I’m a big fan of the Taiwanese-made “carver’s vise” sold by many vendors with slightly different paint jobs. The vise is inexpensive and incredibly versatile, especially for chairmaking operations. Most students who take a chair class here seem to end up ordering one after using one of ours. The vise basically replaces a shaving horse.
Recently I decided to buy a few more of these vises so that every student could choose between one of the carver’s vises, or one of our also-excellent Hi Vises from Benchcrafted.
After writing about my love of the green Taiwanese vise, several readers told me I should try the version from StewMac. The company has upgraded the vise to improve its performance.
I ordered one and immediately put it to work on the comb-back stick chair on my bench. Here is the short version of the review: Don’t bother with the StewMac. The upgrades are unnoticeable.
Instead, buy the Grizzly version of the vise, which is on sale for $129 with free shipping until Aug. 14. This is not a paid advertorial. If someone asked me to do something like that I’d tell them to poop up their own butts. The Grizzly version is basically half the price of the StewMac version (after shipping and taxes). And they work the same.
Let’s take a closer look.
The StewMac version is supposed to have hardwood jaws. They aren’t hardwood. They are a softwood – just like the jaws on the green versions.
The StewMac version has roller bearings to make the vise operate more smoothly. There is no difference in the speed or ease that both vises close. Both are swift. Neither is smoother than the other.
The StewMac version has a round handwheel with a plastic handle. The cheaper green versions have a simple cast handle. I prefer the simple cast handle. I don’t like plastic, and there is literally nothing wrong with the all-cast-iron handle.
Nylon locknuts.
The StewMac version has nylon locknuts on the jaws. The green versions use common threaded bolts. This is the tiniest upgrade ever. Yes, the locknuts are smart and a bit better. They prevent the jaws from freezing up temporarily when you over-twist them, which is not a big deal. So yeah, good call. But it’s not worth the $74.75 extra for the StewMac.
Oh, and the StewMac is painted red instead of green. Whoever painted these vises – both the red ones and the green ones – had just failed an eye exam. The paint job is B- at best. But I don’t care about the paint job because it doesn’t hold the work.
Note the front jaw is ash instead of the softwood. After replacement, this jaw has yet to fail.
What I Would Upgrade
If I wanted to “upgrade” the green vise, here’s what I would do.
Improve the jaws. They are softwood covered in a tough urethane. But after a while the jaws and their screws fail. I have fixed this on some of my vises by using a tough hardwood for the jaws, such as ash.
Lengthen the wingnut that secures the vise to the bench. The cast wingnut is pretty perfect. But I would prefer a bigger one so that I could get some more leverage to tighten and loosen the wingnut. It is easy to overtighten the vise by rotating the vise’s body in use. A larger wingnut would fix this problem.
On all these vises, a bigger wingnut (longer shafts on the balls, please), would be an improvement.
But other than that, the green vise is cheap and perfect. Unless you just prefer red.
The following is excerpted from “Good Work: The Chairmaking Life of John Brown,” by Christopher Williams. It’s the first biography of one of the most influential chairmakers and writers of the 20th century: Welshman John Brown.
The book’s title of “Good Work” was an expression John Brown used to describe a noble act or thing. He once mused he wanted to create a “Good Work” seal that could be applied to truly beautiful and handmade goods – like the “Good Housekeeping” seal of approval.
“Good Work” is the kind of woodworking book we live for at Lost Art Press. It’s not about offering you plans, jigs or techniques per se. Its aim instead is to challenge the way you look at woodworking through the lens of one of its most important 20th century figures. And though this appears to be a book on chairmaking, it’s much more. Anyone who is interested in handwork, vernacular furniture, workshop philosophy or iconoclastic characters will enjoy “Good Work.”
Author Chris Williams spent about a decade with John Brown in Wales, building Welsh chairs and pushing this vernacular form further and further. This book recounts their work together, from the first day that Chris nervously called John Brown until the day his mentor died in 2008.
This book is about a man, a chair and a set of ideals. It’s a journey of enlightenment, inspiration and heartbreak as I experienced it. There are many facets to John Brown’s life and his life less ordinary, but my story concentrates on John Brown the chairmaker. Other important voices will be heard throughout, each will give an account of the time they spent with John Brown, or JB as he’ll often be referred as. His daughter Molly Brown has beautifully illustrated the book; each illustration tells its own story, be it a chair, landscape or Celtic cross, all relevant to what John Brown held dear. I’m indebted to Lost Art Press, which secured the rights to 19 of John Brown’s wonderful columns from Good Woodworking magazine. These essays will give you a flavour of his writing and philosophical approach to life in the years after writing his book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” But before we dive into that, here’s some brief housekeeping to fully acquaint you with the country that gave birth to both the man and chair.
Wales: The name given to us by the Anglo-Saxons. They were one of the many who tried to conquer our land. The Romans, Vikings and Normans all left their mark, yet we are still here as a proud nation. Wales is known to its indigenous people as CYMRU. Sadly the name Wales and its people, “The Welsh,” have stuck. And for the broader subject of this book, we’ll stick with this term.
Wales is a small country that along with Scotland, England and Northern Ireland make up what is known to most as Great Britain or the United Kingdom. The country lies on the western seaboard side of the UK. Its population is approximately 3.1 million people. Its topography is mostly mountainous, with a coastline of more than 2,700 km. Its coal, iron and slate industries are now shadows of their former selves. Agriculture is now one of our main industries, particularly sheep farming in the hills and dairy farming in the lowlands. Tourism also is a large part of the Welsh economy. People are drawn to its spectacular coastline, mountains and abundant castles.
Wales is a bilingual country. The Welsh language has survived despite centuries of persecution by the English and the powers in Westminster. It is now spoken by more than 560,000 people; for many it is still their first language.
John Brown in his younger days.
During Britain’s recent history, huge swathes of people emigrated to the New World. The Irish, Scots and English all colonised enormous areas of the British Empire. The Welsh mostly stayed at home, yet small numbers went to Patagonia, North America and Australasia. As a result, Wales is little known on the world stage. The Irish identity, for example, remains a huge part of life in the New World. The Scottish are known for whisky and kilts, but the Welsh… we seem indifferent to many.
If anything, we’re known for the Welsh male voice choir and rugby. This frustrates me, even more so when people see a map of Great Britain and they deem it “England.” It definitely is not! The Welsh are the original inhabitants of Britain, which is known as YNYS PRYDEIN, or “The Isle of Britain” to its indigenous people. There are myriad books on the history of Wales and its people, but this book is about one Welshman in particular and a chair.
“John Brown” was born in Wales, yet spent half of his life in England. He returned to his homeland of Wales as a middle-aged man with an English accent. Culturally different, Wales must have felt alien and different to the Wales of his childhood in the industrial valleys. After a few moves he settled into the predominantly Welsh-speaking area of Cilgwyn in rural North Pembrokeshire. His flamboyant character must have stood out in that parochial community. Twenty years would pass before I would meet him in person, but during those years in that most beautiful corner of Wales he regained his sense of Welshness. For those early years other voices will be heard in this book, for that story is theirs to tell. What I write is from my personal experience and perspective.
One of John Brown’s so-called “primitive” chairs (left) and his Cardigan chair.
John Brown once told me that he felt like an outsider because of his English accent, yet he was born in Wales and was a Welshman. He would have been deemed a “Saeson” – an Englishman in many Welsh-speaking communities. It’s an arbitrary distinction. Yet, this sense of identity based on how we speak raises much passion in Britain. It was a conundrum for John Brown, no doubt. I do know that at least he never suffered the remarks that many have endured for having a Welsh accent. Britain is a diverse country with wonderfully different dialects and accents. Yet, why is it that unless you speak with a posh, plummy English accent you are immediately deemed as stupid?
John Brown was a maverick, and he knew his cultural history. He was the most well-read man I ever met. The knowledge that he amassed was staggering, and it had to be vented at times. John Brown relished getting his strong opinions over and out. These rants became quite the norm for me. I couldn’t call them debates, as I would have had to say something. I learnt to say nothing, as I was young and naive. Yet, perversely, I learned much from them.
During one of these rants, he said something that touched a nerve. We were having a pot of tea. I was taking a sip when he announced: “Your average Welshman is an arsehole!” I nearly spat out the contents of my now-gaping mouth. Myself, Welsh born and bred, and definitely Mr. Average. I listened tentatively to his sermon until he got to the crux of his outburst: Why did the Welsh let everyone walk all over them? Why couldn’t the Welsh voice be heard? These frustrations are why he had written the book “Welsh Stick Chairs.” He’d found a culture rich in history and a chair that would become an obsession. He was intuitive and foresaw his beloved chair being annexed as some form of English regional chair. For John Brown, this couldn’t happen.
I forgave his outburst as he was correct. We don’t need any experts other than ourselves. “Welsh Stick Chairs” is a wonderful source of information. It’s a brief history of Wales, a chair and one man’s obsession with it, all encapsulated into a small book that became a cult object. It planted a seed that has been sown around the world. Its message is different for all who have read it.
How to Enter Wales Just before entering Wales from England on the M4 motorway you have to cross the Severn Bridge. The bridge spans 1.6 km over the River Severn, and on reaching the other side you’re soon greeted by a road sign that reads “Croeso i Gymru,” which translates as “Welcome to Wales.” From this point on, every road sign in Wales is bilingual. This particular location is relevant and poignant to this story. During a passionate conversation (or lecture), John Brown told me how he wanted to see a giant sculpture erected of a Welsh stick chair on entering Wales, similar in scale to Anthony Gormley’s “Angel of the North” near Gateshead in Northern England. He thought that the humble Welsh stick chair should become the cultural icon of Wales. That particular conversation holds me to this day. Read on. I hope that at the end of the journey (this book) you’ll realise that it’s OK to dream of giant chairs and to let your imagination run riot with this (or any) aesthetic in chair design. I’ll try and explain….
Whilst travelling by car to Wales from the south or west of England you can see the Severn Bridge looming from several miles distant, its huge white towers slung with miles of wire, supporting the carriageway beneath. As a child it always excited me to see the old Severn bridge whilst on my return home from family holidays in England. It’s a milestone in that I knew I was nearing my homeland and friends. Decades later I still get that feeling when I first see the bridge, but my thoughts are now different. So here we go….
Slowly my daily mind drains away, transcending into something more ethereal in nature, a vision begins. I’m looking at a colossus – a primitive chair, six long sticks piercing the clouds, four eccentrically raked legs rooting it to the Welsh soil, its form hoary with age and its colour patinated dark by the elements. Its silhouette screaming “I’m Welsh” against a brooding skyline. It looks outwardly from Wales. A sentinel for the past, present and future. A voiceless yet powerful symbol. This surreal moment holds me for several minutes. Its finale is when I tip my imaginary cap to John Brown as I see the road sign welcoming me back to my homeland. The moment passes and reality returns. I usually think about chairs and JB from then on until I reach home. Melancholic, maybe. Yet, this won’t be the last you’ll read about giant chairs as they prove to have an important role in the tale that will unfold.
John Brown’s book “Welsh Stick Chairs” is a classic. It gives us insight into a craftsman’s life. The book’s section on building a chair, with its beautiful black-and-white photos of the chair’s construction, had a huge impact on me. This inspired me to build chairs, yet there are no plans in his book. This subject of plans is an integral part of this book – integral because there won’t be any plans, but the subject will crop up constantly for good reason.
Why no plans? John Brown wrote in a Good Woodworking magazine column, “It is never so valid building from other people’s plans as seeing an object in your imagination and then making it. I would like to see purveyors of plans go bankrupt.”
I’d hate to see his words being taken out of context. He then went on to write, “There are, of course, many exceptions.” This might sound extreme, but it’s fundamental to the way JB felt about chairmaking. He fully understood the origins of the early chairs and their makers. No two chairs were identical, so how could a plan work? How could he ever make the same chair twice? This would become sacrosanct to his philosophy as well to me personally.
John Brown signed his chairs with a Celtic cross.
JB would happily and freely give advice on tools and workshop practise, including plans for tool chests, workbenches etc. in his monthly columns. Yet, plans for chairs weren’t up for discussion. As you read this book I hope you’ll be inspired and realise that the lack of plans isn’t a negative! This isn’t meant to alienate you, I promise! I hope that you’ll embrace it as a different way of woodworking and design. Reread “Welsh Stick Chairs.” Read this book over and over, become a monk for a while, let this mantra invade your veins. This approach worked for me! So first let me give you some insight into how this works.
When I was in my late teens I built my first chair. I didn’t own a set of French curves or anything in particular to aid me in drawing a fair curve. I hadn’t thought about buying a plan (even if one was available). I can well remember using a bin lid (trash can lid) to draw in the back curve of a chair seat, as well as using a coffee mug to draw the curves on the front corners of the seat. Once I had the curves looking fair I was away. It was my first tentative step into a new world of chairmaking. I felt at times that I was almost plucking shapes from the air. Did I have insecurities about what I was doing? Definitely! What I made was in truth a mediocre chair. It was, without doubt, a fundamental part of my learning, and it helped me think outside the box. I hope that you will get this message, accept it and fully immerse yourself into a journey of self-discovery as a free thinker and maker. It’s OK if your chairs don’t look like what you see in your mind’s eye – embrace it! Your work will become better for it.
If, at the end of the book, you feel that you’re in need of a plan, please know that there’s a plethora of wonderful books out there on the subject of chairmaking. If you’re stuck on the Welsh chair aesthetic, Christopher Schwarz’s excellent book “The Anarchist Design Book” has a chair plan of an American Welsh Stick Chair.
Katherie has just posted 30 jars of Soft Wax 2.0 in her store. This batch was made in the nacho cheese machine – we are still struggling to get her lipstick machine back on line. She’ll be done with college in two weeks, and then she will have some more time available to work on this problem.
We love this finish, and I use on my chairs and casework. Katherine cooks it up here in the machine room using the raw ingredients of yellow beeswax, raw linseed oil and a little bit of citrus solvent. She then packages it in a tough glass jar with a metal screw-top lid. She applies her hand-designed label to each lid, boxes up the jars and ships them in a durable cardboard mailer. The money she makes from wax helps her make ends meet. Instructions for the wax are below. You can watch a video of how to use the wax here.
Instructions for Soft Wax 2.0 Soft Wax 2.0 is a safe finish for bare wood that is incredibly easy to apply and imparts a beautiful low luster to the wood.
The finish is made by cooking raw linseed oil (from the flax plant) and combining it with cosmetics-grade beeswax and a small amount of a citrus-based solvent. The result is that this finish can be applied without special safety equipment, such as a respirator. The only safety caution is to dry the rags out flat you used to apply before throwing them away. (All linseed oil generates heat as it cures, and there is a small but real chance of the rags catching fire if they are bunched up while wet.)
Soft Wax 2.0 is an ideal finish for pieces that will be touched a lot, such as chairs, turned objects and spoons. The finish does not build a film, so the wood feels like wood – not plastic. Because of this, the wax does not provide a strong barrier against water or alcohol. If you use it on countertops or a kitchen table, you will need to touch it up every once in a while. (I have it on our kitchen countertops and love it.) Simply add a little more Soft Wax to a deteriorated finish and the repair is done – no stripping or additional chemicals needed.
Soft Wax 2.0 is not intended to be used over a film finish (such as lacquer, shellac or varnish). It is best used on bare wood. However, you can apply it over a porous finish, such as milk paint.
APPLICATION INSTRUCTIONS (VERY IMPORTANT): Applying Soft Wax 2.0 is easy if you follow the simple instructions. On bare wood, apply a thin coat of soft wax using a rag, applicator pad, 3M gray pad or steel wool. Allow the finish to soak in about 15 minutes. Then, with a clean rag or towel, wipe the entire surface until it feels dry. Do not leave any excess finish on the surface. If you do leave some behind, the wood will get gummy and sticky.
The finish will be dry enough to use in a couple hours. After a couple weeks, the oil will be fully cured. After that, you can add a second coat (or not). A second coat will add more sheen and a little more protection to the wood.
Soft Wax 2.0 is made in small batches in Covington, Kentucky. Each glass jar contains 8 oz. of soft wax, enough for about five chairs.
I am so pleased to have George Walker as our first guest host of the Lost Art Press Open Wire. George is a traditional woodworker who (with his friend Jim Tolpin) has spent nearly 20 years exploring and explaining “artisan geometry.”
Artisan geometry is the clever and simple system behind all the good designs and simple layout methods that flow from the bench. It is the footers and foundations of our craft – and that of architecture. And once learned, it will open your mind (and hands) to a simpler and more direct way to design and work.
George and Jim have already written four books about it for us, and they are working on a fifth.
If you have questions about this unseen world, George is here to help answer them today.
Here’s how it works: Type your question in the comment field. George will post his answer. It is that easy.
Before you ask a question, please read this.
If you could limit the number of questions you ask to one or two, that would be appreciated.
If your question is your first comment here, it will automatically be flagged for moderation. Your question will appear after I approve it.
So here we go…. Note that comments for this entry will close about 5 p.m. Eastern.
A couple weeks ago, we received a call from Kathy Porter, daughter of Frank Joseph Anthe. Turns out Kathy is local, and she said she had a picture or two of her father. “Would we like to stop by to see them?” she asked.
Someday I’d love to share my day with Kathy, which was unexpected and so fun. But for now, I want to share these incredible photos, which were over and beyond what I expected.
Above is Kathy’s father, Frank Joseph Anthe, who was born 1901. Everyone in the family and various newspaper clippings say Frank Joseph Anthe took over Anthe Machine Works when was 15-years-old, when his father, Frank D. Anthe, died.
Frank D. Anthe died in 1919, so we assumed his son, Frank Joseph Anthe, took over, perhaps, a few years prior to his father’s death. According to a genealogist Kathy hired in the 1990s, Frank D. Anthe died “of a form of Bright’s Disease, caused by working with iron or lead”. Historically, “Bright’s disease” was used to classify a type of kidney disease, what we now call nephritis.
This genealogy report also included a copy of Frank D. Anthe’s will, written in 1918. In it, he wrote that he wished to give his business, located at 407 Madison Ave., Covington, Kentucky, to his children, and that he wished for his son to continue to operate it as the same. However, he also acknowledged that while he trusted his son to be “thoroughly competent” as he grew older, until his son was 21, he wished for the finances to be handled by executors and trustees, who were instructed, in the meantime, to compensate Frank Joseph Anthe for his work.
So in this picture (which we colorized), we have a teenager or possible early 20-something, whose father had died in 1919, and whose mother had died in 1914, tasked with keeping Anthe Machine Works up and running, the employees who worked there employed and his father’s legacy alive. And he did. Kathy says she remembers her father saying how kind and helpful many locals in the business community were as he transitioned from not just keeping the machines up and running, but also keeping the financials on track, too.
Here are two more early looks at the interior of Anthe Machine Works and its employees. These photos are undated, but Kathy’s dad is the one in the three-piece suit. She said he wore a three-piece to work every day.
Here’s a great shot of the front of Anthe Machine Works, which we also colorized. Again, undated.
Here we have two professionally taken photos that Kathy found tucked in an Anthe Machine Works catalog. One is a sampling of wood cutters made by Anthe and the other is a shot of longtime employee Vic, Kathy said.
“What’s Vic’s last name?” I asked, thinking about past research I had done.
“Schraivogel,” she said pronouncing the name emphatically. I gathered he was a longtime, loved employee.
And then I remembered – the 1975 obituary I found for Victor J. Schraivogel, 69, “a retired machinist for the Anthe Machine Works, Covington, where he was employed for 44 years,” the one I mentioned here. And now, we have this beautiful photo of him!
Kathy says many of her father’s employees worked at Anthe for years. He was a good dad, she said, so he probably was a good boss.
I’m throwing this photo in just because it’s fun. In a 1980 brochure called “Take a Tankquilizer,” there is an article titled, “CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Went The Street Car OOGA! OOGA! OOGA! Went The Horn.” The article says, “The operator of this #1 street car and some of the spectators on the side walk seem concerned. All but the driver of the car. He seems to have a good grip on the wheel and his sights set straight ahead. Any ideas of the place, time, and people involved? Submit information to TANK Marketing Department and receive your next ride on #1 or any other TANK route of your choice, ‘FREE.’”
I have no additional information to share except that’s the Anthe building in the background and the scene gives a wonderful sense of time and place, decades ago.
Speaking of the 1980s, here we have Donald Anthe posing in the same spot as his father did all those years ago.
And here’s what the interior of Anthe Machine Works looked like in 1987.
