Catalan chair, c. 1950, original red paint. Photo from Antigues Matèries, Barcelona.
The Catalan variation of the of the post-and-rung chair has been traced back to the late19th century and is still made today. This native of Catalonia speaks to me; it whispers, “sit back and relax.”
As with its straight-backed relatives, these chairs were made with local woods and reed-woven seats. The chair back is inclined and typically has four slats. There are two rungs at the front and sides and one at the back. Two additional legs at the back provide thesupport for the inclined angle of the chair.The comfort of this vernacular chair is the inclined seat and the high and wide back.
Four views of another chair, c. 1930, photo from 1st Dibs.
Details include decorative turnings on the front post, especially at the base. Each chair that I’ve found has, for lack of a better term, a “beanie cap” turning at the top of the back post.
Detail of the “beanie cap” on the back post.
Salvador Dalí, native of Catalonia, owned armed versions of the six-legged chair at his home in Portlligat, Spain.
Dalí and Christine Argillet (daughter of Pierre Argillet, Dalí´s publisher) at Portlligat, Spain. Photo from Ms. Argullet via Richmond Magazine.
Rodríguez Aria (1902-1987) was a founding member of GATCPAC, a group of architects and technicians concerned with improving urban development and the quality of life in Barcelona. He was on the Republican side in the Civil War and eventually left Spain and exiled to Chile. He hadcharge of the interior design of Café Miraflores in Santiago de Chile, a gathering place for exiled Spanish intellectuals. His design for the café‘s chairs were a call back to the Catalan vernacular chair.
Germán Rodríguez Arias’ design for the Café Miraflores chairs, 1942. Photo from Mobles114.
Two editions of Rodríguez Arias’ chair.
The Catalana 1942 chair. Left: from Mobles114, Barcella. Right: the collection of Museu del Disseny, Barcelona.
This reimagining of the traditional Catalan six-legged chair is in line with the work done by Charlotte Perriand in the mid-1930s. After working with steel, she moved to the wooden vernacular furniture of her grandparent’s Savoie home as inspiration for her designs. I always think of these swings in design as a push and pull. There is a push to use new and modern materials, but the pull of the older design is always in the back of the mind.
Both the vernacular version and the Rodríguez Arias version of this chair are still made and, as one would expect, they are expensive.
Traditional Catalan chair, c. 1920 with brown-stained posts and rungs. Photo from Fenix Originals.
I wasable to get the measurements for four chairs dating from the 1920s to the 1950s (one of which is not pictured):
Height range: 88-100 cm (34.6-39.4 in.)
Width range: 48-50 cm (18.9-19.7 in.)
Depth range: 74-80 cm (29.1-31.5 in.)
Now, imagine sitting back in one of these Catalan chairs, preferably along the coast of Catalonia. The heat of the day has passed and as you sip from una copa de vi negre o una cervesa a light breeze surrounds you with the perfume of honeysuckle and orange.
We had great fun hosting Peter Follansbee and six students this week! (I’m always gobsmacked by how much Peter’s students learn and how good they get with just a few days of instruction and practice!)
Update: Comments are now closed. Join us next Saturday for more Open Wire fun (and check the schedule at the bottom for the OW dates for the rest of 2024).
Due to a minor “oops” earlier this week when we mentioned we’d have Open Wire this Saturday (and the fact that I’ll be in the “office” anyway) – I decided to hold Open Wire today. But I will not start answering before 9 a.m, and possibly not even before 10 a.m. (Eastern). It’s been a deightful but busy week…so I plan to sleep in a bit on Saturday morning.
Comments will close at 4:30 p.m.-ish (Eastern)
And a reminder that we’ll be doing Open Wire – where you can ask all your woodworking questions and we’ll do our best to answer them – on the following Saturdays for the remainder of the year:
July 20 (Chris will weigh in if he can – but probably not until after comments close for the day) August 10 September 14 October 19 November 16 December 14
I did not build this for the cats. But I’m not sad that Olivia likes it.
I have a small flower garden in front of my house, and after years of being annoyed by having to sit down on my porch to don an old pair of running shoes for weeding (and checking them for spiders first, because they lived on the porch), I finally broke down and bought myself some garden clogs. They’re easy to slip on and off as I walk in and out the door, which is great, but I don’t want to leave them on the porch (they are much more likely to take a walk than my nasty old running shoes). But then I got annoyed by the amount of dirt I was tracking into the house, and bought myself a galvanized steel boot tray. But…just inside my front door is an HVAC return, so the boot tray had to go across the hall, and well…that was a good excuse to build a piece of furniture* to hold it – something that could fit just inside the door to make it easier to stow my clogs, and provide enough space underneath to allow for air flow.
Before all I built was tool chests, my M.O. was to find a Shaker piece that I like and modify it to suit my space, needs or both. So I went back to my old ways and spent a few days leafing through the various Shaker books in the Covington Mechanical Library.
I had almost settled on a washstand when Will Myers dug up a photograph of a piece illustrated in “The Encyclopedia of Shaker Furniture” by Timothy D. Rieman and Jean M. Burks (Schiffer, 2003), and in volume 2 of Ejner Handberg’s “Shop Drawings of Shaker Furniture and Woodenware” (Berkshire Traveller, 1975) – a “Bake Room Table” that was in the North Family Dwelling House at Mount Lebanon. I liked the drawings, but didn’t fall in love with the form until I saw the (unique) table in a photo.
Will found this photo (by William F. Winter) in “Shaker Furniture: Craftsmanship American Communal Sect” by Edward Deming Andrews and Faith Andrews (Dover, 1950).
The shelf that cuts across the side cutouts was, according to Handberg, probably added later. And what are those round cutouts at the back? Maybe it fit around a pipe of some kind?
The original, at 66″ long and just more than 28″ high, looks lighter and more graceful than what I made, but I didn’t have the space to copy its size. And I chose to make the cutout at the feet a bit shorter so that I could fit the shelf (my entire reason for building the piece!) above the void. I also skipped the support at the front between the drawers; the overhang on my top wasn’t enough to require it. Still, it was the starting point I needed – that, and the size of the boot tray it was destined to hold.
I also changed the construction, with a 3/4″-thick solid dust board (or perhaps it should be called a drawer support, given there are no drawers below it?), dadoed below the drawers instead of the nailed-on 2-1/4″-wide rails front and back, and nailed-on runners (if Handberg is correct). That last decision was a tactical error; the wider board provides more protection against racking…so I ended up pocket screwing (go ahead – come at me; there are period pocket screws in plenty of Shaker and other period work) a rail behind the drawers and under the back of the shelf (likely overkill, as I am wont to do).
I don’t typically do “proper” drawings/models (notice the lack of dados). I want to see just enough of the form to be able to decide if the proportions work for me. (The height is 30″.)
And instead of classic Shaker wooden pulls, I used iron ring pulls, to match the iron nails that attach the top. As a result of its almost-square form, size and metal hardware, I think my result skews a bit Arts & Crafts.
It’s a simple build for a simple customer. Were I building this for a more discerning end user (i.e. one that is paying me), I’d probably use sliding dovetails to attach the dust board/drawer support (and possibly use a web frame instead of solid wood there) as well as the drawer divider, and inset the back rails in grooves. And my drawer dovetails would be better.
The Build I started by gluing up the side panels and drawer support. All the wood that shows is cherry, but I glued up the drawer support from a 5″-wide or so piece of cherry on the front, and poplar behind. (I guess it does show at the back to the cats, but they don’t care).
This side and drawer support are all approximately 3/4″-thick…but I don’t know for sure. Once it was flat and close enough to 3/4″, I called the pieces ready for glue.
Then I marked out the dado locations, and played around with the curved cutouts at the bottom – and I ended up with curves that are slightly higher than what I drew. I cut them out on the band saw, then cleaned up the cuts with a combination of the spindle sander and sandpaper (#120 and #180) wrapped over a piece of the cutout (a sanding “fid”) to clean up the rough spindle-sander scratches.
The bottom curve is what I drew on the screen – it was too round. To my eye, it looks better with an 1-1/2″ or so of a straight line at the feet.
Then, I sawed the walls of the dados (which are a 1/4″ deep), knocked out most of the waste with a chisel and cleaned up the dado bottoms with a router plane (there’s a video here of this process, should you care to watch).
With one side arranged dados-up on the bench, smear a bit of glue in the dados, then put the shelf and support in place. Brush glue in the mating dados then put the other side in place on top. If the shelf and support are held tightly in well-fit dados and not moving around once they’re in their housings, it makes glue-up a lot easier to handle by yourself. If your fit is too loose, knock a wedge or two in on the underside to push out any gap and tighten things up. After the glue is dry, you can use a chisel so cut off the protruding end of a wedge (or, if it’s below the shelf at the bottom where it won’t show, just leave it).
Then, lift the assembly to get clamps across it front and back at the dado location and check it for square … then foolishly move the now-quite-heavy assembly off your bench and onto the floor by yourself because it will look better in a picture that way. Be sure to then complain that your back hurts.
If you do move it, check it again for square. If things aren’t quite square, a foot at one bottom corner and a bit pulling or pushing at the opposite top corner can easily shift things (usually). Once it’s square, walk away until the glue is completely dry.
After I took the clamps off, I realized I was being boneheaded; the piece needed some wider horizontal members to keep it from racking. So, I pocket-screwed 3″-wide rails between the sides at the back above the drawer support (poplar) and below the shelf (cherry). Then, the right side developed a slight cup at the top front – and I was afraid it would get worse. So, I pocket-screwed a 3/4″-thick x 3″-wide piece of cherry about 1/2″ back under the front of the drawer support. Uh … it’ll create a nice shadow line.
Tangent: I should have known things would go at least a little bit wrong. Some of the cherry I used for this piece is cursed. I’d bought the 5/4 stuff in mid-2017, with plans to build a Stickley 808 server for a Popular Woodworking article. I was seduced by the wood’s curly grain and remarkably low price … even though I knew curly cherry could be a right royal pain in the butt at the best of times, and that the low price indicated it was already misbehaving. But … so pretty!
I commissioned reproduction hardware from John Switzer at Black Bear Forge, and stickered the wood to acclimate for a month or so in the PW shop. Then I surfaced it to 7/8″ and glued up my panels. It all looked fabulous. For about a week. Then all the panels developed a gentle cup. OK – I could flatten it again, and build the piece out of 3/4″ instead of 7/8″. It happened again. So I put the panels aside and decided to build the server out of white oak, just like the originals. I bought the oak … then I was no longer employed at PW.
Those cherry panels left PW with me, and they’ve been in the basement at Lost Art Press ever since. (John’s gorgeous hardware has been in my basement ever since.) Chris recently used one of the panels as a desktop across trestles. And after flattening it and putting heavy stuff atop it, that panel has remained flat; I thought the curse had been broken. Chris says he’s protected from it there is no joinery involved in his setup.
The curse was not broken – but the addition of a front rail seems to have at least overcome it. For now. But never forget that wood hates you.
After the clamps were off, I marked centerlines on the drawer support and 5″-wide drawer divider, then clamped the divider firmly in place, and countersunk screws to hold it in place from underneath. It is simply butted tight to the underside of the top.
Use a square to align the divider to the front, then clamp it in place before drilling pilot holes for screws (I used three screws, though two would likely suffice).
I had a beautiful wide piece of cherry from C.R. Muterspaw for the top that I sure wish I could have used at full length. Not only was cutting it painful, but I think a longer overhang to either side added lightness – but rendered it not fit for purpose.
IWally liked the longer top, too – more real estate for treats.
I cut a small roundover on each end of the top’s back rail, sanded it, then glued it in place to the back of the top. I could have gotten away with leaving it off from a functional POV, but I wanted the extra overhang that offered for the front edge.
I then dithered over best to attach the top, and after considering the use of traditional buttons (which would require 1″ shorter drawer sides and backs to accommodate their attachment), had decided on figure-8 fasteners (which would require drawers sides and backs only 1/8′ or so narrower than the fronts), when Chris talked me into using blacksmith-made nails. I liked the way they looked on the cupboard in “American Peasant,” so…
The only great-looking nails we had (they were made by Mark Kelly, a blacksmith at Mt. Vernon) were 2-3/4″ long; I really should have used 2″ nails. It was a bit scary to drill so deeply into the cherry sides. But I got away with it… or so I thought for about 14 hours. I did a test drilling setup for tapered pilot holes, and after successful tests drilled my pilots and hammered the nails in place. They looked great. Whew! By the next morning, a small split developed at one location. But you can’t really see it without bending down and looking closely. And I’m not showing you.
The customer is dismayed but accepting of the flaws. (I blame the curse.)
Further adding to the flaws count: It turns out I didn’t get the divider perfectly centered; the left opening is 1/16″ smaller than the right. So I fit each drawer front and back to its opening with a No. 51 shooting plane. For those who don’t already know, a tightly fit drawer is key to smooth movement. These have maybe a 1/32″ reveal side to side. (And wood movement won’t be an issue, as that will be top to bottom, where I left about 1/16″.)
Another tangent: Years ago, I erred on the side of too loose, and those drawers bug the bejeezus out of me to this day. It’s this piece – the drawers, which have just under a 1/8″ reveal on both sides, rack every time I slide them in. Yes, I have some thin UHMW tape…no, I have not yet applied it even though I know it would likely solve the problem.
A smart person would have made the sides of a length to allow that back rail to serve as a drawer stop. I need to glue in 3/4″ thick blocks.
The drawers are half-blind dovetails at the front and through dovetails at the back (the tailboards are on the side, so that the drawers can’t be pulled apart in use). The only advice I have on cutting drawer dovetails is to run the grooves for the drawer bottoms before transferring the tails to the pin boards. That way, you can stick a shim of the right size in the grooves to help align the pieces (a trick I’m pretty sure I learned from a Chris Becksvoort article in Fine Woodworking).
The drawer back is 3/4″ narrower than the front, to allow the bottoms to slide in underneath it. The bottoms are 1/2″-thick paint-grade plywood, rabbetted to fit the 1/4″ wide x 1/4″ deep grooves. I cut a slot in the center back, then nailed it to the underside of the back to keep it from moving. (A more discerning client would get solid wood, sized to allow for expansion and contraction – but that’s not an issue with the plywood.)
I cut half-blinds so rarely that I can’t remember if I prefer to secure the board vertically in a twin-screw vise or flat on the bench to make the cuts. These were cut in the vise – but I think my overcuts end up longer – thereby making the waste in the corners slightly easier to remove – when I clamp it flat to the bench. (Yep, I know lots of folks pooh-pooh overcutting. “Whatev,” as the kids haven’t said for some time, now. There are plenty of period drawers that employ overcuts; I’m in good company.)
Regardless of how you make the saw cuts, chiseling out the waste is a matter of working back and forth between the baselines and creating square surfaces on both faces. And a fishtail chisel can help you get into the corners.
And to finish things off, instead of leaving blue-tape pulls in place for years, I decided on traditional iron ring pulls (32 mm). Simply drill a hole where desired to fit the staple legs, then bend each leg back with a pair of pliers, and hammer the staple legs in place. I decided to locate the pulls slightly above center. I taped off the location, marked the hole, then drilled it over a backer board so as to avoid blowout on the backside.
The finish is soft wax 2.0 – easy to make, safe to use and simple to re-apply if it proves necessary. You’ll find directions for making and using it in Chris’s latest book, “American Peasant” – a free PDF download (see pages 65-7).
Now that my new piece is at home and in use, I’m confident the Curse of the Curly Cherry is finally broken … as long as the drawers and tray stay in place, covering up that cursed wood. (But I remain leery of using the two panels still in our basement!)
I admit it’s a bit of shame to cover up that lovely curly cherry on the shelf…but it was the only way to break the curse.
And if I ever get to make this again, well, I’ve identified all the problems! If I call this one a prototype, maybe the mistakes won’t bother me as much. (They will. That is my curse.)
– Fitz
*aka a procrastination technique to put off building a pantry cabinet or the bookcase for the bottom of my staircase.
Choosing the wood for your first stick chair can feel paralyzing. You might think that the wrong species will doom the chair. Or the boards’ grain orientation will make things split. Or that you need wood that is green or air-dried.
I know you won’t believe this, but Rule No. 1 with stick chairs is this: Use what you have. And use it to the fullest.
If you have only construction lumber, you can make that work. If you have purpleheart, ditto.
This blog entry is about the species readily available to woodworkers in North America. We have lots of woods that work well for stick chairs. If you have a choice of species when you shop, here are my thoughts on what woods will make the job easier and perhaps less expensive.
You can make a stick chair using only one species. I do this all the time. But you can make the job easier if you separate the project into two parts:
Use woods that don’t readily split for the seat, arms and comb/backrest.
Use ring-porous woods that split easily for the legs, stretchers and sticks.
Mixing species might horrify you. And it can look horrifying if you don’t take care. But if you take the long view, most darker woods get lighter in time, and most light woods get darker in time. In other words: Everything turns brown. But if you don’t want to wait 20 years for this to happen, paint can also do the job of unifying things.
Woods that Don’t Split Easily
Here are some woods that are readily available in North America that are ideal for seats, arms and combs.
Tulip poplar: Inexpensive but a bit unattractive. Great for paint. Carves beautifully, so it’s a great wood with which to learn to saddle a seat.
Sycamore: If you can find it in your area, this is a great choice, especially when quartersawn. It carves easily, looks nice and can be some of the cheapest commercial wood out there. It’s also available in wide widths.
Soft maple: Another great wood for the seat, arms and comb. Soft maple is a little more expensive than the above woods, but is fairly cheap overall. Its cousin, hard maple, is more expensive but is also fine.
Black cherry: These days, cherry is out of favor and is cheap (and beautiful). It carves great and – if treated with care – can work for the arms and combs. It splits more easily than the above species, but it is totally do-able.
Basswood/linden: Don’t overlook this species, especially for the seat. It is strong enough, carves incredibly well and doesn’t look horrible. And it’s available in wide widths.
Ideal Woods for Legs, Stretchers & Sticks
I prefer ring-porous woods such as oak and ash because it’s easy to read the grain direction, the species are easy to split and generally easy to find.
Red oak: Though this wood gets a bad rap, I love the stuff. It’s plentiful, strong and cheap. And on a chair you don’t have to deal with the cathedrals on wide panels (which can be overwhelming). I prefer fast-grown oak because it is stronger than slow-growth oak. And, in general, I like Southern red oak more than Northern. (Learn more here.)
Ash: If you can get ash, it’s a great chair wood. Be sure to look for evidence of rot these days. Some lumberyards carry ash that has been on the ground too long and has gotten punky.
Hickory: The ultimate wood for legs and sticks. It is dense and requires effort to work. But it is one of the strongest domestic hardwoods around.
White oak: I love white oak for case pieces. In a chair, the surfaces are generally narrow, so you don’t get scads of the gorgeous ray flake from the quartersawn stuff. I can buy twice as much red oak for the price of white. So I usually get red.
How to Combine the Species
If you are making a painted chair, it’s difficult to beat the combination of tulip poplar and red oak. They’re both cheap, easy to get and take paint well. If you want to use a transparent finish, it’s best to do some mixing and matching.
If you use sycamore, basswood or soft maple for the seat/arms/comb, then I recommend ash or hickory for the sticks, legs and stretchers. These species play well together.
If you use cherry for the seat/arms/comb, I’d use red oak for the sticks/legs/stretchers. You’ll be surprised how well these woods work together after a few years in the sun.
What about other species such as elm, black and honey locust, butternut, coffeewood, sassafras and walnut? If you can find these in your area for a good price, you can absolutely use them for stick chairs. A little research on the tree and playing with a board or two (hello, hammer test) will quickly give you some useful data.
But mostly, don’t hold off on building a chair because you cannot find “perfect wood.” It doesn’t exist in my world. And historically, chairmakers used what they had – Whateverous foundus. And that’s one of the best lessons we can take from the past.
Fig. 5.1 Jan Joris Van Vliet’s etching depicts a typical turner’s shop in 1630s Holland. Shown are a simple lathe, a few tools and various products of the craft – the turned chair and spinning wheel being the turner’s work. Based on records from London and Boston, turners often sold products made by others, which accounts for the yoke, foot warmers and bentwood boxes. Courtesy of the Early American Industries Association
When it comes to exploring the shadowy history of how 17th-century furniture was built, few people are as dogged and persistent as Jennie Alexander and Peter Follansbee.
For more than two decades, this unlikely pair – an attorney in Baltimore and a joiner at Plimoth Plantation in Massachusetts – pieced together how this early furniture was constructed using a handful of written sources, the tool marks on surviving examples and endless experimentation in their workshops.
The result of their labor is “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree: An Introduction to 17th-century Joinery.” This book starts in the woodlot, wedging open a piece of green oak, and it ends in the shop with mixing your own paint using pigment and linseed oil. It’s an almost-breathtaking journey because it covers aspects of the craft that most modern woodworkers would never consider. Yet Alexander and Follansbee cover every detail of construction with such clarity that even beginning woodworkers will have the confidence to build a joint stool, an iconic piece of furniture from the 17th century.
Most joint stools have a bit of turned decoration between the squared blocks containing the joinery. This turned work is simple enough, but entire books and courses are dedicated to learning the turner’s art. Refer to the bibliography for full details on turning. Here we will touch only on the techniques required to get the stool done.
We use two different lathes. Alexander uses a modern electric lathe; Follansbee uses a shop-made pole lathe. The techniques of organizing and cutting the decoration remain essentially the same. If you use an electric lathe, work at the slowest speed available. The following description refers to Follansbee’s pole lathe.
Fig. 5.2 This simple lathe is made of large oak timbers fastened together and is quite stable. The pole lathe’s slow speed allows you to see how the tools are cutting as you learn to maneuver them. Keep the number of tools to a minimum, and keep them sharp.
Introduction to the Pole Lathe The pole lathe is often depicted in period artwork; its basic notion is always the same while the details vary. The 1635 etching by Jan van Vliet shows a simple lathe with the horizontal members fixed to uprights, and between them a movable puppet to secure the workpiece upon the iron points, called the screw and pike. A pole in the ceiling connected by a cord to a foot treadle completes the arrangement. The turner steps on the treadle to begin the action. The workpiece, having the cord wound around it, spins toward the turner on the downward stroke. This is when the cutting action takes place. At the bottom of the stroke, the turner releases the pressure and the pole springs back, spinning the workpiece backward. This reciprocating motion is often misunderstood. Many think that you should withdraw the tool on the return stroke. In fact, the workpiece just rubs against the cutting edge as it travels back. Keep the tool in place so you can resume cutting as it comes around again. From the story stick, your stiles should have scribed marks defining the limits of the turned portions: a central section about 9-1/2″ long between the blocks and the foot below the bottom block. It’s best to carry these lines all around the stock.
Fig. 5.3 Moxon’s miter square is useful for this layout. If your bench has stretchers, you can sit one end of the stile on top of the stretcher, then jam it against the bench with your knee to hold it steady. Then flip it end for end to finish marking it.
Mark and Mount Mark the centers of your stiles. One method uses a miter square to strike diagonal lines across the end grain. Keep in mind that the cross-section might not be a fully squared piece, so you will need to line up the diagonals from two outer corners. Another method is to use a compass set to nearly 2″ to scribe the circle defined by the square. A little trial and error with this method will find your centers.
Fig. 5.4 Aim to fit a circle all the way out to all four edges of the stile. Once you find the size circle to scribe with the compass, lean on the leg of the compass that marks the center.
Once you locate the centers, emphasize them with a centerpunch and apply a bit of beeswax or tallow. Then mount the work-piece on the pole lathe for turning. Wrap the cord twice around the midst of the stock, then line the stile up with the centers and tighten the wedge that secures the moveable puppet. Get in the habit of placing each stile on the lathe in the same orientation. In this case we usually work with the foot of the stile to our right. Where the foot goes doesn’t matter as much as consistency does; the cuts are easiest when you make them in the same order on each stile.
Fig. 5.5 The cord comes down in front of the workpiece, then winds around it. Wrapping the cord and fitting the stile between centers can feel awkward in the beginning, but it becomes second nature with practice.
Once you’re satisfied that the turning is mounted properly, then check the tool rest. Adjust it so it is as close to the turning as possible, and that it is made tight. That can require some fumbling around with wedges and such, but it takes only a minute.
Roughing Start with the largest gouge and lightly remove the corners off the stock between the blocks and at the stile’s foot. At first, cut well inside the scribed lines. The idea is to get the stock roughed out as quickly as possible. Once it’s round enough, it spins faster and more easily on the lathe. You’ll need to move the cord sideways when it’s in the way. For a right-handed turner, the left hand moves the gouge laterally and the right hand rolls the gouge left and right to use the whole cutting edge in turn. Create the cylinder right up to the scribed lines, making a bevel up to these lines.
Fig. 5.6 You shouldn’t need to grip the tool tightly. While the left hand is guiding the gouge it also is keeping it registered against the tool rest. Watch out that you don’t hit the cord!
Now comes the hard part: cutting the transition from the square mortised blocks to the turned cylinder. Use a sharp skew chisel, and with some practice it will come. First, cut into the turned portion right up to the line of transition with the skew. Then define the corners. Use the “long” point of the skew and aim the tool just about directly in line with the mark where you want to cut. At the beginning of this cut, your right hand is low, and the tool is aimed high at the stock. As it enters the wood, the right hand comes up, bringing the point of the tool down into the wood. Light cuts are key.
Fig. 5.7 This is a cut to practice on scrap stock before working your stool’s parts. Angle the skew’s handle to orient the bevel so that it’s perpendicular to the turning’s axis.
In general, making this cut is a difficult job, but with practice it is manageable. There are a few movements that make it more predictable and effective. Try angling the handle left and right to change the relationship between the skew’s bevel and the wood.
Begin the Details After defining these transitions, smooth the cylinder with the large skew. Cut the rest of the pattern with a gouge and the small skew. Use the story stick to scribe the details on the cylinder. Make sure the foot lines up with the bottom of the stile. Sequence your cuts in the same order on all the stiles. We tend to cut the coves first. Using a small, sharp gouge, cut into the center of the cove to reach its depth, then carefully come at it from each end, cutting a smooth transition down to that centered depth. Several light cuts work best.
Fig. 5.8 Here is the skew’s point just before it starts to nick off the corners of the transition point between the square block and the turned decoration. It’s easy here to take too heavy a cut, and that makes a smooth cut very difficult. Lightly, lightly.
When you’re coming in from your left, you’re cutting with the right-hand part of the gouge, from just beside the tip of the tool’s curve. As you move the tool later-ally, roll it as well. Your cut ends as the tool reaches the bottom center of the cove. Like the skew before, there’s a lot of back and forth – cutting from first one side of the cove and then the other. Don’t measure the depths; instead watch the shapes emerge with each successive pair of cuts.
Fig. 5.9 Now the cut has been roughed out, the final action is to finish forming the transition from square to round.
Cut the beads much like the square-to-round transition. For these, the skew starts nearly flat and rolls over until it is almost upright at the end of the cut. This is where the bead (or half-bead) meets the cylinder.
The best thing to do is to turn the four stiles in one session. That way you develop some consistency within the stool. Burnish the finished turning with a fistful of shavings when you are done turning.
Fig. 5.10 Always double-check your alignment of the story stick. Use a sharp awl to transfer the points from the story stick, then scribe the locations by laying the awl in place with the stock turning.
Fig. 5.11 If the gouge skitters up the cove, it can cut a wayward spiral into the cylinder adjacent to the cove. By cutting the coves first, you have a chance at rescuing this “dawk,” as Moxon calls them. Finish the cove as best you can, then use the skew to turn the fillets or flats beside the cove. These cuts are quite shallow; resist the inclination to keep going back over your cuts. Get this batch as good as you can, then practice some more and get the next set better.
Chamfered Stiles Some stools use simple chamfers to decorate the stiles instead of turnings. Chamfering is easy to do, but requires a methodical approach. Use a square and awl to mark the length of the chamfers on the stiles in the same spots where the turned decoration would be. Scribe these lines around all four faces of the stiles. It’s easiest to form chamfers with “stops” at each end. The stop is a series of chisel cuts that define the transition between the squared blocks and the facets of the chamfers. They come in many forms and are best found in architectural contexts.
Fig. 5.12 In these turning patterns, the top of the stool is to the left, and the foot is to the right. The elements can be combined in various ways: beads, half-beads, coves, balusters and either flat or angled “fillets” setting off one element from another. Notice the similarities between turning shapes and moulding shapes; they are essentially the same, just oriented differently. There’s not a lot of variation in the feet (top): usually a half-bead, cove and the beginnings of another baluster.
Period house frames are often chamfered inside, and sometimes quite detailed. Scribe the edges of the chamfer with a marking gauge. Eyeball the setting, around ½” or so, and mark it on each face. Alexander mostly uses a drawknife at a shaving horse to work chamfers, sometimes with a spokeshave to clean up the final surface. This method usually works best by cutting in from one end toward the mid-point of the chamfers’ length, then flipping the workpiece end for end and coming in from the other end. Then some chisel work finishes the details, which are described below.
Fig. 5.13 We intentionally omit the overall dimensions for the stool. It’s the construction dimensions that matter: the shoulder-to-shoulder dimensions for the rails, stock dimensions, flare angle – these are the numbers that are the most important. Consistency between parts is more critical than finished dimensions.
Fig. 5.14 This stool by Alexander has chamfered decoration instead of the usual turnings. Alexander made it as a prototype for a class, long before we had seen the published photos of the English joint stool and form shown on page 10.
Fig. 5.15 Try your drawknife with its bevel both up and down. Some tools work better one way than the other. The chamfer first reaches its full depth at the midpoint along the length designated for the decoration. Then you can work back from there, extending the cuts until you reach the stops.
Chamfers With a Chisel You can also make the entire chamfer with a broad chisel. Use the awl and square to mark the length of the stops; bring them about 3/4″ or more in from the scribed ends of the chamfers. Strike the chisel with its bevel facing toward the waste to make a stop cut at this scribed line. Chop down to the scribed lines. Next, with the chisel bevel down, pare back toward the stop cut you just made. This defines the ends of the chamfers. Repeat this procedure at the other end.
Fig. 5.16 (right) The stop cut. Check that the chisel comes all the way down to the scribed lines. It might take a few strokes to get the full depth. 5.17 (left) Fig. 5.17 After relieving the chamfer’s ends, you can now pare the full length of the chamfer to get the bulk of the detail defined. This mallet work gets most of the wood out of the way.
By making these cuts, you reduce the chance that your chisel will cut into the stops when you are forming the length of the chamfer.
Fig. 5.18 After the roughing stage, use a large chisel with its bevel up. The grip is to hold the chisel and stile in one hand. The thumb on the chisel’s blade and the fingers below the stile keep the tool in place as you move along the stile’s length. The stile is propped up in the joiners’ saddle with its forward end jammed against the bench hook. This gives you room to get your hand under the stile. Skew the chisel for a cleaner slicing cut.
Now rough out the chamfer with the mallet and chisel while holding the chisel bevel down. To bring the chamfer to its finished depth, use the chisel with its bevel up and pare the flats down to the scribed lines. The last step is to cut the stop itself; do this with the chisel bevel down again. It’s just a stroke or two; don’t cut it down all the way to the depth of the chamfer, it looks best if there is a transition from the stop into the chamfer.
Fig. 5.19 You can make this your final shape, and then it’s called a “stopped” chamfer.
A “lamb’s tongue” is a slightly more detailed stop, just adding a convex finish to the concave stop. Flip the chisel again, so you are cutting with the bevel up, and start with the handle low. Bring it all the way up to plumb as you round the last part of the stop. It might amount to just two strokes of the chisel, so easy does it.
Fig. 5.20 But if you round over the very last bit before it hits the chamfer itself, then you have a chamfered stile with a “lamb’s tongue” stop.
