Lost Art Press

Finishing a Danish Classic in Bavaria

Posted on by Lost Art Press

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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.

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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).

— Christopher Schwarz

Why He Didn’t Buy a Saw

Posted on by fitz

saw_salesWhen the man with the red mustache started down the stairs his wife ran to the door and called him back.

“Donald,” she said, “I want you to go into a hardware store to-day and get a saw. Don’t forget it, please. We need one badly.”

Being an accommodating person, the man with the red mustache said he’d get it. He chose the luncheon hour as the most opportune time for making his simple purchase. He was in a good humor and he smiled blandly when he went bustling into the store and said: “I want a saw, please.”

The clerk who had come forward to wait on him had a merry twinkle in his eye and the twinkle overflowed at the question and spread all over his face in dimples.

“What kind of a saw?” he asked.

The prospective purchaser began to perceive what an intricate business the buying of a saw really is.

“Why,” said he, “I don’t know. Just a saw. Any kind will do, I suppose.”

The clerk sighed. “If you only knew what you want to use it for, perhaps I could advise you,” he suggested.
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The Joiner & Cabinet Maker & Floater

Posted on by Lost Art Press

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The recent flood in Deggendorf, Germany, was rough on the woodworking workshop of Dictum GmbH. Though the employees got the machinery out, the flood buckled the floors and split the workbenches.

The flood also tried to ruin a copy of “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker.”

To my relief, the book survived fairly well. Only one or two pages came loose. Thanks go out to Phil Nanzetta at Signature Book Printing for making sure our books are well-bound.

— Christopher Schwarz

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David Maydole – Hammer Maker

Posted on by fitz

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When a young man begins to think of making his fortune, his first notion usually is to go away from home to some very distant place. At present, the favorite spot is Colorado; awhile ago it was California; and old men remember when Buffalo was about as far west as the most enterprising person thought of venturing.

It is not always a foolish thing to go out into the world far beyond the parent nest, as the young birds do in midsummer. But I can tell you, boys, from actual inquiry, that a great number of the most important and famous business men of the United States struck down roots where they were first planted, and where no one supposed there was room or chance for any large thing to grow.

I will tell you a story of one of these men, as I heard it from his own lips some time ago, in a beautiful village where I lectured. He was an old man then; and a curious thing about him was that, although he was too deaf to hear one word of a public address, even of the loudest speaker, he not only attended church every Sunday, but was rarely absent when a lecture was delivered.

While I was performing on that occasion, I saw him sitting just in front of the platform, sleeping the sleep of the just till the last word was uttered. Upon being introduced to this old gentleman in his office, and learning that his business was to make hammers, I was at a loss for a subject of conversation, as it never occurred to me that there was anything to be said about hammers.

I have generally possessed a hammer, and frequently inflicted damage on my fingers therewith, but I had supposed that a hammer was simply a hammer, and that hammers were very much alike. At last I said,—

     “And here you make hammers for mankind, Mr. Maydole?”

You may have noticed the name of David Maydole upon hammers. He is the man.

     “Yes,” said he, “I have made hammers here for twenty-eight years.”

     “Well, then,” said I, shouting in his best ear, ” by this time you ought to be able to make a pretty good hammer.”

     “No, I can’t,” was his reply. “I can’t make a pretty good hammer. I make the best hammer that’s made.” That was strong language. I thought, at first, he meant it as a joke; but I soon found it was no joke at all.
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A Dream Shop in Singerhof

Posted on by Lost Art Press

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Today I wanted to move to Germany. Buy some lederhosen. Raise some sheep.

Because of an unfortunate flood in eastern Bavaria, Dictum GmbH had to move my Roorkhee chair class to Munich. But the Munich workshop didn’t have enough lathes for the 10 students. So we had to move today’s class to Dictum’s shop in Singerhof, which is located two hours northeast of Munich.

And boy was it worth the drive. The Singerhof shop is located in an old farm (the students guess it dated from the 1700s). The farm was large enough that it had its own chapel. And all the buildings surrounded a common courtyard.

Dictum’s shop on the grounds is in a stone room with vaulted ceilings and stone columns. And for the first time during all my visits to Europe, I wanted to move here.

I told Petra Steinberger, the director of Dictum, that I wanted to purchase the farm.

She shook her head.

“After me,” she said.

It was a great day of turning – introducing many students to the lathe for the first time. Tomorrow we return to Munich to start making the leather for the seats.

If, of course, the rivets we ordered actually arrive.

— Christopher Schwarz