For me, woodworking tourism is the best kind of tourism, though I resist dragging my family along when I go to lumberyards, museum exhibits or auctions. I want them to remember me fondly when I’m dead.
Luckily, these days I have Brendan Gaffney working alongside me in the shop, and he’s always up for a ridiculous day trip. This week we went to Amish country in north-central Ohio to visit a tool store, some lumberyards and – most importantly – Keim Lumber.
Keim is about a three-hour drive from Cincinnati, so it’s a bit of a stretch to shop there regularly. But I’ve heard so much about the place during my life here that I had to visit it. What is Keim? It’s a lumberyard and home center that caters to the furniture maker and high-end carpenter.
The lumber section, for example, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Keim stocks both domestic and exotic species that you’d be hard-pressed to find, such as Tree of Heaven, Osage Orange, Butternut, Sassafras and a couple dozen others. On the exotic side, the stock was equally amazing. I’m not into exotics, however, so I didn’t retain a lot of the species names (you can browse the inventory here).
What is equally impressive is how the lumber is presented. Every board is beautifully planed with no tear-out and then drum-sanded. Yup, drum sanded.
The tool section is equally impressive, though it is geared to professional furniture makers with production equipment. Keim carries several lines of machines, such as SawStop, Jet and Rikon. But where the store really shines is in all the shop supplies and accessories. They have every sawblade imaginable, an entire aisle of sanding supplies and deep inventory on handheld electric tools. Plus they do repairs.
There’s an impressive section of hardware, though most of it is geared to the production woodworker (though they had Acorn strap hinges). Plus a huge section for finishing (5-gallon buckets of boiled linseed oil).
And there were entire sections of the store we didn’t explore, such as the custom millwork area.
Oh, and the prices were considerably lower than in the city.
If you are ever passing near Charm, Ohio, I highly recommend a visit to Keim. We’re already planning a return trip to the area to visit some additional lumberyards in the area.
— Christopher Schwarz
The employee parking lot. As many of the employees are Amish, there are more bikes out back than cars.
Moxon’s square. This square – more stylish than modern ones – is made from wood and is designed to be trued on occasion. Its decorative ends are similar to what Roubo will show about 100 years later in France.
This is an excerpt from “The Art of Joinery” by Joseph Moxon with commentary by Christopher Schwarz.
Joseph Moxon’s text is in italics.
Of the square and it’s use. The square, marked D, is two adjunct sides of a geometrical square. a The handle. b The tongue. c The outer square. d The inner square. For [a] joiner’s use, it is made of two pieces of wood, the one about an inch thick, and the other about a quarter of an inch thick. These two pieces are severally shot exactly straight and have each of their sides parallel to each of their own sides. The thick piece {called the handle} has a mortise in it as long {within a quarter of an inch} as the thin piece {called the tongue} is broad, and so wide, as to contain the thickness of the tongue. The tongue is fastened into the mortise of the handle with glue and wooden pins so [that] the two outer sides {and then consequently the two inner sides} may stand at right angles with one another.
The reason why the handle is so much thicker than the tongue is because the handle should on either side become a fence to the tongue. And the reason why the tongue has not its whole breadth let into the end of the handle is because they may with less care strike a line by the side of a thin than a thick piece: For if instead of holding the hand upright when they strike a line, they should hold it never so little inwards, [then] the shank of a pricker [an awl-like marking tool] falling against the top edge of the handle would throw the point of a pricker farther out than a thin piece would. To avoid this inconvenience, the tongue is left about half an inch out of the end of the handle.
Another reason is that if with often striking the pricker against the tongue it becomes ragged or uneven, they can with less trouble plane it again when the stuff is all the way of an equal strength [that is, same grain direction] than they can if crossgrained shoulders be added to any part of it.
The pricker I presume? This tool is missing a call-out, but it is shown with the dividers and a rule, so it could be surmised this is the pricker that Moxon discusses. It does seem to be a marking tool.
Its use is for the striking of lines square – either to other lines or to straight sides, and to try the squareness of their work by. To strike a line square to a side they have already shot, they apply the inside of the handle close to the side shot and lay the tongue flat upon the work. Then [on] the outside of the tongue they draw with a pricker a straight line. This is called striking, or drawing of a square. To try the squareness of a piece of stuff shot on two adjoining sides, they apply the insides of the handle and tongue to the outsides of the stuff. And if the outsides of the stuff do all the way agree in line with the insides of the square, it is true[ly] square. To try the inward squareness of work, they apply the two outsides of the square to the insides of the work.
Analysis Moxon’s explanation of the try square’s anatomy is fairly straightforward, though the description of the square’s tongue is a bit awkward, despite efforts to unscramble it. What Moxon is saying is that it’s easier to scribe a line against a thin tongue than a thick tongue. Why? You are less likely to miss your mark when you tip your awl (or knife or pricker) and place it against the tongue. If the tongue is thick, your error can be greater.
Moxon’s other two explanations for why the tongue is thinner are better: The handle can then be used as a fence against the work, and the tongue is easier to plane back to square after it becomes ragged.
I think Moxon also has made a small error here: He first implies the tongue should extend out of the handle 1∕4″. Then he says later it is 1∕ 2″ (which is the distance used by Roubo in his later work). It’s impossible to tell which is correct from the illustration.”
We also learn a bit about the pricker here, though it is not called out in the plates. (Could it be the bulbous tool shown beneath the dividers on plate 5? This tool is not on F.libien’s plates to my knowledge.) One guess is that the pricker is like a striking awl: A rod of steel sharpened to a point at one end that is used for striking lines for joinery.
The description of using the square is revealing: It implies that the inside and outside angles of the square should both be square. Some writers have suggested that only one or the other is important. Here Moxon is clear: The try square is square on both the outside and inside of its tongue and is used for both striking lines and confirming that your work is square, inside and out.
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.
Mark your calendar for Saturday, Sept. 8. Joshua Klein of Mortise & Tenon Magazine is coming all the way from Maine to celebrate the release of his book “Hands Employed Aright.” Josh will be around the shop during our open day and during a book reading and party that evening.
Y’all are invited – of course. We’ll have a page where you can RSVP shortly. But we’ll make room for everyone who wants to come to this special event.
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
James Krenov demonstrating during his first appearance on the Mendocino Coast, where he and his family would later move to start a school. Photo courtesy of The Krenov Foundation.
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.
Krenov (right) and Carl Malmsten (left) look over some of Malmsten’s architectural work. Krenov studied under Malmsten at his school in Stockholm, a formative experience that set Krenov down his path as a cabinetmaker. Photo courtesy of The Krenov Foundation.
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.
Krenov perched atop a riverboat in Sleetmute, Ak., where he and his parents spent several years living in the cabin in the background among the Ingalik indigenous peoples. Photo courtesy of The Krenov Foundation.
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.
A proud teenage Krenov poses with his award-winning ship model. Krenov’s life was deeply influenced by boatbuilding, a fascination he often credited as the inspiration for his frequent use and taste for sweeping curves in his casework. Photo courtesy of The Krenov Foundation.
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.
Mark your calendar for Saturday, Sept. 8. Joshua Klein of 
