Lost Art Press

One of the quirks of writing for a woodworking magazine comes when you build a reproduction of a famous piece of furniture, such as Stickley’s #334 Morris chair. One of the typical lines in the story will discuss the original’s cash value. Something like, “Pieces such as this have fetched $5,000 at Christie’s and Sotheby’s.”

It’s a subtle way to equate monetary value with beauty. I’m guilty of teeing up that unfair equation myself. And I’m the first to tell you it’s bull-pucky.

Today as I was making the six legs for the staked table above I said out loud: “Who would pay for this thing?” I shook my head and finished shaping the tenon.

The answer to the question is actually a key point about this sort of furniture: Nobody has to buy it because I think anyone – anyone – can make it. It’s basically worthless. Or, to twist the meaning of a second word, priceless.

Though the “Furniture of Necessity” will explore lost forms of furniture, its other important job is to explain techniques of making furniture you might not have considered before.

These methods are ridiculously simple (can you sharpen a pencil?), fast and require fewer tools than you suspect. The photo above is after only four hours of shop time with a band saw, jointer plane, drawknife and tapered tenon cutter. Another four hours, and the table will be finished, easy.

Then it will be ready to roll into the forest for a banana fight.

— Christopher Schwarz

The most terrifying moment I’ve ever had in woodworking was using a commercial table saw tapering jig by following the jig’s instructions.

The jig was exactly like this one, which is sold by a lot of woodworking stores. I hesitate to even post that link because some moron is likely to pipe up, “Actually the jig can be used safely if…” and some beginning woodworker is going to believe it.

There are about 50 better ways to cut tapers before using this jig, including erosion. I know there are safe table saw tapering jigs out there. But this is not the jig you are looking for.

Today I fired up my band saw to cut a lot of tapers on the legs for this table from the 15th century. Usually I taper legs at the workbench with a jack plane. But because I had to remove about 1-1/2” of material on each of the six legs, I roughed in the shape with my band saw (plus the tapered offcuts are very useful in the shop for shims).

So because I am pooping on the parade of woodworking commerce today, let me add some more fertilizer. I don’t think most woodworking shops need a fancy steel-frame band saw. I’ve used a lot of the steel frame saws from all the best brands, and I’ve just never been impressed.

Sure, they can have a lot of cutting capacity, but unless you make a lot of veneer, you’d probably be better served by the simple Delta 14” band saw that the company made millions of in its Tupelo, Miss., factory. These saws are bulletproof, there are tons of them out there and you can usually pick one up for $200 to $300.

These workhorse saws stay in tune much better than the steel-frame saws. The guides are dirt simple. And parts are available anywhere. (No need to wait for a replacement electrical switch from Italy.)

OK, my spleen is empty. Time to go plane these tapered legs and cut their conical tenons.

— Christopher Schwarz

 

Though I’ve shopped at Frank Paxton lumber for almost 20 years, I’ve never been asked the following question. Until today.

“I’ve got to ask,” the clerk said. “What the heck are you building with this wood?”

Since starting work on the “Furniture of Necessity” book, my lumber purchases have gotten a little weird. Instead of combing through the racks of 4/4 and 5/4 boards, I simply ask: “What’s the thickest and widest stuff you have back there?”

The answers have been surprising and illuminating.

I’ve found that many professional lumberyards stock surprisingly thick stock for custom home builders – I’ve been buying lots of 4”-thick poplar. Another great source of thick material has come from asking about the stock that local builders purchase for fireplace mantles.

Today I picked up a 12/4 board of white oak destined for fireplace mantles that was 20” wide, 9’ long and $2.67 a board foot. It was dressed on two faces (whew), and it surprisingly wasn’t the biggest sucker in the pile.

This will become the top to a portable table from the “Tacuinum Sanitatis” that illustrates how drunkenness can get out of hand. I think the image looks like a frat party because of the red Solo cups.

The table will have five or six legs and a thick, round top. Like my other pieces from the 15th century, this one will be as portable as possible. The legs can be knocked home and removed with a mallet (or wine bottle). To get your party started all you have to do is roll the tabletop into the woods, drive the legs into their conical mortises and flip the whole thing over.

— Christopher Schwarz