If you want to buy tickets for my March 28-29, 2020, Dutch Tool Chest demonstration in Omaha, the Omaha Woodworkers Guild has set up a web page for you.
You can buy tickets using a credit card via this link. The page explains the where, when and how of the event, and the pricing. It also explains how the raffle will work at the end of the seminar, in which you can win the Dutch chest I’m building that weekend.
Should be fun.
— Christopher Schwarz
After making Welsh stick chairs for almost 17 years, I am accustomed to strong reactions to the form.
“I hate to tell you this,” said one recent visitor. “But I think Welsh stick chairs are butt ugly.”
Asked another: “You sell these chairs? How much money for a ‘regular’ chair? You know, a ‘normal’ one.”
Or the always fun: “Really? I mean, really?”
These comments don’t hurt my feeling. In fact, I like the fact that the chair’s design is polarizing. I’ve never enjoyed making least-common denominator anything. Chris Williams, the author of “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown,” seems to feel the same way. He wrote:
“They are all different – and a smidgen off being ugly to some.”
What keeps me going on these chairs is a short encounter about four years ago. I was getting set up in our storefront in Covington, Ky., and had just assembled a pair of Welsh stick chairs for a customer. Still in the white, they looked like albino porcupines with their pale wood and untrimmed wedges jutting out every which way.
To get them out of the way, I stuck the twin chairs on top of one of the workbenches by the storefront window and turned my attention to something else at my bench.
A few minutes later, I heard tires screech to a stop outside the store. I looked up and a car had jerked to a stop in front of the window. After about 30 seconds, a young woman got out of the car – still blocking the entire street – and she scurried to the store’s entrance. I thought she might have a medical emergency, and I met her at the door.
“What,” she asked, “are those chairs?”
I told her: Welsh stick chairs. She orbited the chairs a few times and asked to touch the faceted legs and stretchers. Meanwhile I watched her abandoned car from the corner of my eye, the driver’s side door still hanging open.
“I saw them and had to stop,” she said. “I want to buy one.”
I explained that these two were bound for the West Coast but that I could build her another. I gave her my contact information and she reluctantly left, looking at the chairs the way my wife looked at our kids when she left them at day care.
I never heard back from the woman, but that’s OK. It is still a good moment when your furniture can stop traffic.
— Christopher Schwarz
Editor’s note: Thanks to everyone who entered our True Tales of Woodworking Contest, in celebration of the release of Nancy Hiller’s new edition of “Making Things Work: Tales of a Cabinetmaker’s Life.” We enjoyed reading every one of the entries – it was difficult to choose a winner (a good problem to have!). We’re running some of our top choices here (lightly edited to match LAP editorial style), and will announce and share the winning story on Saturday, Feb. 1. Nancy will also be sharing some of the entries on her Making Things Work blog, so be sure to tune in there, too!
— Fitz
Every meaningful thing I have learned about woodworking, I have learned from mistakes. I type at a desk for a living. I sit in a high-rise commercial building, fingers on plastic chiclet keys, eyes focused on the blue light of my monitors, swiping between files on an illusory desktop. Woodworking affords me the opportunity to work with my hands. It provides a meaningful escape from the doldrums of my suburban routine. I find the discipline well worth it – even if that includes the risk of personal injury. The following litany of injuries is by no means exhaustive. It represents only a small portion of the valuable lessons I have learned in the past few years.
• Injury #1: A 10″ bruise just above my navel. Lesson: Never use a table saw’s fence in a cutting operation when the piece you are cutting is wider than it is long.
While making a decorative wall panel for a conference room build-out, I made a 4′ x 10″ strip of 1/4″ plywood, which I intended to cut into 10″ squares. “Aha!” I thought aloud. “The table saw’s already set at 10″. I’ll just rotate the strip 90 degrees, and zip through these.” I let the long end flop over the side of the saw and proceeded to push the short end against the fence. My hand must have twisted the piece slightly, for the blade and hurled a square directly into my gut like Frank Richard, who caught cannonballs with his stomach. I took a long break, and used a sled without the fence on the next cuts.
• Injury #2: Splinters; a near impalement. Lesson: Wood may have pent-up stress, which can relieve itself at inopportune times.
While attempting to make a faux shoji screen, I found myself resawing on the table saw some Douglas fir for the lattice. About halfway through the board, I heard the blade whine louder than a teenager on a bad date. Instinctively, I let go and the 6′, spear-like projectile sailed past me. The “kiln-dried” lumber from my local big-box store appeared to have a very wet center, which caused some dormant stress to be released. Suddenly free, the twisted fibers pinched the blade, et voila! I had accidentally made a modern, motor-powered atlatl.
• Injury #3: A deep cut across the tip of my index finger. Lesson: Pay close attention to your hands while sharpening.
I had bought new sharpening stones and was happily honing my first set of chisels. I pressed against the back of the chisel with my index finger and started a series of hypnotic figure-eight motions. About 90 seconds into the sharpening routine, my lapping fluid turned a rusty brown color. I thought it odd, but continued. When I lifted the chisel to feel for a burr, I noticed that my finger had found the edge of the chisel at some point in the process, getting caught between my chisel and stone. The perfectly clean wound oozed blood. I must admit, I did feel a bit of pride in spite of my throbbing finger: the chisel certainly was sharp.
• Injury #4: A hole in my fingernail. Lesson: Never rush sanding.
So I wanted to sand some half-lap joints flush. I was in a rush, and I decided to lock my hips and bring my full weight to bear against the disc sander. It worked marvelously. That is, until my workpiece tipped ever so slightly. In half a second, the grit ate through the center of my fingernail. The ensuing panic clouded my mind; I could not decide what to do next. Thus, I got blood everywhere. It dripped on my workpiece, ruined my shoes, and dribbled all over the workshop floor and equipment. I elevated my hand, waited for the blood to clot, taped up my finger, disinfected everything, and went back to work. It was the week before Christmas, and I had gifts to finish.
• Injury #5: Mysterious cuts in odd places. Lesson: I’m never going to be perfect, and that’s OK.
Where do these injuries come from? I don’t know. Currently, there’s a 1″-long gash on the back my ring finger. How did I get that? I have no idea. Why didn’t it hurt at the time? No clue. It hurts now. Usually about a half-dozen of these injuries appear on my hands and arms for the duration of a project. I’ve made my peace – with most of them.
The reason I treasure these experiences is found in their effect on the connection between my body and mind. These memories are concrete. I can still smell the mildly herbal aroma of Ipe when I first ripped it on a table saw. I can feel the subtle suction of a perfectly flat board against the cast iron top of a jointer. I remember the joy I felt when I first saw whisper-thin walnut shavings emerging from the mouth of a handplane. I can hear the subtle hiss of piston-fit drawer as it slides into place. These experiences are durable. They are worth a hand full of splinters.
— Clayton Huthwaite
Our warehouse has begun shipping out copies of “The Anarchist’s Design Book: Expanded Edition.” If you placed a pre-publication order, you will be notified when the book goes out. There were a lot of pre-publication orders, so it might take them a few days. (So don’t panic if you haven’t been notified.)
I received my copies today and am relieved. The bookmark ribbon came out nicely and the cover printing (which our pre-press people were nervous about) looks perfect.
Several of you have asked if we can include the bookmark ribbon in all our books. The answer is: Maybe. This is an experiment to see how we like it and to see if it’s worth the added expense and delay in printing. We had to send the book blocks out to a third party to install the ribbon, which added significant time to the whole process.
You can read all about the book, what’s new and what it’s about here.
If you own the first edition and would like to download a free pdf of the new edition, go here for simple instructions.
If you are not an anarchist and would like to complain about my deeply held personal beliefs, please click here.
And if you bought the book, thank you. Now I don’t have to get a job at the Big Boy down the street.
— Christopher Schwarz
You can now place a pre-publication order for “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown” by Christopher Williams. The book is $49 and will ship in March 2020. If you order before that date, you will receive a free pdf download of the book at checkout.
The book is in three major parts. One part is a biography of John Brown, one of the most influential woodworking writers and chairmakers of the 20th century. It is one part philosophical treatise and features 19 of John Brown’s best columns from Good Woodworking magazine. And it is one part straight-up woodworking book, with Chris showing you how he and John Brown built Welsh stick chairs using simple hand tools and straightforward techniques.
The book represents four years of difficult (and expensive) work, both here in the States and in Wales. It features essays from the people who worked with John Brown and lived with him – including David and Anne Sears at Pantry Fields and toolmaker Matty Sears. The book is filled with many never-before-seen historical photos of Welsh stick chairs and where they were made. We also commissioned original linocuts to illustrate the book from Molly Brown, one of John Brown’s daughters. And there are many new and gorgeous photos of stick chairs from Heather Birnie.
We matched the hard work on the editorial side with excellent materials and high-end publishing techniques. The full-color interior pages are heavy and coated with a matte finish that makes them readable in any almost light. The binding is casebound – the signatures are stitched, taped and glued to last as long as possible. I know of no better binding. We wrap the book block with heavy, 98 pt. hard boards. The hinge is made with a custom endsheet. The exterior is charcoal cotton cloth with a silver diestamp. The dustjacket is a tear-resistant paper with a matte laminate. (I know these technical specs bore some customers, but there’s a reason most publishers don’t release them….)
Of course, all production and printing is in the United States.
In the coming weeks we’ll release an excerpt of the book for people who aren’t sure about “Good Work.”
As always, we don’t know which of our retailers will carry “Good Work.” It is their call, not ours. If you want your local retailer to carry it, let them know. This works surprisingly well.
And finally, a note of thanks to everyone who helped this book along its way. John Brown’s extended family and his friends were generous with their time and effort. People such as Drew Langsner supplied important background material and a wealth of photos. And many of you offered encouragement and advice – most of it great. And thanks, most of all to Chris. He embarked on this book – his first – with the desire to get it right and honor his mentor, no matter where that journey took him.
You can place a pre-publication order here.
— Christopher Schwarz
