I finished up an Andre Roubo try square last night – this one in row-grain mahogany,
The funny thing about this square is that it is the first one I’ve made in a species that Roubo himself might actually have used. All the other French squares I’ve made have been using North American species: American beech, maple, walnut and cherry.
What’s funny about that? Of all the squares I’ve made, I like this one the least. The square’s blade is perfectly quartersawn and has that row grain that is a result of the interlocked grain. I think it’s visually distracting, even though it’s proper, and I’ve seen many wooden tools that look this way.
The bridle joint also has a small gash at the baseline when my chisel slipped. But the square is square and is nice and lightweight. So maybe I’ll come to like it after it gets grungy.
On the docket today is a full load of Roubo. I’m editing the last chapter of “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry.” I’m also building a three-legged campaign stool from his original 18th-century text.
This should be a fun build, and an opportunity to use up some of the small leather scraps from our last run of Roorkhee chairs. The only trick to the stool is the hardware. I found a way to make it without welding, which was the traditional method.
If you are in Atlanta, stop by Highland Woodworking for the Lie-Nielsen Hand Tool Event and say hello on Saturday. (And if you don’t dig big dumb Germans like myself, Michel Auriou is here! He’s going to demonstrate his French rasps and how they are made.)
For those of you who don’t follow my blog at Popular Woodworking Magazine, here’s a link to a short video about Highland Woodworking and why I love it so much.
I honestly doubt the following blog entry will convince a single person to purchase the deluxe “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry.” In fact, it might make a few of you rescind your orders.
But so be it.
Editing this book has been a personal struggle the likes of which I haven’t had since 1979. That was the year I heard “Outlandos d’Amour,” the first record from The Police. That piece of vinyl wrenched me from the mainstream of American pop music and set me on a journey of discovery that continues to this day – I purchase at least one album a week. “Outlandos” inspired me to learn to play bass guitar and the electric six-string. It pushed me to start a rock band I in was in through college and beyond.
But it also was a painful social transition that kicked me to the sidelines of Fort Smith, Ark.
As I have been reading A.J. Roubo – both in English and French – and struggling at times, I have had one verse from The Police running through my head almost the entire time.
And on the days that followed I listened to his words I strained to understand him I chased his thoughts like birds
You will see light in the darkness You will make some sense of this
That is the only way I can explain what it’s like to read this stuff. Unlike most woodworking books, Roubo can be an incredible mental challenge for the 21st-century woodworker. It is not for babies. If you think this book is going to spoon-feed you the secrets to French marquetry and joinery, I’m afraid it will disappoint.
I struggled for two days with Roubo’s explanation of drawing in perspective. Figuring out the tail vise on his “German Workbench” was like wrestling a brown bear. I’m still straining in places to understand some of his explanations for working curved pieces of marquetry.
I don’t blame Roubo. The fault lies with our modern minds and the way we are accustomed to learning. Because when clarity comes, it is like lightning. Things relating to veneer, layout and marquetry that seemed difficult or impossible are actually quite straightforward. I might not (yet) have the hand skills to do them, but I know the shortest and easiest route to get there.
And after enough flashes of insight and slapping my forehead until it is red, I have found inspiration in Roubo’s words and what is beneath his words.
Roubo’s footnotes reveal the man as one of us – someone any woodworker would love to drink a glass of wine with (I’d probably order a saison). Like us, Roubo was struggling to make sense of a craft that was dying in front of his eyes. He laments the skills and techniques that are lost. He bemoans the cheap goods that are supplanting works made with a skilled hand. He questions his own capability as a woodworker and his limits.
These volumes have been inspiring in ways I can’t quite put into words – except to compare it to hearing “Can’t Stand Losing You” on the radio and then picking up my uncle’s guitar, determined to learn to play and sing that song for myself.
Tomorrow I have to leave for Atlanta for a short trip, but I’ll be back on Monday and back in the shop to whittle down my long list of projects and put the finishing touches on the last chapter of our Roubo translation. I cannot wait. Soon – very soon – you will also be able to chase Roubo’s thoughts like birds.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. Indeed, today is the last day to order our deluxe edition of “To Make as Perfectly as Possible” until the book is released. You can place a $100 deposit on the book here in our store. Don’t fret if you cannot afford the deluxe edition. There will be plenty of our trade editions available for everyone. Read the Roubo FAQ here.
Due to my stupidity with the Julian calendar, I have mis-blogged.
I will be at Highland Hardware this Saturday and teaching a class there on Sunday. I will not be there on Friday, Feb. 1, as I stated before. My mistake.
At Highland, I’ll have the Dutch tool chest, the Milkman’s Workbench and a frightened look in my eye. I haven’t been out in public much since Woodworking in America. So be gentle.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. Also, I noticed that Ray Schwanenberger has more vintage tools up for sale on his site. Check it out if you haven’t already.
So I received this commission from my wife that starts like this:
“When are you going to make something for me that I want? I mean I appreciate the Roubo bookstand but it’s too fancy with all the curves at the top. That blanket chest looks unfinished. It’s not sanded well and it has those nails poking out like some sort of …like a kindergartner nailed it together. I like simple things; clean lines.”
I proceeded to defend the works and explain all their merits, for the third time. The problem is that my wife comes from a family of furniture and cabinetmakers. She was carving entry doors when she was in 10th grade. Me, on the other hand, I am new to this (comparatively) and tend to be clumsy compared to my wife who… let’s just say she has a knack for infant airway reconstruction. With all that in mind I have the determination to make something as perfectly as I can.
This is the actual commission’s description:
“It needs to be ‘yea’ big,” she says as she holds out her arms. “And about this deep.” More arm flailing. “I also want the bottom drawer to hold paint brushes standing up and a can of thinner. The top drawer needs to hold full-size drawing pads – you know the big ones.”
I reply with humph. She continues, “I want it to be Shaker-ish, Moser-ish, with clean lines, no crap and I want your best.”
To me that looks like 45″ x 31″ for the top, 24″ wide for the drawers and the bottom drawer is 12″ tall.
So here is the sketch that I came up with.
I prepped the boards and started gluing up the major panels. Once that is done I’ll go back and correct the drawing to match the actual size of the panels.
Now the only problem is one of these eight boards that make up the top is flipped over, and my wife will surely notice. With that in mind I’m scraping the boards and having a drink. For tomorrow, I’ll cut it apart and fix it.
What’s funny about that? Of all the squares I’ve made, I like this one the least. The square’s blade is perfectly quartersawn and has that row grain that is a result of the interlocked grain. I think it’s visually distracting, even though it’s proper, and I’ve seen many wooden tools that look this way.
I struggled for two days with Roubo’s explanation of drawing in perspective. Figuring out the tail vise on his “German Workbench” was like wrestling a brown bear. I’m still straining in places to understand some of his explanations for working curved pieces of marquetry.
