A violin maker in Los Angeles, Hans Benning, relates a story from many years back when a man came to his shop seeking repairs on his violin. The violinist wanted Hans to come to his house to work on the instrument but Hans declined, explaining that all his tools and fixtures were there in his shop. The work could not be done properly on a kitchen table. After looking around the shop a bit, the man left.

Now this was no ordinary violinist who had come to Hans’ shop. It was Jascha Heifetz, one of the greatest ever, and his violin, an 18th century Guarneri del Gesù, was no ordinary violin. That’s right, Hans turned down work from the great Heifetz! The craftsman would not lower his standards.

A few days later, Heifetz returned, this time with the violin, and agreed to have the work done by Hans in his shop. This was the start of their 15-year working and personal relationship of great mutual respect. Some time later, Heifetz acknowledged to Hans that he appreciated Hans’ refusal to compromise his standards as a craftsman at their first meeting. 

Picture that. The most discriminating imaginable client, famous and at the pinnacle of his art, seeks your services as a craftsman on work of the highest caliber, and you say, “Nope, sorry, I don’t work that way.” But later he returns, seeing it your way, and the work commences. Wow.

So, here’s a thought. What if, instead of Jascha Heifetz, it is you who walk into your own shop. You have a conversation with Yourself, and walk away. Reconsidering, you decide to return and accept the conditions – and the work commences. 

It’s in your hands now.

We want to build. We want to work at a pace and get things done. 

The key to working at a craft the way we should work – where the job is done well and we are well – is to coordinate the pace of four factors. Let’s consider what’s really going on when we work.

The hands must work with clear intent, guided by skill embedded into muscle memory. For most good craftspeople, this is usually not a limiting factor. Rather, the hands that can easily run ahead of the other factors, which leads to awkwardness and fumbling. We all know what happens when the hands rush ahead of the brain. You neatly saw on the wrong side of the line or cut yourself with a chisel that you’ve picked up a thousand times.  

The mind must focus unwaveringly on the specific task at hand, yet maintain cognizance of its place in the overall mission. The mind, of course, governs all and so is the master pace setter. Try to outrun it, and trouble comes: “How did that happen?” – a surprise mistake that really isn’t surprising. Skill of mind is the greatest skill. 

Each of our tools must be put to work within the range of its intended purpose, not forced beyond it. So, maybe you should chop that waste in two passes, not one. And the tablesaw has only so much horsepower. Push a tool beyond its limits and you’ll both pay the price. For a craftsperson, knowing your tools is almost like knowing yourself. 

The body must be respected with regard to energy limitations and fatigue. It is not a machine. Usually, posture is the first thing to break down. When core stability breaks down, the fine motor tasks performed by the hands will suffer. If your work is becoming less accurate as a session in the shop proceeds, consider that core/posture fatigue may be the cause. 

When these four factors are exerting synchronously, you are happily at ease and do good work. This is peaceful productivity and efficiency – the way we should work, and the way things best get done. 

Sadly, many, maybe most of us, are pushed in our pay-the-bills jobs with little regard for the truths of human work, driven by the fantasies of those who do not actually do the work but instead tell others how to work. (Anyone remember Lucy in the chocolate candy factory?) Appreciation of the work dissipates. We become detached from it, and from ourselves.

Happily being human almost always includes integrating our various faculties, being cautious not to neglect parts of our true nature.  Hopefully, we can work well in the woodshop as we produce, and do so with joy. Work is best when we pace it this way. And it is the way we live best. 

Now, as I work on a new design, there are matters of wood, style, proportion, and details. There are plenty of technical problems to solve. My mind swirls at times with all the issues and all the possibilities.

I find myself asking if this piece is really worth it. Worth what? Is any piece worth it? Is the essential idea, the concept, growing? Is it bringing forth the energy that the project will require?

All of this is part of the joy of creating. I love it, but it can get out of hand in many ways. Tension comes about, some of which is good in that it generates energy. But some can be damaging, and that will ultimately reflect in my mentality when building the piece and in the finished product.

And there is Krenov, again, with the advice I need. In his book With Wakened Hands, he counsels, “Worry less, concentrate more, and above all relax.” Krenov’s work elicits in me an energetic but peaceful response – the “quiet joy” – and so does his advice.

Now back to work.

Elsewhere in this blog, I’ve contended that woodworking isn’t quick, easy, or perfect every time, and false promises of such delights by some tool advertising and sources of instruction can discourage those learning the craft, who eventually encounter the truth but wonder if the difficulties are their fault. Moreover, perfection is an illusory pursuit that can lead to discouragement and loss of nerve, and is better replaced by a knowledgeable pursuit of excellence.

Yet, I think most anyone with strong dedication, good tools, proper instruction, and decent manual dexterity can develop the individual skills needed for excellent woodworking.

So, what makes woodworking difficult? Why is it pretty hard to learn how to make a project turn out the way you hope? What is the missing link that takes you from learning how to cut a mortise and tenon joint to being able to confidently make a table? In other words, what is the most essential thing to learn in woodworking?

I think it is this: putting it all together. This means being cognizant of the context of each step of the process, so that as steel meets wood, you understand what you’re really doing and why. You must appreciate how the skill being executed at the moment fits into the whole construction. That appreciation informs your approach to the task at hand.

For example, when you flatten the stock for casework, you are aware of why it needs to be flat, the range of flatness tolerance required, and the consequences of sloppiness outside of tolerance. You know when to bear down for high precision but also when punctiliousness is, at best, a waste of energy. So, you have a different mentality when preparing stock for drawer sides compared to drawer bottoms.

Here are more examples. You sense how to make that mortise and tenon joint accurate not just for itself but also for how it will contribute to the accuracy of the whole table coming together. You have this sense even when you are marking out (photo above). In the design process, you appreciate how individual elements have to coordinate into an aesthetic whole that you are also capable of building.

And you understand how “perfect every time” is silly.

Of course, you cannot have all the steps of a project top of mind at once. However, with experience (and for most of us, that means sometimes dealing with failure) you learn to absorb the big picture. It shapes a correct mental approach that you carry with you. With this awareness, your work becomes natural and flowing. The cognizant mentality is not at all burdensome but rather is energizing because you know how to value each step in the journey.

Good musicians know this. Playing notes, even if technically excellent, is one thing; making music quite another. The impact, presence, and style of the whole piece inform the treatment of each passage. I suppose being good at anything is like this, but with woodworking it is right there in front of us.

And finally, another thought for another day: how does making something in wood fit into everything else? (And for me, it must.)

Several round-number milestones for this blog have converged, so it is time once again to take stock. Heartwood will be 10 years old in a few weeks. I have authored 200,000 words of content (not including comments), the length of 3-4 typical non-fiction books, accompanied by more than 1000 original photographs. The stats counter tells me there have been nearly 4 million visits and 12 million page views since the blog’s inception. (That’s actual human traffic, not robots, spiders, crawlers, etc.)

As I have said all along, Heartwood is about real-deal woodworking “from the sawdust and shavings of my shop.” The primary reason I write is, quite simply, that I want to share with you the joy of woodworking – the “quiet joy,” in Krenov’s words. I want to help empower you to build things.

The great majority of the posts deal with technical matters of tools, techniques, wood, jigs, and shop fixtures, but there are also explorations into the bigger picture of why we work wood, and the meaning the craft holds for us. I do not waste readers’ time with stuff for which they did not likely visit, such as contentious politics or accounts of a leak in my car’s radiator. I have tried to keep the writing engaging, fluid, and respectful of my readers, for whom I am most grateful.

I admit to being frustrated with the dearth of comments. Please, say hello once in a while if you are even slightly inclined. The interaction generated by your comments and ideas is fun for all of us. I also enjoy the many woodworking questions that I receive from around the world. I want to help you work wood.

The golden age of interest-focused blogging has long past, largely due, I think, to the dominance of social media, photo posting sites, and the explosion in video content engendered by broadband Internet. There is plenty of useful content out there, particularly videos, but much of it is idle junk. In any case, I think there is still unique value in writing.

So, will all of that, where do I go from here with this blog? Well, for now I am continuing. I have lots more to say, but this takes considerable time and effort, and I certainly want to maintain quality. I’ve even thought of adding short videos, but who knows.

I’ll take it one month at a time.

Most all, thanks for reading!

Rob

Groundbreaking furniture artist and craftsman Wendell Castle passed away last month at 85. Woodworkers are probably most familiar with his stacked-laminated wooden tables and chairs, but whether working in plastic, bronze, or wood, his immense design vocabulary produced so much for us to explore.

I do not possess design talent anywhere close to the same universe that this man had, and only some of his work actually appeals to me. The late Sam Maloof’s description of himself as a “woodworker” resonates with me more. Nonetheless, I find Castle’s outlook inspiring.

In an interview conducted by the late Neil Lamens, discussing his intense approach to design, I recall Castle saying something that stuck with me: “If you’re always hitting the target, it’s too close.”

Wow. That says so much.

Creative design is not easy, nor should it be. It is not about making something new and different for the sake of “different,” but rather it is trying hard to get out what you want to say and what you want to make – what you really, very much want to be there. This is true even for those of us who are more in tune with the subtle grace of James Krenov’s work than the bold statements of Castle’s work.

Moreover, Castle’s thought is reassuring. If a design that seemed promising, and has even gone on to be refined and built, did not quite hit the mark I hoped for, I can take heart knowing that much has been gained in the attempt.

The work and inspiration of Wendell Castle will live long and wide.

The passing of Pat Warner, July 28, 2017, should not go without tribute. His contributions to the techniques of woodworking is among the finest of our time based on his unsurpassed knowledge of the use of one of our most versatile woodworking tools, the router. He was truly an expert’s expert.

Especially remarkable were his profound insights into the precision tolerances involved in tooling and work processes, as well as his ability to manage them in the shop. His hands-on inventiveness produced an impressive array of precision tools and jigs. His writings, full of intelligence and clarity, include four books, numerous articles, and the resources on his website.

I never met the man but his generosity and kindness were evident in the assistance he provided to me by phone. There was no doubt I was taking in the advice of a rare master craftsman. For countless woodworkers, our approach to not only the use of the router, but to small-shop machine woodworking in general, owes greatly to Pat Warner.

Uh oh, I was just thinkin’ again.

Yes, yes already, I understand the merits of hand tool woodworking (read here). Yet, we must acknowledge that pure hand tool woodworking is almost non-existent. Rather, we just have different points at which we decide that the work is best done, for whatever reasons, by putting aside machines and taking over with hand tools. For some, that point is after the wood leaves the sawmill; for others it is when the final chamfers are added. Really, there is a spectrum of approaches to woodworking that gives all woodworkers a great deal in common: we build stuff.

Router spindle locks are a ridiculous idea. Two opposing wrenches produce more torque with more comfort and safety. Some routers with spindle locks also have flats on the spindle on which you can use a second wrench in conjunction with the one for the collet nut. Manufacturers, including the one that makes yellow tools, please, stop the madness.

I’m pretty sure that you have a project in mind that is coming from your soul. It will challenge you, and give you great joy. Please, please, build that as soon as you can. And stop making another box for your chisels, or whatever.

If someone was to ask me for suggestions for getting a set of sharpening equipment from scratch, I now think I would be remiss by not recommending diamond stones for the bulk of the work. Add a CBN grinding wheel to speed the grunt work, finish off with a very fine ceramic finish stone, and you are very good to go.

Anyone of any demographic group, including women, is welcome by me, and, I believe, by the overwhelming majority of woodworkers, to come aboard and work wood. Those currently in the minority should not be discouraged by the very few fools who will only accept the historically typical demographics of woodworkers, nor by the reactions of others that are not ill-intended but come simply from not having updated one’s habits. Moreover, those currently in the minority do not need special enclaves for those in their category. Neither is coddling needed; just welcoming. Just work wood! You and the world await what you build. Now go ahead, tell me that it’s not that simple. OK, perhaps not, but I do think it does ultimately come down to just that.

Having had the Domino joiner for nine years now, my trust in the system has gone down, not up. Sorry Festool enthusiasts, the same goes for Festool in general.

Until you understand the following rule, to which I can think of no exception, you will not fully comprehend shop safety with power or hand tools. A tool edge, given the opportunity, will always move the work piece (or part of it) instead of cutting it. As examples, that is the essence of kickback on a table saw, and a drill bit or router bit grabbing the workpiece. The edge needs to be sharp, yes, but its mechanical options must be limited by the tool design, your setups, and your actions.

Believe it or not, if you need some decent red oak, maple, poplar, and even walnut, and are buying a small enough quantity so that a higher unit price doesn’t hurt too much, the Home Depot is a pretty good, convenient option. And they have no idea that the random curly board that you might find is a great buy.

Creative work is ultimately an exercise of free will to make something – a unique information set – that transcends oneself. Where does that free will come from, if not a gift from God?