We reached two major milestones this week with both “Woodworking in Estonia” and “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Furniture.” Both are on schedule for a fall release.
On Thursday I handed over all the files for “Roubo on Furniture” to designer Wesley Tanner, who was responsible for both versions (deluxe and standard) of the first volume, “Roubo on Marquetry.”
We will print both standard and deluxe editions of “Roubo on Furniture.” The standard edition will be released first. I suspect it will be about 400 pages long (the marquetry book was 264 pages), with a retail price of about $60. I think there will be a digital version of the standard edition, though that decision is up to the authors.
After we get the standard edition to the printer, we will open subscriptions to the deluxe edition. It will be printed to the same heaven-scraping standards as the deluxe edition of “Roubo on Marquetry,” which was named on the “50 Books of the Year” by the AIGA.
We will take orders for the book for 45 days. Then we’ll print that many (plus a few for ourselves). So everyone who wants one will get one. More details on pricing will come later this summer as we dig into the production costs.
‘Woodworking in Estonia’ by Ants Viires On Friday I handed over the final page proofs to Megan Fitzpatrick for a final copy edit of “Woodworking in Estonia.” Suzanne Ellison is working on the index plus a fascinating chapter about the illegal English translation from the 1960s.
If all goes to plan, “Woodworking in Estonia” will go to press at the end of June and be out the first week in August. It’s going to be about 300 pages and have a retail price in the neighborhood of $47. I’m afraid we do not have the digital rights for this book so there will not be a pdf version.
So I get to take the rest of the year off….
Not really. I’m hard at work on revising my book “Handplane Essentials” for Popular Woodworking Magazine and writing “Roman Workbenches.” Maybe I’ll take that vacation next June.
Some sample pages from “Skyring’s Builder’s Prices” (1833). Price books such as Skyring were the main guide for labor and materials costs for joiners, carpenters and others in the building trades.
England, 1839. Victoria has just become Queen of England (1837) and was about to marry Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. The Industrial Revolution had begun changing the lifeblood of England. New ways of manufacturing iron and steel arose, changing everything. Factories and mass production began replacing the small craft shop. The woodworking industries were also beginning to change, and “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker” was first published.
In 1839, the craft trades were highly differentiated. Specialization allowed speed – which was critical for commercial success. It’s a mistake to assume that the factories of the early 19th century produced low-cost goods because of mechanization. While that was partially true, the real cost savings came from division of labor and specialization. Most crafts people did highly specialized work. A razor grinder in Sheffield, for example, needed considerable skill to freehand-grind straight razors so that they were thin and flexible, without drawing the steel’s temper (softening the steel through excess heat). But that’s all the razor grinder did. Someone else, equally skilled, would forge the blanks; someone else would make the handles. In these factory-like situations, craftspeople were paid by piecework. In many cases, complicated documents were written that specified exactly what each sub-craft did and how much was paid for the work. In the case of furniture, the chairmaking industry in England was centered in High Wycombe, where they made nothing but chairs in a factory system of highly divided skills and a complicated piecework formula. In 1872, the High Wycombe chairmakers had a printed list of prices detailing charges for more than 250 different processes (of which only one was a process using machines for assistance) divided over about nine or 10 distinct trades. It would have been difficult for a local craftsperson to compete on a lower-priced chair for an occasional customer when a group of specialists did nothing but make cheap chairs by hand, all day, every day.
The job of the joiner varied depending on where he lived. In urban areas, joiners were carpenters who specialized in finish carpentry, built-in furniture, windows, doors and any other trim that was made on-site. Ideally, joiners did their preparation work in a workshop but then moved the parts to the job site for installation and finishing. Even within the basic job description of “joiner,” some would specialize in making windows, some on doors, and others focused on mouldings and trim. Stair making was the most complex area of joinery, and these specialists were used for all except the simplest of staircases.
A cabinet maker was a person who made free-standing furniture, usually of a fancy, custom nature. The cabinet maker would do only the joinery and casework. Turnings, carvings, inlay and other details were done by other specialists. In rural regions, small cities and towns (where it is implied that Thomas, the hero of the book, does his apprenticeship), there wouldn’t have been a work demand to sustain completely separate trades. There, a joiner would be called on to do a range of work, from finish carpentry to rough furniture to fine work – anything that required working in wood. But in large cities such as London, everyone specialized.
In “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker,” Thomas is called on to make everything from a rough shipping box to a fine dresser. But it should be realized that Thomas really doesn’t learn how to do the finest work, with lots of inlay or carving, because typically there would not have been the demand for that in rural areas. If someone wealthy in the hamlet wanted to commission such a piece, he or she would go to a shop in a major city where they had the specialists. By the same token, an average middle-class person in his area, say a farmer, would have been happy to hire Thomas’s shop to fit out a barn or make a door, but would have purchased mundane items such as chairs by buying them mass-produced and ready-made, in the latest style, shipped via railroad or one of the canals that covered the country, from the great chairmaking city of High Wycombe. There is no mention of a lathe in the shop in “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker,” and in the few places where turned work is mentioned, the text implies that the work would have been either bought finished as a stock item or jobbed out to a local turner.
In this last post on misericords there are carpenters, benches, axe men, one holdfast, one really old misericord, a measured drawing (!) and rabbets rabbits.
One of the fascinating things about misericords is how the craftsman chose to position his subject on these tricky pie-shaped hunks of wood. In the example at the top the viewer is looking into a small shop created under the bracket. By placing the carpenter behind the bench the details of the bench can clearly be seen.
Late 16th c., Church of St.-Andre, Besse-et-Saint Anastaise, France.
This older misericord with more wear and tear was done by a lesser-skilled hand. Although the carver has given dimension to the bench it is awkwardly angled outward and the carpenter’s head has been twisted almost 180 degrees (ouch).
Late 16th c., Church of St.-Andre, Besse -et-Saint Anastaise, France.
From the same church and by the same carver here’s another odd angle but a much happier carpenter.
Early 16th c., Abbey Church, Noyers, France.
The same idea as the previous two misericords but with a loss of perspective and dimension for the bench. Despite the varying levels of skill in the carvers there was still an effort to show details of the bench, to show the carpenter actually working, and however awkward, to show their faces to the viewer.
16th c., Chirch of St.-Germain, Ormes, France.
Seen from two slightly different angles the carver attempted a bird’s- eye view.
16th c., Church of St.-Germain, Soisy-et-sous-Montmorency, France. Restoration was done in the 1980s.
Although portions are missing the carver provided a dimensional bench and good body position with wonderful detail. The vanishing-point perspective of the floor adds nice depth to the scene.
Bas-relief on a choir stall 1449-1465, restoration (or recreation) 1862-1872. North side of Cathedral of Saint-Claude, Jura, France.
The bas-relief in the Cathedral of Saint-Claude is the only carving showing a holdfast and with a 15th century date it was important to get more information on its history and the original artist. Without the holdfast this example would have been included in the blog post depicting misericord carvers.
Jehan de Vitry of Geneva worked on the choir stalls of Saint-Claude for 15 years, finishing them in 1465. The choir stalls were massive with two sections, each 15 meters long, and backed by a series of tall panels carved in bas-relief. As churches were expanded, or as happened during the Reformation cleared out, a common fate for choir stalls was rearrangement, relocation to another church, or sold for profit. In 1768 the choir stalls of Saint-Claude were cut down, rearranged and covered in ochre paint.
After 400 years heavy restoration was needed, especially for the misericords. From 1869-1875 restoration was done and another rearrangement. The choir stalls were put on the north and south sides of the choir and nave. This rearrangement resulted in some “excess” pieces that were sold off to collectors. Some of those pieces now reside in the Louvre and the Victoria & Albert Museum.
Enlargement of the Saint-Claude carpenter with holdfast.
One of the sculptors involved in the 19th century restoration was Alexis Girardet and although the records are not clear it is thought he carved the carpenter with the bench and holdfast. I could not confirm if he reproduced a damaged carving or if this is his own design. I suspect it is his own design because if you look closely at the front left edge of the workbench you will see the initials A. G. To my eye there are some style differences compared to the other bas-reliefs on the inside “walls” of the stalls and no other works had the carver’s initials. So, no 15th century holdfast. Bummer.
But on a brighter note we know when the trees were cut down for the original 15th century construction of the choir stalls. A dendrology study done in the 1980s revealed the trees were cut down in the autumn of 1445 or the winter of 1446.
The troubles for the choir stalls at Saint-Claude continued. On September 26, 1983 there was a fire and the 22 choir stalls on the south side were destroyed. As Saint-Claude is considered a French national monument, photographs on record before the fire were used by an atelier commissioned to recreate the south-side choir stalls.
You may have seen this drawing used in presentations on carpenter’s guilds or with an description from the 19th century: “Carpenter’s apprentice working on a trial piece.” The original is a 15th century misericord from Rouen, France.
1457-1470, Notre-Dame Cathedral, Rouen, France.
There are photos of this misericord with a conservation-style repair to the bracket (I don’t know which is the more recent photo). Two other Rouen misericords are carvers and they have similar body positions which I am now calling “Downward Carpenter.”
One of the oldest, if not the oldest, misericords in Great Britain is in St. Mary the Virgin Church in Hemingbrough. It is dated around 1200, the Early English period.
Top: Last and oldest misericord, dated 1200. Bottom left: measured drawing of choir stall. Bottom right: last remaining choir stalls (back row). St. Mary the Virgin Church, Hemingbrough, England.
The open-work of the Hemingbrough misericord is quite different from most misericords. It is easy to see how this early example would be more prone to damage and given the age, more susceptible to theft.
How much is a “used” misericord worth these days?
Misericord from an auction site.
This misericord is dated around 1450 and is of either English or Flemish origin. Although it is very worn and damaged the auction estimate was $2000 to $4000 (USD) and it sold for close to $8500.
In the gallery in one more (partial) workbench, the axe men and a few other bits.
–Suzanne Ellison
16th c., Church of Saint-Armand-sur-Ornain, France. Restored in 1984.
15th c., St Ouen Church, Routot, France.
Noah’s Ark, 1470, St. David’s Cathedral, Wales.
A calendar misericord, “February”, 15th c., St. Mary Church, Ripple, Great Britain.
15th c., St. Mary’s Priory, Old Malton, Great Britain.
Chasing a log or a sausage, 1520, Beverley Minster, Great Britain.
Example of an “erased” misericord.
Axe, 1499-1501, Church of St.-Etienne, Moudon, Switzerland.
Griffin chasing rabbits. 1489-1494, Ripon Minster, England. Charles Dodgson lived in Ripon and some think he may have gotten his idea for the White Rabbit in “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” from this misericord.
We’ve had several questions from readers about this. Why do some people strop and some people don’t? Should we all be stropping? Is stropping outdated? Is it fayrie majik?
Stropping is simple. It’s the polishing of an edge with an abrasive that’s about 1 micron in size. Nothing more.
It’s the same as polishing an edge with a Japanese waterstone that is about #8,000 grit or #10,000 grit. Those stones have an abrasive particle that’s in the neighborhood of 1 micron in size.
(Don’t believe me? Here you can see the Lee Valley Honing Compound is rated for 0.5 micron. And here you can see a Shapton #30,000 grit stone is rated at 0.49 micron. In my experience, neither does a particularly better job than a 1 micron or 1.5 micron surface. Why? Because of the real world.)
So if you sharpen to #10,000 grit and then strop, I would argue that you are doing no harm, but you probably aren’t helping things much – other than extending your break from real work.
Why does stropping exist?
Until the introduction of fine waterstones, natural sharpening stones, such as oilstones, couldn’t polish an edge past a certain point – about #4,000 grit was typical (using the Japanese waterstone system for comparison). So the strop was the way to get the extra polish that makes the edge last a little longer.
Though I use Japanese waterstones a lot, I also have a strop. Why? For carving. With carving tools, I am constantly touching up the edge with a strop to keep the bevel shiny, smooth and keen. (Stoning odd shapes is a drag, so I try to put it off as long as possible.) A strop is an easier way to do this than having a wet waterstone at the bench. Also, a flexible piece of leather charged with honing compound makes it easy to polish up gouges and the like.
So strop. Or don’t. Just know that it’s part of a Western tool tradition and makes total sense with oilstones. With Japanese waterstones, the strop might be superfluous.
Rose hip, oak leaves and acorns, sweet briar rose (eglantine) and sunflower. “With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine…”
Many English misericords have a central carving with a ‘surround’ to either side. The surround may have additonal figures that add to the central theme or they may be purely decorative. Maybe because it is May and I want to be in the garden I’ve been plucking the blooms from the foliate surrounds and trying to identify some of the flowers.
For the carver, beginner or advanced, here is your misericord flower and foliage inspiration board.
Wyvern (dragon) with foliage surrounds, early 16th c., Manchester Cathedral.
The flowers to each side of the wyvern could be woodbine, also known as honeysuckle. “Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine…”
More oak leaves, thistle, dianthus, wild rose, maybe an iris, stylized flowers.
Ivy? Thistle? Clover? Beech leaves and nuts, rabbit.
Rose hip and Tudor rose in the center…this could take a while.
Rose hip, oak leaves and acorns, sweet briar rose (eglantine) and sunflower. “With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine…”
More oak leaves, thistle, dianthus, wild rose, maybe an iris, stylized flowers.
