Lost Art Press

The Use and Abuse of Screws in Wood Work

Posted on by fitz

screw_patent_sArchimedes is credited with the invention of the screw, but whether the famous geometrician’s labours extended much further than the enunciation of the scientific principles and the mechanical power of the screw, it is difficult to say. If he made a screw, he certainly must have tried its effect, and was probably well satisfied with its performance, for in the whole range of mechanical appliances in the constructive arts there is not a more useful article than the screw.

Archimedes is further reported to have said, “Give me a prop, a position, and a lever strong enough, and I will move the world,” and, no doubt, if these conditions could be granted to him, he, as well as others after him, could lift the earth, or aught upon the earth, by a combination of the tremendous lifting and driving powers exercised by a series of screws, apart from the lever.

Screws are various, and of various sizes, forms, and materials, but the same principle runs through them all, whether they be manufactured for use in metal or woodwork, or for exerting a lifting, driving, or pressing power separately. Our object here is not to treat of screw-cutting, but rather screw-driving in woodwork, and to throw out some useful hints to the building constituency, and particularly workmen.

The use and abuse of screws is a matter of importance to architects, builders, and their clients, for it is according to the way screws may be applied in several building and kindred operations that good or bad workmanship will be evidenced.
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This Frenchman Won’t Fly to Germany

Posted on by Lost Art Press

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During the last 48 hours, I have been hunched over the latest set of paper proofs of “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry.” And this is the part where the doubt creeps in.

During every book project, I lose my faith on the 10th edit. As I pored over Chapter 12 last night, I read Roubo’s words, but all I could hear were the critics:

“This translation is incomprehensible.”

“Useless information for the 21st century.”

“This is all there is?”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m in awe of (and grateful for) the work that Don Williams, Michele Pagan and Phillipe LaFargue have done – not to mention Wesley Tanner, the book’s designer. My doubts are a personal problem I’ve had since the day I began writing.

I know there are typos we won’t catch. I know we will be skewered for choosing one word over another in the translation. That we didn’t do enough to make M. Roubo palatable.

So to cheer myself up I decided to make a list of all the things I learned from this volume.

I couldn’t. The list was too long and involves something on almost every page.

Like Robert Wearing’s “The Essential Woodworker,” this is a document that is far greater than the sum of its parts. It is not just a manual of marquetry. Every page oozes Roubo’s personal view of the craft – the failings of customers, fellow craftsmen, merchants. And their occasional triumphs.

In Roubo’s world, quality work is the job of the individual at the bench – even when the customers won’t pay.

And there is something deeper that is even more important and difficult for me to express. But I’ll try:

One of the dominant modern views of pre-Industrial woodworking was that it was a brutal way to live. The work was hard. Each day was a desperate slog for artisans ekeing out a living in poorly lit and dank situations.

All those things might be true, but that doesn’t mean these menuisiers didn’t love their work. When you read Roubo – who was a compagnon – it’s clear that it was cause for rejoicing when they brought something beautiful and well-made in the world.

Yeah, the work was hard. It still is. Yes, it involved years of practice. It still does. And no, it didn’t pay. It still doesn’t.

But it has been and always will be something that is (and I’m stealing Don Williams’ favorite word here) glorious.

— Christopher Schwarz

P.S. Today I finish up my editing on this book and send the paper back to the designer (about 15 pounds of it). I don’t want to take this stuff on the plane to Germany. Our goal is to send this book to the printer on July 1. I think we can make it.

DON’TS for Makers of Models and Moulds

Posted on by fitz

donts

DON’T start your job until you have it well fixed in your mind, or you may get in a mess later on.

DON’T trouble the foreman with foolish questions. He has troubles of his own. Besides, you may expose your own ignorance; but

DON’T try to get along without really necessary information which the foreman may have forgotten to give you. You may guess wrong.

DON’T take time to lay out a job, and then not use the lay-out; but

DON’T rush at a job.
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19th Century Belt Buckles

Posted on by fitz

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19th Century Belt Buckles from the area near Lübeck, Northern Germany.
State Museums of Berlin, Prussian Cultural Heritage, Folklore Museum.

Butcher Scene
Emblems of the Joiner
Emblems of the Carpenter

The Siren Song of H.O. Studley’s Vises

Posted on by Lost Art Press

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In the afternoon following the presentation based on my upcoming book, “Virtuoso: The Tool Chest of H.O. Studley” during the HandWorks extravaganza at the Amana Colonies in Iowa, I received many compliments on the talk along with the occasional, “Why did the other guys get all the good stuff?”

Huh?

Sure, I assigned Chris and Narayan the onerous task of providing the tool porn peep show accompanied by silent heavy breathing, but I got to present my burgeoning research on the life history of Studley as best we know it, recount the progress of the project to date beginning with that fateful phone call four years ago from the present owner, and explore one of the great mysteries surrounding the whole toolaholic soap opera.

What’s the deal with those vises?

I must not be the only one interested as the Saturday afternoon at HandWorks found a non-stop stream of attendees examining closely the vise loaned to me for the project by woodworker Tim Cottle.

I have become so enamored of Studley’s bench and vises that I often find myself seduced by their Siren Song. In laying the foundation for ongoing book research, I have been gathering information on the 11 known vises of similar design and function. In one correspondence exchange, an owner indicated a willingness to part with his. He had purchased a bench with two Studley-esque vises at a defunct piano factory auction in 1985. That purchase had provided a robust platform for his furniture design and construction endeavors for almost three decades, and now he was trying to reduce his footprint. In the end he agreed for me to become the next steward of this treasure, and on my way home from Amana I picked it up. He noted it being a bittersweet day, sad at parting with a beloved tool, but excited at finding the perfect new home for it. As we parted he said something like, “There isn’t anyone who should have it more than you.” I am truly honored.

Having spent the intervening week with Jameel and Father John Abraham, much of the time ogling tool pictures on each others’ laptops, my brain was in hyperdrive about the vises as I drove last Monday from Canton, Ohio, to Rochester, N.Y., to Monterey, Va., wearily pulling into the driveway after more than 16 hours on the road. I slept well that night, but I dreamed of heavy iron.

I fully intend to combine the best features of each of these 11 vises into a near-perfect new prototype; each one (or each pair) has unique features that impart wondrous utility. Will my new version be good enough to replace my Emmert K1s in my heart? Who knows. But the potential is spectacular.

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I will continue to chronicle the firing-on-all-cylinders research for my Studley book and the pedal-to-the-metal progress of the Roubo volumes here at the Lost Art Press blog (I signed off on the final galleys of Roubo on Marquetry on Saturday morning), while this new part of the adventure will be addressed over at donsbarn.com. At the moment I am even contemplating the acquisition of some mahogany slabs for a new workbench as a new home for these new (to me) vises, but that might seem a pathetic desperate measure to emulate the insane brilliance of the Studley Ensemble.

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But isn’t imitation the sincerest form of flattery?

— Don Williams