Lost Art Press

Hold it Guys, I Lost a Contact Lens

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Some early drawings of workshops show working conditions that seem impossibly crowded. Sometimes you will have four people working on a small bench, each doing operations that would be certain to annoy the others.

Ever tried to saw dovetails while someone is planing on your bench? Even on a stout bench, it’s not fun.

While some of these compositions are likely artistic license, overcrowded living and working conditions in the 19th century were real. In fact, collapsible campaign-style furniture was sometimes employed to convert dining rooms to sleeping quarters at night.

So take a good look at these eight guys working in a shop that is smaller than a master closet in a McMansion.

Dug up by Jeff Burks, naturally, this is an undated image of a French joinery shop that is signed “Bombled.” Jeff reports:

Louis Charles Bombled was born July 6, 1862, in Chantilly. His father was the the Dutch painter, etcher and lithographer Karel Frederik Bombled. He exhibited at the Salon des Artistes Français in Paris, where he received an honorable mention in 1885, and a gold medal at the Exposition Universelle in 1900. Bombled was known as a painter, watercolorist, draftsman and illustrator, especially of military subjects. He provided illustrations for many books and magazines, including contemporary publications “La Caricature,” “Le Chat Noir,” “L’Illustration,” etc.

— Christopher Schwarz

Your Best Work

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“A roughly made bench serves the same purpose as an elegant Hepplewhite chair and has its own beauty. But how wonderful that the learned hands of humankind can fabricate something that has real craft and hard-won beauty.” 

— Robert Genn

There are many reasons to take up design, but the one that applies to every artisan at every level is quality. In our modern sense, design is often coupled with creating something unique or new. But for much of our history this wasn’t the case; quality was the hallmark of good design.

Woodworkers who craft reproductions seldom think of themselves in that modern design context. Yet one somehow recaptures the light and fire of an original masterpiece, while another builds a lifeless copy. Sort of like the difference between a masterful rendition of a great concert piece and the mechanical sound coming from a player piano. The difference is usually in the design knowledge brought to each workbench.

Regardless of whether you create original furniture designs, interpret masterful works from our tradition, or simply make small changes to make your furniture sing; design is the one ingredient that combines with our toolset and skillset to make a whole greater than the sum of it’s parts. Simply put, design is that final piece that enables you to do your best work.

— George R. Walker

Editor’s note: ‘By Hand & Eye” is now at the printer. We are continuing to work on the very complex cover I’ve devised, which is why we haven’t put the book up for sale in the store. Look for it early next week for $34 and free U.S. shipping.

Woodworking – Austrian Style

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Every woodworking class degrades into the same intense discussion: Does the hegemony of mass advertising result in a degradation of the circle of the manual arts?

Nah, I’m just pulling your chain. It’s mostly fart jokes and talks about anatomy.

This week was special. Not only did we get some humorous attempts to light our flatulence, we also experienced Hans Muller’s special skill.

Hans, a student in the class and the shop tech at Rosewood Studios, is one-quarter Austrian and the rest of his blood is “German.” And so he channeled his ancestors to teach us a little woodworking.

Hope you enjoy it.

— Christopher Schwarz

On Technical Perfection

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One of the most important things I’ve ever heard about woodworking was said to my by John Economaki, the founder of Bridge City Tools. When he said it, I couldn’t write it down – we were in a car, I think. But I can pretty well paraphrase it.

When I teach a class on design I ask the students this question: Would you rather build a project that is beautifully proportioned with a few gappy joints, or a technically flawless piece with a design that is just OK?

The students unanimously answer: technically flawless.

When you look at traditional furniture, you can see that this was not the general attitude among pre-industrial makers. Even in spectacular Shaker pieces and world-class objects I’ve examined at Winterthur, the emphasis is more on overall form than on technical brilliance.

Baselines are overcut. The backs and bottoms of drawers look like they came from an Arkansas outhouse. There is tear-out. There are distinct toolmarks – if you know where to look.

But when you back away from your inspection of the joinery, you can see the brilliance of the maker.

When I teach classes on woodworking, I fully realize that I am part of this problem. During my week here at Rosewood Studio we have all been focused on the joinery. Perhaps too much. What is more amazing than the tight joints, however, are the nine perfectly proportioned tool chests that are coming into the world.

This chest isn’t my design – it’s the design of hundreds of woodworkers through three hundred years of work. I only hope that the students can see this when they pull their chest out of their car at home.

— Christopher Schwarz

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Carpenter & Apprentice, Circa 1844

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One of the earliest photographs I’ve ever seen of a carpenter at work is held by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and attributed to William Henry Fox Talbot, a British inventor and early photographer.

Check out the full image here.

Jeff Burks, who pointed me to the image, suspects it might be the earliest photograph of a carpenter/joiner. If you know of an earlier one, send us a note.

Of note in the photograph:

1. These early “calotypes” were staged because the exposure time could be extremely long (by modern standards). Hence the blurry face of the carpenter. The apprentice, however, held quite still. Because of the staging, I wouldn’t make too much of the workholding method (“Here boy, hold this board”).

2. This photo clearly answers a burning question: Should you store a plane on its side or on its sole? The answer: On its toe.

3. It’s nice to see the traditional three-finger grip on the saw’s tote. The saw looks fairly aggressive, more like a ripsaw, to me.

In any case, be sure to visit the Met’s site and zoom around the photo. There are some nice details. However, I wish it were a daguerreotype.

— Christopher Schwarz