After about four years of searching and six months of sometimes-agonizing negotiations, Lucy and I closed the deal on the building that will become our home and the headquarters for Lost Art Press.
We have so much work ahead of us that I thought I was going to puke during the final walk-through of the building at 9 a.m. But the nausea has passed and I’m making a list of things to do and phone calls to make.
I was born in London Grove Township, Chester Co., Pa. about one mile West of Avondale, which was then called “Miller’s Run,” or “Stone Ridge,” on the 22nd of sixth month 1810.
When I arrived at the age of seventeen in consulting with my father and my older brother, it was concluded that I could be spared from the farm and as my lameness would disqualify me for being a farmer: it was decided that I should learn a trade. Some one mentioned the cabinet making business and wondered if Ziba Moore would want a boy. This was some two miles distant and as he was a steady, respectable man, my father thought it would be a suitable place provided I could get in. I asked him to go with me but he declined and said he wanted me to go and make my bargain and learn to shift for myself–I recollect when I got near the place I was much horrified at seeing the hearse standing in the yard, one of the old fashioned kind, the body in the shape of a coffin and the thought that I would be obliged to go to making coffins was very unpleasant to me, but I thought that after I learned the cabinet business I could do as I pleased about making coffins.
I found the proprietor of the establishment at home and made my business known to him, and found that he had but one apprentice (his brother) and that he had been thinking of taking another soon. We talked over the terms: he said he was willing to take me on trial for a short time, and if we liked each other, he would be willing to take me on same terms as he had with his master, which were about as follows: He was to furnish board and lodging, washing and mending, find my everyday clothes, one month schooling a year and allow me two weeks in harvest &c. So on the 1st of seventh month 1827 I left home for the first time and spent four years at the cabinet business and found my new home a pleasant one–my master and I always getting along in perfect harmony.
After I had been there awhile my better clothes got rather shabby and as I had a natural inclination to go into company, I soon found according to the bargain I had made, I would soon need funds to enable me to procure clothes to suit the society I wished to mingle with, but on appying to my father he gave me to understand I need not look to him, but that I must get along the best I could from my own resources–I had not been at my trade a year when I found I could handle tools well enough to make chests, stands and many small articles, and by looking around, I found that by charging a little less than the usual price I could get a good many little jobs to do and by working late at night and early in the morning I soon earned money enough to buy myself a suit of better clothes.
After I had been at the trade something over two years I took to working at task work: my master allowing me so much time to make a pair of bureaus, a pair of tables, stands &c and all the time I gained I had to myself. This I always thought was very generous in my master, but I believe it was an advantage to us both, particularly was it so to myself, for I acquired the habit of timing myself and soon got into the way of working to the best advantage and making the best use of time. We had a good run of custom and hands being scarce and not desiring to increase the size of the family my master offered me and his brother Sharpless (who was an apprentice was a little my senior) low journeyman’s wages for all the work we could do in the time we gained at task work and in this way we made considerable spending money.
The time of my apprenticeship expired on the 22nd day of 6th mo. 1831.
Allen Gawthrop’s autobiography is in the collection of the Chester County Historical Society and was reproduced in Furniture and Its Makers of Chester County, Pennsylvania by Margaret Berwind Schiffer.
Part II will cover Gawthrop’s Cabinet Business.
Ziba Moore, Gawthrop’s master, was born January 16, 1800 and was a cabinetmaker and owned a farm in London Grove. In the tax records he was active as a cabinetmaker from 1820 to 1835. Moore died in January 1846. Four of Moore’s pieces are in the gallery below.
Almost every book I’ve written has started out as one thing (a manual on how to use crappy store-bought workbenches) and ended up as something else (“Workbenches: From Design & Theory to Construction & Use”).
My latest book is no different. It began as examination of furniture forms that have remained unchanged for the last 500 years, what I call the “furniture of necessity.” And at its core, the book is still that.
But as I dug further back into the historical record I began to see a bright string that begins with the furniture of the 12th century, snakes through every century and is tied with a bow to Danish Modern – then it unravels and falls apart with Bauhaus and biometric forms.
Most of all, I found the writing of this book has given voice to my own furniture designs, something I’ve been reluctant to do as a magazine editor or book publisher. (As an author with more guts than brains, however….)
Anyone who has ever visited my house knows that it is filled with many pieces that reflect my stripped-down aesthetic. I don’t like ornamentation. And I try to remove myself as much from the piece, paring things down until I get some heavy Buddhist feedback.
(By the way, I also own some historical pieces – I was an Arts & Crafts collector back in the early 1990s. And I have things that friends have made – potters, painters and other furniture-makers. So it’s not like a scene out of “2001: A Space Odyssey” but in wood.)
I’ve now written this book three times in its entirety and thrown out my two early versions (please don’t ask for them; they are the same place as my first novel). Each time, my point of view shifted as I was willing to walk out a little further on the ledge. When I was in England for 16 days in August, I started rewriting the opening line of the book and didn’t stop until… well, I haven’t stopped.
I have only two short chapters to write. Briony Morrow-Cribbs is working on the copperplate etchings. And then I’ll design the book. It might sound like a lot of work, but this is the easy part.
The most recent thing I’ve been working on is the book’s title and the cover logo. One evening in Sheepwash, Devon, I realized the name of the book I was writing was “The Anarchist’s Design Book.”
Boy, there are some poncy marking gauges out there. I know this is the age of the amateur Woodie, and that Gentlemen’s Tools Rule, but Jeeeez.
All we need is a stick and a stock and cutting blade. Anyone who knows me and my work knows I go for simple tools, and the fewer the better. I spend more time giving tools away to students and mates than buying them. The fewer the better.
An old guy once told me that speed is about picking up and putting down tools. This is about building a collection of decent professional hand tools for a young maker. There is a competition closing date end of November, so if you know a young would-be Woodie 25 or under able to come to the UK for a week for the final, and able to pay the shipping of the chest if she wins …. GO HERE or tell them to GO HERE.
These are the gauges we are putting in the chest. They are simple wooden cutting gauges made by Marples of Sheffield (OK I admit it. I go for British tools, but only if they’re really good). You need about four of these babies in box like this. Two of each. Each gauge would be set up either bevel-in or bevel-out. (Just buy the gauge then turn the blade around to suit.)
Like a marking knife, the cutter has a bevel on one side only The flat vertical faces the job; the bevel faces the waste ALMOST ALWAYS. You need a couple of each because you will want to leave the gauge set up as you move through a process.
Turn this tool into a pencil gauge. Drill a hole in the stock and fit the pencil nice and snug in there. Then you can mark pencil lines parallel to an edge. All for the cost of a pencil
Marking gauges are also popular in this type of gauge. They come with a pin and need sharpening carefully with file. You need a vertical face and a bevel. This is harder to get right than the cutting gauge. Try it and test it on long grain and across the grain; it should leave a clean scribed line in either. The tool makers catalogue says you need both cutting gauge and marking gauge (one for across the grain and one down the grain). Well, they want to sell tools. It is not true.
This is a modern mortice gauge. It has two stems, not one. This is mine, we are not giving this away unless Veritas want to donate one. It’s expensive but very good. I use it a lot for all kinds of work not just mortices. It has a small wheel on the end of each stem (one bevel-in one bevel-out). These turn and give a lovely clean line. They are easier for the beginner to use. What they cannot do is tap and try.
Set the gauge roughly to the thickness of the job, only roughly and tighten the screw. Hold the job in one hand and offer the gauge up to the edge. Say the pin is too wide. Now tap the end of the stock on your bench side and check again. Too small? Tap the other end of the stock. This is the way. Don’t fiddle with adjustments; use you eyes, tap and try.
This is another shiny “gentleman’s” modern gauge from Workshop Heaven. I bought this a while ago hoping I would get on with it. Looks Purty, but I cannot say I get on with it… yet. She took a lot of sharpening to become usable and still needs bit of work.
In many pieces of staked furniture, you’ll find extra bits of wood lurking beneath the top that thicken up the joinery area, adding strength to the entire table. I call these – for lack of a better word – “nubs.” Sometimes they are rounded; sometimes rectangular.
In many Moravian and Swedish examples, these nubs are clearly battens that ride in a sliding dovetail – a very fancy and permanent joint.
But in many images from the Middle Ages, the nubs look too round to be sliding dovetails. My first thought was that the nubs were just sections of a tree branch split down the middle. But that seemed crazy to suggest without evidence.
So I was happy when I received the following image from Richard O. Byrne of a table for sale at an auction site – see the whole listing here.
The nubs are clearly sections of a branch or juvenile tree.
Also good news: A photo of the top shows that the nubs are attached with nails. You can’t get any simpler than that (I think).