Two crochets. A.J. Roubo’s crochet from 18th-century France (below) offers little wedging action. It works fine, but is not as “grabby” as the one shown on my bench from 2005 (above).
The following two early workholding methods are excerpted from “Ingenious Mechanicks,” by Christopher Schwarz.
Workbenches with screw-driven vises are a fairly modern invention. For more than 2,000 years, woodworkers built complex and beautiful pieces of furniture using simpler benches that relied on pegs, wedges and the human body to grip the work. While it’s easy to dismiss these ancient benches as obsolete, they are – at most – misunderstood.
Schwarz has been building these ancient workbenches and putting them to work in his shop to build all manner of furniture. Absent any surviving ancient instruction manuals for these benches, Schwarz relied on hundreds of historical paintings of these benches for clues as to how they worked. Then he replicated the devices and techniques shown in the paintings to see how (or if) they worked. This book is about this journey into the past and takes the reader from Pompeii, which features the oldest image of a Western bench, to a Roman fort in Germany to inspect the oldest surviving workbench and finally to his shop in Kentucky, where he recreated three historical workbenches and dozens of early jigs.
The crochet (French for “hook”) could be described as a planing stop attached to the edge of the workbench, but that doesn’t quite capture its full utility. A good crochet is also good for securing work for dovetailing and tenoning.
There are a couple kinds of crochets out there. Some of them are like wedges. You press the work into the opening and its V-shape helps hold the work (though you will still need a holdfast to complete the job). Old French ones, as shown in “l’Art du menuisier,” work more like a planing stop as opposed to a wedge. Their opening is square instead of V-shaped. Both forms of crochet work, but I prefer the V-shaped ones on my benches.
Good enough for dovetailing. A crochet and holdfast (or bar clamp) do a fine job of keeping the work in place for dovetailing.
I make my crochets out of a tough and springy wood, such as oak or ash. I recommend you make the hook big enough so that it can handle 8/4 stock. So, the opening should be slightly larger than 2″. Many early crochets are shown attached with nails. I prefer 6″-long carriage bolts with washers.
Using the crochet for working on the edges of boards is straightforward. Typically, you secure the work to the front of the bench with one or two holdfasts (depending on the length of the work). Then you push the end of the board into the crochet to prevent the work from shifting as you plane it.
If I have a lot of boards of similar widths to work (say for a large tabletop) I take a different approach. I use holdfasts to secure a 2×4 to the front legs of the bench that will act as a platform for my boards. Then I press the end into the crochet. Gravity and the force of the plane immobilize the work.
Crochets can also be used to affix the work so you can cut dovetails or tenons. Put the edge of the work into the crochet and affix it to the front edge of the benchtop with a holdfast (or a bar clamp across the benchtop, if you are sadly holdfast-less).
Notches & Wedges In many old paintings and drawings you’ll see benches that have no vises but instead have a large rectangular notch cut into the edge or end of the benchtop. In many cases, these notches are used as face vises. You put the work in the notch then use a wedge to immobilize it. I’ve had great – actually, quite spectacular – success using these notches for cutting tenons and shaping the work with chisels, rasps and files.
Don’t dismiss it. We were all shocked at how much holding power a wedge and a notch could provide. Tenoning and even planing the end of this 12″-wide oak board (shown above) was easy. Photos by NN
It took a little experimentation, however, to get the wedges right. As it turned out, I was making things too complicated. At first, I used oak wedges in the shape of a right triangle that I planed clean so they had an angle at the tip of about 15°. They held the work, but not reliably. So, I tried isosceles-shaped wedges with a variety of angles, looking for the magic number.
After several hours of messing with the oak wedges, I thought I was headed down the wrong path. So, I went to my scrap pile and grabbed a white pine 2×4. I sawed it to 12″ long and tapered one edge with a jack plane (I later measured the angle at 2°). Then I drove it into a notch.
It cinched down as hard as any screw-driven vise I’ve used. It worked so well I laughed out loud. If you are interested in making these notches (what do you have to lose?), here are some details. In the old images, the notches have vertical walls. Some fellow woodworkers have suggested cutting them at an angle that is sympathetic to the wedge’s angle. I haven’t found that necessary.
Left: Figure Slow going. Chopping out a notch in the end grain is more difficult than performing the same operation in the edge of the benchtop. Saw the sides of the notch. Chop halfway through, then flip the bench and chop the remainder out. Right: Quick work. With the notch on the edge, you saw the walls and pry the waste out easily with a chisel. Then clean the long grain of the notch with paring cuts.
On some benches, the notches are in the end of the benchtop. In others, they are cut into the edges. I tried both. Functionally, I couldn’t tell any difference between them. They both held just fine. Making the two kinds of notches, however, is quite different. The end grain notches take about twice as long to make because the wood is fighting you the entire time. You have to rip saw the walls of the notch then chisel out the waste like cutting out a huge dovetail. There is a lot of chopping vertically then splitting out the waste. It’s not a horrible task, but it’s much more difficult than creating a notch in the edge of the benchtop.
There you crosscut the walls (crosscutting is always easier than ripping). Then you split the waste out with a few chisel chops. Splitting wood along the grain is always easier than chopping across it.
Ready to go. With only about 10 minutes of work, you can create a face vise for any work surface. Just make some softwood wedges and get to work.
Here are the measurements for my notches. Don’t feel compelled to copy me, however. The end-grain notch is 4-1/2″ wide and 2-1/2″ long. The edge notch is 4-1/4″ long and 2″ wide. I have a variety of softwood wedges scattered about that can handle work from 1″ wide to 3″ wide.
One more nice use for the notch comes when cutting curves with a bowsaw or coping saw. Place your work over the notch while sawing and it will vibrate less.
By A.C. Horth, from “The Woodworker,” January 16, 1905. (Thank you to Buz Buzkirk for the generous gift of two fascinating early volumes!) NB: I would not read this excerpt while eating breakfast.I might not read this excerpt at all if you are a vegetarian or vegan.
We are told that glue is made from hoofs, horns, and other animal refuse, and many of us are quite content to take this explanation as it stands. But the more inquisitive woodworker, who likes a fuller description of things, will, perhaps, find the following account of the various processes in the manufacture of that substance with which he is so familiar, interesting.
The writer, a short time ago, accompanied by a camera and note book, journeyed to Bermondsey and soon located the works of Messrs. B. Young & Co., Ltd., by the odour of decaying bones. On entering the gates of the factory, the first thing the eye encountered was heaps and heaps of bones, horns, and fleshings (the latter are odd corners of hides which are useless for making into leather).
This refuse, continually being brought in by wagons, is sorted and arranged in different heaps, the fleshings being carefully picked out for making the best glue and size, the bones and hoofs being used for making glue of inferior strength.
The most striking point about a glue factory is the absence of waste. One might say that every particle of the material which enters the factory is used up in some way and has a certain value; and, considering the fact that the glue makers utilise the refuse of the tanners, it is astonishing to an outsider to see how everything is accounted for.
We see many instances of the care which is exercised to avoid waste, before the glue is extracted from the offal. This is particularly apparent in the case of fleshings, which are overhauled and all pieces with hair or wool attached treated separately in order to detach and save these useful materials. Such hair and wool is dried, cleared, and packed into bales, to be eventually used by the blanket manufacturers, in making a cheap variety of rug.
The fleshings are placed in revolving drums and thoroughly washed with lime; the drums being fitted with racks which keep the fleshings in continual movement. The next stage carries them through the curing vats, where they are thoroughly impregnated with acid to remove the lime and render them fit for the boiling pans. Under the influence of steam, the gelatine is dissolved, leaving a very small proportion of refuse. This process is continued until there is no trace of glutinous substance in the fleshings. The liquid is run off into coolers, oblong boxes, in which the glue is allowed to set.
When the glue is set, it is divided into two cakes and placed on a table, and, by means of a wire, cut into slices, placed on a frame covered with netting, and taken to the drying sheds to harden.
We have yet only considered glue-making from fleshings; we have still the heaps of bones and horns to account for, so will now describe the process they undergo. A glance at the bones will show of scraps of dried flesh adhering to them, which are no use for making glue; yet these are by no means wasted. The bones with the attached flesh are placed in heated drums, fitted with revolving wires, which tear off the flesh, leaving the bones quite clean. This dried flesh, now in the form of dust, makes a valuable manure, and is packed into small bags.
The bones are next placed into a large cylinder, the glue is extracted under high pressure, and finally, when quite finished with, are ground up, and form another bye-product, namely bone manure, for which there is a great demand.
Continuing our tour through the works, we pass through the size room, where hundreds of small barrels are being filled with a bright golden liquid. This is size – the size for which this firm is so renowned. It comes from the fleshings, and great care is bestowed upon its manufacture to get it to a uniform strength and colour.
We next look at another room, in which the oil (which, naturally, is extracted with the glue) is refined. Here is another example of the way bye-products are utilised. Another room is devoted to the manufacture of concentrated size, which is a specially-made and strong form of glue ground up into a powder. Amateurs will find that to buy concentrated size is better than buying ordinary glue, as it keeps well in the packets, and is more convenient to use than the large cakes of glue.
We had a look at one of the large drying sheds, open on all sides, but fitted with hundreds of racks, containing cakes of glue, which, when thoroughly hardened, are washed and packed up ready for market.
In passing through the works, it was impossible to avoid noticing the great care bestowed on the manufacture of the glue in all its stages, and, considering the dirty nature of the work, the neatness of the various departments impressed us greatly. The writer is greatly indebted to the Management for their kindness in allowing him to visit the works and take the necessary photographs, which, in many cases, caused considerable inconvenience.
USING THE STANLEY UNIVERSAL PLANE. For cutters wider than 1/4 in. the sliding section is used to support the cutter at the near side. Since the sliding section is adjustable in height, it is important to see that the cutter has the same projection at both sides.
The following is excerpted from Volume III of “The Woodworker: The Charles H. Hayward Years.” First published in 1950, the book is beautifully illustrated by Hayward and contains the kind of spare prose that made him the best woodworking author of the 20th century. Like a good woodworking joint, Hayward’s text contains nothing superfluous and lacks nothing important to the task at hand.
This can be one of the simplest operations; it can also be one of the most awkward. To an extent it depends upon the tools available, but it is chiefly a matter of whether the groove has to be stopped, is straight or curved, the direction of the grain, and its position near to or away from the edge. We deal here with straightforward grooving, and shall follow next month with stopped grooves.
Perhaps the simplest examples of grooving are the parts of a door with grooved-in panels. It is merely a matter of setting the grooving plane to the required distance from the edge, adjusting the depth stop, and taking the plane right through. You can use either the wooden plough, or one of the special metal grooving planes. Let us consider first the setting of the plane, dealing first with the wooden plough.
Setting the Wood Plough. Select the cutter of the required width (there are generally eight), sharpen it square, and insert it so that the groove on its under-surface rests upon the metal edge of the sole piece (see Fig. 2). Set it so that the cutting edge has the required projection, and tap in the wedge. A fairly heavy shaving can be taken in softwood and when the grain is straight, but hardwoods and awkward grain require a fine cut.
Release the wedges holding the arms, and slide the fence until it is the required distance from the cutter. Press in one wedge thumb-tight, test with a rule to see that the fence is parallel with the metal sole, and push in the remaining wedge. Test once again to make sure, and tap home both wedges, tapping each lightly in turn. The depth gauge is generally controlled by a thumbscrew at the top, and this can be turned to give the groove depth.
Using the Plough. Start at the far end of the wood, and remove a shaving a few inches long. Then at each subsequent stroke bring the plough a little farther back as in Fig. 3. The advantage of this is that the tool is less likely to drift from the edge, since it runs into the groove it has already worked. Be careful always to press well against the side of the wood for the same reason, and work with the fence against the face side in every case. Otherwise, if the groove is not set to the exact centre, the parts will not go together flush.
It is essential that the plane is held upright, because, not only is the groove untrue otherwise, but there will be some curious results. At A, Fig. 4, the plough leans towards the user, and it is clear that the cutter will begin to operate at a different position from that intended. It will be nearer the face side. Then, as it sinks into the wood, it will either begin to bind and cease to cut, or the plough will be forced upright, when it will continue its groove in the wrong position. At B the groove will simply lean across at an angle.
Metal Plough. The setting of this depends upon the type. In the case of the small Record No. 040 and 043 planes the cutter is set in the stock about flush with the sole, and the lever cap screw lightly tightened. The cutter is then lightly tapped forward to give the required cut, and the screw finally tightened. Never strike the body of the plane to bring the cutter in; loosen the screw and withdraw it. The fence is slid on to the arm, tightened in the required position, and the depth gauge set.
In the case of the 050 A plane, a sliding section is provided to support the cutter at the near side, and it is the screwing up of this that clamps the cutter. When setting, therefore, the screw should be lightly turned only. This enables the final setting of the cutter to be made with the adjustment screw, after which the fixing screw is finally tightened. A small screw to the rear of the cutter is provided to help in keeping the sliding section parallel with the main stock. Fence and depth gauge are set as before.
The larger Record Multi-plane (405) and the Stanley 45 have their cutters tightened by means of a tapered bolt. The cutter is thus secured to the main stock only, independently of the sliding section. The latter is slid on afterwards so that it is level with the near edge of the cutter, or stands in a trifle. On no account let the cutter stand in from the sliding section, because this will cause binding. The fence has two sets of holes so that it can be fixed in a high or low position, whichever is the more convenient. A fine screw adjustment is provided on the depth gauge, and, after setting, the lock nut is tightened.
Setting for the Stanley Universal plane, No. 55, is similar, but, since the sliding section is adjustable in height, it is necessary to set this so that the cutter has the same projection on both sides. Slacken the lock nuts before turning the adjusting screw. Another point about this plane is that, since the fence can be set at an angle, it is important to see that it is upright before setting the plane for normal square grooving. Fig. 1 shows the Universal plane in use.
Some metal ploughs are provided with spurs which fit in recesses in the sides of both the main stock and sliding section. Their purpose is to cut the sides of the groove when working across the grain. They are unnecessary when grooving with the grain, and should be set in the neutral position. When they are in use, the plane should be drawn backwards for a couple of strokes to make sure that the groove sides are cut. Otherwise the grain is liable to tear out.
Using the Metal Plough. The use of the metal plough is similar to that of the wood type, but lubrication is more essential. A pad of cotton wool soaked in linseed oil is handy, or a wax candle can be drawn along the bearing parts.
As a guide to holding the plane square it is a help to press the fence against the side of the wood with the left hand as a preliminary step. You can soon tell when it is bearing on the wood, and this is the best guide as to when the plane is upright. You will soon get the feel of it. For a start, try the plane on a spare piece of wood, and examine the end of the latter as you progress to see whether your work is at all out. Clearly, the cutter must be sharpened perfectly square. This is partly because the bottom of the groove will otherwise be out of truth, but chiefly because a cutting edge which is not square may cause bad cutting or may make the plane fail to cut altogether. Take A, Fig. 5. At the main stock (left) the cutter has the required projection, but at the sliding section it has none at all. This will prevent the plane from cutting, and, to make it cut, the cutter will have to be set forward as at B. The result of this is to make the plane tend to grab at the side having the greater projection, and this will probably throw the groove out of truth.
When the grain is straight and parallel with the wood the shavings curl away sweetly and the work is clean. A difficulty occurs when the grain either runs at an angle or is curly. Consider Fig. 6, which shows a door frame. Since the plough has always to be worked from the face side to ensure the grooves being level throughout, it will work in the direction of the arrows shown at A, and will be working against the grain owing to the slope of the latter. By reversing the parts as at B before marking out, the plough can be made to work with the grain in every case.
In Fig. 7 the grain runs across the edge at a decided angle, and the probable result would be that the groove would tear out at one edge as shown. To overcome this the groove position should be cut in first with the cutting gauge as shown inset. This will ensure the surface being clean. If it tears out down below it will not matter.
Many metal grooving planes are fitted with small spurs or cutters, the purpose of which is to cut the fibres when working across the grain. If not used the grain would be liable to tear out. They are not needed when working with the grain and they should be reversed into the neutral position. Small set screws hold them in position. One will be found on the main stock at the off side, and the other on the sliding section at the near side. Both are just in front of the cutter.
SELF PORTRAIT (1980). Steel, wood, aluminum, found objects. 60″ x 32″ x 82″. Michael says this piece reflects the experience of building his own house while living on the land. He had to defer making art to making the house, and he says there were a lot of difficulties in the building process.
The following is excerpted from “The Difference Makers” by Marc Adams. Since 1993, Adams has invited hundreds of the best craftspeople to teach at his woodworking school in Franklin, Ind., which has grown to become the country’s (if not the world’s) largest. Every year, Adams has expanded the school and brought in a different mix of new instructors and veteran ones. As a result, he has figured out who is the best. He’s seen their work. He’s seen them at work. This excerpt features Michael Cooper – craftsman, sculptor, and inventor of impossible things.
Michael Cooper has been fooling around with wood and metalworking since he was a kid and has never stopped. He has a degree in commercial art from San Jose State College (now San Jose State University) and an M.F.A. in sculpture from the University of California, Berkeley. He has taught drawing, 3D design, furniture design and sculpture at several California colleges for 34 years. He is a superb teacher who is revered by students and colleagues alike, but in 2005 he decided to shift from teaching to totally focusing on his artwork.
He has won numerous awards and grants throughout the years, including a Fellowship in Sculpture awarded by the American Academy in Rome (Italy), and a Craftsmen’s Fellowship Grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. In 1993, he was presented with the President’s Award for Outstanding Service at De Anza College. His work is on display at several museums and public displays, including the Art Gallery of Western Australia, the Oakland Museum of California, Queen Victoria Museum & Art Gallery, and the Sam and Alfreda Maloof Foundation for Arts and Crafts. His work has been featured in books, magazines and newspapers around the world.
Recently the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco did a retrospective on Michael’s work titled “A Sculptural Odyssey, 1968-2011.” This led to a book written about his life as a teacher, artist and sculptor. Michael is a master at bending wood and adding odd bits and pieces together to make unique sculptures that are collected by patrons around the world.
On the Professional Side
Michael’s biggest initial career transition was deciding to leave the commercial art profession and switch to making sculptures in the late 1960s. He wasn’t sure what direction his new vocation would take, but he was excited about the prospects.
He returned to San Jose State College and began working on his Master of Fine Arts. There Michael met instructor Sam Richardson, who encouraged him to start checking out gallery shows in the San Francisco area. These shows featured all kinds of art, including sculpture. Although Michael knew little about contemporary sculpture, the more shows he attended the more he developed a passion for creating three-dimensional objects.
San Jose State College had a large art department in the mid-1960s, and new materials and processes were being explored, including fiberglass, polyfoam and lacquer. During that time, John Battenberg and Fletcher Benton, both commercially successful artists, joined the faculty. Fletcher eventually became a mentor to Michael and gave him the encouragement to continue to pursue his sculptural work. But the real awakening came when a friend paid Michael’s way to the Los Angeles milestone exhibition “American Sculpture of the Sixties,” a national survey of the best contemporary sculpture at that time. This exhibition opened Michael’s eyes to what was possible in contemporary sculpture and encouraged him to explore areas that were unknown.
“I am, for the most part, self-taught,” he says. “I had always been good with exploring new techniques but needed direction in the area of theme. I found what I needed in kinetic sculpture.”
His early works used a variety of materials including wood, aluminum, steel, motors, magnets, gearing and electrical components. In 1969, Michael finished his Master of Fine Arts degree at U.C. Berkeley and immediately began teaching art classes at Foothill College while continuing to make and show his own works, which were mostly kinetic sculptures.
UNTITLED (1970). Steel, wood, gas motors, rubber. 156″ x 60″ x 28″. Michael calls this, “an important early piece in so many ways.” It features his first metal lathe and Bridgeport milling work. Photo by Michael Chase
In 1975, Michael shifted gears from kinetic sculpture to working exclusively with wood using bent lamination techniques as a form of sculpture. That year he made three pieces: “Captain’s Chair,” “Soapbox Racer” and “Music Stand.” His work was well received, which inspired Michael to continue to explore wood laminations with organic forms.
In 1976, he started the “Gun Series,” and in 1977 was subsequently given a Society for the Encouragement of the Contemporary Arts (SECA) Award, which included a one-person show at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. One of the best things to happen during that hectic year of preparing for the San Francisco show was that he met his soon-to-be wife, Gayle Stetter.
The late 1970s were exciting times for Michael. After the SECA award, he received a monetary grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. In 1979, he was awarded a fellowship from the Crafts Council of Australia. This grant was titled “Craftsman in Industry” and led to Michael creating sculpture in two furniture factories, as well as lecturing at various colleges, crafts and industry groups.
Following the Australian grant, Michael traveled to Rome on a fellowship at the American Academy in Rome. Here he was given a year to explore his work among other fellows and the historic art of Italy.
SOAPBOX RACER (1975). Red oak, polyester fabric. 156″ x 52″ x 28″. This was built for the SFMOMA First Artists’ Soapbox Derby. To operate, you lay on your back inside the chassis and steer with your feet using cables attached to the rear wheel. Photo by Michael Chase
Though Michael was a big part of the San Francisco Bay area art scene, his sales were always sporadic. Fortunately, that is where teaching became handy to help support his work. In 1977, he left Foothill College for De Anza College in Cupertino, Calif. There he taught sculpture, drawing, 3D design and furniture design. Teaching became a rewarding career, and for 35 years he enjoyed his connection with his students. In 1981, he married Gayle, and the two moved to Sebastopol, Calif.
In 1986, Michael and Gayle bought an 81⁄2-acre slice of heaven with meadows, trees and a seasonal creek, with the thought of someday building and living on that property. The first building was Michael’s new studio. For the next 21⁄2 years they camped on the property while they designed and built the house. At first there was no water, electricity or sealed roof. In time they ran water lines and electrical, and sealed the roof.
Before they moved into their new house, Michael began exploring sculpture that included the human figure. “This was a huge departure for me and was spurred on by my time at the American Academy in Rome and the historic art on location,” he says. This new type of sculpture led Michael to build a room-sized 3D replicator. Although this huge machine didn’t achieve the final perfect finish, it did remove a lot of the excess material before the final finesse could take place in his work.
In 1993, Michael’s father died of a heart attack, which devastated him. This eventually led to a huge diversion in his work. “I stopped making art after my father’s death and bought a rough 1933 Ford pickup. I had been interested in hot rods since I was very young. I started modifying the basic body, and what had seemed a simple project soon became another art project.” He called the rebuilt pickup truck “Tubester.” The hot rod endeavor was just what he needed. Michael considers that project to be an epiphany in the overall artistic direction of his work by incorporating metal fabrication and machining, and a return to drawing and designing on paper.
The making of Tubester also involved the magazine Street Rodder, which documented the project through 20 construction articles. It took 81⁄2 years to complete the project, and since 2001 the Tubester has been shown extensively. This was the project that led to more commissions that continue to help fund his ongoing work.
In 2008, Michael received a Windgate Fellowship Grant through the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco. The project Michael pursued was a survey of his sculpture during a 40-year period. Select pieces from his body of work have traveled to the Bellevue Arts Museum in Bellevue, Wash., the Fuller Craft Museum in Brockton, Mass., and the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco for the final showing.
In 2016, Michael was selected to be an American Craft Council Master Fellow, which is an artist’s dream award. Michael continues to build and design in Sebastopol, Calif.
On the Personal Side
I have seen a real live planetary transport machine, I’m sure of it. Because it’s the only way Michael Cooper can get back and forth to whatever planet he comes from. He is way too talented, innovative, creative, skillful, original, crazy, witty and flat-out ingenious to come from anywhere on earth – except California. Oh guess what, he’s from the middle of that state.
When you consider his vast body of work, it becomes easy to forget that he had a real job of teaching and his sculptural work was a side line. From 1969 to 2004, he taught full time at the college level. He is a superb teacher, admired by students, respected by his colleagues and one of the crowning jewels for MASW. His first workshop was the summer of 2008, when he co-taught a class on bending wood. He arrived a few days early to unload about 50 pounds of air grinding tools along with several examples of his work. It was also the first time I had ever met someone from another planet; surprisingly he looked like any other earthling.
RIDE (2008). Steel, aluminum, wood, gas engines, pneumatic air system. 67″ x 77″ x 82″. More or less a hopping helicopter chair. Photo by Michael Chase
Afraid he might vaporize students, I decided to be on hand for his first day of lecturing, just in case I needed to contact the Men in Black. His first demo was to take hundreds of veneer strips, put glue between each layer, and then twist them into some alien shape. The next day when he removed the clamps every piece fell on the floor – the glue failed. Turns out the glue we had purchased had an inaccurate date label, which made for a great teachable moment. This also proved that he really is human.
Since then, Michael has taught several workshops at MASW and no matter what other workshops are taking place, he always steals the show. Not because he has the kind of personality that sucks the wind out of the building, but because his method of work is so mesmerizing it just begs an audience. I once asked him about how he prepares for a lecture and he told me that he first tries to calm his stomach. It turns out he gets nervous when he lectures. Imagine that a man of his talent, who has made his living as a teacher, still finds intimidation in standing in front of a group – proof again that he is human.
John Lavine, former editor of Woodwork Magazine, once wrote “surveying a roomful of Michael Cooper’s sculpture, a viewer can easily be overwhelmed by the riotous profusion of materials and shapes. But after your eyes have settled on any of the myriad of details in this work, the question that inevitably follows is: How did he do that?” The answer is simple: He’s a master of any material he touches. Metals, plastics, woods and any variety of found objects are like clay in his hands, capable of any shape he desires.
Yes, he is a genius “maker” with skill unlimited. His work is deeply complex and sometimes dysfunctional. Often it seeks to make a social statement; other times it reflects the life of growing up in the California hot-rod culture. His work involves impeccable craftsmanship, both technically and conceptually, and woodworkers everywhere are in awe of his skill. Both Michael Hosaluk and Michael Fortune have posters of Michael Cooper’s work hanging in their shops. That says something.
I’ve had the pleasure to get to know Michael on a personal basis. He is a soft-spoken pacifist who loves to make things that cause us to think. Michael says, “For adults, I would like them to look at a piece and enjoy trying to figure it out: OK, what does this do?” And: “Oh, I see. This does that.” When looking at his work, which spans nearly 50 years, it’s easy to see how he continues to push himself both through his skill and his designs. It’s like he is in competition with himself, always trying to outperform his last work. That drive keeps him young at heart and always on the move (from one planet to the next).
We are in the middle of prepping hundreds of parts for a July 11-15 stick chair class in partnership with The Chairmaker’s Toolbox, and I am setting aside my aversion to plastic for this one moment.
As Megan Fitzpatrick and I prepare the parts – straightening the grain, octagonalizing the bits and sometimes tapering them, I sort through them. I group the parts by color and grain. And I wrap each bundle of parts into packets with a minimal amount of stretch-wrap plastic.
There are packets of legs, short sticks, long sticks and stretchers. When all the stock prep is over, I’ll group all the packets into 10 chair kits that are matched for color and grain.
It takes a lot of extra work, but I do this for two reasons. One, it makes for better chairs. Two, even the nicest people in the world become total dork-holes when it comes to picking parts willy-nilly from a big communal pile of parts during a woodworking class.
Inevitably, one or two people end up with all the exceptional boards. And the slow students, who need all the help they can get, end up with the dregs.
To combat this problem, I started picking and grouping wood for students years ago to avoid this “Lord of the Firs” approach to distributing parts. And I have stuck to this philosophy to this day.
Why am I telling you this? If you ever find yourself facing a pile of parts in a classroom, please be kind. Don’t be a hoggy-dog and take all the best parts for yourself. Someone is watching. And they are judging you.
And Furthermore….
If you are taking a woodworking class this summer, here’s a little tip that might make you feel better about your performance during the class.
If you follow a lot of instructors, schools on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter (like I do), you’ll see a lot of posts that exclaim, “These students are KILLING it.” Or “These students are amazing! Hardworking! Insanely Talented! Oblong!”
I’ve taken enough classes and taught enough classes to tell you that this piffle is either:
Unconditional positive regard (that is undeserved).
Marketing for the school/instructor.
Woodworking in a classroom environment is both tense and fun. In my experience, everyone struggles a bit – that’s what happens when you learn stuff. There are always failures in a class – a mis-cut, a broken part, a brain fart.
If you struggle in woodworking classes (I sure do, both as a student and an instructor), then you are perfectly normal. All those social media posts are just the gauzy, filtered unreality that clogs our phones and likely contributes to a lot of self-esteem problems.
Bottom line: If you make it through a class without locking yourself in the bathroom while sobbing, throwing your tools against the wall, or making a through-mortise in your hand, then you have succeeded. (All these things have happened in classes.)
But I will say in all honesty that every student in my classes has indeed KILLED IT (as long as “it” is a tree).
