Oil on canvas by the American painter Francis William Edmonds. This painting, owned by the Chrysler Museum, was first exhibited at the National Academy of Design, New York in 1845.
The scene depicts a joiner leaning back in his chair as he contemplates a decanter of spirits near the window. On the wall is a handbill advertising a Temperance Reform Meeting.
Edmonds was concerned that artisans were especially susceptible to alcoholism. His painting was engraved by Thomas Doney in 1847 to illustrate a sermonizing circular by the Temperance Society.
As I rushed out of the shop to drive to the French Oak Roubo Project, I snapped this quick photo of my teak campaign chest to keep with me, like a photo of my sweetheart during wartime.
I hate to leave a project at this stage – all the hardware is fitted and just needs to be screwed down. Then I just have to make a couple small repairs and do the final clean-up before applying the finish.
Installing the pulls was the most difficult part of the project. After a cock-up with a powered router (and getting spanked for it on my blog at Popular Woodworking), I read all the readers’ thoughtful (cough) suggestions and ignored them completely.
The best way to install these pulls has absolutely nothing to do with a router. But it does use electricity. The secret weapon: a cheap flatbed scanner.
The rest of the work was with a good chisel and a mallet. I could not be more pleased with the fit.
The finish on this piece is going to be fairly minimal. The basecoat will be a couple coats of garnet shellac – Tiger Flakes from Tools for Working Wood. These are the best flakes I’ve encountered so far. And then I’m going to apply a coat of satin lacquer because I’m quite good at that finish, and I like the way it looks.
But before I can get to that, I will spend the weekend teaching a class at Kelly Mehler’s School of Woodworking on building precision layout tools. It’s a fun class in a verdant location. But a little bit of my midbrain will be fixated on Monday when I am reunited with my chest.
Is a Sort of Marquetry or inlaid Work; whereby ſeveral thin Slices, or Leaves of fine Woods of different Kinds are applied and faſtened on a Ground of ſome common Wood.
There are two kinds of inlaying; the one which is the more ordinary, goes no farther than the making Compartments of different Woods; the other requires a great deal more Art, and repreſents Flowers, Birds, and the like.
The firſt kind is what we properly call Veneering; the latter is deſcribed under the Article Marquetry.
The Wood intended for Veneering is firſt ſawed out into thin Slices or Leaves, about a Line thick; in order to ſaw them, the Blocks or Planks are placed upright, in a kind of Sawing preſs.
Theſe Slices are afterwards cut into narrow Slips, and faſhioned divers ways, according to the Deſign propoſed: after this the Joints are carefully adjuſted, and the Pieces brought down to their proper Thickneſs, with ſeveral Plans [sic] for the Purpoſe, then they are glued down on a Ground or Block of dry Wood, with good ſtrong Engliſh Glue.
The Pieces being thus jointed and glued, the Work, if ſmall, is put into a Preſs; if large, it is laid on a Bench covered with a Board, and preſs’d down with Poles or Pieces of Wood, one End of which reaches to the Cieling of the room, and the other bears on the Board.
When the Glue is thoroughly dry, they take it out of the Preſs and finiſh it; firſt with little Planes, afterwards with divers Scrapers, ſome of which reſemble Raſps, which take off the Dents, &c. left by the Planes.
When the work has been ſufficiently ſcraped, it is poliſhed with the skin of a Sea-dog, Wax and a Bruſh, and a Poliſher of Shave-graſs: which is the laſt Operation. (more…)
I have never counted how many benches I have brought into the world, either through my hands, by teaching classes or writing books.
No matter what the number is, I can tell you that this bench will be my favorite. Not because the design is perfect – it’s a direct copy of A.-J. Roubo’s bench in plate 11 of “L’Art du menuisier.” And not because of the material – we’re using 18th-century French oak. It’s a great design and it’s great material, but the reason I love the unfinished bench that is now hanging out the back of my Nissan Xterra is because of the people I built it with.
Woodworking is a solitary endeavor for the most part. So getting to build a workbench with a bunch of guys, day in and day out, was new. I didn’t have to teach people how to cut a mortise, a tenon or a dovetail. There was no hand-holding.
And together we brought 16 benches into the world. What kind of designs? Who cares?
What height? Don’t care.
What kinds of vises? Lots.
The joinery? All kinds. All good.
Look, based on my writing you might assume that I like one kind of bench over all others. That’s not exactly true. My favorite kind of bench is the one that gets used.
When we kicked off this French Oak Roubo Project on Sunday night, I made a pledge to those participants who might use their bench as merely a decorative object (kitchen island? Dining table?). I vowed to sneak into the house and leave a flaming bag of poo on the benchtop.
Now, I’m joking, of course. I don’t think I could actually poop into a bag. (I haven’t tried since I was in Cub Scouts.) And I don’t think it would be all that flammable.
But still, the point I’m trying to make is this: Even if it’s a hollow-core door on sawhorses, it’s an awesome bench if things get built on it. There are other designs that might make it easier for you to hold the work, but if your hollow-core door inspires you to build birdhouses or highboys, then it’s a good bench.
In fact, the only thing that sucks about this class is that I have to leave it a day early. I managed to cut my sliding dovetails (yes, by hand) and rough out the through-mortises (yes, with a drill), but I didn’t get the whole thing assembled.
But I will.
When it’s done, I know that some people will wail about it. I will not add finish to it. I will tooth its benchtop. The leg vise will not have a parallel guide or a garter. And I’m going to use a toothed metal planing stop, which will surely mark my workpieces and utterly destroy my handplanes.
Despite all that, I will build a lot of cool s#$t on it.
The oblong block takes up the majority of the card. It stands on a raised wooden floor, which is partly executed in parquetry. Two wide pilasters on the sides of the block support a line of dentils and an overhanging cornice with a cavetto moulding. The block is shaded with parallel lines. The text appears between the pilasters. A trophy of measuring instruments hangs from a ribbon tied to a stud on the left pilaster. Fixed to the right pilaster with a stud, there is a scroll of paper with illustrations of five column capitals and the text ‘Ionique … Architecture’.
Surmounting the block there is a planter in the shape of an orange tub. The planter has two ball finials. The planter is shaded with parallel lines and bears three fleurs-de-lis, now obliterated with pen and ink. Two large sprays of laurel flank the planter. A ribbon bearing the name of the shop sign entwines through the laurel and over the planter. The word ‘Roialle’ appears to the right of the planter and is obliterated with pen and ink.
To the right of the block, there is a shed and a workbench. The side of the shed is open. Inside there are lots of planks of wood. A frame saw hangs in the entrance of the shed. On the workbench and resting against it, there are various tools of the carpenter’s trade.
To the left of the block, there is a case maker jointer, several tools and planks of wood. There are three small boxes at lower centre. At lower left, there are three larger containers, some in pieces, with nail holes marked. (more…)
