The man who designs and makes a good chair, or other useful article of any kind—all the more if it be beautiful as well as useful—is second only in the respectability of his occupation to him who brings grain and grass out of otherwise barren ground.
It is a very mistaken notion of the relations of things that sets trading—that is, buying and selling—a very different matter from commerce, which is the bringing of the products of one country into another—above handicraft. But handicraft seems to be falling into neglect.
The number of artisans who thoroughly understand their craft, and take a pride in doing good work, seems to be diminishing at a rate which is perceptible from one five years’ end to another. Indeed, it is notorious among all those who have occasion from time to time to employ skilled labour, that if they need the services of, let us say, a carpenter, a cabinet-maker, a watchmaker, or a painter, they cannot be sure, without some troublesome inquiry, that the work will be done in a workmanlike manner.
This uncertainty has no reference to that skill and taste which are the personal attributes of the individual workman, and give one man a reputation which another can never attain, but to that knowledge and skill, at once elementary and complete, which is possessed by every artisan who has “learned his trade.” (more…)
One of my students in Germany is a fan of planes by Philip Marcou, the New Zealand toolmaker. After attracting a lot of attention in the bowsaw class with his Marcou smoother, Martin Gerhards of Munich offered to bring in the Marcou planes he owns.
I’ve only gotten to use one of Marcou’s planes extensively, which I borrowed for a 2007 review of it for The Fine Tool Journal (the review also appears in my book “Handplane Essentials”). So it was interesting to see a group of planes from the maker that have been built since them.
I didn’t get to use the planes as much as I wanted to – I wa pretty tied up with teaching the classes. But during a couple slow moments I was able to inspect and use some of the planes – and take some photographs.
The plane I got to use the most was the M12 miter plane, a massive (nearly 10-pound) beast that I used on the shooting boards of Dictum GmbH. It might just be the heaviest plane I’ve ever used, but it didn’t feel that way on the shooting board, where it plowed through the end grain of all the European hardwoods I got my hands on in the shop Dictum.
All of the Marcou planes are characterized by their mass, which is a notch above the typical plane forms and a dividing line between many hand-tool woodworkers (see the specs of Marcou’s planes here). Some woodworkers hate heavy planes; other seek them out. I can work either way, but I can tell you that when I shoot with a plane, I look for mass. Mass helps a lot.
So the M12 miter plane was a total joy for me to use. Every part of the plane was made perfectly, from the pinned dovetails in the sole to the precise blade adjuster. The plane can be adjusted for right- or left-handed users. You can even move its massive knob to a position above the toe if you want to use the plane more like a smoothing plane.
The only ding I can give to the plane is the raised area above the heel of the tool – above the blade adjuster. This chamfered brass area prohibits you from capturing the miter plane in a track, like you can with a Stanley No. 9, No. 51, a traditional English miter plane or one of its modern equivalents. This is a small complaint, as the tool is easy to wield without a track once you get the feel for it.
The second Marcou plane I got to use was the J20, a jack plane that Gerhards had set up more like a try plane. Once again, it is a heavy tank of a plane that could charge through nots and dense grain with little or no vibration.
The nicest detail of the plane is the adjustable mouth. It’s a small plate in front of the iron that is easily movable – not just forward and back but even skewed. This feature makes it super easy to move close and mimic the position of the iron.
You can see more photos of the J20 on Marcou’s site here.
The third plane I spent any time with was a custom chamfer plane that Gerhards commissioned. It’s an adaptation of a Japanese wooden chamfer plane that has a movable fence and – like the original – a body that shifts laterally so you can expose a fresh part of the iron.
Marcou greatly improved the fence-adjustment mechanism, which slides on bars and locks with a single thumbscrew. The fence on the original adjusts with two wing-nuts that lock against spin-wheels. The original is clumsy to adjust; Marcou’s is simple.
The blade adjusts to a perfect cutting position by dropping into small grooves in the fence pieces. All-in-all, it’s a pretty amazing adaptation of a traditional tool.
Also, since my 2007 review, Marcou has vastly expanded his web site. You can check out all the details, including lots of photos, by visiting his site here.
The final round of copy editing has been completed on “To Make as Perfectly as Possible,” the penultimate proof has been sent to the designer, Wesley Tanner, for corrections, and, well, I’m confident it will be as perfect as possible. I’ll get one last proof to check again this marked-up copy (thank you Linda Watts for catching errors that I did not), then I believe the plan is to have it to the printer on or before July 1. (At which time there will be much rejoicing.)
I’ve read this volume four times now in as many weeks, and while I realize I couldn’t possibly execute a perfect work in marquetry (having never before attempted it – and Roubo reminds us time and again that good work requires lots of practice), I’m quite certain that I could tell someone how to do it (along with what tropical hardwoods would be best used for any given effect).
I eagerly await volume two (Don et al., get on that, would you?!).
Below, I’ve copied a few of my favorite quotations (I kept a running list whilst editing). So until the thing itself is available, enjoy these wee excerpts.
— Megan Fitzpatrick
“The prevailing display of luxury is also one of the causes of the lack of excellence in works of cabinetry – everyone wishing to have it but without having the means to pay what they are worth.” (Sounds quite contemporary, eh?!)
“This might be due to laziness or inability, or, which is more accurate, by the impossible situation they are in when the merchants pay only half the necessary amount for it to be well made.” (Nice to see that little has changed in the intervening centuries)
“If woodworking is, by itself, an important art should not the knowledge of it be acquired (or at least attempted) as much in theory as in practice? Sadly, this is not very common at the present.” (Kids today…)
“One of the biggest obstacles that I have had to overcome is the cry of the public against big books, which they will not buy because they are too expensive, or they buy but do not read because they are too voluminous. But how could I do otherwise? Should I fool the Public in pandering to their taste but against their interests by giving them an abridged and consequently less expensive edition, but where they will learn nothing…?” (He’s absolutely right, then and now)
“…but when speaking badly of a piece I have always respected the worker, at least that was my intention.” (Good on you, A.J.)
One of the nice things about building a European chair in Europe is that it is very easy to make it look, well, European.
Today we wrapped up the final day of a class at Dictum GmbH in Munich on building a Kaare Klint Safari chair – the direct descendant of the British Roorkhee chair. To build the chair, we had some trouble finding some of the rustic hardware that I like to build a Roorkhee with, such as solid copper rivets and unplated steel hardware.
But we had no problem getting beautiful quartered European beech, Swedish leather and chromed hardware and rivets, which we all perfect for the Kaare Klint version of this 20th-century classic chair.
In fact, the only things that look a little “off” on this version of the chair are the details I brought to the party: brass buckles and copper rivets.
But let’s not dwell on that.
Instead, take a gander at this 1933 version of an 1898 camping chair. Klint managed to harness the fundamental function of the Roorkhee and shift the decorative details into a modern vein without the chair looking anything other than perfect.
For me, it reminds me of the way that Shaker furniture can be “updated” with some modern details without suffering jet lag across the decades (see the work of Christian Becksvoort and Garrett Hack for more in this vein).
I’m glad the class is over (it took less than four days to make the chair), though it was a heck of a good time. Now I have seven days in Europe with my family and laptop (to finalizing the Roubo details).