Chris Vesper of Vesper Tools is setting up his booth for the woodworking show being held this weekend at the Melbourne Guild of Fine Woodworking in Australia. He cleans off his immaculate glass display case. He removes two massive shoulder planes he made years ago (no, they are not for sale). And he places three boxes and bottle on the table.
“We have some new products,” he says. “Here, take a look.”
I did. Wow.
Check out the Hoke’s Tool Co. here at the Institute of Backyard Studies.
Earlier this year, Linda Nathan of Australian Wood Review interviewed me for a short piece in the magazine. While she didn’t ask me what was my “drag queen name,” she did ask some interesting questions. Here they are.
What are the core principles you teach students?
I am a reluctant teacher to be sure. I study the craft every day. I work at the craft every day. And I write about it every day. I don’t think that qualifies me to teach it, however, but I am asked to do it, and so here is what I teach:
There are lots of new things to be discovered in woodworking. And the fastest way to learn them is to embrace all the work our ancestors have done for us. Read everything old that you can get your hands on. Try to understand the world they worked in. Understand their tools. Understand their mind-set. If you can do that, you will obtain skills a lot faster than if you tried to hack a path forward on your own.
So I spend a lot of time trying to explain that L. P. Hartley is right: “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
Plus one more thing from my woodworking hero, John Brown: “By all means read what the experts have to say. Just don’t let it get in the way of your woodworking.”
So respect and understand the past. But be prepared to reject it.
What is more important, the making of a piece or the piece itself?
In my shop, they are equal. If the piece sucks, then the time was wasted. If building the piece destroyed your lungs, health, mental state or the world around you, then maybe you should have just shopped at Ikea.
What is sharp?
Sharp is easy. It’s the zero-radius intersection of two surfaces. Getting there is what makes woodworkers crazy. The truth is that every system works. What I hope woodworkers will do is practice sharpening “monogamy” – stick with a system for at least a couple years so that you can learn its ins and outs. It takes time to fully master oilstones, waterstones, sandpaper, whetstone grinders, the sidewalk outside their house or whatever.
By sticking with one system, you’ll find your edges improve over time. Jumping around from system to system is only going to make you confused and poor.
Who are/were the greatest woodworkers on earth?
I’m a writer, so I always frame that question in terms of people who were able to explain the craft through words and images. Without any doubt, Charles H. Hayward was the giant of the last 100 – perhaps 200 – years. His traditional (somewhat brutal) training, artistic talent and straightforward style make him an influence in woodworking that has yet to be matched.
Yet, I have no idea if his joints were tight and his surfaces fair.
From a purely technical perspective, I admire the Hall brothers, who produced the furniture and millwork for Charles and Henry Greene. Their accomplishments, which I have viewed first-hand – haven’t been equalled in the last 200 years, at least in North America.
Your desert island tool kit would be?
Hey, I wrote a book about that, “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest,” which details the 50-odd tools that allow you to build almost any piece of furniture. That is, if you need a highboy in your treehouse. However, after reading “Robinson Crusoe,” I think all I’d really want for a desert island is something that could crack coconuts and make a bow and arrow.
The best thing you ever made? Why?
That changes every week. Right now, I’m enamored with the campaign chests and Roorkhee chairs I’ve been building for a forthcoming book on campaign and colonial furniture. The stuff is so masculine – combining simple designs with mahogany and beautiful brasses. The stuff makes me want to smoke a cigar, even though I don’t own a pith helmet or a gun.
From an emotional perspective, I’m most proud of two reproduction Shaker pieces I built and donated to the Whitewater Shaker colony, which is in our back yard.
The worst thing?
Easy. It was my first project for the cabinetmaking course I took at the University of Kentucky in 1993. It was a blanket chest. My finger joints were so horrible that I had to screw them together to make them stay fixed. Then I used an awful water-base finish that made the chest look like albino beef jerky.
I hated the thing, but my wife and kids used it all the time. Finally, one day while she was away at work, I handed it over to the garbagemen. Catharsis.
The thing you like most about woodworking?
I love that you can never know it all. Heck, you’ll never even know 10 percent of it. You can study every day for the rest of your life and still be a piker when you die.
So it’s never boring. Every day is an opportunity to learn something new and make something beautiful – what’s not to like about that?
The following idea is a long shot and likely to end up being a pain in my butt. But here goes.
For those of you signed up to take my class on building a campaign chest in May at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking, one of the biggest challenges is coming up with wood that is worthy.
Frank David at Midwest Woodworking in Norwood, Ohio, has a good stock of wide stock (including hineyloads of mahogany) that is gorgeous, old and fairly priced.
If I can get enough people interested, I’d be happy to try to arrange a visit to Midwest on the Friday before the class begins, May 3. You can pick out the stock that suits your fancy and your budget. You’ll get to see the very awesome Midwest Woodworking lumber stores. And, if you’re not too weird, we can all go to Gordo’s afterward for a great burger and an even better beer.
I promise you that you will be glad you made the trip.
Yeah, I know that this might be impossible for some students who are coming from long distances.
No, I can’t pick out wood for you. I can barely even pick out wood for myself.
Yes, you can come and purchase wood even if you aren’t signed up for the class.
No, I can’t pick out your wood for you and bring it to the class or drop it off at your house.
Yes, you can bring your truck and buy all you want (bring cash. American dollars).
No, I can’t send you photos of some of the boards and purchase them for you.
Yes, you can eat a hamburger from Gordo’s with goat cheese and grape compote and still call yourself a man.
No, I can’t transport your lumber to Indiana for you (I have only a little car).
Midwest is a jewel of a place. If I had any sense I’d never talk about it on the blog, never tell any of my friends about it, and deny it even exists. But I’m an idiot. So come take advantage of my idiocy.
P.S. Honestly, I can’t buy lumber for you. Or transport it. Or store it. Or cut it. I can barely wipe myself. If you need wide mahogany for the class and can’t find any, call Wall Lumber in North Carolina. Or Irion in Pennsylvania.
Teaching a new class is always terrifying exciting. This year, the class I am most excited about teaching is the Campaign Chest class May 6-10 at the Marc Adams School of Woodworking in Franklin, Ind.
I am, as you know, quite nuts for furniture in the campaign style and am eager to vomit forth all the research I’ve been doing on the design and construction of these chests. Plus, I’m eager to teach a class that focuses on a fine piece of furniture using excellent wood and outstanding hardware.
Most of the classes I teach focus on skills – as they should be. So the projects for those classes are designed around the skills and giving students lots of practice.
This class offers a lot of opportunity to build skills – full-blind dovetails, planing highly figured woods, complex hardware installation, fitting fine drawers – and the result is one of my favorite furniture forms.
Plus, we’ll have the full arsenal of machines, assistants and benches at our disposal at the school.
The last time I talked to Marc Adams, he said there are still a handful of spots available in the class. If you are interested in the class, you can read more about it here.
I’ve received several inquires from people asking if this class would be appropriate for a beginning woodworker. Answer: Absolutely. This is a class covering basic carcase construction and a blend of hand- and power-tool techniques.
I always enjoy tool sales, such as those put on at the Mid-West Tool Collectors Association, but after years of attending them, surprises at these shows are few and far between.
So it was quite a rush to attend a tool meet put on by the Hand Tool Preservation Association of Australia this morning. There were so many tools and brands that I’ve never seen before. I stayed until they started packing up the boxes to leave.
What’s different? Plenty.
Common Stanley stuff was pretty expensive. While you could still find garden-variety bench planes for $50 or so, the 19th-century Stanley planes were crazy expensive – like $250 for a Type 8 No. 7.
Some expensive stuff in the U.S. was cheap in Australia. I saw a Millers Falls No. 42 coping saw for $2. Tons of Swedish Eskiluna chisels for almost nothing. Sweet combination squares (in Imperial measurements) for less than $20.
Used Japanese tools. Thanks to Australia’s somewhat closer proximity to Japan, they actually get a fair amount of used Japanese tools imported into the country. I saw many beautiful Japanese chisels for $15 each. I didn’t dare buy one because I don’t know any of the names.
Infills, infills, infills. They were everywhere. I saw Norris, Mathison and a bunch of other lesser makers. There was an unused shell casting ($55). Lots of shoulder planes and bullnose planes, many in gunmetal. Two panel planes. And infill mallets ($55 each).
Buttloads of cross-peen hammers. I think I saw 50 or 200, I can’t remember. Most were going for about $20.
Very few moulding planes. Unlike U.S. shows, there were hardly any moulding planes. I saw one beat-up beader. One hollow. A few wacky profiles.
In any case, it was great fun poking through all the piles of rust. I could have stayed for another three hours and still not seen everything I wanted to pick up and play with.
I did buy one small item – a wooden architect’s triangle made from boxwood and very cleverly joined.
