Billl Estep and Austin Horn. ‘We could lose not just businesses but history.’”
Why mention this here?
Because below I share my travels to Whitesburg in April, 2021, to photograph and study Chester Cornett’s “Appalshop chair.” And because the affected communities are home to a group of eastern Kentucky chairmakers, both past and present. The floods impact Terry Ratliff’s community (while also hitting those of the late Sherman Wooton (Hyden) and Chester Cornett (Perry County). And because within Appalachia, more than any other place I’ve lived or visited, the strands of craft, community, people and place are all tightly woven together.
But most importantly, these communities need immediate resources to aid in stabilization, recovery and rebuilding. There are opportunities to help.
Now to the unicorn that is the “Appalshop Chair,” created by the visionary chairmaker Chester Cornett (visionary: as in some of his chairs came to him in visions and dreams), crafted during the recording of the 1981 Appalshop film “Hand Carved.” Appalshop then purchased the chair. It resides in their archives. I do not know its condition after the flood.
Cornett working on a low bench, in a photo from the Appalshop archives.
It was unusually cold for April, with flurries in the afternoon. No leaves on the trees just yet. The North Fork Kentucky River ran low and quiet beside Appalshop’s building.
I traveled to Whitesburg to visit Cornett’s chair. I’d wanted to see it in person since reading Michael Owen Jones’s book “Craftsman of the Cumberlands.” In it, Jones shares a photograph of the 13-slat double-rocker, making mention that this was the last chair Cornett built, meaning this was the culmination of Cornett’s fabled and prolific chairmaking career, the pinnacle of his skills and final iteration of his making choices. I hoped to study it myself and photograph it for my book.
The Appalshop chair from the back.
The archivist met me at our arranged time. Wearing white gloves, she brought the rocker out of storage. My first impression was how solid and substantial the piece looks in person. Each chair part was shaped with the drawknife before being scraped smooth. Cornett added an extra-special touch to this piece before applying his mystery concoction of finishing oils. He stayed up all night before final filming to add a little “old-timeyness” to the chair by scorching it with a Coleman campfire burner to create a mottled effect. The initial impression by those who witnessed the chair the following day was best described as “aghast.” The scorching has mellowed over time. It’s most noticeable on the back slats.
Filmmakers Herb Smith and Elizabeth Barrett with Cornett’s Appalshop Chair.
I was delighted when Elizabeth Barrett and Herb Smith joined us to talk about their time working with Cornett. They are the filmmakers behind “Hand Carved,” and continue to work with Appalshop 30+ years later. It was their skill and insight that brought about the film. Near the end of the recording process, they realized the chair was something special – something Appalshop should own and preserve. They found the money to make it happen (not the easiest thing to do; creative rural organizations are not known for deep pockets) and it’s lived within Appalshop ever since.
While the chair has always resided with Appalshop, it has not lived a life of ease. Terry Ratliff shared that, years back, he was asked to repair the piece. A summer intern’s dog gnawed on one of the rockers. A rung had worked loose. The chair was a fixture in the staff meetings and was available for everyday rocking. Ratliff, who holds Cornett in high esteem and knows the specialness of the piece, suggested the chair receive a more protected status.
Functionally, the double rocker is not a comfortable chair. The sitter must spread their legs or sit cross-legged to avoid the middle posts. The front rungs rake against the sitter’s calves if they’re not careful.
The underside of the Appalshop Chair.
It was not made for comfort; it was made for attention and to earn a decent price for the labor needed to make it. During my visit, someone at Appalshop shared a memory of Cornett carrying his chairs to Hazard on a Friday, setting up beside a busy road to sell them, and him still being there – with his chairs – into Sunday afternoon. He made beautiful, traditional chairs but there was little local market for them. This pressure pushed him toward new ideas, in hopes of recognition and higher income. If people didn’t want his gorgeous traditional rockers, maybe a double rocker would catch their attention. Though it didn’t work exactly as Cornett intended, he began making more fantastical chairs which garnered him increased recognition (including in Jones’ book), though it did not fully alleviate his financial situation.
Photos from the Appalshop archives of Cornett’s chairs. At center is Cornett working on a double rocker.
A few details: The Appalshop double-rocker is 47″ tall overall, with the seat at 17″ from the floor; it’s 18″ deep overall at the seat (not including the rockers). It’s made of sweet gum, with (likely) hickory rungs and a hickory bark seat. The writing on the slats:
Chester
Hand Carved
For the fiming
The Appleshop
Moviey Caled
Check the Chiremaker
Direxed buy
Heirb Smith
Elizabeth Barret
President Applshop
Pine Mountin Wood
Mad I.N. N. OV. A, DEC 1977
With Our Lords Help
Scholars debate whether Cornett was an artist or a traditional craftsperson. Being the last of his illustrious career, this chair would fall on the “art” side of Cornett’s creative timeline. But that debate doesn’t interest me all that much.
The left arm.
I’m drawn in by the form, the silhouette that appears compact, well-proportioned and balanced when glancing at the rocker from across the room. It’s hefty but not grotesque. Confusing maybe, but I’ve visited the form enough times to enjoy its uniqueness. Move closer to it and the intricate, tightly woven seat becomes apparent, along with scraped surfaces and the octagonal posts and rungs that became a defining characteristic of Cornett’s work. But I’m most drawn to the carved pegs and the drawknife work – details that are only noticeable on close examination, and that elevate the rocker because of the skill and the time involved and the commitment of the maker. These details are noticeably irregular, because Cornett was human and handwork is not perfect.
With Chester’s chairs, there is incredible beauty found in the imperfections.
The audiobook is read by author Nancy R. Hiller and is unabridged. It clocks in at 11 hours and 50 minutes. The audiobook also includes a bonus chapter not found in the print edition titled “Coda: Not in Kansas Anymore.” The audiobook is $24 and will play on almost any digital device (the files are in mp3 format).
The audiobook represents weeks of sometimes-grueling work by Nancy (and her supporters) plus Jacob Belser at Primary Sound Studios.
Nancy insisted that she do the recording, even though the process was made difficult by her fight with pancreatic cancer. After listening to the audiobook, I’m so pleased that Nancy made that call. She is one of those authors where I can hear her voice as I’m reading her words. So “Shop Tails” really comes to life with her at the microphone.
You can hear this for yourself by downloading and listening to the chapter: Shadow the Turkey Vulture.
Shadow the Turkey Vulture read by Nancy Hiller
If you love Nancy’s “Making Things Work,” we’re sure you’ll enjoy this David Sedaris-like audiobook version of “Shop Tails.”
We’ve had Derek Jones in the shop this week teaching six students to build cricket tables. And, he just turned in manuscript for his forthcoming book on the subject. So while Derek and the students are sawing, planing and mortising in the background, I’m giving his manuscript a first read. Below is an amuse-bouche. We expect the book to be available in early 2023.
– Fitz
On paper it might not feel like a big leap, but building with anything other than 90° represents something of a challenge for a lot of woodworkers. It shouldn’t – after all, 90 is just a number like 30 or 60. Although it takes a little adjusting to at first, the moment you set your mind to accept that these are just numbers it becomes less taxing and, with a little practice, soon feels quite natural. If this is breaking new ground for you or you are in any way put off by the idea, here’s a little incentive you probably weren’t expecting. Working with other angles will significantly improve your 90° game as well.
When everything around us in the workshop is calibrated to 90° and flat, it’s no wonder we default to this when designing furniture to build. With the introduction of machines and the need to produce everything – from homes to all the stuff that goes inside them – more efficiently, we’ve lost the desire and ability to think in any ways other than 90°, level and flat. Before we were quite so obsessed with these qualities there was a time when we could build things with other angles and not feel like we’d failed if it came out slightly irregular. Surround yourself with straight walls with doors and windows to match, then set about designing anything to fill that space, and the chances are you’ll arrive at something similar. Behavioural psychologists and neurologists have a word for this: priming. The truth is we’re not as free-thinking and independent of thought as we think we are.
I use a passive form of priming in my teaching of young adults, a majority of whom have little or no experience of making things, let alone woodworking. In short bursts over a period of weeks I introduce them to a broad range of styles and working methods that include the Shakers, Campaign Furniture, George Nakashima, Windsor and stick chairs, Wendell Castle and James Krenov. Strictly speaking, none of these styles are part of the curriculum and in my opinion it’s worse off for that, but there’s a point to it. When I’m happy they’ve received sufficient priming I set them a task to design something that none of these makers have designed or made: a coat hanger. That’s the brief: Design and make a coat hanger from wood. At no point in their exposure to woodworking do I emphasise dovetails, mortise-and-tenon joinery, steam bending or laminating, but these are the methods they seek out and eventually use to fulfil the brief. On a personal level, I feel I’ve done my bit to introduce these genres and their related methods to a new generation of designers. On a broader scale, I’ve encouraged them to look at processes without any sense of hierarchy, and I’m always impressed at how comfortable they are dealing with curves and angles other than 90°. Familiarity, as they say, breeds contempt – and I’m well aware my opinion of these styles is skewed because of it, but I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to reconnect with them every year through the opinions of a fresh pair of eyes.
A student’s coat hanger,
There’s a lot we can do by way of priming to steer us away from a default setting of flat, square and straight. Try taking a walk in a natural environment for example, somewhere where the ground is uneven and the path isn’t straight. Then spend a similar amount of time in the mall where all the irregular shapes have been removed. As far as your senses are concerned it’s a completely different experience. When you’re out amongst nature your body has to think a little harder about navigating its way through the environment. The path winds and is sometimes loose under foot and even slippery, so your brain is working hard behind the scenes to make sure you don’t fall over. In simple terms, your brain is exercising the neurological pathways that deal with irregular forms. By the way, the same can be said of the time you spend in the mall, but if this is your usual habitat the workout is less productive. Repetition, while good for honing our skills, can limit growth in other areas.
When it comes to designing from scratch, I find the pursuit of perfection to be a little sterile at times. I’m averse to using formulae to determine an outcome as it seems like a paint-by-numbers kind of approach to me. I think formulae are a great tool to compare what you’ve already done or to trace where things might be going wrong with a design, but otherwise my worry is they’re numbing my senses.
I made my first cricket table with no idea about how the angle of the legs would affect the appearance. I was more concerned with performance related issues such as footprint and stability. After my second or third attempt I started to notice a few things: for a joined-style table, a greater splay angle generally resulted in a smaller area on which to rest the top, especially if you want to keep the footprint within the confines of the top itself. Already it seemed the form had limits to some aspects of the design. Even though I wasn’t trying to reinvent the table it felt like a breakthrough. Soon after that I made a scale model with detachable legs that allowed me to experiment with different angles and the position of the legs in relation to the edge of the top. I played around with it for a while until the irony of the situation smacked me in the face: I had, in fact, created my own paint-by-numbers cricket table formula. And just like when you have to explain a joke to someone it ceases to be funny, I wasn’t amused.
Scale model.
Scale model underside.
When I build a table now I use a completely different set of rules, one that’s less reliant on numbers and statistics and more in tune with my senses. Don’t worry – I’m not going all feng shui on you (although I believe there is much to be said for the peace and harmony that comes from a well-curated space). Instead I employ a small amount of geometry and what I now know causes a positive spike on my aesthetic radar.
