It has been said that “cleanliness is next to Godliness.” This is an axiom and does not need demonstration to prove the truth of it, but we may go a little further and say, that when applied to shops and mills that it is necessary to prosperity, for wherever you may go, or whatever mill, or yard, or shop you may go into and find everything at loose ends, and tools laying around promiscuously and many of them hung up on the floor or shied away under the benches, or if you go through the lumber yard and find piles of boards or plank or nice timber uncovered, and piles of boards left with part of them thrown down where they ought to be piled up nicely and covered, I say that where these conditions exist, you can take your note book out and write down. “This concern will eventually go to the bad, unless it becomes converted to the gospel cleanliness and order.” “Order is Heaven’s first law ” and unless we obey that law to the letter, we shall surely have to suffer the penalty for disobedience to its demands. Order and cleanliness about any place of business, is just as necessary as sunlight to the growth of vegetation.
The loss of time spent in hunting for mislaid tools amounts in the course of a year to hundreds of dollars in shops where everything is left to take care of itself which somebody has got to pay for, and in lumber manufacturing places it comes on the owners because all the work is done at the owners expense unless you are sawing or turning or planing for your customer by the hour which happens only once in a while, and then if your bill amounts to more than he thinks it ought to, next time he will go some where else with his work and indirectly you are a loser because you do not have the work to do. (more…)
I haven’t abandoned my “Furniture of Necessity” book. Suzanne “the Saucy Indexer” Ellison, simply won’t allow it.
While my days are spent in teak and mahogany making campaign furniture, Suzanne has been feeding me a steady diet of vernacular forms that I browse late at night when I’m too pooped to work in the shop.
Her latest missive is an exhibition book from 1982 for an exhibit titled “Common Furniture” at the Stable Court Exhibition Galleries. The book is a gold mine.
My favorite piece – one I should build for the book – is a Welsh stick chair that I haven’t seen before. I fell hard for Welsh stick chairs thanks to the late John Brown. This particular example isn’t in his book, though some similar chairs are.
From the exhibition book:
Welsh, probably 18th century, second half, Ht. 32 in.
Hewn elm seat, whittled ash legs and splats, the armbow cut from a naturally curved elm branch. The seat and upper frame betray traces of three paint layers – red, light and dark green. At one time there were two (or possibly 3) rear legs. Rugged chairs of this type are commonly found in Wales, the Isle of Man, Scotland and Ireland (where they are today quaintly called ‘famine’ chairs) and could fairly be described as a native ‘Celtic’ pattern. No documented or dated examples are known and they probably developed independently of the Windsor chair tradition, being produced well into the 19th century. This one was acquired in the Cwm Tudu area of Cardiganshire.
Lent by Crispin.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. The title of this post is the name of a great song by Rhett Miller, the lead singer of the Old 97s.
It is surprising how little is known about glue, even among artisans who are constantly using it in their work, especially when we consider that the strength and durability of glued work, and, ultimately, the reputation of the artisan, depend largely upon the quality and proper use of it.
It is an indisputable fact that poor glue, or the improper use of good glue, has caused the wreck of many an otherwise good piece of work.
In order to select or handle glue intelligently, it is necessary to understand something about its manufacture. Glue is an impure gelatine, and is made from the refuse of tanneries, such as parings and waste pieces of the hides, ears, and tails of cattle. Some light-colored glues of poor quality are made from sheep skins, pig skins, and bones. Bone glue is prepared by boiling bones, to remove the fatty matter they contain, and then treating them with hydrochloric acid. This renders them soft and translucent. They are then washed in an alkaline bath, to neutralize the acid. The subsequent treatment is much the same as that followed in the other process. Glue made from bones has a milky hue, owing to the presence of phosphate of lime. (more…)
NYC Urban Lumber Harvesting: Perquisites and Pitfalls
It’s been an interesting journey these past few years, to say the least. We have watched our company swell and shrink, from one guy to seven guys and back down to two. We’ve been overwhelmingly busy and dismally slow; the amount of all-nighters pulled in the shop in hopes of meeting deadlines being roughly equal to the amount of sleepless nights spent wondering (worrying?) about how we are going to drum up sales and keep the whole affair afloat. Small successes are always met with slightly smaller defeats, enough so that the carrot does ever dangle. Basically, when we’re not busy high-fiving each other, we can be found banging our heads against the nearest wall. At the end of the day we are able to maintain a constant level of psych for this pet project turned full time job/obsession, and that is due to a trait peculiar to most people but familiar to woodworkers:
We get giddy about the wood.
Just about every time we cut a new log, we find ourselves ogling the grain, taking photos, “ooh-ing” and “ahhh-ing” over each new slab as it comes off the mill.
We run our hands over the freshly cut surface, feeling the tree’s cool moisture, silently judging the quality of cut from the blade. Many times I’ve repeated the same idle vow: “now this one I’m keeping for myself.”
This base reaction to freshly cut boards has been the fuel that keeps us going, especially when the going gets tough. And it does get tough. New York City is a land of tiny backyards accessible only via trespassing and calisthenics. We recently found ourselves finessing 10’ long, 300+lbs. mulberry slabs around a tight 90º turn and through an 18” wide “alley” to get to the stairs, and finally onto the trailer. Good thing there were only eight of them.
Another fun incident was trying to extract large silver maple slabs we milled from a tree downed by Hurricane Irene. These slabs were 9′-8”-long because that was the absolute maximum size I determined we could get down the stairs to the basement, across the building, up the stairs, around a dogleg turn with a four-step rise, through the door and into the truck. That was a big tree so we got to practice that dance 21 times, finding near-perfection by the end. The 9’-8” thing actually worked, just as soon as we removed the front door.
An unexpectedly fun aspect of this business turns out to be amusing the public. Folks in Brooklyn, N.Y., aren’t accustomed to seeing guys with chainsaws, especially not 48” long chainsaws. Wielding these monsters on the sidewalk in Bushwick draws a crowd. A nervous crowd, on the far side of the street. The audience that gathered while we were trying to unload a large sycamore log from the pickup by hand really got their money’s worth. By that time we had ironed out most of the kinks in the “drop clutch removal” process so our onlookers were treated to the workings of a well-oiled machine. The procedure is as follows:
– Back vehicle up to a reliable anchor (a 10” span of brick wall between my loading dock and a doorway worked nicely).
– Chain log to anchor.
– Remove vehicle’s tailgate (very important).
– Instruct driver to perform a drop clutch launch.
We have actually elicited applause with this technique. We’ve also folded a couple tailgates. For more quartersawn sycamore, with its characteristic lacewood-like figure and striking pink, blue and yellow color I would happily fold as many tailgates as it takes.
So you see, not lack of sleep, nor anxiety induced heartburn, nor sore and fatigued muscles can diminish our zeal for revealing the hidden beauty in each new log. In fact, there is a doozy waiting for us in the yard right now. It’s a giant chunk of crotch hickory, about 60” wide and 9’ long, with lots of telltale ripples under the bark hinting at the figure hidden inside. We know with certainty that this log is going to kick our butts. Hickory is just way harder and heavier a material than the human physiological form was build to handle at these sizes. I can’t wait! These slabs are going to be amazing, truly one of a kind. And I’m probably going to keep one for myself.
While up in the Boston area last week, Peter Follansbee, the joiner at Plimoth Plantation, commented on the lack of images of shavehorses from the 17th century.
That kind of question mark interests me.
Earlier I had stumbled on some engravings of people whose body parts were the tools and materials they worked with. The print, Habit de Menuisier Ebeniste, showed a cabinetmaker made from his tools.
Jeff Burks (naturally) turned up the plate shown above and several more that were similar. This one shows a cooper with a shavehorse at his feet. Here’s what Burks says about the artist and what is known about the plate:
These were by Nicolas de Larmessin II (printmaker; French; c.1645 – 1725). Engraver; brother of Nicolas de Larmessin I. Father of Nicolas III. Worked most of his career for his elder brother, and later his widow. Seems to have published little himself.
The dates attributed to these engravings vary from 1690-1700 and beyond. I don’t think anybody really has a concrete date for them. It also appears that they also don’t agree about how many were in the original set. Some say 77, some say 97, and there were copycat artists who came after, plus reprints of the originals, sometimes hand-colored.
The image is from Gallica. And we will keep looking.
