I don’t sleep as well when I have French workbench in pieces in my shop. Even a little wood movement in the joints can make assembly a bear, or at least a ticked-off warthog.
Yesterday I fit the legs in their mortises. Today I got everything major assembled. Some specs for the curious:
The base is drawbored with 5/8” hickory dowel stock. The drawbore offset was a strong 1/8”, and I drove the pins in with a sledge.
All the joints are strengthened by Titebond Liquid Hide Glue.
This bench is 9’ long – the most common size called out in “l’Art du menuisier.” It’s more than a 1’ longer than my bench but seems a lot longer.
Height is about 31”, as per the customer’s request. A nice height – almost as nice as 38”.
Benchtop depth is 21”, one of my favorite depths.
Next comes the fun part. This customer asked for the full-on Plate 11 treatment. So it’s getting two Peter Ross holdfasts, the fully joined tongue-and-groove shelf, Peter Ross planing stop and iron bits for the vise, a dovetailed drawer, swing-out grease pot and tool rack at the back.
This will be the closest full-on Plate 11 bench I’ve yet built. The next closest thing involves a time travel machine, which Stumpy Nubs is currently fabricating on an X-carve in Baltic birch.
Each time “The Book of Plates” is mentioned I pull out my copy, flip through the pages and find something new to study. Last year I had a lot of fun creating artwork using details from BoP. There was a “rabbiting” plane, a thieving crow and a dinner plate to name a few Roubo-inspired creations.
Roubo very kindly included several plates on staircase design and construction. He gave us straights, spirals and curves with each detail connecting to the next, helping us visualize the whole.
Like many travelers I want to climb and photograph staircases. Some are marvels of construction and seem to defy gravity. Others are my nemesis with risers too low or high, too dark, no handrail. Whether floating or falling down, a grand staircase is great for a dramatic entrance. A spiral staircase in a small apartment is like having your own floor-to-ceiling sculpture.
We need well-designed staircases (and their cousins, the ladders) to move us up and down in our worlds. A solid set of steps is satisfying whereas an unsteady stairway can be terrifying. The light at the top of the stairs is reassuring; the darkness at the bottom is to be avoided. Designed by Roubo, or others, we all tumble down stairs from time to time with alcohol, cats, verigo, or more cats the usual culprits. My father once observed that my mother and I seemed to be more prone to falling up stairs to which we replied, “It was a trip, just a trip! There was no falling!”
Roubo’s staircases are in Plates 162 through 170. Plate 164 is a particular favorite of mine. By following the connecting lines the builder can see and understand, from top to bottom, the construction of these stairs. As with all of Roubo’s plates considerable thought and artistic ability went into its planning and execution. We need stairs and Roubo gave us some beauties.
I’ve always thought the painting “Staircase, Doylestown” and a couple of lines from a Thackeray poem made a perfect pair. Now, I think Roubo’s “Staircase, Plate 164” partners equally well with these lines from “The Cane Bottom’d Chair”:
“Away from the world and its toils and cares,
I’ve a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs”.
“Staircase, Doylestown” (1925) by Charles Sheeler, Jr.
While those scamps, Chris and John, are on their way to Georgia for the French Oak Roubo Project-Part Deux (and we wait for their daily updates) let’s take a look at a few stained glass tributes to woodworkers.
In the Cathedral at Chartes there are 13th century jewel-like scenes of carpenters, a wheelwright and a cooper working away on biblical constructions.
Chartes Cathedral.
Woodworkers of the biblical kind are fairly easy to find in stone, mosaic and stained glass. But what about the modern craftsmen? Where are they in the stained glass world? I found a few.
Maryhill Burgh Halls, 1878, Glasgow, Scotland.
The Maryhill woodworkers are one of twenty panels depicting a variety of trades and industries. The artist is Stephen Adams.
St. Nicholas Church, 1997, Potterspury, Northamptonshire, England.
The Potterspury window was designed by Chris Fiddes and made by Nicholas Bechgaard.
St. Lawrence Jewry-Next-Guildhall, est. 1957, London.
This section is from the Wren Window. Christopher Wren rebuilt the church after the Great Fire of London. The church was struck during the Blitz and rebuilt again after World War II. The artist is Bill Forbes.
St. Mary Isleworth, 1954, London.
This last window is by Thomas Derrick and is my favorite. The craftsman is positioned on his own small island and we look in on him as though through a skylight. He works away undisturbed and serene. His myriad tools frame him and his life’s work.
In each window the stained glass artists are honoring their fellow craftsmen that have helped build and maintain the local churches, town halls and guildhalls. The windows help record the history of place and craft. And although each window shows just one or two men, they stand in for all woodworkers.
Sometimes a tribute is a small plaque on a wall and sometimes the tribute, the thanks for your skill and hard work, takes the form of a gorgeous glowing window.
In late October 1716 Jacob Arend, a journeyman cabinetmaker, was 28 years old and at a crossroads. He and his fellow journeyman, Johannes Witthalm, had recently finished work on a writing cabinet. They both worked for Servacius Arend, Jacob’s older brother and the cabinetmaker to the court of Würzburg in Germany. The writing cabinet was a masterpiece but Jacob felt the need to write a letter and conceal it in the cabinet. He made sure it would not be easily found and he was very successful in this endeavor. The letter was not found until December 1967 and it wasn’t until 2014 that the letter was translated and studied.
City of Würzburg
Before examining the letter let’s take a look at the last piece Jacob and Johannes made in the Würzburg workshop. The writing cabinet is a Baroque behemouth bursting with curved surfaces and marquetry. The cabinet is almost 71 inches high (180 cm), 65 inches wide (165 cm) and the depth is almost 31 inches (78 cm). It appears to be in three pieces but is actually in two pieces. The writing cabinet was made for Jacob Gallus von Hohlach. The double doors of the top section bear von Holhlach’s arms and the writing flap his cypher — JEALUS JACOB.
Cabinet with writing flap open.
The carcase is pine with veneering in walnut. Marquetry woods are burr walnut, sycamore, tulipwood, boxwood, ebonized and stained woods; other materials include ivory, bone, turtle shell, pewter and brass. The cypher of von Hohlach is laid into snakewood. The drawers are lined with embossed decorative papers; cupboards are lined with red silk.
Marquetry of Jacob Gallus von Hohlach’s arms.
Some time after the writing cabinet was finished Jacob Arend wrote his letter filling both sides of one piece of paper. The letter was put in a recess under the lower right hand drawer; the drawer can be seen when the writing flap is open. Secret compartments were not a novelty in 18th-century furniture but Jacob took the additional measure of gluing down the two pieces of wood that protected his hiding place.
Left: the base of the lower right-hand drawer. Right: the hiding place.
The writing cabinet and Jacob’s letter are in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum. This translation is provided by the V&A.
“This cabinet was made by Jacob Arend of Koblenz and Johannes Witthalm of Vienna, who are at present journeymen cabinetmakers in the service of Master Servacius Arend, court cabinetmaker in Würzburg. It was made in the year 1716, when cabbage and peas often were the best meal we could obtain. As a result we have grown so fat that we can hardly climb the stairs any more, but meat has been in very short supply for us, God pity us. There was seldom warm bread in our kitchen, but the wine has always tasted good; when we have earned one week’s wage, two have already been drunk, for wine has become dear this year with the vintage having been poor the last four years. This year there has also been a great war in Hungary against the Turks.”
On the back of the page:
“I, Jacob Arend, invented this cabinet in my own mind and have drafted it all and marked it out. I have cut it [the marquetry] with a fret-saw and shaded it. This was done in the Sander quarter, near Korn Gasse by the river Main. But neither of us will be staying here much longer. This cabinet has been completed in the winter month[s], and we would like to go elsewhere, for little meat and a great deal of cabbage and turnips have driven us out of Würzburg. We ask him who finds this note to drink our health and if we are no longer living then, may God grant us eternal rest and salvation. This 22nd day of October in the year 1716.”
Jacob’s letter gives us a window into a workshop capable of producing a writing cabinet using materials from at least three continents while the craftsmen were living in very straitened circumstances. The contrast between the rich details and opulence of the cabinet and the makers’ steady diet of cabbage and peas is startling. Jacob was working in his brother’s court-appointed workshop, which probably gave him some level of security, but had reached a point of desperation. How had living conditions deteriorated to the extent he and Johannes decided they had to leave? Life traveling from town to town seeking work was not only dangerous there was also no guarantee they would find enough work and wages to survive.
In describing their diet and lack of bread and meat Jacob gives us a key to what had happened to their food supply. In the V&A analysis the harsh winter of 1714-15 was noted as having a dire impact on the following year’s harvest. I did my own investigation to learn more about the weather conditions.
Europe at that time was in a weather pattern called the Late Maunder Minimum (LMM) also known as “The Little Ice Age.” The winter of 1714-15 was very cold and dry and the beginning of a drought that would cause crop failures. There were also more instances of forest fires. With a shortage of grains, prices were raised, farmers could afford to feed fewer livestock and grains for bread and other foodstuffs became more scarce. Drought conditions caused water levels to drop and transport of goods, including lumber, became more difficult and costly. Jacob mentions the poor grape harvest the last four years (and increased price of wine) indicating an extended period of poor crop yields. Jacob writes in a joking manner, “…we have grown so fat that we can hardly climb the stairs any more.” The V&A analysis indicated the term fat may mean bloating from the diet of cabbage and peas or could be the much more serious symptom of prolonged starvation. In the German text there is some ambiguity on whether Jacob had written about the lack of ‘broden’ (bread) or ‘braden’ (roast meat). If they were at the point of a scarcity of bread their level of hunger was more severe.
An additional factor adding instability to the region was another war with Ottoman forces. European forces led by Prince Eugene of Savoy won the Battle of Peterwardein in August 1716. The recipient of the fancy cabinet (von Hohlach) supplied troops and supplies to Prince Eugene and this likely caused an additional drain on local resources.
Based on the workmanship in the writing cabinet and the fact that Jacob was from Koblentz it is thought he may have trained in Mainz (further up the river Main). As journeymen Jacob and Johannes probably had some familiarity with the conditions and dangers they would face once they became itinerant craftsmen. Besides the hunger they were suffering, I wonder if the workshop had already experienced a significant decrease in the quantity of work coming in. Also, Jacob was a bachelor and may have thought about how he could reduce the economic burden on his brother’s family. One or two less mouths to feed could certainly make a difference.
With the writing cabinet completed and the decision made to leave the shop, Jacob wrote his “message in a bottle.” I don’t see any great mystery on why he wrote his letter and why he hid it. The workshop had endured months of growing hunger while building a magnificent monster. Facing an extremely difficult and perilous future Jacob was saying “I was here and I made this!” The cabinet was his design; he worked on the marquetry and the veneer. He was proud of the cabinet while at the same time very aware that it might be the last piece he would ever make. As a journeyman this was the only way he had of signing his work. Jacob built the cabinet with his talent and sweat and with the letter he was adding one last and very personal part of himself to the piece. He wanted to be remembered.
So what happened to the two journeymen? There is no other record of Johannes Witthalm. Ten years after leaving Würzburg Jacob Arend was appointed cabinetmaker at the court of Fulda and in 1744 he died at age 56. Two years later his son, Carl Philip, was appointed cabinetmaker to the court at Fulda.
City of Fulda
The owner of the Würzburg writing cabinet, von Hohlach, was booted out of his position not long after the cabinet was completed. The cabinet and other court furniture were sold to England early in the 19th century when Würzburg became part of Bavaria. The last English owners were the Gibbons. The cabinet is in the background of the 1846 painting “The Shell” by Charles Robert Leslie (commissioned by John Gibbons). On December 26, 1967 two young Gibbons boys were searching for secret compartments and found Jacob Arend’s letter. The cabinet was loaned to the V&A in 1968 and sold to the museum in 1977.
–Suzanne Ellison
Von Hohlach’s cypher on open writing flap.
Marquetry at top most section, left side.
“The Shell” painting, 1846, writing cabinet in background.
Although Henry Lapp’s craftsmanship was long celebrated in his Amish community, it wasn’t until the 1970s that he was “discovered”. Prior to an auction of a scrapbook of small paintings (found by a collector in the 1920s) an exhibit of his art work was held and a new folk artist had arrived. In 1975 a facsimile edition of his handbook of designs for furniture and household items was published by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the work of a 19th century craftsmen was found.
Henry’s handbook came to light in the 1950s when a descendant sold a bureau he had made to a dealer. Inside one of the drawers was a 4-1/2″ x 8″ softcover book with Henry’s stamp on the cover. In 1958 the handbook was donated to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Henry Lapp’s Handbook
The handbook is filled with Henry’s drawings of chests, washstands, desks, boxes, games and toys and a variety of items for use on the farm and in the home. Henry painted each piece in bright colors and often with painted patterns. The handbook was his commercial catalog showing the wide range of goods he could make for his customers. The image above is a great example of the furniture and household items he offered, as well as the exuberance of his color combinations. There is absolutely no reason the boxes used for gathering fruits and vegetables can’t be yellow and green, or for that matter, purple and green. Do you need a seed cabinet? How about a nice orange and yellow combination? A little wagon in red? Let me show you one in green.
Henry Lapp was born in 1862 in Leacock Township, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and was fifth-generation Old Order Amish. He was born deaf and at least partially mute. Based on the number of his paintings that have surfaced in the last 30-40 years he seems to have drawn and painted from an early age. He was not alone in his artist takents. Besides raising a large family his mother was known as a gifted textile artist and his sister was also a painter. We don’t know for sure if Henry learned his trade from his father or was apprenticed to a carpenter or cabinetmaker. In the 1890 local business directory he was listed as a carpenter; six years later he was listed as a cabinetmaker.
In 1884 Henry’s father, Michael, died. Several years later his mother remarried and within a short time Henry bought about 10 acres of land from his step-brother. His property was right along the Philadelphia Pike in Bird-in-Hand where he built a house, a carriage barn and a cabinet shop. At the front of his shop he had a store for hardware and paint. Eventually he added a windmill to the top of his shop to provide power for his saws and lathes. In an interview for an article in Folk Art Magazine a family member said if Henry was at a social gathering and happened to notice a rise in the wind he would leave and go to his shop to cut lumber.
Henry was known to be friendly and outgoing and liked to travel to visit friends and relatives in Amish communities in Indiana, Ohio and Canada. He made trips to Philadelphia to take his pieces to market and to restock items for his hardware store. He also picked up ideas to incorporate into his furniture designs. Beatrice B. Garvin curated the facsimile edition of Henry’s handbook and noted that his washstand designs were more typical of large urban houses. She also noted the carrot-shaped foot and bulbous rounded foot on some of his pieces were variations of models made in mahogany and rosewood by Philadelphia cabinetmakers. Henry’s flat areas of color were more typical of Welsh settlers east of Lancaster County rather then the painted figures of the old Germanic tradition.
Henry’s paintings included animals, plants, flowers and reproductions of advertisements. His reproduction of an old campaign flyer for the 1868 presidential campaign shows his love of color and eye for detail. By making a quilt of the eagle’s feathers he added color and impact. I think he was also having some fun.
On the other hand, his study of deer is a quiet observation of nature with varying shades of brown paint helping to differentiate each animal (and the antlers and ears of the buck).
Of the many items Henry offered for sale a few pieces are my favorites: an eggbeater, bread toasters, an apparatus for washing day (otherwise known as a laundry rack), a choice of ladders in yellow or green and his wheelbarrows. There is also a bit of whimsey in his page showing a variety of picture frames. Henry painted some pictures in a few of the frames.
Henry was also an inventor. In February 1899 he was issued a patent for an improved shutter bolt to better secure the heavy wooden shutters commonly found on homes.
In 1904, about six weeks before his 42nd birthday, Henry died of lead poisoning from exposure to the paints he mixed. Because he never married his estate was auctioned. An inventory of his shop included chests with woodworking tools, circular saws, a mortise cutter, mortising jack, molding machine, 2 grinding stones, lumber and supplies. Henry’s apprentice, Noah Zook, bought much of the shop equipment and furniture patterns and opened his own shop a few miles down Philadelphia Pike.
A few years ago I was introduced to Henry’s handbook by a coworker from the Lancaster County area: “You don’t know Henry? You have to have a copy of his book!” Chris Schwarz knew Henry’s artwork but wasn’t aware of his furniture handbook. If you don’t know Henry he is waiting for you to discover him and his world. I don’t think you will be disappointed. After all, the slogan above the entrance to Henry’s store was “There is none that equals.”
–Suzanne Ellison
P.S. The gallery has a selection of Henry’s work. If you want more, the Philadelphia Museum of art has all 47 pages of Henry’s handbook online here. Copies of “A Craftsman’s Handbook” published by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and Tinicum Press are still available (watch out for gougers). This facsimile edition includes short notes on each piece by curator Beatrice Garvan. Good Reads, a small publisher in Lancaster County, also published a softcover edition.
