Republishing out-of-print books is one of the most technically challenging things we do at Lost Art Press. In a perfect world, it should be easy: Take the old files, send them to the new printer and start the presses.
In my entire career in publishing, however, that hasn’t happened once.
With every older book that we have republished, the original publisher has lost or destroyed the original files. While I’m sure this happens sometimes out of malice or laziness, most of the time it occurs because of a change in technology or ownership.
Quick example: When F+W Media acquired American Woodworker magazine, it inherited a tractor-trailer load of original files – photos, manuscripts, drawings, contracts etc. I saw these files when I stopped by the office about four years ago. What did F+W do with them? They are now in the landfill.
So when we set out to bring back Scott Landis’s two classic woodworking texts, “The Workbench Book” and “The Workshop Book,” I knew we would be in for a technical slog. There was, however, some good news. Landis had many original photos, which allowed us to create new dust jackets with crisp, high-resolution photos.
Also, the last publisher had a press-resolution pdf of “The Workbench Book.” That book was published in the early days of desktop publishing. So the book existed on film – one layer of film for each color. That film was digitized and reassembled into a pdf. Getting it on a modern press with modern aluminum color plates, however, was no small feat.
For “The Workshop Book,” on the other hand, there was nothing. No digital or physical files whatsoever. The only good news here was that Landis had a pristine first edition of the book that we could attempt to use to make a new edition.
I won’t dive too much into the technical details, but you can’t simply scan a printed color book with photos and republish it. Well, you can, but it will look like garbage.
Luckily, I’ve been working with a company that has developed a proprietary scanning process that can take apart printed color photos (called halftones) and separate them into digital color plates – one for each color, cyan, magenta, yellow and black. These digital plates can be processed and reassembled into something that looks damn good on press.
We hadn’t tried this process, however. So it was a gamble with tens of thousands of dollars.
Thankfully, the printed result looks great. Better than I could have ever hoped, really.
The interior of “The Workshop Book,” which looks indistinguishable from a book produced with traditional files.
Everyone on this project, from Landis down to the press operators, did everything they did to get these books right. Landis and his son even created some nice new diestamps for the cloth below the dust jackets. When these dust jackets wear out, the books will still look like a cohesive set.
And if these books ever go out of print again, it’s my hope that we have made it easier for some future publisher. All our contracts guarantee the author will receive all the publishing files we’ve created, which are stored digitally at multiple locations.
We hope you’ll consider adding “The Workbench Book” and “The Workshop Book” to your woodworking library. We definitely think they were worth the effort and expense to republish and offer information that is useful to this generation and future ones.
The last few weeks have been filled with finishing experiments for “The Stick Chair Book” that answer some minor questions I had about paint, soap and linseed oil/beeswax finishes.
One question I can’t answer: Does anyone know what’s in Odie’s Oil at $130 for a quart? (Wrong answers only.)
One of the finishing projects I’ve been working on is to show some of the possible color combinations of the “Far East Wales” finish. (Why do I call it by this name? The answer is here.) I also wanted to see if the finish worked OK with shellac instead of lacquer. Answer: Yes, it works great. And I wanted to see if I could get away with applying only one coat of base color instead of two. Answer: Yes, again!
So here’s the updated procedure I used for the following finish samples.
Apply a base coat of water-based film-forming paint, such as acrylic or latex.
Apply two coats of shellac or lacquer by brushing, wiping or spraying.
As soon as the finish is dry, apply a second coat of a water-based film-forming paint.
When the paint flashes from wet to dry, you can begin the blistering process. You will get more dramatic results the sooner you start blistering.
Use a heat gun on its highest setting (or a propane torch) to heat the paint. Heat a small area (about four square inches) then use a paint scraper to remove the blisters. Work the entire project this way.
Use a woven 3M gray pad or steel wool to smooth all surfaces and remove any loose paint.
Apply a black wax (I use Liberon black bison wax). When it flashes, buff it off with a coarse cotton cloth, such as a huck towel.
I tried a bunch of different color combinations using the paints we had in our finishing cabinet. I was surprised by how much I liked the bright colors, especially the yellows, with this finish. Here are a few sample boards. All paint colors are from the General Finishes Milk Paint (not a milk paint but an acrylic) line of paints.
— Christopher Schwarz
Note: I haven’t tried this process with any casein-based paints, so I don’t know if they will work as the base coat (my guess on this is yes, it will work) or the topcoat of color (my guess is no, it will not work). So feel free to experiment with this yourself.
For the fashioning of raw timbers, we understand the manner of splitting [hewing or sawing] and squaring them, which is done in different ways, according to the nature, the quality and the thickness of the wood. They are sawn by the mills, or even by hand, by workers called long sawyers or simply sawyers. I will not speak here of the harvesting of the woods in the forests. I will be content to say only that they are sawn and cut in sizes and lengths relative to our different needs, and that wood thus prepared is called wood samples.
They are found abundantly in all types and all qualities possible in the inventories of the wood Merchants, which they ordinarily cut for themselves and for their clients, and are transported to their storage lots or shops in Paris. [Suppose you go to a lumberyard and in the lumber section you will find 2×4, 2×8, 2×6 etc. This is what is called bois díechantillons. In this case it is oak, pine, walnut etc. of various types but standard dimensions.]
Cut or squared-up woods take different names according to their sizes, and according to the place which they occupy in the body of the tree: We call them dosses [slabs], countre dosses, swinging doors, framework, chevrons and finally planks and battens. Slabs are the first cuts removed from a log in order to square it up, after having removed the bark, like those on sides g–g, Fig. 5 and 6.
When the diameter of the tree is considerable, and you fear that the first cut slab will become too thick, you make a double-cut, which is called a contre-dosse; that is to say, that it is between the first cut dosse [slab] and cut line and the heartwood [wood between the pith and the sapwood] like those on sides h–h, Fig. 6. When the wood is beautiful, the contre-dosse are very soft, being very close to the edges of the tree [closer to the sapwood layer]. They do not have any sapwood except at their extremities, instead of the first cuts, dosse, that have sapwood all over their convex areas. The thickness of the contre-dosse is not precise. It varies from 2 to 4 thumbs. After a log is thus squared, you saw it into thin panels or lumber planks, according to its hardness or softness. You can then judge whether it is appropriate for one or the other. [That is,] [u]nless one cuts planks from the entire width of the tree, especially with soft wood, which I will speak of later.
The double doors of main entrances are ordinarily 12, 15 or even 18 feet long, by 1 foot or 15 thumbs wide, for the longest, and by 4–5 thumbs thick. They are almost always of a hard-quality wood. They should have neither knots nor splits. This may be found in the woods of Vosge, but they are very expensive and very rare.
Lumber for framing is of a length from 6, 9, 12 and 15 feet. They are 6 thumbs wide by 3 thumbs thick. Rafters have the same length as framing, and sometimes more, by 3 to 4 thumbs squared, that is to say, they have as much thickness as their width.
Planks have 6, 9, 12, 15 and even 18 feet of length, by 1 thumb 15 lines, 1–thumb-and-a-half, one thumb-9 lines, and 2 thumbs thickness.
There are also planks of 7 feet length, but they are rarer than the others, and are difficult to find in all thicknesses. With regards to the width of planks of French wood, they vary from 9 thumbs up to 1 foot. However, those of 1–and-one-half thumbs to 2 thumbs are ordinarily a foot wide, and those below this thickness from 9 up to 10 or 11 thumbs at the most.
There is still another type of thin French oak wood, named Entrevoux, which only has but 9–10 lines of thickness, by 6, 7 or 9 feet in length, which is appropriate for making panels, provided that it is soft and beautiful.
For the wood from Vosge, there are all kinds of lengths and thickness of which I spoke above, except that there are none of 6–7 feet, or even less. There are also those of 3 thumbs thickness by 12 feet in length. With regards to its width, that is not fixed, because in all the different lengths and thicknesses of this wood, there are from 6–7 thumbs of width up to 18, 20 and even 26 to 30 thumbs [width]. That is why Merchants do not sell this wood by measurement [of the individual boards], as with the others, but by each row of the lumber stack, which is 4 feet in width.
To facilitate the understanding of widths and thickness of woods for joinery relative to their different lengths, I have attached a table [on the next page] where all the wood types are distinguished according to their length, width and thicknesses.
The wood from Holland is not included in the number of those I have mentioned here because it is only a thin wood, which is sold by the handful or even by the cord. These lengths are of 6, 7, 9 or 12 feet by a thickness of 6 or 9 lines.
The thickest of these woods is called three quarters, because it should have 9 lines thickness, although often it only has 7 or 8 at the most. (The thinner ones are called feuillet [leaf] and are only 4 to 5 lines thick, while it should be 6 lines thick.)
It is to be noted that French wood is always thicker than the wood from Vosge with each sample; that is to say, that the first always has 2–3 lines more than its thickness, such that the wood of 1 thumb sometimes has 14–15 lines [thickness]. On the contrary, the latter [wood] always has 1 line less than it should have, which is a shortcoming. Also it has the advantage of being straighter than the other, and has less waste.
For the battens made of oak, wood Merchants sell them only rarely. Joiners use wood from Holland for thin panels, and they even saw [resaw] them at their shops while on edge, to the thickness and of the quality that they judge to be appropriate.
Pine is not subject to the rules of thickness of which I just spoke, at least that type used in the woodworking of buildings.
That from Auvergne ordinarily is 12 feet in length by 14–15 lines in thickness. Its width varies from 10 to 14–15 thumbs.
That from Lorraine has only 11 feet in length at the most. Its thickness is the same as that from Auvergne, but the most ordinary thickness is from 10–12 lines. Its width varies thus, from that of the latter.
There are also the little leaves of pine from Lorraine, of the same length as the planks, which have from 6 up to 8 lines thickness.
Walnut and elm are not found cut into planks like the other woods. Whenever Joiners have enough money, they buy whole logs which they cut themselves, namely the elm, into slabs of 5 thumbs’ thickness, and the walnut into slabs of 3 thumbs [thickness]. They still saw black walnut to make the panels for tables of 4 lines thickness, which have a width of the whole log, which is sometimes 2–2.5 feet in width.
Beech is found cut into planks of 15–18 lines, and even 2 thumbs thickness by 7, 9 and 12 feet in length. They also sell slabs of this wood for making woodworking benches, tables for the kitchen, and butcher tables, tables that have a length from 7–12, and even 15 feet, by 18–30 thumbs in width, and 5–6 thumbs’ thickness.
Although the wood which one chooses has by itself all the required qualities, it is still necessary to watch out for its preservation. Because wood for joinery should not be used except very dry, it is of the final consequence to Joiners to always be well provisioned with wood of all types, which they keep and dry in their yard before using them.
They should also take care that their yard not be placed too low, nor planted with grass, because the falling and gathering of leaves will prevent the run off of water, which could ruin the wood pile coverings and also the base of a woodpile.
The terrain occupied by the woodpiles should be higher than the rest of the yard, so that water does not collect there. It must be well set up and leveled, after which you put on top some pieces of wood side A, which we call chantier [beam/timber spacers] which has a length the same as the width of the pile – ordinarily 4 feet, although sometimes they make them wider. You make them the greatest thickness possible, so that they make the pile taller with the most possible space between the boards.
You put the spacers distant from each other about 3 feet. Their topsides should be squared and straight, after which you pile the wood on top, after having taken the precaution of putting the worst planks on the lowest level to save the better woods from ground moisture. You make the piles in two ways, according to whether the wood is being dried or is already dry. In the first case, you pile them up to see through, which is done in the following two ways:
The first is to place the planks side by side with a space [between them] about equal to two-thirds of their width, and to separate each row of planks by laths [stickers] f–f, which separates them, prevents them from touching and maintains them in a solid position on top of each other, such that one can stack up the piles up to 20–25 feet in height. (Fig. 1).
The second way to make see-through piles is to make them squarely; that is to say, to give them as much width as the planks are long. You first put a row of planks spaced equally, as in the first way, always such that the width of the row of planks and the additional space between them is equal to their length.
After this, you put on top some planks in another row, in the same order and at a right angle, which means that you have no need for stickers/spacers, and that the planks have more air between them. However, you should not leave them thus piled for a long time, for fear that the wood will rot where the pieces sit on top of each other. (Fig. 2.)
Rafters of 6–9 feet are piled in this fashion, without however being see-through.
The way to pile seasoned wood does not differ from the first of these two ways, except that the planks touch each other side by side, instead of being see-through. You separate each row with some spacers which you put at an equal distance to that of the chantiers which are three feet apart, so that the planks are always straight and do not warp. However, this last term signifies more of a hollowed-out plank along its width [cupping] than a warping [bowing].
The top of the pile is covered with planks positioned to overlap one on top of the other; one of the ends of which is positioned on another plank (side a, Fig. 4) which is called l’egout de la couverture [not quite like a gutter but more like a rain diverter] and which lies flat upon the pile. One should note, however, that it overhangs the front of the pile by 3 or 4 thumbs, and that it slopes a bit to the outside, in order to facilitate the runoff of any water. You raise it up a bit at the back to create this effect. The other end of the planks of the cover hold a piece of wood b, which is named chevet [or riser], which is positioned on edge on two pieces of wood c, in which a notch is placed, and which is stopped with wedges d, in order that it not turn. The chevet should be a foot and a half tall at least, so that the water accumulates less on the piles.
The middle of the covering should be supported by a piece of wood e, which is placed above the pile, and the two planks along the sides rs, rs should be wider by 3 or 4 thumbs than the two sides of the pile, so that the water does not fall back along its length.
When you wish to make the piles more than 4 feet thickness, you should take care to put the spacers in concert (that is, you place them such that the total length of two spacers is more than 4 feet, which is the length of the laths), overlapping such that it maintains the solidity of the pile. You will need to take care to keep everything straight and vertical in all directions, so as to avoid accidents that its fall might cause.
For thin wood, like the wood from Holland, the battens of oak and of pine, the custom is not to pile them in the open air in the middle of the yard, but to pile them under sheds and above the shop where the workers work, the reason being, they say, that they are preserved better. I believe, in spite of this practice, that they would be better in the yard, where they will receive the air from all sides, and where they will not be exposed to insects [powder-post beetles etc.].
As to their preservation, I believe they run no danger being out in the air. The piles of wood from Holland, which reside for a long time in the wood lots of the Port of Hopital and of Rapee without any damage, are surely guarantees of the truth of what I advance here.
What I am saying here is only general. I know perfectly well that all woodworkers cannot have
great wood yards nor large provisions of wood. But still, for reasons of economy, they should always do their best to be well prepared with samples, and to watch over their preservation as best as they can, so as not to be obliged to have to buy some from the Merchants. The wood that they sell is almost never dry, and the woodworker will pay dearly for what the wood Merchants have.
The more wood is hard, the more time it takes to dry. That is why one should not reasonably use wood that has not been cut at least 8 years in order to be able to do good work. It is not necessary, however, that it be too dry, especially for pieces of joinery, where the wood has no more sap and where the humidity is totally expunged: this cannot be appropriate. [Once the sap no longer is flowing from the lumber and the moisture has departed there is no need to season the lumber any further.]
And there’s a possibility that Derek Jones and Chris Williams will be crossing the Atlantic to teach here…but that’s still up in the air due to travel restrictions. If they are able to make the trip, we’ll let you know about their classes ASAP.
We will require that all registrants be fully vaccinated for COVID-19 by the class date, and follow CDC guidelines on masking at the time of the class.
There are six bench spaces available in each class; a waitlist will kick in once a class is sold out. (And I beg you: Please be sure you have the class dates available before registering.)
If you’ve taken a class at the storefront in the past, you might notice that the registration is a little different this year: The full class fee is collected at registration (the instructor will still, however, determine the stock fee, which will be payable to her or him at the start of the class).
Note: While you can click on the “Register Now” buttons on the Covington Mechanicals ticketing site, sales won’t be live until May 17 at 10 a.m. Eastern.
And because it’s been a while since we offered classes, here are a few FAQs to jog everyone’s memory:
If you have questions about a class, send an email to covingtonmechanicals@gmail.com. Please DO NOT email the LAP help desk.
“Why can’t the LAP help desk help with classes?” These classes are not through Lost Art Press; I’m handling all the backend stuff and billing, and each instructor (including me) is an independent contractor who is, in effect, renting the space for the class duration. Meghan handles the LAP help desk (questions about books, orders, etc.), and she is busy enough without having to forward stuff about classes to me.
“Why isn’t the stock fee included with the registration fee?” Each instructor does her or his own stock buying and prep, and we have no way of knowing far in advance of the class how much the wood (etc.) will cost. Especially right now. So the instructor will let registrants know the stock fee at least a week before the class starts, and payment will be due to her or him at the start of class.
“What is the cancellation policy?” You can cancel for a full refund up until four weeks before the class date. Refund for cancellations within four weeks prior to the class date will be issues only if the slot can be filled.
“I tried to sign up right when classes went live, and didn’t get in. You suck!” I’m sorry. We have limited space and only six benches for students. But please see below.
“Should I bother signing up for the waitlist?” Yes! We do have cancellations – and when that happens, I notify the first person on said list, who then has 24 hours to register. And if that person can’t make it, on to the next, and so on.
“Will Chris be teaching any classes?” Nope – he’s crazy busy with publishing projects.
“I’m coming from out of town; where should I stay?”Check out this blog post, which has suggestions not only on where to stay, but where to eat and non-woodworking-related greater Cincinnati attractions.
“Will you offer a class in X?” Possibly. Send me an email, and if we think there would be enough interest, and we can find the right person to teach it, we will consider X topic.
“Will you offer more classes in 2022?” Most likely – but far fewer than we did in 2019. We’re extremely busy with other stuff, and while it’s great fun to have people in the shop, we can’t get much other work done while classes are going on.
Two 40-year-old settin’ chairs spruced up with white paint.
I first reached out to an Appalachian chairmaker in about November 2019. It was before this project came about, before the search started in earnest to find chairmakers in the region. Our initial phone conversation discussed the details about an upcoming two-day visit. I struggled to keep up; the chairmaker’s fast talk and dialect were tough to follow over the phone, especially because he did not get strong service in the mountains and our call dropped a few times. My hope for the visit was to observe, listen, learn and, if at all possible, lend a hand. He outlined a schedule and made a few suggestions for our time.
I asked about local lodging, a place to stay after we worked together. He lives in Eastern Kentucky, which is rural, mountainous and remote. He offered me his guest bedroom, a trusting and generous gesture. The next part of the conversation was memorable, despite the poor connection. I reluctantly accepted his offer to stay, saying I’d be happy to find a local hotel so as not to impose.
He replied, “If things go poorly, I’ll just feed you to the pigs….” *
No follow-up. No laughter. I hoped it was due to the poor connection. My wife made sure I left the chairmaker’s address before leaving for the visit, something to assist the authorities, just in case things did not go well.
*I scanned for barns or signs of livestock upon arriving at his property. None. All clear.
Kentuckian Terry Ratliff, resting after opening a walnut log.
Chris Schwarz asked me to share a little about my upcoming book, “Backwoods Chairs.” The original details of how the idea came together are a little fuzzy, though it had to do with our mutual appreciation for the Appalachian chairmaking traditions. The chairs were the spark that ignited this project.
In “Backwoods Chairs,” I search for post-and-rung chairmakers still working within central Appalachian traditions due to their historic ties to the region (the chairs also go by the name ladderback, hickory-bottom, common and slat-back). But that search proved challenging. Though there’s a rich tradition, the current field of chairmakers is small and dwindling. The makers have little Internet presence, and there is no central information source, such as a person who knows the makers and their locations. I’ve chased dozens of leads and recall laughter on the other end of the phone line as I ask about traditional chairmakers. “Good luck,” they giggle.
Are there makers still out there? Even the chairmakers ask me that question upon hearing about this book project.
There is an abundance of green woodworking in “Backwoods Chairs,” though it’s not all that. Some makers turn their parts from planks, others split and shave. You will find plenty of handwork and hickory bark, a little history and humor within the pages. There are stories about the makers, pictures of their shops and tools, and emphasis on their techniques and their chairs, along with discussion of their successes and hardships. And plenty of chairmaking romance with a dash of capitalism’s ruthlessness. The book’s final section is a step-by-step build of a couple chairs, created for someone with a home shop and lack of backyard access to a deciduous forest full of oaks and maples.
Appalashop, Chester Cornett’s final chair, 1978
There is another thing that draws me to this project beyond my love of the chairs. It is an attitude that is incredibly tough to capture: that these chairs are somehow (and mistakenly) the bottom rung of creative woodworking. That they are almost worth looking beyond, to find something more impressive. The Ronald L. Hurst article “Southern Furniture Studies: Where We’ve Been, Where We’re Going,” for the MESDA Journal, catches some of that vibe (emphasis mine):
Southern furniture is one of the most dynamic subjects in American decorative arts research today. Institutions and private scholars alike are actively investigating a wide array of the region’s cabinetmaking traditions, and their compelling discoveries are regularly revealed in new publications and exhibitions. Yet interest in the topic is comparatively recent. Antiquarians began collecting furniture from the North as early as the 1820s, but there was almost no awareness of its southern counterparts before the 1930s. Even then, study of the material would remain sporadic for another thirty years. Although a small core of early-twentieth-century southern dealers and collectors was aware of the South’s cabinetmaking heritage, the rest of the American decorative arts community was convinced that southern furniture makers fashioned nothing more complex than ladder-back chairs and utility tables.
The following paragraph, from the same article, continues on this theme of regional furniture ignorance:
Ironically, one of the principal catalysts for a widespread change in attitudes about southern furniture came at the 1949 Colonial Williamsburg Antiques Forum. Joseph Downs, curator of the MMA’s American Wing, addressed that first Forum audience in a lecture titled “Regional Characteristics of American Furniture.” During the question-and-answer session that followed, a participant asked Downs why his presentation on American regional style had included only goods made in the North. Downs reportedly replied that “little of artistic merit was made south of Baltimore.” Either Juliette Brewer or Eleanor Offutt, both knowledgeable Kentucky collectors and preservationists, purportedly offered a follow-up question. “Mr. Downs,” one of them asked, “do you speak out of ignorance or out of prejudice?” Downs graciously pled ignorance, but his then widely accepted view on the subject, stated in that place to that audience, generated outrage and launched a movement that remains alive today.
The MESDA article is in reference to collecting and recognizing the value in Southern furniture. It’s my understanding that high-style Southern furniture is now receiving its due. So some things are changing.
Sherman Wooten Rocker
There are significant differences between high-style work and the backwoods chairs. In one, creativity is born out of abundance. The conditions foster beautiful work, yet I am fascinated by creativity out of necessity. Making not in partnership with affluence, but within communities of modest means. Within central Appalachia, the tradition of making out of necessity points directly toward slat-back chairs and their makers. Or at least it did. I’m interested in hearing from the makers about today’s conditions and if they are optimistic about traditional chairmaking continuing forward with future generations.
West Virginian Tom Lynch, gang-cutting slats at the band saw.
This project is possible only because the makers generously opened their workshops and shared their stories. They graciously adjusted along with me throughout the uncertainty of the last year. I planned the first visits for this project for spring of 2020 (you remember last spring). Travel was quickly postponed until conditions improved. A couple visits happened last fall, on good weather days when we could distance and be outdoors, with makers in Eastern Kentucky, North Carolina and West Virginia. Upcoming travel includes trips into Tennessee, North Carolina (again) and Virginia. At that point I should have plenty of material for the book.
I have high hopes for “Backwoods Chairs.” I want to do right by the chairmakers, write an engaging and informative book for the woodworking community, and create something worthy of Lost Art Press. Since starting I have added one more aspiration to my list: I intend to stay clear of any hungry pigs.
