Lost Art Press

After 22 years, I am ending my relationship with Popular Woodworking Magazine. My contract runs out at the end of November 2018, and I have informed them I will not renew. Working at Popular Woodworking was the best job I ever had. So it was a difficult decision that took months of thought.

The internet being what it is, I decided to write this blog entry so that when the rumors begin, there is also this blog entry. Let’s structure it as a FAQ.

Why are you leaving?
There are several reasons. No. 1 is Lost Art Press. John and I have grown this business to the point where it is difficult to manage Lost Art Press in addition to writing six feature articles a year and (at minimum) 104 blog entries a year for Popular Woodworking.

No. 2 is that the magazine is changing. All magazines change; they have to in order to survive. Many of the changes I’ve observed are dismantling the things I fought for during my tenure there. It feels weird to be part of that, honestly. So I thought it best to step aside.

My leaving is not a condemnation of their work. I’m not asking you to cancel your subscription or write hate mail to the editor. Please don’t. Evaluate the magazine on its own merits and whether the articles are helpful to you – not whether or not my name is in the masthead.

Were you fired or pressured to leave?
No and no. The management there has only been supportive of my work at every turn. My contract comes up for renewal at the end of every calendar year. They asked me if I was going to renew, and I said no.

Did they try to tell you what to write?
Never. That’s why I’ve stayed with them for so long. My leaving is not the result of editorial pressure. Period.

Will you write for other magazines?
Maybe someday. After 22 years with a magazine that I adore, it would feel treasonous (or at least tacky) to jump in bed with another magazine. This change in my life has nothing to do with moving to another publication. My hope is to take a few years off before thinking about this topic.

What will you do instead?
I’ve bought a CNC machine, opened a YouTube channel and have secured sponsorships from a dozen makers of tools and fashionable workwear (no, I haven’t done any of these things). Instead, I plan to teach a few more classes per year at our storefront. And work on reducing my backlog of furniture commissions, which is at 12 months right now.

Won’t this hurt your career or reduce your exposure?
Probably. But that’s the price for reducing my workload.

Does this have anything to do with Megan Fitzpatrick or Brendan Gaffney?
To be certain, I wasn’t happy that they fired Megan and treated Brendan poorly. They’re good friends. But it wasn’t the primary or secondary reason (see the first question above).

What will happen to my blog at Popular Woodworking?
I don’t know. It’s their property. They can fold it into their main blog, delete it or hire another simian-looking guy named Christopher Schwarz to continue it. All that content (since 2005 for gosh sake) belongs to them and is theirs to use.

One last question. This one is for you: Could you do me a favor and not trash the magazine in the comments below? I personally hate reading those threads, no matter whose magazine is getting trashed. Otherwise, I’ll try to answer any non-ridiculous questions.

— Christopher Schwarz

We are particularly proud to announce this forthcoming biography of James Krenov written by Brendan Gaffney. Like Brendan and many other woodworkers, we were entranced by Krenov’s books the moment we picked them up. While Krenov was an incredibly talented woodworker, he was equally skilled in communicating his thoughts on the craft. In fact, it’s rare to find a serious woodworker who was not influenced by the man.

Despite Krenov’s deep influence, little is known of his life outside of his books and the occasional magazine article. This remarkable blind spot is something we have longed to correct here at Lost Art Press. And we think Brendan – with the full cooperation of Krenov’s family, friends and The Krenov Foundation – is uniquely positioned to illuminate Krenov’s life.

Below is the first of many entries to come on Krenov’s remarkable life.

— Christopher Schwarz

When Oscar Fitzgerald, furniture historian and scholar, visited James Krenov (1920-2009) in the summer of 2004, he was there to record the old cabinetmaker’s story for the Smithsonian Institution’s oral history archives. Within the first few minutes of the tape, Krenov responded to the standard “where were you born, etc.” line of questioning with a characteristically offhand and pithy remark:

So, you know, you’ll get a whole book about what the past was, and what I did and didn’t do. I don’t know if the Smithsonian or anyone else is interested in that. I mean, that’s a thing in itself. People say, ‘Well, you’re going to write one more book,’ and I say, ‘no,’ but if I do it’s going to be called ‘Things I Don’t Remember,’ which is a nice title for a book.

Krenov never wrote that book. What few autobiographic snippets he did leave behind are found in his seminal “A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook” (Van Nostrand Reinhold Co., 1976), and in scattered interviews and writings from his 50-year career as a writer, teacher and cabinetmaker.

Alas, there is a lot that Krenov did neglect to share of his own life. How did a seasonally employed, self-described “pre-Kerouac hippie” and a 1957 encounter with a few pieces of Carl Malmsten’s furniture lead the 37-year-old Krenov down the path to become one of the 20th century’s most influential furniture makers? How did his youth among native peoples in Siberia and the Alaskan territory affect his aesthetic and creative practice later in life? What can his first published book, a travelogue (“Italiensk Resa” published by Wahlström & Widstrand in Sweden in 1955) show us about his life before his shift to cabinetmaking?

And so, for the past several months, I’ve begun the search for the answers to these and  many more questions about Krenov’s life, work and influence around the world. My research took me back to my alma mater, The Krenov School (formerly the College of the Redwoods Fine Woodworking Program) in Fort Bragg, Calif., to spend time with his family, students and peers. I plan to return there in a few weeks to continue my research into his prolific career as a teacher, writer, lecturer and cabinetmaker. I’m also planning trips to Sweden, Alaska and Seattle, each of which were formative in Krenov’s long life. We’ll see if I make it to Uelen, Russia – Google’s directions haven’t been helpful.

My research and conversations with other woodworkers has also reinforced how many people were brought to the craft by Krenov’s writings – everyone from chairmaker Brian Boggs to furniture historian Donald C. Williams. While many in woodworking recognize a certain aesthetic as “Krenovian,” his influence extends past those who (like myself) are fascinated with cabinets. His writings spoke to a wide array of craftspeople in search of a voice that encouraged sensitivity and care in an approach to craft.

During the next year, I’ll put the collected writings, research and documents into a biography, which I’m calling “Things I Don’t Remember.” The title is a tip of the hat to the old man. With Krenov’s centennial approaching on Halloween of 2020, Chris and I agreed that the time has come for a thorough documentation of Krenov’s life and legacy, and this date gives us a solid pair of goal posts for the time frame of this book.

I’m lucky to be situated aptly for this project as both a graduate of Krenov’s school and an acquaintance or friend to many in his community. Already, my conversations with The Krenov Foundation (made up of a number of old friends such as Ron Hock and Laura Mays) and Krenov’s daughters, Tina and Katya, have brought many new and exciting paths to explore.

In the end, there is one other blessing that this subject offers up: Krenov’s life was rich with experiences. And he was so well-traveled that his life – even apart from his work – has proven to be a great story. My goal is to do justice to this tale, to explain how a Siberian-born American woodworker from Sweden came to be one of the most influential voices in woodworking. Even better, I’ll be able to research and write this book in the company of Chris, Megan Fitzpatrick and Lost Art Press, whose dogged hard work and high standards will no doubt push the bar high and help me and my book up and over it.

So, during the next two years, I’ll be busy (to say the least) – and along the way, I’ll share my progress and some of the unearthed documents and stories that I find here on the blog. I invite you to follow along, and I hope you’ll see why Krenov’s life story is one deserving of the treatment I aspire to give it.

— Brendan Gaffney