I’m finishing up the corrections today to “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” for the second printing. There are four significant factual errors we’ve corrected, listed below, and three clarifications to the text that might help you through some muddled language on my part.
We also cleaned up about 50 typographical errors. While that’s not terrible for a 120,000-word manuscript, we always strive for zero. Thanks to everyone who helped clean up the text.
Here are the four errors:
Page 122: I discuss how a panel gauge will make a line “perpendicular” to your true edge. It should be “parallel.” (Thanks to Gil Chesbro.)
Page 248: I recommend a 4- or 4.5-point panel saw filed rip. Those don’t really exist. I meant a 7-point panel filed rip. (Thanks to Carl Bilderback.)
Page 270 I discuss a “manmade soft-Arkansas oilstone” that I used to own. It should read “manmade coarse India stone.” (Thanks to Stephen Shepherd.)
Page 430: The drawing shows the dust seal on four sides of the lid; it goes around only three sides. The corrected illustration can be downloaded below. (Thanks to Bob Miller.)
Here are the clarifications:
Page 440: The illustrations of the sawtill show some kerfs as not running all the way through. Yet I clearly ran the kerfs for the sawblades all the way through. You can do it either way. Both are traditional and correct.
Page 446: I describe the bottom till as a little “smaller” than the other tills. This is confusing. It is a little smaller in length but it is a little larger in depth.
Page 404: The illustration shows two battens but I show three in the step photos. Either way is fine. Many of the traditional chests have two. Some have three. I tried three, but I drew two.
Greetings from Lost Art Press. The Elves, Sharon and myself are headed to Duck, N.C., for the week. We are closing during this time and will re-open on Sunday, Aug. 9. We will stay on the email to answer any queries.
We have gotten a number of questions concerning the Chris’s new book “Handplane Essentials.” We are unable to take pre-orders for the book on our site due to technical issues (we are trying to get this feature available). However, Lost Art Press will have the book available in early August. The book will be signed by Chris for our customers and we will have plenty of books.
Thank you for your patronage and we always look forward to hearing from you.
Ok I am getting caught up on some woodworking projects. I have been closing the books for Lost Art Press and getting ready for tax filings…It is surprising how much non-woodworking tasks there are to do in a woodworking business. I digress.
As promised here is a pic of the Veritas Skew Rabbet plane aka moving fillister, in action. A Rabbet is a recess with two open sides that is cut with the grain. A fillister is a cross grain rabbet. Just like a groove is with the grain and a dado is across the grain. The moving fillister has a fence to allow for adjustment of the fillister.
Anyway, the plane works great as you can see. The wood is figured maple and I didn’t even have the nicker (the blade that slices the wood fibers ahead of the blade) in place. It was adjusted out of the way when I put the plane back into the cabinet and forgot to set it when I started planing for this picture.
The next pic is an attachment I made for the shooting board so I could fine tune the miter cuts on some boxes I am making. I took a couple of pieces of a pine 2×12 left over from the trestle table I built. I band sawed them to shape, glued them together and added a fence. Crude but it works. I just clamp it onto the shooting board and have at it. The bar of the clamp is a bit in the way but I will try another clamp or something.
My to do list includes replacing a number of wooden pieces for my brother’s parquet floor, legging up a chair, and trying to get a jewelry box done. I also got called from a friend who wants help framing his basement and build a bar and a co-worker who wants shelves built for her new house. What I want to do is build the Massachusetts Block Front Chest that Glen Huey made. Don’t we all get grabbed when someone finds out we woodwork? Yes, I would like to help out but I still have a lot of painting to do in my house not to mention installing a hardwood floor and winning the super bowl on my Xbox 360. Heck, that doesn’t take into account all the hi-def cable channels and the new blue ray player! But I digress again…Back to work!
As I write this, we’re awaiting proofs on our latest pocket book, “Make Fresh Milk Paint,” by Nick Kroll. Nick was in one of Christopher Schwarz’s Germany classes this summer, and he showed up with a hand-bound book about making milk paint in your kitchen. Chris sent an email to Kara Gebhart Uhl (she handles contracts for us) and me that night with a PDF of the book, letting us know he thought it was a winner.
We all agreed, and have since been busy making milk paint in our Covington shop. It’s so much fun (and simple) to make, and the paint results in a rich and gorgeous finish, plus it doesn’t cost much. It’s rare that you get cheap, easy and good, all at the same time!
Brings back memories of my bartending days.
The book will be printed in the U.S. (like all of our books). This one features a “Hot Toffee” cover (that’s mustard yellow to you and me) and garnet end papers – vibrant, like the paint. Barring problems at the printer or bindery, we expect it will be available before Thanksgiving.
Below is a sneak peek, Nick’s introduction.
– Fitz
Make Milk Paint
The howling silence of sterile, lifeless paint swatches. The dented tin lid that imprisons your creative soul in a mass-produced can of petrochemical swill. The gnawing anxiety of spending your Saturday morning standing in the fluorescent-washed aisle of a big-box retailer, trying to convince yourself that Hessian Taupe is the sensible buy.
It doesn’t have to be like this.
It’s OK to hate paint. We all do. Our collective contempt for industrial paint is so deeply ingrained that we close the container by hammering the lid shut like we’re trying to kill an E.T. with a tire iron. To be fair, that animosity goes both ways. The second you two are alone in a room together, that zesty blend of plasticizer and industrial solvent hits back with noxious volatile organic compounds (VOCs) that can inflict solid damage per second on a cellular level.
Even if you find a low-VOC paint in a color you like, you’re still likely dropping at least $20-$30 a pint at your local PaintTM retailer. That’s more than Jiffy Plasma would pay you for a pint of your own sweet blood. And unless everything you build ends up with two coats of Walton’s Own Eggshell Sage from a 5-gallon pail, you’re going to have to keep buying paint at that stiff price point. Even if you drop $100+ bucks, you’d still be locked in to only three to four colors, like a pack of kids’ menu crayons. Of course, once you pay that much, you can’t throw out the leftovers, right? What started as a fun project turns into overpriced chemical soup that’s gelling up on a basement shelf like week-old ham.
I’m here to free you. All we need is a bit of barnyard alchemy. Let us talk milk paint, elemental in nature and humble in its glory.
Making a batch of top-grade milk paint from scratch takes 10 minutes and costs less than five bucks. It has zero VOCs. It’s durable. It’s easy to apply. It looks fantastic. The color options are limitless. And you’ll have made it with your own hands.
You’re here because you like making things yourself. You can buy paint off the shelf just like you can buy furniture at Ikea – yet here we are. Paint should be the finishing touch on a labor of love, not a cheap shell that hides your hard work. You’ve spent hours cutting rabbets for a bookshelf and tapering the legs for a staked bench. Don’t stumble on the home stretch. Your handmade furniture shouldn’t be buried under a nano-homogenized ooze that smothers out every last bit of depth and character.
Come with me. Let’s set off on a journey to free your creative instincts. We’ll get lost blending pigments and chasing fleeting hues. We’ll defy the unyielding beast of corporate commerce and shun all the bitter progeny of the refinery. We’ll make something we love, for the ones we love.
Let’s make milk paint.
I’m not talking about mixing up a batch of the ready-mix powdered paint. I’m talking about taking fresh milk and making great paint. I know you can do this. It’s not hard, and you don’t need any special equipment. It’s a quick learning curve and there’s no risk. I started right where you are today – and by the end of the weekend, you’ll be on the fast track to catching up.
If you can make a pot of mac and cheese, then you can make milk paint from scratch. Making milk paint is easier than making bread, bathing a dog, putting on a duvet cover, staying awake in church or carving a pumpkin. Honestly, it’s easier than practically any woodworking task. I’m not even talking hand-cut dados or perfect dovetails – if you’ve glued up a butt joint, you have more technical skill than you’ll need to make milk paint.
This isn’t a treatise on period-accurate finishes for Shaker purists. This isn’t trad-life cosplay or Luddite revivalism. This is a guide to making damn good paint. I’m writing this for everyone who is tired of every microplastic and macrotoxin being dumped into our homes. This is for anyone who wants to be able to take a single breath without being squeezed into a transaction. This is for anyone who just wants to live in a world that’s a little more colorful.
There’s a German word, ohrwurm, to describe a song you can’t get out of your head. To be fair, “homemade milk paint” is perhaps a bit closer to a brainworm, carving out a little beachhead of gentle obsession in your mind while your loved ones begin to wonder about your mental state. But soon you’ll thank me and this little worm.
Let’s begin.
Nick, applying the first coat of homemade milk paint on the chair he’d just completed.
If you’re traveling through Covington for the holiday weekend and planning to stop in at the Lost Art Press storefront, please do – on Friday between 10 a.m.-2 p.m. We’ll be closed on Monday, Sept. 1, for Labor Day.
Regular hours resume on Wednesday, Sept. 3 (M-W-F 10 a.m.-2 p.m.). The storefront is located at 407 Madison Ave., Covington, Kentucky.
