Registration for Christian Becksvoort’s All About Dovetails one-day class is now open. (If you don’t get in, do sign up for the waitlist.)
Note: Some people are having trouble signing up for the waitlist – we’ve checked everything we can think of to check (and googled the problem). We cannot replicate the issue. So, if anyone else has trouble, send an email to [email protected] and I’ll manually register you for the waitlist in the order I receive said emails. Sorry.
Anytime someone decides to “think” and then “expound” about the craft of woodworking, you can be sure that a copy of David Pye’s “The Nature and Art of Workmanship” (Herbert Press) is close at hand.
Since its publication in 1968, Pye’s famous idea of separating the “workmanship of risk” from “the workmanship of certainty” has become both a touchstone and (oddly) a sales slogan for people who write and promote handwork.
I first read Pye’s book in 1997, and at the time I dismissed some of his ideas as naive and others as just wrong. (Some of his book, however, is quite thoughtful.) I’ve picked up the book a few more times since 1997, but each time I couldn’t cotton to it.
We’re now sitting here on the 50th anniversary of the publication of “The Nature and Art of Workmanship,” and I think I’m finally ready to pull my pants down to explain why I don’t buy into the “workmanship of risk.”
I can already feel the fountain pens trembling in the puffy-shirted arms in response. So be it.
So here’s my thing: The phrase and the idea of the “workmanship of certainty” is a contradiction in terms and simply does not exist. In my experience of making things by hand and in an industrial setting, everything is “the workmanship of risk.” Nothing is certain.
Let’s use David Pye’s examples to illustrate the problem.
The most typical and familiar example of the workmanship of risk is writing with a pen, and of the workmanship of certainty, modern printing.
Pye then explains how there is indeed risk involved in the creation of the lead type.
But all this judgment, dexterity and care has been concentrated and stored up before the actual printing starts. Once it does start, the stored up capital is drawn on and the newspapers come pouring out in an absolutely predetermined form with no possibility of variation between them…
Pye clearly knows a lot about woodworking – his CV, bowls and sculptures are spectacular. But I doubt he spent much time in a printing plant. Running a printing press – even a modern computerized one – requires immense skill. It’s like driving a 10-ton truck down a garden lane that is populated by baby bunny rabbits. One tiny misstep and you have thousands of dollars of dollars of wasted paper. And a few squashed bunnies.
I’ve worked probably a dozen presses, offset and letterpress, since 1986. Nothing is certain about modern printing. Everything relies upon the skill and dexterity of the press operators.
This same sort of skill is necessary on every form of industrialized manufacturing I’ve been involved in. Making entryway doors on a factory line. Making folding tables in a factory. Bottling liquor. Making magazines, books, holdfasts, dividers, curves and lump hammers.
All of these automated – sometimes computer-controlled processes – require great human skill to achieve. And not just the kind of explicit knowledge you can find on the internet. Industrialized manufacturing is fundamentally ruled by tacit knowledge – the same difficult stuff that we all seek to gain at our workbenches when building furniture.
I basically don’t believe that the “workmanship of certainty” exists. It’s all risk. And therefore, a meaningless distinction.
I have other problems with Pye’s assertions, especially when it comes to sourcing materials. But I think I’ve lost enough followers for one weekend.
— Christopher Schwarz
My latest chair – based on an original on display at St Fagans National History Museum in Wales – is available for purchase and immediate shipment.
It is made from American red oak, assembled with hide glue (for long-term repairability) and is finished with garnet shellac. The seat is 22” wide and about 12-1/2” deep. The seat height is about 17” off the floor.
The lightweight chair is very comfortable and will look in place in a traditional or contemporary setting.
This chair is ideal for simply sitting and relaxing. The pitch of its back sticks pulls your back against the armbow, which intersects your lumbar. The top of the four back sticks supports your upper back. This chair can be used as a dining chair, but it is ideal for lounging, watching the fire and conversation.
This chair is based on one of the chairs on display at St Fagans that I photographed in October. Like the original, the seat is not saddled. (Because this seat is unsaddled, the price includes a sheepskin for the seat.) Also, this chair has an undercarriage – an H-stretcher that is low to the floor. The original chair had an undercarriage that is long gone. I created this undercarriage based on extant examples from St Fagans and the remnants of the existing undercarriage.
Price: $630 plus shipping. Pickup or delivery within 100 miles of Cincinnati is free.
On Shipping
The price includes a custom crate. Shipping is via LTL. Shipping costs vary depending on your location and the details of how it needs to be dropped off. Costs can be $90 to $300 depending on your location and how much assistance you need to unload the crate.
— Christopher Schwarz
We have a new bandana in our store and ready to ship. Made and printed in the United States, the bandana is undyed cotton and features an array of historical hand tool images, our skep logo and – of course – bees.
We were quite pleased with the quality of our first bandana, which disappeared suddenly from our online store when 160 or so of the bandanas “went missing” from our old warehouse (if you see them stacked at a Midwestern flea market, drop us a line).
Undaunted by the financial setback, we asked Tom Bonamici to design a new one using the same specifications. These bandanas soften up nicely after a wash or two and become like the woobie of your childhood. The image – printed in water-based discharge ink – is remarkably resilient.
We have only 250 of these, so we don’t expect them to last long. The bandanas are $24 plus shipping (yes, we ship these to Canada).
If you are local to Cincinnati, you can pick one up at our holiday open day next Saturday (details here).
— Christopher Schwarz
I first encountered the étaux in the La Forge Royale catalog many years ago, along with a bunch of other French workbench contrivances. I always meant to build one, but Benchcrafted beat me to it.
Benchcrafted calls its version the HiVise, and the thing is absolutely indispensable in our shop (in some cases Brendan and I both need it at the same time). If you make chairs or other curved objects, the HiVise will make your life 32 times easier. It grips odd-shaped parts firmly, easily and at a height where you can work on them comfortably.
If you have a tricky spine or the need to do detail work, the HiVise will make your life 14 times less painful. The jaws hold the work close to your eyeballs without you stooping.
The HiVise has a Crisscross mechanism, which keeps the jaws parallel at all times. But the vise has enough flexibility in its jaws that you can easily grip curved or tapered pieces – something that is tricky with metal-jawed vises.
We also love the HiVise’s optional mounting screw, which allows us to put the HiVise almost anywhere. I have clamped it to our thickness planer and table saw when I needed to work in the machine room. Thanks to the mounting screw, the HiVise clamps to the kitchen table or a picnic table at a state park.
For me, the HiVise has become such a part of my daily life that I might need to revise my book “Workbenches: From Design and Theory to Construction and Use” again. The vise is that good.
— Christopher Schwarz
