I can’t remember a recent project where I didn’t pick up a bird-cage awl. From marking the location of spindles or screws to actually drilling holes for tiny screws, a bird-cage awl is essential for installing hardware, deepening marks left by your dividers and even cleaning out junk from the corners of deep mortises.
I’ve used a lot of bird-cage awls, and this year I finally found the one I like the most: The 803 from Matthias Fenner Toolworks. This awl is – best of all – easy to use, skillfully made and sharp. But it is also gorgeous.
The business end of the tool is a round O1 shaft that’s 8mm in diameter. And it ends in a 7/8”-long tapered tip. It’s a great shape for drilling holes (just rotate the handle as you press the tool into the wood). The solid ferrule strengthens the tool and fits seamlessly onto the shaft. The walnut handle meets the ferrule smoothly, continuing the inside cove shape on the handle.
The handle itself is quite ergonomic. The crisp point on the lower end of the handle allows you to exert downward pressure as you drill. And it fits neatly right outside your thumb and index finger when you grip it.
Matthias makes these tools to order, and it can take a little time for him to make them and for them to arrive from Germany. But they are worth the wait. If your awl can’t make it here for Christmas, perhaps it can be a Groundhog Day gift instead.
The awls are 49.90 € (about $58 U.S. today). They are well worth the price.
The first section of my forthcoming book, “Backwoods Chairs,”documents my search for the dwindling ranks of Appalachian woven-bottom chairmakers who count(ed) chairmaking as a significant income. The income piece is essentially my only criteria for the makers: that chairmaking provides at least a part of their livelihood. I had no real idea what to expect when I started my search for ladderback chairmakers. Try as I might to dislodge the romantic vision of a mountain maker working wood on a secluded front porch of a cabin, that stereotype lingered in my brain as I started the search. At times, I found a maker shaving wood parts on the porch. Other times, the idyllic vision was incomplete – as when I visited a maker shaving parts next to a generator, which powered the lunchbox planer used to thickness his chair slats.
Appalachian post-and-rung chairmaking is far more complex than I initially imagined. For starters, the makers do not fit into simple categories. Some make all their income through chairmaking, and others a portion of it. Some do it seasonally, either working around their farm’s growing season or working in the shop during the summer months. One person did not consider himself a “chairmaker” at all, though chairmaking has been a constant in his life for five decades. The whole thing is squishy.
I also recommend readers put aside any tidy categories when considering the makers. The lines between “amateur” and “professional” blur to the point that they are no longer relevant. I found “part-time” and “full-time” categories to be pointless as well. At the end of the day, there are either chairs or no chairs.*
Chester Cornett’s Beatty Rocker.
I sought out makers of the basic post-and-rung form, though each maker creates distinctly different work. I think of it this way: Chester Cornett could only make a Cornett chair, and Brian Boggs could only make a Boggs chair (I know, that statement is so simple that it’s stupid). The chair is a reflection of the maker; the maker DNA is right there for all to see. The Cornett chair reveals the use of the knife, and Chester measured everything by his hands and thumbs. His approach helps create that magic in his work, and it’s a constant across his career, from his beautiful common chairs as a younger man to his bombastic late-career rockers.
Boggs’ chairs are refined and highly engineered. There is intention behind each detail, both in the design and the technique. Boggs’ ladderback chair was reimagined into a modern piece in his Berea Chair until it could not be improved upon. Brian took a form typically considered rustic and backwoods and reimagined it for a contemporary setting. He did that by making a chair with equal consideration toward comfort, technique and design. Cornett and Boggs – two chairmakers beginning at the same post-and-rung starting point, yet yielding wonderfully different results.
ABrian Boggs Berea Chair.
Whenever possible, I traveled to meet, interview and photograph the makers. I wanted the opportunity to explain by book in person and figured this was my best approach to record and reflect on the makers in the fullest light. The initial interview and meeting proved helpful, especially for photography, but the follow-up proved most fruitful. The makers could size me up and determine if they wanted to provide more to this project. One maker showed me the door after 20 minutes. That bruised my ego a little (was it something I said?) but most followed up by sending pictures and sharing additional stories and techniques. Like James Cooper, most wanted me to get this right. That meant educating me on all things chairmaking.
James Cooper rocker, spring 2021, on his porch with one of his dogs.
I met Cooper of Jackson County, Ky., earlier this year. We sat on his porch during an early spring downpour and discussed his approach to chairmaking. James crafted handmade chairs as his primary income source for three years in the late 1970s and early 1980s then decided to make a career change. He followed up our initial conversation by sending 10 pages of written notes and a collection of his early photography. With it, he opened my eyes to his reality of making chairs in Eastern Kentucky.
The notes are shared here with his permission.
– Andy Glenn
* A note about categories. I request that the reader does not overlay “morality” onto the chairmaker’s decisions (as in, one decision is morally superior to another). There is a tendency within woodworking circles to philosophically judge the work of others, where handwork can be judged of more value than machine approaches (and this, being a Lost Art Press publication, will likely reach those who appreciate handwork). I propose that an outsider has no say in the decisions of the maker. Decisions are purely personal choices made by the chairmaker.
One example: the chairmakers I met in the process of the book made the following decisions regarding their chair rungs; 1) split and shaved 2) turned from lumber 3) store-bought dowels 4) made on a dowel machine 5) handheld power planer to shape and taper them after using a brace to cut the tenon on the end. One choice is not philosophically superior than another – at least as far as an outsider can judge.
My goal is finding out why the maker decided upon an approach or technique. Is it because they work within an established tradition? Is it for speed and efficiency? Is their design target “old-timeyness” (which deserve the shaved rungs)? Regardless of the answer to those questions, I recommend the “handwork is more pure than machines” belief be suppressed when considering the work of others. Only the chairmaker gets to make that “moral” decision about their work.
I know I’m going to get some flack for this entry, but I’m already over it. Yes, I am about to recommend a surge protector that costs $200. No, I’m not crazy. And yes, I like the pretty colors that they come in.
We don’t have a lot of electrical outlets in our workshop. When we tore out the old bar equipment, we removed miles – literally miles – of electric cabling. And speaker cables. Coaxial. Wire for security cameras. Stuff I couldn’t identify.
I probably went overboard in removing outlets from the building. Megan and I each have an outlet in the floor by our workbenches. It is what powers our task lights, charges our phones and spins the occasional drill. It’s enough, except when we have six additional students and another instructor working in the room.
So last year I decided to upgrade the cheap plastic surge protectors we use to help divide the electricity equitably. I did some research, and I ended up with a few of these Conway Electric surge protectors. Though they’re made in California, they’re built like Soviet tanks. The bodies are stout steel plate. The switches make a hugely satisfying “click.” And the cord is cloth wrapped and nicely flexible.
If I built surge protectors, this is exactly how I would build them.
My only complaint about the product is the ordering is a bit weird. You get a confirmation of your order, but it can take weeks before you hear anything more about your shipment. It always comes (I’ve ordered three times). You just have to be patient.
I suspect that I learned more about math, civics and language from “Schoolhouse Rock!” than I did from school itself. The magic of “Schoolhouse Rock!” is the magic of all good education. That is: It is so engrossing that you don’t realize you are learning heavy and important lessons.
Practical geometry is one of those topics that can be intensely boring – just look at the beginning chapters of any 18th- or 19th-century text on woodworking, which almost always begis with chapters on geometry. And they are all as dry as a popcorn fart.
The fact is that practical geometry is one of the most exciting subjects for a woodworker. If you can find someone to explain it to you in the right manner, geometry will change your life and your work at the bench.
And that’s why we are dedicated to the work of Jim Tolpin and George Walker, who have made it their life’s work to explain workshop geometry in as many ways as possible – from the academic to the absurd (a talking dog?).
Of all their books, “From Truths to Tools” is probably my favorite. I can give this book to anyone, from a third-grader to an octogenarian, and they will enjoy the heck out of it. It is like a graphic novel for geometry. Each chapter is a discrete short story – heavily illustrated – that explains a very complex subject in simple terms. When I edited this book, I had to stop every few chapters and clear my head. It’s that good.
— Christopher Schwarz
The following is an excerpt of “From Truths to Tools,” by Jim Tolpin and George Walker, illustrated by Andrea Love.
When I sent “The Stick Chair Book” to press in June, my plan was to immediately launch into my next book project. But then I took a look at our family’s finances, and I knew that idea was unwise.
When you don’t sell any furniture or teach any classes for 56 weeks in a row, you feel the pinch – even though Lucy and I have zero debt.
So I started making and selling spec chairs as fast as I could. And now, five months later, I am cooking meatloaf tonight for dinner – so our bank balance is definitely better. Tomorrow I will ship out the last of a run of Hobbit-y chairs and begin on my next book project. Here are the details.
As I was writing “The Stick Chair Book,” I wanted to cover everything – and I mean everything – that I’ve learned about making these chairs. But it simply wasn’t physically possible to shoehorn it all into one volume. So I decided instead to focus only on the core techniques, plus plans for five chair forms. (Despite my narrower focus, “The Stick Chair Book” is a whopping 632 pages.)
Then, my plan was to write a series of smaller books that covered additional chair forms and the techniques particular to that kind of chair. These books would be paperback and similar in size to John Brown’s “Welsh Stick Chairs” – 7.25” x 9.625” and 104 pages or so.
If the first book does well, then I’ll keep writing these smaller books until people get sick of them or I run out of chair forms to explore.
A fantastic boxy comb-back owned by John Porritt. It is very comfortable and well-made.
The first book in the series will be about a Welsh form of chair that I call the “boxy comb-back.” These handsome chairs have a rectangular seat and armbow, which gives them the squarish look of an old Volvo (I’ve owned three Volvo 240s and adore them, FYI.)
One of the delightful aspects of these chairs is that they sometimes have three legs. I’ve never built a comb-back with three legs, so that will be exciting. Plus, the chairs’ armbows offer the opportunity for some cool joinery, such as a long diagonal scarf.
I’ve purchased the wood for the first two chairs for the book and hope to start processing it tomorrow.
If these two chairs come out OK, I’ll definitely put them up for sale here. I do not want to experience the heartbreak of another meatloaf deficiency.
