The following is excerpted from “Slöjd in Wood,” by Jögge Sundqvist. The book begins with teaching you how to make a butter knife – a useful object that requires just a knife, boiling water and paint to make it – that will begin to unlock the world of slöjd for you.
You will then learn to make bowls, a sheath for your knife, spoons, a place to hang your clothes, cutting boards and so many more things. In the end, you will look up into the branches of the trees around your home and see the things you need.
“Slöjd in Wood” is the first English translation of Jögge’s classic Swedish book. It’s a gorgeous peek into a work that is dominated by saturated colors, crisp bevels and handmade work.
In addition to introducing you to the pieces you can make for your home, Jögge shows you how to grip the knife to produce the cuts shown in the book safely and efficiently. And shows you how to replicate the deep colors on your pieces that are positively mesmerizing. (The color photos shown here are just some of the projects from the book.)
Pigment I use oil paint because I am inspired by traditional objects from the 18th and 19th centuries, which often were painted. The makers used a very limited range of pigments.
Some color pigments have been used for thousands of years and are made from soil, minerals and plant material; umbers and ochres in nuances from dark brown to yellow and red. White soil types and limestone gave us white colors and soot gave us black. Red cinnabar, green earth, mineral green, lapis lazuli and ultramarine came from the minerals. Van Dyke brown, madder lake, indigo, saffron, gamboge and dragon’s blood came from plants. Indian yellow was taken from the urine of cattle, purple from the Murex shellfish and ink from the octopus and squid. White lead, red lead and the copper color verdigris were produced a long time ago. Chrome yellow, cobalt green and Prussian blue came about in the 18th century.
In the 19th century, many colors were developed – cadmium yellow, chrome oxide green, cobalt blue, synthetic ultramarine.
All pigments have different properties such as transparency, oil absorption and drying time that you must take into consideration.
Add a small amount of boiled linseed oil to the artist’s oil paint until you get the consistency of liquid yogurt to facilitate painting.
Shrink boxes of aspen and birch. “Ah,” Marble cup,” “The Queen,” “Heart tulip” with a sliding lid, sugar container.
Linseed Oil Linseed oil is a byproduct of flax cultivation. Oil can be pressed from the seeds and the rest used as animal feed. Linseed oil oxidizes and once it is thoroughly dried, leaves a tough film that protects the surface. This property proved useful when the oil was mixed with a pigment. I use boiled linseed oil in combination with pigments because it generally dries faster than raw linseed oil, in one to three days. I avoid the brands that contain toxic drying agents such as oxides and heavy metals.
For unpainted wooden surfaces that need finishing, I use raw, cold-pressed, sun-oxidized linseed oil (food-grade raw linseed oil is sold in the U.S. as flaxseed oil). It penetrates more easily and doesn’t yellow as much as the boiled linseed oil. Drying time varies, usually one week for surface drying and up to eight weeks to be completely oxidized in the wood.
Dispose of oily rags properly. In Sweden we burn rags or soak them in water and put them in a sealed plastic bag. The oxidization process produces heat, so spontaneous combustion of rags or paper is a danger. In the U.S., the accepted practice is to spread them out and hang them to dry. When they are fully dry, throw them away in a lidded, metal trashcan.
Paint is made up of two elements: pigment and the binding agent. The pigment gives the color. The binding agent fixes the pigment to the surface making it durable, creating luster and enhancing the color. Each combination has unique tone, opacity and drying properties.
Painting with Linseed Oil The pigment must be carefully mixed with the binding agent for the oil paint to avoid becoming grainy and uneven. Historically, the pigment was ground with the linseed oil using a flat stone and a glass muller, or in a mortar. The artist’s oil paint we buy in tubes today is ground between rollers under high pressure in a mill, mixing linseed oil in proportion to the oil absorption of the pigments. This is practical and time-saving, and gives a very smooth result.
Apply finish in a thin layer. Thin the tube paint with boiled linseed oil until it has the consistency of liquid yogurt. Then it is easily applied directly on the wood without priming.
Add oil little by little. Different pigments require different amounts of oil, so experiment on a sample piece of wood. You will find that you need a relatively small amount of paint to cover well.
The paint should be a satin finish when it has dried for one to three days. Too much oil gives an uneven, patchy surface that becomes glossy when it dries. Too little oil is hard to spread out and leaves a dry, matte surface with less protection.
If you want total coverage and a glossy finish, apply the paint in several thin layers, leaving drying time between layers.
Birch stools, “Bowling” and “Button.”
Drying time varies between pigments. Earth colors are quick-drying in general. For example, add a pinch of raw umber to titanium white or bone black to speed up the drying process. You can also add a few drops of the drying agent siccative, but it is toxic and it weakens the paint.
Pigments have different opacity characteristics. For example, you often mix titanium white for coverage with zinc white, which has better drying properties. This is called “mixed white.”
You can thin the paint with turpentine to make it easier to apply and faster to dry. Add the turpentine by drops with a pipette. Too much turpentine harms the binding qualities of the linseed oil and it is toxic. Use only in well-ventilated areas.
Always test the paint on a sample of the same type of wood and surface that you will use. Color choices are always a delicate balance between saturation level, blackness, whiteness, tone and transparency. Test samples will also give you an idea of the drying time. The best way to ensure a thin, even coat is to work first across the grain, then with the grain. Synthetic brushes give a good result.
Rosalind Cuthbert’s “The Oil Painter’s Pocket Palette” (North Light) has color-mixing charts to help you achieve any color or value you want. Mix paint in small, air-tight containers so you can use the paint for several months. Remove the skin on the surface before you paint.
Dusk. Time to head out. The view from Terry’s front porch, looking out across the Cumberland foothills.
The following is excerpted from “Backwoods Chairmakers,” by Andrew D. Glenn. Part travelogue, part profile and part how-to, “Backwoods Chairmakers” explores the tradition of the enduring Appalachian ladderback form. Glenn takes you inside the shops of more than 20 makers, with photos and personal interviews about their lives and techniques.
Then, Glenn shows you how to make a post-and-rung side chair and rocking chair using the traditional techniques explored in the book.
“I think it was a lack of choice when I was young. This was successful enough, you just keep doing it, but you’re always looking for something better. One day you just realize, ‘I don’t want nothing better.’ That usually comes later in your life.” — Randy Ogle
I had mixed emotions while pulling away from Terry Ratliff’s place for the last time. The day had been filled with laughter and insight, as with each time I traveled out his way. Yet in returning his photo album, I’d removed the necessity for another visit. During this project, the path between our places had grown familiar. I’d gotten better at traversing Terry’s drive, and at this point I knew he’d be able to fix the Element even if I ran into trouble. And I was always interested in the chairs. Terry’s were some of my favorites.
As my travels came to an end, it was natural to weigh the state of affairs. I set out with a simple question in mind: Does the backwoods chairmaker still exist? I found a good deal more makers than I expected.
Chez, one of Mark Newberry’s horses, grazes outside the workshop at Newberry & Sons Chairs.
I was welcomed into the shop by experienced makers, many in the twilight of their chairmaking years. Most had more making behind them than in the future. Each of them, in one way or another, did their part to encourage the next generation.
Will that next generation take hold? That seems to be the question. Yet it’s too soon to say. The chairmakers have done their part. They’ve planted seeds. It’s now the germination and waiting stage of the process. We all must wait to see what comes next. There is potential for a full yield of chairmakers.
I initially felt daunted by the results. Sure there are a few makers still at it, but the field of Appalachian chairmaking is smaller than in the past.
Along this journey I’d come to a false conclusion about how makers came into the field. I bundled folks into two groups: 1) generational or a family line of makers and 2) new makers joining the field. It seemed right. Terry was new, as was Brian Boggs and Lyle Wheeler. Randy Ogle, Mark Newberry and Cecil Patrick passed along a generational line. But this framework is wrong.
This dichotomy and labeling, which I tried to tamp down, led me astray. For each maker chose this life. They weighed it and decided upon it. First generation or fifth, each made a choice.
A cat takes a nap on Mason Alexander’s planer.
Then I thought of conversations with Terry and his desire to make something with his hands. His desire to step outside the machinery of the industrial economy. And with more thought, I came to share in Terry’s optimism in the future of Appalachian chairmaking. He said:
You get isolated. People talk about the Covid being in isolation, well I’ve been in isolation before that. Working for myself, working here in the home studio and staying home. It was great to go to shows to be around sort of peers, people who live similar lifestyles or totally different ones, but they’ve chosen an art form that they want to pursue. The most changes in the last year was that all being taken away. Forty years ago to go to a craft show and see a shaving horse was kind of a novel thing. To see a craft show going on and find a shaving horse where somebody was splitting out wood and riving wood and working greenwood and I think there’s a little bit more of that now. It’s still not taking over the whole economy or anything, it’s just a few people, a very few people that are into it. Of those, I don’t know how many are hand tools or old-time technology and how many of them are using lathes and mic-ing things down to the thousandths. But it seems like there are. In a survey, in looking around, and getting what we have now, the media, the electronic media, you can find people, can find folks doing shaving horse work. And before the Covid you could go to shows, there would be folks there doing greenwood joinery, greenwood techniques with shaving horses, drawknives and hand tools. More so than when I first started in ’79-’80, along in there.
It’s not in my stock-in-trade anymore, and even before the pandemic I had cut down the number of shows I participated in. Pretty selective on what I put my energy I put into. So, I’m not out there mixing it up so much in the community. But when I look on Etsy, I see some work that people are doing, putting out there and marketing. Using a lot of hand tools, greenwood, a lot of hand work, spokeshave work.
Societal shifts brought about the rise and fall of Appalachian chairmakers. Local communities needed chairs, and the local chairmaker filled that need. When communities purchased manufactured goods made afar, the chairmakers began to dwindle in number.
Communities no longer need chairmakers. Chairs are available with the push of a button, delivered to your doorstep. Factories make elaborate chairs, using the help of computer design and computer-assisted machinery, with less effort than an individual chairmaker requires.
Mason and Orpha Lee Alexander weave a seat together in their living room.
Chairmaking swims against that tide. The attributes of chairmaking, the inspired creativity, the craftperson’s life, the physical work, being close to the material, residing within a place and a tradition, the opportunity for artistic expression, the ability to start making with low overhead and a few tools, the opportunity to work from home, and the possibilities of working alongside family (to name but a few) are all relevant and enticing. In this way chairmaking is not anachronistic but the pursuit of something different. It is a considered and deliberate way of life. A life lived intentionally.
I’m optimistic that others will choose this path as well, with more beautiful chairs added to the tradition. Appalachian chairmaking remains, with its hand extended toward anyone interested.
Edwardian Hallstand, 2002. A spec piece in curly white oak, made in my workshop on a buffalo farm. The piece was later published in Fine Woodworking. Photo by Kendall Reeves, Spectrum Studio of Photography & Design (spectrumstudioinc.com)
Standing in contrast to James Krenov’s “The Impractical Cabinetmaker” from 1979, Hiller’s “Making Things Work” is not about waiting for a particular plank of wood to tell you its true purpose. It is not an exhortation to fuss over each detail, no matter the personal cost.
Instead, Hiller’s funny and occasionally ribald story is about a cabinetmaker who was trained to work at the highest level possible and how she has dealt with the personal anxiety that occurs when the desire and drive for excellence collides with paying the monthly bills.
1. On the importance of conjunctions.
A few years ago I met one of our town’s most respected figures: a husband and father who has held several elected public offices and devoted his career to the cause of social justice. As we shook hands he said, “I understand that your work is very good, but not very cheap.”
“But?” I wondered, biting my tongue.
2. The Value of Nothing, Part One: The Magician’s Act
Guy and Poppy were retired business professors who had traveled the world. And judging by what I saw as they showed me around their home during my first visit, they’d brought a good bit of it back home with them.
They had been referred to me by a contractor who assured them I’d be ideal for their project. “We just bought a reproduction of a piece of sculpture,” Poppy wrote in her introductory email.
The first photo shows the original swan at the S. Museum, and the second is the reproduction in the museum shop, just like the one we have. We need a stand to display the statue. Please give us a call if you’re interested in helping us with this.
It wasn’t the type of job I ordinarily do, but because they’d been referred to me by a contractor I like and respect, I called Poppy and arranged a meeting.
Their house was stunning: a classic of modernist style, inside and out – not that I would have guessed as I pulled up to the windowless façade, a gray stone rectangle apparently modeled on a freight container. But no sooner had I set foot inside than the scales dropped from my eyes. The other exterior walls were glass, spectacular in the house’s wooded setting.
Works of art filled the interior. Here a Coptic embroidery flanked by a pair of Yoruba masks, there a threesome of Warhol prints. A 16th-century Japanese screen formed a movable divider between the living room and the kitchen, itself a perfectly preserved marvel of original 1960s design. Clearly these people had excellent taste and understood the value of art and craft. I made myself a mental note to send the contractor a letter of thanks for the referral.
They showed me the swan, a plaster cast of the original statue carved in marble, and explained their ideas for how to display it.
“See how the neck has been extended in the reproduction so it sits square,” Guy pointed out. “The swan’s tail is on the same level as the neck. We’d like to have a base in which the swan’s chest sits down in-side, with the neck and head hanging over the edge, as in the original sculpture. Also, we don’t just want an empty box for a base. That would be a waste of space. We could really do with some additional storage. I was thinking perhaps a couple of compartments with doors. No visible hinges or pulls, though; we do want it to look like a base for a sculpture, not a cabinet. Maybe zebrawood? Oh, and if you could put it on hidden wheels, that would be wonderful; that way we can move it around on the carpet whenever we feel the need for a change of scenery. We’re getting a bit long in the tooth to be lifting heavy objects.” He glanced affectionately at his wife. “Aren’t we, Poppet?”
Poppy took me into the study and fired up her computer to show me photos of the original frieze of which the swan was a fragment. She found the folder of pictures from the trip and furrowed her brow in concentration as she scrolled through thumbnail images.
“We’re getting close now,” she assured me after what seemed an eternity. She clicked on an image to open it at full size. Suddenly the screen filled with a picture of a misshapen purple posterior that put me in mind of Barney, the PBS dinosaur. “Oh dear!” said Poppy, “Wrong picture. Hang on.” She clicked forward to another, this one leaving no doubt that the posterior in question was Guy’s. “Guy had a very unfortunate fall on the steps of our hotel,” she said matter of factly. I blushed. “I had to get photos for the insurance claim.” She clicked on. “Ah! Here we are.”
“We had a fellow at the university do some work for us last year,” she told me after closing the folder.
“He had every problem in the book: financial troubles, health troubles…. I think his great-uncle also died during our project. In any case, the small job he did for us took two full years. So you can understand we’re not too keen on asking him about this one.”
I took some measurements, made a few notes, and said goodbye. While driving back to the shop, I thought about the project. These people obviously had strong ideas about how the base for the sculpture should look and function, yet they knew my specialty was period-style furniture, not museum-worthy display cases. There would definitely need to be some back-and-forth discussion, which probably meant a couple more visits to their home, half an hour’s drive away from my office, in addition to the time I’d spend on research and drawing. And all for a very small job. Poppy’s mention of the fellow from the university was a little concerning. I’m familiar with the phenomenon of the full-time, full-benefits employee who avails him- or herself of institutional facilities after hours. Unburdened by trifles such as shop rent, insurance, and similar expenses that full-time business people have to cover, such moonlighters can do some serious undercutting when it comes to price. In doing so they perpetuate unrealistic notions of what it costs to make things, which often leads their customers to see us professionals as engaging in daylight robbery.
For a moment I felt myself falling into a familiar doom-portending spiral. Why must people ask me to pull a rabbit out of a hat? “Give us an estimate to design and build this thing. Sure, you have precious little to go on, we have no idea what such a thing should cost, and you under-stand that we want something that will knock our socks off, though of course, as retirees, we have to watch every penny. But you come highly recommended. We’re confident you can do it.”
I stopped myself. These were sophisticated people. “Just be straight with them,” I told myself. “Trust the process.”
Still, to hedge my bets, I thought it prudent to ask whether they had even the vaguest budget in mind. “Dear Guy and Poppy,” I wrote the night following our initial meeting.
“I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you and seeing your fabulous home. I was writing a formal proposal for your job when it occurred to me that I should ask whether you have a budget in mind. In cases where designing a custom piece is such an integral part of the work I am proposing, I cannot give a fixed price; there is too little information available at this stage. So I usually submit a design proposal based on my design rate of $75 per hour.
“However, if you have a budget in mind, please let me know, and I will take that into consideration as we go through the design process.”
To cover myself, I threw in an extra paragraph.
“Because I operate a full-time business on which my livelihood depends, and because I am using equipment and a facility for which I am 100 percent responsible, my charges for such work are likely to be higher than those of a person working at the university who can do the work using university-owned equipment, in his or her spare time. Apologies for this explanation. I hope it will be helpful.
“I am certainly interested in doing this work for you. If you would like to proceed, please let me know where, along the budget spectrum, you would like your job to land, and I will gladly write up a formal proposal.”
Two days later I received a reply. “Well, you have startled us a bit, Nancy,” Poppy wrote. “The higher price you’ve proposed is twice the price we paid for the piece itself, including the shipping, and that seems awfully high.”
I don’t know who ended up building the base for the swan.
3. The Value of Nothing, Part Two: Artistic License
6/3/11 3:35 PM Inquiry Dear Ms. Hiller, I have admired your quartersawn oak desk with inlaid bumble bees and am interested in possibly commissioning one like it. Will you please tell me what it would cost for such a desk with a top measuring 36″ by 60″? “Dr. X”
6/3/11 8:18 PM Re: Inquiry Dear Dr. X, Thank you for your inquiry. I designed and built the desk that you found on my website in 2004. The desk’s construction is traditional, using mortise-and-tenon and dovetail joinery, and the inlay is all done by hand. I keep detailed records of the labor and materials that go into every piece. Based on today’s material costs and my current shop rate, the desk would be $5,250 plus sales tax. Of course the design could be modified to suit whatever bud get you might have in mind.
I would be delighted to discuss this with you by phone or in person. Sincerely, Nancy Hiller
6/17/11 7:04 AM Following up Dear Dr. X, I am writing to confirm that you received my reply to your inquiry on June 3. Every so often I learn that an email message I sent was not received. I would be mortified if you thought that I had not responded promptly. Please will you let me know whether you received my message? Sincerely, Nancy
6/24/11 10:09 AM Re: Following up I did receive your quote. It is considerably higher than the prices I got from H Furniture and F Cabinets to build the same desk. Both H and F use tenon joinery and dovetails so we have nothing further to talk about.
4. Looking Over the Edge
10/11/03 5:47 AM Request for a meeting Dear Ms. Hiller, I admired your Edwardian hallstand in Fine Woodworking and was thrilled to see that you are located in Bloomington, which is less than two hours away from my home. I have taken a number of wood-working classes and am seriously considering leaving my corporate job to become a professional furniture maker. I would greatly appreciate an opportunity to meet you and tour your shop. Would this be possible? Sincerely, G.P.
10/11/03 6:46 PM Re: Request for a meeting Dear G, I would be happy to meet you and discuss your plans, but first I’d like to set you straight regarding the nature of my shop. There is nothing to “tour.” My current shop – the nicest one I’ve ever had – is in a utility building of about 1,000 square feet located on a cattle farm. It is a single space; you can see everything from the front door. I am there most days, so just let me know some days and times that would be good for you. Nancy
G arrived at the scheduled time and we had a nice conversation. He worked for an international company headquartered in Indianapolis. He was probably around 40, married, and told me that while he valued his job and did not take the pay, security, or benefits for granted, he was sorely tempted to try his hand at furniture making full-time. “I’ve taken a class in furniture making as a business,” he told me, “so I would have no trouble telling a prospective client that I had to charge $1,500 for a coffee table.”
“The question is not so much whether you have the guts to charge what it costs to build a piece,” I replied, “but whether the prospective client is able – and more important, willing – to pay it.”
I gave him what insights I could about the realities of professional furniture making based on my experience, and told him that in my opinion he was in an enviable situation: securely employed, with paid vacations and other benefits that afforded him the freedom to do work he wanted to do in his spare time. I told him to feel free to keep in touch about his plans, but he didn’t, so I have no idea whether he ever took the plunge.
Comments are now closed. Join us again next Saturday!
Chris is out of town this weekend, but Wally and I are here and ready to answer your woodworking and cat-treat-related questions. But unlike Chris, I will not start responding at the buttocks-crack of dawn – I like to sleep in a bit on Saturdays. And every day. (And Wally sleeps about 18 hours per day.)
As you surely now by now, leave a question in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer. You can even ask me about the Dutch tool chest book (now that the manuscript is in Chris’s hands, I’m far less stressed about it).
At the bench. The upstairs bench room at Rowden. Photo by Will Reddaway, WR Photography
The following is excerpted from “The Intelligent Hand,” by David Binnington Savage. It’s a peek into a woodworking life that’s at a level that most of us can barely imagine. The customers are wealthy and eccentric. The designs have to leap off the page. And the craftsmanship has to be utterly, utterly flawless.
I am jumping now to what a student experiences during the first week at Rowden. I am doing this because it all fits together. Without the doing, the making, the faffing about in the workshop, all the drawing and waking up, there is no context for when you become a designer and a maker.
It’s not good enough to sit in a nice clean design office and get your sweaty minions to make for you. Making is what you do. Remember William Morris, and how he was always fiddling with making something or other. Fail to grasp this, and the maker will always be in charge of the dialogue.
“No boss, that won’t work – you need three fixings there.”
You need sufficient understanding and knowledge to argue. You need to know enough to suggest a different fixing, and to maintain the smooth identity of your design.
So pick up that plane. It’s on its side on the benchtop. Wait – maybe first let’s have a look at what we have here. There is a proper full-sized cabinetmaker’s workbench, about 7′ long. It has a newly planed, flat top. The top is beech or maple, and about 3″ thick; the undercarriage is similarly heavy. A good bench should be solid, and not gallop about the workshop the moment you put the pedal to the metal.
Look at that benchtop. Many makers may have worked there before you, but it should be in pretty good condition – if not unmarked by their work, it should be at least a respectable surface. There have been accidents, yes, that caused the odd bit of damage – but it’s a dead-flat surface. We need flat, especially around the end vice, because that is where we work. The flatness of the bench transfers to the job; a hollow near the vice would show up in thin components planed on that bench. The bench has a front vice and an end vice. Working with these vices will be dogs. Whuff, whuff. No – these are pegs that fit in holes in the bench; they are used to secure your work.
The Rowden workbench.
The bench is probably the most important tool you will ever encounter as a maker. Later, you will make your bench; it will become the foundation upon which other work will be made. Right now, you’ll use one of the Rowden benches. Bench height is important. Stand alongside the bench; let your arm hang and bend your elbow just above the bench surface. Now spread the thumb and index finger of your opposite hand. Add that distance to your elbow. This is your bench height.
It’s good to work with a high bench because it protects your back. Much of your work will be done not with your arms and shoulders, but with your trunk – the core muscles – and thighs. This again will protect you from injury. There will be times when you need to get up higher and get on top of a job. Then, use a small “hop-up” – a 3″-high box that you stand upon. This lives under the bench’s bottom rail.
Then there is a bench light. It should be a decent, bright source of light that you can direct into the dark corners of your work. Without a good light you will not be at all times able to see where you are going. A quick maker will be pulling that light around as they move about the job. You need to see the line as you cut.
Then there is a box of hand tools – yours until you can sensibly choose your own. These are prepared tools; all edges have been sharpened by Jon Greenwood to a keen edge. They should all work straight out of the box. All the boxes are different; they hold the same tools but from different suppliers. Spend time trying out different chisels and gauges to help you make informed buying choices. Hand tools have to fit your hands comfortably; different brands offer different solutions at different prices.
Learn to read grain direction.
With these three – a bench, a light and a box of basic hand tools – you can make a lot of things and need nothing more. Machine work can be done by a local shop; pay them by the hour. You might want some power tools to help out later on, but they are not for now. Most machines are about saving you effort and energy; you want to engage them for those reasons – not because a table saw is more accurate than you are at sawing a straight line.
On the bench, there is a piece of walnut, about 18″ by 2″ or 3″. This is to teach you about wood and tools at the same time. Look at the wood. It has been selected because it is mild and well-mannered. It will have a sawn surface, but you will be able to see the grain of the timber. Think of it as the fur of a cat – which way would rough it up, and which way would lay smooth, if you stroked it? That’s the way you plane it, smooth. Place it the right way around between the dogs and tighten the end vice to just nicely hold the job.
This is the bench doing its job in superb fashion. Now you are free to dance about the workshop, waving a No. 6 to your heart’s content. You don’t have to hold the job – it’s fixed in solid position on the benchtop. All actions now are down to you – how you hold and present that edge to the job. This is you, a sharp edge and a piece of timber. Listen. Attend to what that sharp, well-adjusted tool tells you about the surface in front of you.
Is the note the plane makes a nice, high WHUZZ, or is it getting lower, telling you the edge is getting dull? Watch the shaving as it emerges over the frog – is it a clean, full-length shaving or is there a slight hollow just over there? You want information about that surface; the plane is your primary tool of inquisition.
Take overlapping plane passes down the work.
Consider your arms and shoulders during this process. The work should be coming from your trunk and thighs, not your arms. Imagine a piece of string tied around your plane handle and attached to your right nipple. If you push with your arms, it will pull on the string and hurt. Instead, use your core and legs. A long shaving then becomes like a dance step: forward step, forward step, forward step.
Plane a dead-flat surface on one of the 3″-wide faces. This is your “face side.” It is important, as this is the side from which all other faces are measured; get this wrong and you are in the poo. From day one, hour one, you are faced with quality. Screw this up, go too fast and slip it in under the bar, and it will come back later to bite you in the bum.
Flat is a terrible monster and can drive a newbie bonkers. But don’t let it get you. The sole of your plane is flat – I promise you – so use it. First, let’s look at the side-to-side movement of the plane. As you take a shaving, you can get it only about 1″ wide from the middle of the mouth of the plane – maybe less. If you are observant, you will see that the shaving is slightly thicker in its centre, thinning to nothing at the edge. This is deliberate; you want this.
Run the plane down the job, aiming to get a complete shaving for the whole length – then run another alongside it with a little overlap. If necessary to help you visualise, put a pencil mark across the job and plane it off. Suddenly, this is fun! The plane is working and you are doing the job – you are almost up to your knees in shavings. But the joy of taking long, ribbony strips of fragrant walnut is suddenly ruined by Jon Greenwood coming to your bench with a straightedge.
“Let’s see how flat it is.” What is usually the case is that you’ve been planing up onto the job and down off it, creating a crest in the middle. So, you learn to overcome this by applying more pressure to the plane’s toe as you come on to the work, and to the heel as you come off it.
Adjust your hand pressure on the plane as you come on and off the work.
Now check the surface with a straightedge, and hold the job up to the light and see what is going on. (You have a straightedge on the side of your plane; many skilled makers use that, as well as a purpose-made straightedge, for this and other jobs.)
High points can be removed with stopped shavings that address that area. As you approach flat, back the iron off to produce the finest shaving; this will allow the sole of the plane to have more effect. You might find yourself chasing a minor bump. Don’t do this; try taking a series of fine stopped shavings to the centre of the job, leaving pencil marks on at either end. Then, with three full-length passes, go right through, clearing off the pencil marks at both ends. There you are, nearly there.
Put winding sticks on your job parallel to one another.
Now check it for wind (that’s pronounced “whined”) by using winding sticks – one at each end, and peer across them from one end. Wind is twist. You can have a seemingly flat surface that is actually the shape of a propeller. If the winding sticks are out of parallel, they will visually tell you. This is the last check. You now have a face side to be proud of.
Mark it with a Face Mark, cannily pointing in the direction of grain – the direction the plane or machine must follow. It also points to the Face Edge which is the second surface. This is also a primary surface from which others are measured, so “heads up.”
Remember these steps. You may never do them again with a handplane but you will certainly do them with a pile of timber and a machine shop. The steps are identical: Face. Edge. Width. Thickness. End. Length. We use “FEWTEL” as a way to remember the order. You’ve just finished the first one. Now it’s on to the edge.
The objective is straight and flat on the narrower surface of the edge and, this is crucial, square to the face. Use a square to check this. (A good square can keep you safe; a rotten one, one that has been dropped, is a traitor in the camp that will undermine all your work.) Start off by sliding the stock of the square down the face side, and watch how the blade travels down the edge, looking for gaps between the wood and the blade. Use a bright light behind you to really see what’s going on. A square can easily be banged onto the job and tell you lies. Don’t let it.
A small combination square is ideal for checking that the face edge is square to the face.
Adjusting an out-of-square edge requires a well-set-up plane and some knowledge.
First, look at the plane. The blade, as you noticed earlier, is just a little curved – not straight across. This is important. This gives you the shavings you have previously enjoyed, with thickness in the centre tapering to nothing on the edges. Now look how that blade is set up in the plane body. Look down the sole from the toe, and you will see the thicker, dark shape of the blade in the centre fading out on either side.
Adjust the plane from side to side to make efficient use of the cambered blade.
This curve gives you the opportunity to adjust an out-of-square edge. Check which way the edge is out of square, then move the plane to the left or the right. What? Yes – look at the way the edge is out of square – it’s higher on either the right or the left. The centre of the plane blade takes a thicker shaving than the edge. So, shift the plane body to the left (or right). Run it down the edge and see a thicker shaving come off that side and nothing come off the other. Without that curved blade, you would not be able to adjust the edge in so accurate a way.
So, engage your brain and eyeballs before engaging the plane. Analyse the situation. Do you need more off here or over there? The square will help – again, register the stock on the finished face and slide the blade down the edge. Use your damn eyes. Hold the job and the square up to the light – don’t be lazy. Once it’s square and straight, you have a Face Edge (the second letter of FEWTEL). Put a small “f” on the edge, adjacent to the face mark. You can, if you want, lean it in the direction you want the edge to be worked. Good job. Move on to “W” – width.
A wheel gauge is an ideal tool for beginners. Here we’re scribing the width on a board.
This is a surface parallel to your Face Edge, and also must be square and straight. Now you need another tool – a marking gauge. Popular at Rowden are simple wooden gauges that (with a little work) scribe a clean line. However, there is another type, a cutting gauge with a small wheel on the end that I find is simpler for the beginner to use. Both are fine. Toolmakers want us to have both marking gauges and cutting gauges, so that they can sell us more tools. I believe in fewer tools that work better. A single sharp gauge should be able to scribe a sharp line both with and across the grain – but you will need a few gauges because they are often left set up for stages of a job.
Mark the finished edges.
Take the job, register the gauge off the Face Edge, and scribe a line as close to the sawn width as you can. Make sure it goes all the way around the job. Keeping its stock against the Face Edge will be tricky at first; take gentle stokes to avoid digging into the job.
Now, before we go any further, let’s have look at that little wheel that made that scribe line (if you’re using that type of gauge). Note that it is beveled on one side and flat on the other, and in this case the flat side is facing the stock of the gauge and the bevel facing the outside. Plane or pare the edge to approach the gauge line. Try to do this evenly all round so there is a little bit of gauge line flapping all around the surface. Then take one plane pass down to the actual line. Smack on.
Now use your gauge, registered off the flat Face, to mark the thickness all the way around the job. Plane to the line, using the same process as in Step 1. Now you have the T in FEWTEL. Jon will come around with a caliper to check the thickness, to within 0.2 of a millimetre. (It should be 0.1, but we are cutting you bit of slack here.)
Use the gauge to mark the thickness all around.
I had a great student named Martin Dransfield, a former Yorkshire miner, who stayed on and worked for me for a while. A student asked Martin, “How do your joints come up so tight and clean?” Martin, being a Yorkshireman, is a man of few words. He paused, rubbed his chin, then said, “Well tha’ just cuts to the f-ing line.” Which is true. Leave it on and you are effed. Go past it and you are equally effed, but in the other direction.
Thank you, Martin. You are well remembered for your accuracy and your economy of language.
Mark a clean line from corner to corner.
A word on marking-out tools. A cutting gauge, with its bevel on one side of the wheel, is one of a family of marking-out tools that give you a perfect dimension, not an approximate dimension. Mark with pencil and you get approximate. A pencil line has thickness. The marking knife is another tool in that precision family. My personal favourites, made by Blue Spruce Toolworks, are expensive, but you get what you pay for. The blade is long, thin and sensitive. What do I mean by sensitive? Will it take offence if I shout at it, go off in a huff and roll off the bench? No, I mean it will enable me to click that blade into an existing scribe line and I will feel that click in my fingers. That’s what you need from a good marking knife.
Use the corner of the Face Side line to align the knife for the Face Edge scribe line.
Marking with a pencil is fine for some jobs – but not the next one. You’re now at the “E” and “L,” the End Length, in FEWTEL. Place your square across the Face Side, with the stock on the Face Edge. Hold it firmly between the finger and thumb of your off hand. Pick up your marking knife with the bevel facing the waste and strike a nice firm line against the blade of the square. The line should be clear and clean from corner to corner.
Now you need to transfer that line to the face edge. Secure the job in your vice and put the knife in the existing line right at the edge of the job. Make sure the end of your knife pokes out a little. Now slide the square right up tight to it. When you are up and snug, remove the knife then use it to strike a line across the Face Edge. If you are spot on, the line will be a perfect continuation of the line on the Face Side, and you can carry it on around the work to meet the Face Side line. If it doesn’t meet up one of two things have gone wrong: you’ve mismarked around a corner or the job is not square.
If the marking out is wrong you have no chance of good work. Step back to find out the problem, and start again – either the planing or the marking out, as needed. Engage brain before plane.
I am making this point: Making is an intellectual and creative challenge. It demands that you engage fully with every atom of your being. Your full concentration. Otherwise, you will mess up.
The essence of this is that there are no shortcuts to quality work. There are lots of easier, quicker, lower-quality ways that suit lots of other situations, but if you want to do it right there is no shortcut. We see this penny drop with people; it may take a few days, or a few months. Tom, a student with us now, sat with me recently on a log of Western red cedar and said, “David, I have had a really, really, great life, and this has been the very best year, so far. However, if I had come for a trial week I would have run a mile. It took me weeks to see that there is no shortcut.” Thank you, Tom.
This “Doing Thing” isn’t easy. You need to listen to the tool in your hand. That blade has an edge engaging with the infinitely variable material before you: timber. That cutting edge in your hands is the closest you will ever get to understanding this material. The distance between you and it is, at this point, the shortest it will ever get. The information is traveling down that blade into your hand. But do you have the wit to receive it? Our bodies are wonderfully receptive information centres. The body feeds us with information. Do we listen well enough to the sound of the blade in the timber? Do we listen to the note the saw is making, to the feel of the chisel in our hands? Do we weigh the push the tool is requiring and look quizzically at the edge of the chisel? I hope so.
This is why sharpness is so important. With sharpness you have less shove and more sensitivity, control and information. Dull tool/dull maker.
We are asking you to use your eyes in a new and more intense way. This opens the door to learn drawing (more on that to come) for each stage of the process. The ability to draw quick bench notes is an essential skill in making things; it enables us to resolve what’s going on inside that joint.
The eight-week hand-tool initiation ritual builds a solid base upon which to learn machines and other processes. This is tiring, ache-inducing, hard-won accuracy. This is accuracy you have never achieved before. That’s control. That’s you in control. I like that.
