Fig. 2.29 Published many times over the years, the Stent panel is still an eye-opener for period tool historians. With the turner and joiner working in one shop together, it is clearly not a London product. In that city, these trades were separated by regulation. While the details might be less-than-ideal (are those moulding planes backward?) and the perspective off, the panel still brings us close to stepping into an English shop of the day. Just look at the joiner’s stance for planing. Courtesy of Dr. J.F. Stent of Shere, Surrey
One of the best references for studying 17th-century tools is the carving known as the “Stent” panel. It shows a joiner and turner working in a shop, surrounded by the tools of their craft. The joiner is planing a piece of stock at the bench, his fittings are clearly depicted. These include the bench itself, with its holes for the holdfast (which appears underneath the bench) and the bench hook, against which the joiner is planing a board. Hanging behind him are some planes, chisels and a pair of compasses.
The turner in the panel is working a pole lathe, turning a large pillar for a cupboard. This lathe makes use of a springy pole in the ceiling, tied to a foot treadle, to make the workpiece spin on the lathe’s pikes. The cord is wrapped around the workpiece, and as the turner tromps on the treadle, the entire mechanism works to rotate the stock back and forth. The cutting action is on the downward stroke. The pole springs back to return the stock for the next spin downward. The turner’s tools are likewise hanging on the wall behind him: gouges, chisels and his own pair of compasses. Between the two workmen are a hatchet, saw and low bench. Presumably both craftsmen use these tools in roughing out their stock to size.
This panel is the next best thing to being inside a joiner’s and turner’s workshop. It imparts a level of accuracy that greatly enhances our understanding of these trades and their workings. This is primarily because, unlike an engraving, it is cut by a woodworker whose familiarity with the tools provides a first-hand image of the actions in the shop.
The SawStop sliding crosscut fence (on a SawStop table saw), with the fence extended to full length.
The most labor-intensive part of preparing for classes is, by far, the stock prep – especially for the tool chest classes I teach. For those classes, I crosscut pairs of ends, and pairs of fronts/backs, together so that they’re the same length. That was difficult with our old shop-made crosscut sled. When crosscutting the front/backs, more than half the length of them clamped together was unsupported, so I had to hold them both tight to the sled’s fence and down at the same time. (The only good thing about that was the upper-body workout.)
So Chris – exceedingly kind man that he is – bought (me) a sliding crosscut fence. We looked at a few other brands, but after talking to people who already owned one, we decided on the SawStop slider.
Right after the box arrived we shut down classes for 2020…so there will be no massive amounts of stock prep until there’s a COVID-19 vaccine. But in the meantime, we’ve had time to put the new slider through its paces.
The MDF sled above is the one we formerly used to crosscut wide materials – you can easily see the additional support offered by the slider, not to mention the adjustable flip stops.
Chris has set up five or six different sliding tables over the years, and he says this one was by far the easiest; he had it up and running in about an hour (my only contribution was helping to adjust the leveling feet – it’s really a one-person job). There’s the option to bolt the slider to the table saw’s wing, or to remove the wing and bolt it directly to the main table. But either way, you almost certainly have to cut the rip fence’s rail. I believe the instructions said to do that with a metal-cutting band saw. But Chris used a recip saw with a home-center carbide blade (you could also use a metal-cutting jigsaw blade), then he filed the cut edges; the cut took less than 5 seconds.
In all honestly, we don’t have the fence perfectly set above the table’s height; it rides up the bevel on the front edge of the table by maybe 1/32″ every time we push it forward. Not a big deal – it works fine, and you can’t hear the fence hitting that edge over the noise of the saw and dust collection anyway (and you get used to the feel of it after a cut or three).
You can see in this photo how the fence just barely grazes the bevel on the table edge as it’s pushed forward.
Among the nice things about this sliding table is that it can be pulled back far enough to allow us to stand in front of it for most rip cuts – which means we don’t have to take it out of square to get it out of the way for most rips.
The sliding fence pulled all the way back – plenty of room in front of it for a person, and for most rip cuts.
Getting this one back to square is a lot easier than on my JessEm Mast-R-Slide at home, which requires Allen wrenches to adjust the setting blocks. This slider locks in place not against a block, but in the T-track. So all you need is a framing square to set it square to the blade. Still, once you have it square, why move it unless you have to?
To adjust the fence, just loosen/tighten the knurled knob.
I’ve heard a few complaints about the flip stops on the fence slipping or bending, but I was taught to always gently push my stock again a stop, so I haven’t had any trouble with the stops losing their settings so far. I also had one person mention that if you have a substantial angle set, the end of the fence is far away from the blade. Ninety-nine percent of our cuts are at 90°, so we’ve not yet had to tackle that issue. I imagine that whomever has to make that first 45° cut will make an auxiliary fence that fits in the fence’s T-track.
One of the two flip stops.
In addition to the extra support and ball-bearing sliding action, what I like most is the flip stops. It used to be I would crosscut one end of all my stock, then clamp a stop to the sled to cut it to final length. I save a lot of time now by simply flipping the stop up to square one end, then flipping my stock, and putting the stop down to cut the second end. Heaven. I’m very much looking forward to finding out – hopefully in the near future – how much easier this new setup will make cutting stock for seven tool chests at a time!
The worst woodworking mistakes I’ve made have to do with shop time.
When it comes to estimating how long it will take me to perform a series of operations, I always guess too low. When I first started estimating how much time a new commission would take me, I learned to double my number. A cabinet I thought would take 40 hours would take 80.
That first mistake will kill a furniture business right quick. You have to get your estimates right, or lower your standard of living, or go back to work for the corporate bully boy. For amateurs, that mistake is not a big deal, except when it comes to cribs.
Many of my friends who made cribs for their first child never saw the projects in use until the second child arrived.
Second mistake: When I botch a single operation, I always grossly overestimate how much time it will take to start the operation again from scratch. Example: I recently messed up an entire set of sticks for a chair. I moaned and stomped around the shop, wondering how I could save the poopy sticks with some patching, wedging or witchcraft.
“Argh,” I whined. “I’m going to lose an entire day making new sticks.”
I moped a bit and grabbed a new set of rough sticks and started shaving. In 60 minutes I was done, and the new sticks looked much better than the first set.
Idiot.
This sort of mistake is more insidious. Trying to repair or navigate around a complex mistake – instead of starting the operation over – usually takes me far more time. And the result is less than stellar.
As soon as I start scheming to repair something with some crazy technique that involves the warp core, reversing the polarity or separating the saucer section, I stop.
I put the crappy parts aside. I get some more wood. I start again.
Apologies for all the commercial blogs. We are trying to get all our holiday stuff into the store early because of delays with the mail system. Order soon to avoid disappointment. Today I have two quick things to report.
We finally have our brown moleskin vests in stock. These are identical to our green ones except for the color. These are handmade in Cincinnati using moleskin from Great Britain. Custom buttons. Durable stitching. My vest has become one of my favorite objects.
The only additional thing I can say about them is that I wouldn’t delay. These should sell quickly. (Also, we still have a few of the green ones in stock in XL and XXL, which you will see in the dropdown menu for “color.”)
Second item: The printer is finishing up work on Drew Langsner’s “Country Woodcraft: Then & Now” and it will be done soon. As a result, this is your last chance to order it and receive a free pdf of the book at checkout. After midnight on Thursday (Nov. 5), buying the book with the pdf will cost $48.75 (instead of $39).
We don’t know when the pre-publication orders will ship from the warehouse. Probably within two weeks.
We are thrilled to be publishing this updated and expanded edition of such an important woodworking book. “Country Woodcraft” inspired a generation of woodworkers to make spoons, bowls and other handy home implements. And we hope that the new version will inspire another generation.
A pile of my early designs from the 1990s that were vetted by my fellow editors.
If you want a good critique to help you grow as a designer (or a writer) here’s something to consider: Ask for the criticism before you touch the tools (or crank up the printing press).
Because of my odd path through life, almost all of my early furniture designs were vetted, savaged and usually improved by a group of experienced woodworkers before I started the construction process. For 15 years, all of the editors at Popular Woodworking would gather occasionally around a table to plan out future issues of the magazine. We would review proposals from outside authors and we would present our own designs for review.
The short critiques sounded like this: “That rail is too heavy. You don’t have enough meat in that joint. That overhang looks clunky. You might consider adding a sympathetic curve here. It needs a cup holder. If you tapered the legs it would look a lot lighter.”
Everyone had to go through the process, even the boss who went to a fancy furniture school.
This sort of pre-construction critique is so helpful, that I seek it out even now. Before I build a new chair or cabinet design I like to show my drawings to someone who knows their stuff and isn’t afraid to speak up.
I don’t act on every piece of criticism, but it always makes me think. And sometimes it pushes me down a new path.
On the other hand, criticism that comes after a piece is built is a different animal. With pointy fangs.
I’ve spoken to woodworking clubs all over the country. Many times they invite me to critique pieces made by their members. The first time I was asked to do this, I thought: “What a brave bunch of woodworkers.”
Then the club’s president took me aside and said: “Please be nice about it. One speaker was so mean that a couple of the guys ended up in tears.”
I empathize with this approach. Most of the members of a club are there to have a good time, learn about woodworking and help their community. They aren’t looking for a withering critique that will thicken their skin and question their choices as a designer. And so when I critique a finished piece I focus on what they did right and (I hope) encourage them to keep building.
One of the pieces from a recent “Chair Chat.” I loved this chair so much I made this drawing of it.
Another Way to Do It
What if you don’t have any friends who are experienced designers? One thing you might try is to get a few friends together and have something like our “Chair Chats” (we have two more publishing real soon). During each chat, Rudy Everts, Klaus Skrudland and I dissect the design of a few chairs. Because these are historical pieces, we are free to be as honest as possible.
What has been amazing to me is to see these pieces through the eyes of someone else I respect. We all pick up on different aspects of a piece. And by the time we completely take apart a chair verbally, I find that I understand the piece much better than I did before.
We do it via a texting program (Whatsapp) so that everyone’s opinions are heard. No one can talk over the others and dominate the discussion. It doesn’t take a lot of time, either. We spend about 30 to 40 minutes on a chair. And at the end of each critique I feel oddly refreshed, energized and full of ideas.
