An Account of the Manner of bending Planks in His Majeſty’s Yards at Deptford, &c. by a Sand-heat, invented by Captain Cumberland. By Robert Cay, Eſq;
The place, where the Planks lie to be ſoftened in the Stove, is between two Brick-Walls; of ſuch a length, height, and diſtance from each other, as ſuffice to admit the largeſt, or to hold a good number of the ſmaller Sort: the bottom is of thick Iron Plates, ſupported by ſtrong Bars; under the middle of which, are two Fire-places, whoſe Flews carry the Flame towards the Ends.
The Planks are laid in Sand; the loweſt about ſix or eight Inches above the Iron-Plates, they are well cover’d with the Sand, and Boards laid over all, to keep in the Heat. The Sand is moiſtened with warm Water, (for which purpoſe they have a Cauldron adjoyning to the Stove) and if the Timber be large, and intended to be very much bent, ſo that it muſt lie long in the Stove, they water the Sand again, once in 8 or 10 Hours. (more…)
Now that I have completed the first and most intense step of editing and annotating the raw transliteration manuscript for “To Make as Perfectly As Possible: Roubo on Furniture Making,” aka R2, my attentions will turn to and eventually be dedicated solely to the full pedal-to-the-metal effort to bring VIRTUOSO to fruition.
This does not mean our labors on R2 are done; far from it. Instead it means that my time with it will be episodic but perhaps even more intense periodically than the last half-year of my nearly all-Roubo-all-the-time life as Michele, Philippe and I revise and reconcile each other’s modifications to the work. In addition, I need to integrate the observations and suggestions from my readers Bob, Mike and Martin on things that need to be clarified or augmented.
But, the first draft is complete and sitting in the 3″-thick file folder next to my chair, awaiting only my entering of the last sections into the computer for sending off into the ether. About two-thirds is already there, with the remaining third flowing in several sections at a time almost every day.
This process will continue behind the curtain for months through the Lost Art Press editing, Wesley’s design and our galley-proof-review process some time next autumn, when we will once again wash our hands of the project in order to consign it to you and to move on ourselves.
In the meantime, beginning next week I will be stomping down on the gas for the Studley manuscript, weaving the many threads already extant with ones yet to be spun out of my notebook and Narayan’s photo gallery then deposited onto the screen, crafting a volume we hope will achieve some interest in the market.
This will be an exciting and somewhat disorienting time, as I will be ratcheting way back on the energies necessary for R2 to refocus and allow myself a pretty complete dedication to this new franchise. If I find myself crafting impossible syntax into 300-word sentences I will know that the reorientation is not yet complete. All of this is occurring against the backdrop of a time when Lost Art Press seems to be going into hyperdrive with excellent and desirable new volumes in the coming few dozen months.
This new endeavor includes many exciting opportunities, twists and turns, and I will certainly apprise you of them as they emerge.
The paper is to be very plain, sufficiently brief, and is intended to lead to practical results; but whether such intention succeeds will, as usual, depend on the obedience and sympathy of those to whom it is addressed.
I was asked the other day to make a set of shelves to hold a few books, and while engaged in the work I determined to jot down a few notes upon those pitfalls which would beset an amateur not quite up to the mark who might undertake a similar job. To an onlooker nothing can be more simple and apparently easy than to cut out and put together a plain set of shelves, especially if they are to be nailed together; yet not a few make a terrible mess of it. (more…)
The last project for the “Campaign Furniture” book isn’t really a piece of campaign furniture. It’s a fairly close reproduction of a Kaare Klint “Safari Chair” in mostly black. Black leather, black-dyed mahogany and silver hardware. I left the strapping in its natural vegetable-tanned color for a little relief from the black.
Today I installed all the leather and strapping to the chair. Ty Black, my former shop assistant, was nice enough to stitch the arms and part of the back for me. Thanks Ty.
I included the chair in the book because the Safari Chair is one of the important links between the Victorians and modernism. It’s also a link between my book having typos and having fewer typos. I’m trading this chair for some editing on the book.
About 11 p.m. Christmas Eve, I wrote the final paragraph of “Campaign Furniture” and closed the laptop. Megan Fitzpatrick is editing the text now, and I’m finishing up some hand drawings, photography and scanning to complete the book.
I’ll start designing the pages on Jan. 1, and the finished product should ship to customers in March 2014.
I don’t know if I’m like other writers, but I have about zero point zero confidence about my books when they’re complete. My personal criticisms of my work are worse – way worse, actually – than anything spouted on the forums or lobbed into my inbox.
If I could stop myself from writing, I probably would. Unfortunately, writing and publishing is a compulsion, much like woodworking is a compulsion for me and many of my friends. So here is my pre-publication critique of my book: It’s too short, too shallow and not really funny.
1. Too short. This book clocks in at about 50,000 words. That’s about half the length of “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest.” I did everything I could to condense my thoughts and control my asides for “Campaign Furniture.” A lot of the information in “Campaign Furniture” is visual. There are hundreds of photos, drawings and scans of historical material.
My urge was to write an opus. I certainly have the material to do that. But I don’t have time to read an opus, and I know that many readers have lives that are as crazy busy as mine.
2. Too shallow. Here’s a confession: While I admire academic books and use them in my research, I do not enjoy reading them for fun. I am not an academic. I don’t write like one, I don’t think like one and I could never be one.
So while this book will have an index, a bibliography and some deep appendices, it is not going to impress a librarian or end up quoted in someone’s master’s thesis. The goal of “Campaign Furniture” is to introduce you to the style and – I hope – get you interested in building these pieces.
Campaign furniture, as you will see, is made with top-shelf joinery, beautiful woods and its only real adornment is brasses, which also reinforce the joinery. It is an under-appreciated style, and so much fun to build.
3. Not funny. I think good writing balances information and entertainment. But after writing several chapters in the same frame of mind as “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest,” I ended up rewriting them because the tone just seemed wrong. I find it weird to make jokes about the Napoleonic Wars, colonialism or severe urban overcrowding – all of which are part of the story of campaign furniture.
Some of the darkest and wrongest humor ended up on the cutting room floor. Here’s one bit that got cut. It’s too funny and sick and wrong not to share.
Attention, if you are easily offended, stop reading.
Sir Pratnap Singh, the Maharaja of Idar, was intent on wiping out the Muslim population of India. When an English official pointed out that they shared some Muslim friends, Pratnap replied: “Yes, I liking them too, but very much liking them dead.”
I know. It’s horrible on so many levels.
Despite my self-loathing, I do hope you’ll read the book and join me in researching and building in this fascinating style. I can already think of three more books about the campaign style that need to be written, and I hope this book sparks enough interest for me to continue my work.
