In order fully to understand the workings of the metal plane it is a good idea, particularly for the beginner, to strip down the plane to its smallest component. If you have an old or secondhand plane this is a good opportunity to renovate it. Even if the plane is mis-assembled and maladjusted, no damage can be done to it. Figure 1 shows the structure quite clearly and gives the correct names to all the components. It will be seen that there are three distinct adjustments.
The depth of cut, that is the thickness of shaving removed, is controlled by the cutter adjusting wheel. The wheel running up and down a left-hand thread operates the Y lever. This in turn engages in the Y lever socket of the cap iron (or breaker), which it moves up or down. The blade is secured to the cap iron and is moved by it.
The second adjustment is lateral. The lateral lever has a circular stud at its end. When the plane is assembled it must be made certain that this stud fits into the slot in the blade. Movement of the lever thus moves the cutting edge sideways, preventing one corner from digging in.
The third adjustment is commonly called closing or opening the mouth. The whole frog is moved forward with the blade and the effect is to alter the size of the gap in front of the blade. The lever cap screw should be just sufficiently tight to make sideways movement of the blade with the fingers difficult but not impossible.
Our retailers have been asking about the tools and books we have planned for 2021. If I have to write this explanation up for them, I might as well let y’all have a look, too.
If a book or tool is not on this list, that means I don’t have a timetable for it. So if you ask when Andrew Lunn’s sawmaking book will be released, my response will be: crickets. Please don’t be offended by this – I simply don’t have any information to give you.
These are roughly in order of when they will be released. Like many manufacturers, we are fighting supply-chain breakages from the paper mills all the way up to the cardboard box supplier we use to ship products.
“The Workbench Book” by Scott Landis We are still taking pre-publication orders for this book. We expect it to ship out in early February. We are also working on getting its companion book, “The Workshop Book,” to the printer by Feb. 1.
“Make a Chair From a Tree (Expanded and Revised Edition)” by Jennie Alexander with Larry Barrett and Peter Follansbee At long last, this should go to the printer in February. We still don’t have a retail price, but I suspect it will be less than $40. This book has been a group effort from people all over the country, and I hope you will be pleased. The layout is just about complete. We have a couple drawings and photos to add. And then some editing. Look for it this summer.
“The Woodworker’s Pocket Book” Edited by Charles H. Hayward This is a book I have wanted to reprint for many years, but we kept hitting obstacles. First printed in 1949, this small handbook (4” x 6-1/2”) is perfect for the hand-tool woodworker. It is filled with finish recipes, workshop geometry, details on tools, practical wood advice, moulding charts from different furniture periods – plus tons of information on using nails, screws and other fittings. I’ve owned a copy for many years and use it all the time. This book is at the printer and should be out in late March. The price will be $13, which is a steal as the book is built to take a beating. We also hope to offer a special slipcase (for an added charge) that screws to the inside of your tool chest or cabinet and keeps the book where it should be – by your tools.
“The Handmade Life of Dick Proenneke” By Monroe Robinson Kara just posted this update on the book last week. So I won’t repeat after her. Linda Watts is now designing the book (the proofs I’ve seen are gorgeous), and Elin Price is still making the illustrations. I don’t have a timetable for this title yet, but I suspect it will be released at the end of the summer.
“The Dutch Tool Chest Book” By Megan Fitzpatrick This is the working title. For all I know, the real title could be “Come Hither, Monkey Bride: A Guide to Dutch Tool Chests.” Megan is doing everything she can to get this book out this year. It will show you how to make two Dutch tool chests with a lot of different variations in the back, lid and how the interiors are arranged. The book will go into great detail on all the handwork, so if this chest is your first hand-tool project, this book will be a great guide.
Crucible Tool We are hard at work on three new tools and hope to release all of them this year. One is a cast planing stop that works like a blacksmith-made stop (with a super-sneaky improvement). The second is an adaptation of A.J. Roubo’s miter square. This square, which has almost disappeared, is insanely useful for hand-tool woodworkers, especially for edge-jointing. And the third tool (fingers crossed) is to bring back our Crucible dividers, redesigned so they are less expensive (and can be manufactured without my wanting to pluck out my own spleen with barbecue tongs).
There also are a couple other books that might make it across the finish line in 2021 (“Guerrilla Chairmaking” is a contender). So stay tuned.
And finally, thank you for all your support and patience in 2020. We shipped 50,502 books and tools directly to customers last year (and sold thousands more through our retailers all over the world). We are still a tiny company. John and I are the only “employees”; Megan, Meghan and Kara are all part-time (but absolutely essential) contractors. So we still feel like we are gulping for air at times. We make mistakes every day, but we try to do a good job and make things right.
Detail of a 15th-century misericord from St. Laurence’s Church, Ludlow, England.
Back in 2016 while working on blog posts about the woodworkers depicted in misericords I encountered a devilish creature holding a scroll of paper. At the time I thought he was just one of the many little demons carved on misericords. Recently, I found his name and realized he has followed me from when I wrote my first words at age four up until the present time. He is currently perched on my left shoulder taunting me to make a mistake. He is Titivillus, the demon responsible for typographical errors. I’m throwing punctuation and verb tense errors into his basket of writing miseries.
Titivillus (also Tutivillus or Tytinillus) has a history reaching back to the Middle Ages and his purpose was different from how we think of him today. In Margaret Jenning’s 1977 study of the origins of Titivillus she explained “…in their heyday, especially thanks to the Medieval preacher, demons were omnipresent. They rode on ladies’ trains, perched menacingly on lettuce, hid under beds, immersed themselves in fermented liquids, masqueraded as Don Juans and femme fatales, and remained consistently and perversely attached to churches and church people.” Indeed, it seems visions of demons, especially visions of demons noting the behavior of the congregation, were always had by members of the clergy.
At first there were two demons stationed in churches, monasteries and convents. One carried a bag or sack into which he gathered the snippets of half-spoken words, slipped syllables and abridged prayers of the clergy and laity. Each day this demon had the task of collecting (for the Guy Downstairs) one thousand spoken errors each day.
As the English priest, John the Blind Audeley wrote in the first half of the 15th century there should be no “over-hippers and skippers, moterers and mumblers.”
The second demon listened in on the members of the congregation and made note of idle chatter and gossip.
Top: New College Chapel, Oxford, England, 14th century. Bottom: St. Mary the Virgin Church, Enville, England, 15th century, photo by David Taylor).
In these two misericords Titivillus, as the recording demon, positions himself between women to hear their idle talk. You can understand, if you didn’t know this was Titivillus, you might mistake these demons as a winged bull and a bat. The misericord at the top is especially damning as to each side of the gossips are an old woman and a monk kneeling in prayer.
At some point the demon carrying a bag of misspoken words and the recording demon merged. The more prevalent depiction of Titivillus, whether on a misericord, a fresco or printed in a book, was the recording demon. He listened and he wrote on long scrolls of paper or in large books.
Top left: St. Michael and St. Mary Church, Melbourne, England, 13th century. Top right: Bible Moralisée de Naples, 14th century, BnF. Bottom: Faneford Church, Island of Mons, Denmark, 16th century.
Some remarkable frescoes featuring the recording demon were painted on church walls. The 13th-century fresco at the top-left (almost lost to Victorian restoration) shows Titivillus above two women in an argument, with another demon perched on the back of each woman. The demon from Faneford church with his trumpet-like ears is especially well-equipped to hear the latest gossip (with the added feature of horned kneecaps).
A bench end from the Church of St. Mary of Charleton Mackell, circa 1520.
This bench end shows the merging of the bag-carrying demon and the scribe. While he toils at his writing a small flower grows near the ink pot.
Two men engaged in idle talk, St. James’ Church, Cristow, Devon, England, late 15th/early 16th century.
Ah, ha! This carved-wood roof boss proves men gossip, too. Nestled just above their gossiping heads is the recoding demon making note of their conversation. If a parishioner were to look upward to the highest point of the church ceiling there was yet another reminder to avoid distractions from the service.
My nemesis at the top of the post is a side figure on this mid-14th-century misericord from St. Laurence’s Church in Ludlow, England (sketch is from Project Gutenberg). Another function of the recording demon was to be present when a sinner was judged. This is the judgment of a dishonest alewife, a most grievous offense in the Middle Ages. Titivillus, on the left, has an account of her transgressions. In the middle section one demon has the alewife over his shoulder while the second demon plays the bagpipes. On the right, the alewife is thrown into the jaws of Hell.
In Margaret Jennings study of Titivillus she wrote the point of this Medieval demon was to remind clergy and laity of the danger of “spiritual sloth.” The litany of the service, each prayer and each song were to be unhurried, expressed clearly and with fervor.
Woodblock from Der Ritter vom Turm by Geoffroy de La Tour Landry, 1513, Bayerische Staats Bibliothek.
To say or sing by rote and without care, to attend church, but not participate wholly was to open oneself to sin. Hence, visual reminders of a recording demon, as well as other devilish minions, were found on wood, walls and paper. In the hand-colored woodblock above three women gossip, one demon scribbles away and the second demon stretches a scroll with his teeth because they need more paper!
Church of Sts. Stanislaw and Wojciech, Poreby Dymarskie, Poland
This lovely old church was built in 1674 in Cmolas and later moved to Poreby Dymarskie. The walls have polychrome paintings including one in a note-worthy spot.
Under the steps leading to the pulpit there is a painting of Titivillus, pen in hand, observing the parishioners. He probably has already recorded the transgressions of the women behind him. If the priest abridges, mutters or mumbles that will be recorded, too.
Libro de horas de Leonor de la Vega, 15th century, Biblioteca Nacional de España.
Even saints were not immune to the presence of Titivillus. As St. John the Evangelist sits calmly and writes his gospel his ink is being pored out by the demon. This image is a turning point in that the demon is not recording a transgression, he is setting up St. John to fail in his writing. This may be some mischief on the part of the scribes that drew and decorated this page. Each saint in this manuscript depicted writing their gospel or teachings can be easily identified by a personal symbol, in St. John’s case, the royal eagle. St. John’s page is the only one with a demon “up to no good.” In remarks in the margins of manuscripts scribes often complained about their working conditions, spoiled ink and poor-quality paper. Perhaps this is the start of Titivillus shifting from the recorder of transgressions to the instigator of written errors.
Livres d’heures, circa 1510, Bibliotheque Municipale, Tours.
St. Bernard, pictured above, had an argument with a devil. The argument was over the recitation of psalms that would lead to salvation. This image is often used today to illustrate the the stand-off between the writer and Titivillus. I look at his illustration and can imagine Titivillus taunting me in a sing-song voice saying, “You are going to make a mistake.” I’m OK with a typo or two, or three.
Fortunately, there is a way to quiet the pesky causer of typos (and other writing errors) and it is comes courtesy of the Virgin Mary.
The De Brailes Hours by William de Brailes, 1240, British Library.
I’m not 100-percent sure, but I think Jim sat in on George’s class, “Unlocking the Secrets of Traditional Design,” which covered how furniture is based on a lot of the same proportions as classical architecture (which is turn based on nature – but I don’t recall if he brought that up in the class, or if I’m interpolating from his columns in Popular Woodworking).
I feel a small personal connection with this one; I was there when Jim Tolpin and George Walker met for the first time, at Woodworking in America in 2009 in St. Charles, Ill.
But it might have been George who sat in on Jim’s class, “Measure Twice or Not at All,” which I believe was a talk on the difference between designing for machines and designing for hand work.
Traditional proportional drawing drafted by hand ignores dimensions. It instead relies on simple geometry and dividers to compose an image that conveys the proportional scheme. It employs a vocabulary of proportional notes that we can visualize internally. Because this type of drawing relies on proportions rather than specifications, it moves another step closer to a pure image in the mind. Proportional drawings can provide enough information to execute a build with simple tools; the drawings are organized in a way that meshes with traditional bench techniques. Even if you are adept with digital or industrial drawing, this type of drawing is not a step backward. Instead, it’s a concrete method to begin making that connection with your inner eye.
Our goal ultimately is the drawing that takes place in your head. This is speaking the language of design from the artisan age in its purest sense. It’s what Vitruvius wrote about when he said an architect could see clearly from the instant he conceives it in his mind. It uses a simple language of visual notes to create spatial music to help you acquire the ability to conceptualize internally. This is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the industrial approach – using that ability to spur creativity and provide a practical means of expression. You may still choose to employ modern drawing techniques and (egads) SketchUp, but the goal is to always encourage the flow of clear images from the drafting board in your head.
Make Your Designs Sing This concept of clearly seeing a design in the mind’s eye is a learned skill. Let’s do a little experiment. Take a moment, close your eyes and sing the “Happy Birthday” song silently to yourself. You weren’t singing out loud were you? (If you did, start again and sing it just in your head.) Could you hear it? Think about this for a moment. No audible sound, but you could clearly hear it in your mind. Try this: Sing it silently to yourself again but at a slower tempo. Can you still hear it, only slower? Can you imagine it sung in another voice? How about a deep, clear Nat King Cole version? How about a sultry Marilyn Monroe singing to John F. Kennedy? Can you hear the song played on an instrument? A piano? Try a trumpet. How about bagpipes? Stop! Cruelty alert: Step away from the bagpipes. The point is, you have the amazing ability to visualize already.
fig. 1.2.8. Our task begins by learning to visualize a small set of simple visual notes.
You not only could hear the song, but you could manipulate it, express it with different voices and instruments. I’d venture a guess that if you thought about it, you have hundreds of songs tucked away in that stereo in your head. Chances are, few of you have ever formally studied music. In fact, most of us could not write down the musical score for the song. It’s not about notes you can write on paper, but notes you can hear in your mind.
fig. 1.2.9. The single square (left) is at one end of the scale and the double square (right) is at the other.
Music at its simplest is made up of a handful of simple building blocks we call notes. Musical styles and genres can span a huge range from Bach to John Lee Hooker to ZZ Top. Underneath it all is the same handful of simple notes. Accomplished musicians, including the likes of Yo Yo Ma, practice the musical scales daily. The scales are nothing more than a note sequence arranged to keep a sparkling clear image freshly imprinted in the mind. Do you doubt that a musician develops a heightened ability to imagine music? The reason we struggle to see spatially is that we never learned a set of visual notes.
Close your eyes again and visualize a square. Can you see it clearly? If not, take a moment and draw a square with pencil then try again. Now close your eyes and imagine two squares side by side, one next to the other. Now imagine two squares arranged one on top of the other. Can you see the squares clearly? It doesn’t matter how big the squares are, or whether they float in space. They can be solid or simple line drawings. The important part is that you can see them. Now do the same visual exercises again, only this time imagine a circle. Then visualize two circles, a pair side by side, and a pair one on top of the other. Consider the circle and square to be interchangeable. There’s lots more to say about the circle later, but for now all you need to realize is that they are both easy to visualize. Congratulations. You have just taken baby steps in learning to see. You have just imagined the visual notes that bookend the range of our visual scale. The single square or circle begins the sequence, and the double square or circle completes it. In between are a handful of intermediate notes. The circle and square are the basic building blocks, and though it might seem like a small step to you now, in reality you’ve taken a giant leap toward unlocking your inner vision, and toward making your designs sing.
I don’t do many fake finishes. I prefer to let a piece age naturally rather than beat it, burn it, and make it write bad checks. But some pieces look wrong with a perfect coat of paint or shellac. The following finish is not designed to fool anyone. It is designed to nudge a vernacular piece in the right direction.
If you read “Chair Chat” (doesn’t everyone?), then you know we have a joke about faked chairs and finishes. We say they are from “Far East Wales.” We are told there is a robust trade in importing fake antiques from the Far East.
I learned to execute this finish from Troy Sexton in 2007. I have modified it to make the finish look grimier (and make the finish easier to do). This blog entry offers the basics. I’ll have a full writeup in “Guerrilla Chairmaking.”
This finish works with latex and acrylic paints (regular house paint). I haven’t tried it with milk paint, oil paints or artist paints, so I don’t have anything more to add here. Here’s how it works:
Paint your base coat on. I use two coats. Sand between finishes, just like you would normally.
When dry, coat the project in lacquer – brush it or spray it. Use a fairly heavy coat. Light coats of lacquer won’t do much. (Note: in “Guerrilla Chairmaking” I’ll detail other film finishes that will work besides lacquer – I’m not done experimenting yet.)
As soon as the lacquer is dry to the touch (15 minutes or so) add the topcoat color.
As soon as the topcoat of paint is dry to the touch (but not fully cured), use a heat gun (mine goes to 1,000° (F)) to blister the topcoat. Hold the gun about 1” from the surface and use one of the attachments that consolidates the blast of heat. (I have tried using propane torches instead of a heat gun and am not wild about them.)
Scrape off the blisters. Then smooth all surfaces with a woven pad (like a 3M grey or green pad). Steel wool works, too.
Rub on a coat of black wax. Buff it when it flashes.
That’s all there is to it. You can add as many layers of color as you like, burning between each layer of paint and lacquer. If you do this, always apply the wax only on the last coat.
If you are eager to try this, I suggest doing a test board with leftover paint to get comfortable with the process. This also will answer a lot of your questions about how fast to move the heat gun, how to get big blisters, etc.
As always, wear breathing and hand protection when working with solvents and VOCs. And take care with the heat gun. I do all the burning outdoors.
— Christopher Schwarz
Blistering the red topcoat with a heat gun.Scraping the blisters off when the paint has cooled.Removing the errant gunk with a woven pad.
