I gasped a little bit this evening when I opened the latest issue of Fine Woodworking magazine and saw a full-page review of Joshua Klein’s “Hands Employed Aright.” The review is on page 20 of the February 2019 issue and is quite favorable.
The review is well-deserved. Joshua poured his heart into the project, and the book required many years of research, photography and writing.
Thanks to Barry Dima, the author of the review, and Josh.
— Christopher Schwarz
This Saturday – Dec. 8 – we’re opening our doors to the public between 10 a.m. and 5 p.m. We’ll have all our books available for sale (credit cards, check or cash welcome) plus a big pile of blemished books at 50 percent off (cash only, please).
We have two cases of Christian Becksvoort’s new book, “Shaker Inspiration,” for you to check out.
And if you ask to “see the clock,” we’ll take you to the back room and give you a homemade Kentucky beverage. It’s sweet and takes four hours to make. Plus cookies!
The workshop is a manic zoo this week. I’m trying to finish up a Monticello bookcase in walnut and clear pine that has been held up by Crises Nos. 634 and 645 of 2018. I’m pushing to get all the boxes assembled by Saturday. There are six units, all dovetailed with a mitered dovetail on the front edge. Megan is processing almost 300 board feet of poplar for an upcoming Dutch tool chest class. And Brendan is building a stand for some glass bottles for a holiday bazaar.
So we are greatly looking forward to Saturday when we can put down our tools for a few hours and chat. Heck, we might even ask you to “see the clock” a few times.
The storefront is at 837 Willard St. in Covington, Ky. It’s a nice historic neighborhood filled with good restaurants and bars. And if you want to add a special stop on your visit, I recommend a visit to the newly reopened Cincinnati Museum Center at Union Terminal. This gorgeous Art Deco structure (photo above) has been restored and just reopened.
Even if you don’t want to go to one of the museums inside, I recommend you tour the lobby and public spaces (there’s no admission to the public spaces). You can buy a local beer and walk around and enjoy the views.
They have a nice clock there as well (newly restored), but it’s not as sweet as ours.
— Christopher Schwarz
Registration for Christian Becksvoort’s All About Dovetails one-day class is now open. (If you don’t get in, do sign up for the waitlist.)
Note: Some people are having trouble signing up for the waitlist – we’ve checked everything we can think of to check (and googled the problem). We cannot replicate the issue. So, if anyone else has trouble, send an email to covingtonmechanicals@gmail.com and I’ll manually register you for the waitlist in the order I receive said emails. Sorry.
Anytime someone decides to “think” and then “expound” about the craft of woodworking, you can be sure that a copy of David Pye’s “The Nature and Art of Workmanship” (Herbert Press) is close at hand.
Since its publication in 1968, Pye’s famous idea of separating the “workmanship of risk” from “the workmanship of certainty” has become both a touchstone and (oddly) a sales slogan for people who write and promote handwork.
I first read Pye’s book in 1997, and at the time I dismissed some of his ideas as naive and others as just wrong. (Some of his book, however, is quite thoughtful.) I’ve picked up the book a few more times since 1997, but each time I couldn’t cotton to it.
We’re now sitting here on the 50th anniversary of the publication of “The Nature and Art of Workmanship,” and I think I’m finally ready to pull my pants down to explain why I don’t buy into the “workmanship of risk.”
I can already feel the fountain pens trembling in the puffy-shirted arms in response. So be it.
So here’s my thing: The phrase and the idea of the “workmanship of certainty” is a contradiction in terms and simply does not exist. In my experience of making things by hand and in an industrial setting, everything is “the workmanship of risk.” Nothing is certain.
Let’s use David Pye’s examples to illustrate the problem.
The most typical and familiar example of the workmanship of risk is writing with a pen, and of the workmanship of certainty, modern printing.
Pye then explains how there is indeed risk involved in the creation of the lead type.
But all this judgment, dexterity and care has been concentrated and stored up before the actual printing starts. Once it does start, the stored up capital is drawn on and the newspapers come pouring out in an absolutely predetermined form with no possibility of variation between them…
Pye clearly knows a lot about woodworking – his CV, bowls and sculptures are spectacular. But I doubt he spent much time in a printing plant. Running a printing press – even a modern computerized one – requires immense skill. It’s like driving a 10-ton truck down a garden lane that is populated by baby bunny rabbits. One tiny misstep and you have thousands of dollars of dollars of wasted paper. And a few squashed bunnies.
I’ve worked probably a dozen presses, offset and letterpress, since 1986. Nothing is certain about modern printing. Everything relies upon the skill and dexterity of the press operators.
This same sort of skill is necessary on every form of industrialized manufacturing I’ve been involved in. Making entryway doors on a factory line. Making folding tables in a factory. Bottling liquor. Making magazines, books, holdfasts, dividers, curves and lump hammers.
All of these automated – sometimes computer-controlled processes – require great human skill to achieve. And not just the kind of explicit knowledge you can find on the internet. Industrialized manufacturing is fundamentally ruled by tacit knowledge – the same difficult stuff that we all seek to gain at our workbenches when building furniture.
I basically don’t believe that the “workmanship of certainty” exists. It’s all risk. And therefore, a meaningless distinction.
I have other problems with Pye’s assertions, especially when it comes to sourcing materials. But I think I’ve lost enough followers for one weekend.
— Christopher Schwarz
I’ve long been fascinated by the association between bees and woodworkers (and other laborers). Images of bees and skeps (early beehives) show up frequently on books and other ephemera related to woodworkers in the 19th and early 20th centuries.
This week I stumbled on an enchanting 1905 image from the billhead of Bittner, Hunsicker & Co. The Allentown, Pa., company made hoisery, knit goods and overalls. Thanks to the power of ebay.com, I found two original billheads for sale and purchased them.
The above is the result of a high-resolution scan and some clean-up work in Photoshop. I like it so much I think we’ll make it part of a sticker set. Details to come as soon as they are available. So never despair.
— Christopher Schwarz