The February issue of Popular Woodworking Magazine prompted a woodworker to ask if I could give a little detail about the tool rack lurking in the background. Actually this plain but very functional tool storage rack was an early exercise in working with simple proportions right at the bench. Something Jim Tolpin and I are calling “Design at the Point of a Tool”. Essentially it’s bringing the basic knowledge of proportions and simple geometry right to the work itself, sidestepping the need for drawings or even a ruler. Dividers, a marking knife and a square are all that’s required. I built this five years ago basically as an exercise to push me out of my comfort zone. I intentionally put away my tape measure, and just relied on simple proportions to guide the actual build. My requirements were straight forward, I wanted a flexible storage rack for frequently used bench tools,  just one step away from my workbench. It’s made from 1 X 12 pine and a few scraps. The overall form is just a simple rectangle that is 3 parts wide by 5 parts high. To this day I don’t know the dimensions in inches, they don’t matter. To establish the envelope for the  lower section containing the cubbyholes I went up two parts from the bottom. This makes the bottom section to the top a ratio of 2:3. The cubbies themselves I sized around the tools that I store. The whole upper section  tilts back slightly. It acts like sort of like a pegboard (except not as butt ugly).  I simply tap in a wooden peg or nail on a piece of scrap to keep order. I’ve changed the configuration several times as tools change.  Here’s a detail of some cleats I use to insure a plane doesn’t tumble off.

Cleats to keep planes from accidently tipping

side veiw

Although this isn’t some earth shattering design, it confirmed there’s something  liberating about actually designing and building right at the bench.

George R. Walker

Admit it. We all have those tools that we don’t use as much as we’d like because they’re a pain to sharpen. Mostly they fall in the category of what I call off road tools. They tend to have curved or odd shaped cutters that require a combination of voodoo, marvel mystery oil, and luck to achieve good cutting geometry. Off road, because they open up possibilities beyond the standard straight and square joinery. I can usually fumble through a sharpening routine on just about any cutting tool but not with the ease of  a straight plane iron. So the downward cycle goes something like this. The tools I don’t use often, I sharpen on an “as needed” basis. Because they’re not sharp and ready for use, I tend to not reach for them. 

 Thankfully, my son Josh gave me a DVD for Christmas by Larry Williams from Old Street Tools,  Sharpening Profiled Hand Tools.

Larry shares some practical and simple methods to sharpen a variety of edge tools: hollows and rounds, carving gouges, cambering a jack plane iron, complex moulding planes, snipes bill planes, beading planes, V carving tool, and a moving fillister. For each tool he shows the method for completely re-profiling the blade and bringing it to a finished honed edge. He even shows how to normalize (soften) a blade, reshape it with a file, and re-harden it. Granted, I don’t expect to have to perform surgery on every tool, but it’s great to get some sound information in the event it’s needed. Larry also does several things I really appreciate. For each tool he points out the critical details inherent to that type of blade, like the side clearance angles on the filister. Often when I’m fumbling with a tool tune up, it’s one of those small details at the source of it. He also gives a short demo of how the sharpened tool should cut, not on mild pine but on what looks to be tough cherry. No excuses now, get Larry’s DVD, sharpen up all those ornery devils and turn off the paved highway.

George

Carving detail on gate, Thuya Garden

Three months ago when I hit the send button to submit the December installment of my Design Matters column in Popular Woodworking Magazine, I did so with a bit of trepidation. The article, “Why Design”, is something of a departure. It focuses on the why we do this, versus the how to. I was half expecting an awkward phone call from Megan Fitzpatrick about the thin branch I’d crawled onto. Instead I was heartened to see in the October issue the sensitive and heartfelt piece by Toshio Odate, “A Teacup & 8 Dinner Plates”. It’s obvious the folks making editorial decisions view readers not as a woodworking consumer group, but rather fellow artisans passionate about the craft. My hat’s off to them.

            Even seeing it in print I still wrestle. My wife Barb said something so profound the other day I had to pull the truck over and write it down.

 “Whenever we use words to describe something we feel deeply about, we always diminish it”

I suppose that’s why we turn to painting or sculpture to express what words cannot.

So here I am, the inept biped trying to put into words that unexplainable thirst to design. How do you explain something that plunges you so supremely into the moment that time seems to stand still? How can you explain what it’s like to have your brain, hands, and eyes step you through a dance you could not have imagined? So forgive me if I fall short on the December article, I’m motivated by a bigger vision. As Jim Tolpin and I forge ahead on the design book project, some ideas are taking shape about design and how it relates to the craft going forward. It’s about creating something of a folk movement of woodworkers embracing design. Not about who will be the next Maloof or Krenov, but rather a much larger body of woodworkers embracing the craft, creating honest furniture because we love it.

This apprentice sketchbook segment is a simple method for scaling an object up or down just using a compass and straight edge. Start by drawing a line and marking off the actual height of the object you want to model from. In this case the height is the distance from F (fulcrum) to A. Leave the compass set to that original height and strike an arc from A upwards. Now use dividers to divide that overall height by the amount you want to scale it down. For this example I wanted to scale it in half so I simply adjusted the dividers until they bisected F A. Use that setting and using A as the fulcrum strike a second arc (dotted line). Use a straightedge to connect F B. From here you can pluck any vertical height from your original and strike an arc from F. The chord between the two lines will be scaled proportionally and will correspond to the height of that part on the smaller version.  

George R. Walker

I am in the process of designing a desk/table for use in a home
office.  I want the work surface to be low enough that it is
comfortable to type on, which limits the space for drawers under the
work surface.  I am currently planning on constructing it out of red
oak, but staining the wood dark (I have a ton of red oak on hand – so
it is easier/cheaper to use the oak and stain than get a dark wood).
I have attached prints from SketchUp, but would love some input on the
design – or suggestions for more/fewer details.  For a size scale, the
top is 60″ wide by 37″ deep, and the legs are 3″ square.  Since this
is for my own use, there are very little design constraints – but it
is to be a functional piece of furniture first.

Gaining fresh new insights working on the upcoming Lost Art Press book on design. As often happens when teaching or writing, the process forces you to flip over more stones in the creek bottom to see what might scurry out. I’ve been taken again by the power of proportions to bring a life like essence, or to put it another way, make things believable to our eye. I started this journey years ago looking for some magic bullet or formula that might shed light on this most elusive and shy aspect of the craft . Mostly I found more questions than answers. Like how did pre-industrial artisans work to a level of accuracy that boggles the imagination? This is more pointed when you consider the measuring tools frequently seen in historic tool kits.

A different way to work where dimensions took a back seat

Photo by Lie-Nielsen Toolworks

This 19^th century wooden square has a hand marked scale in ¼” increments. It’s not uncommon to find similar shop or blacksmith made rules with crude Fred Flintstone like markings. My background is in precision metalworking (think millionths of an inch) and for the longest time my brain could not reconcile the work with the tools. And how did they build oceans of furniture largely without measured drawings? Those questions drove me deeper into the craft and its design language and tradition. It might as well be a whole other world where the sky’s a different color, the contrasts are that sharp. Those crappy rulers worked just fine because aside from the bad lighting, dimensions took a back seat to proportions and fit. The size of one part was based not on a specification from a print or cut list, but how it related proportionally to the parts around it and to the whole form. Would the fingers on your hand look believable to your eye if they all were the same length? The word creepy comes to mind. Yet those artisans worked intuitively with proportions much like a chef builds flavor in a kettle of stew with seasonings and spices. Beyond that, they spoke a design language that with some practice can be visualized with clear spatial images on the blackboard in our mind. This is exciting stuff.

George R. Walker

Just back  from a week in the Northwest with Jim Tolpin working on our upcoming book on furniture design. I was reminded while eating some amazing king salmon why I never order seafood back home. In the midwest we’ve got pork nailed, but nothing  this delicious was ever swam in the Ohio River. Jim and I managed to get the book outlined, but beyond that revelled in those magical moments when creative ideas flowed in a torrent. Our challenge is to bring that creative excitement right into your woodshop. We are convinced every artisan possesses untapped design skills and our debate was just  how we can help unlock that potential. The week capped off with a design workshop at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking.

Every woodworking class I’ve been involved in always reaches a point where it veers right up to the edge of a cliff. I remember teaching my first class on tall clocks and feeling the tension build as 15 students prepped their clock cases for glue up. A mad dash for every available clamp, and then that moment of apprehension when there’s no turning back.

This design class was no exception.  Everything  moved along fine until I decided to take a chance and throw a challenge at these budding artisan designers. Now mind you, just 24 hours before we were fumbling  just  drawing some simple circles and rectangles, when I get the bright idea to take a detour into a Doric classic order. Learning to draw the classic orders was design 101 for the pre-industrial artisan, but I’d never actually guided a dozen woodworkers through this tightly knitted design standard. If you are not familiar with the orders, they are a highly refined stylized form used in ancient architecture. From a design standpoint you might think of drawing them as an exercise in achieving perfect pitch.

Doric Classic order

Half way through, I began to have doubts. It forces quite a mind shift from a proportional veiw and it’s compounded by the fact that all the parts have names foreign to modern ears.

A hand goes up, “George, you lost me on that last step. How did you get the height of that thing above the doodad?”

I tried to ignore the puzzled looks, and sideways glances, ”No problem, that thing’s called an architrave, and it sits on this doodad better known as a capital. Just divide the space above the capital by four.”

Somehow I hoped that students would see the simple weaving of proportions appearing quietly beneath their pencils. We finished the exercise and I dismissed the group for a short break in the fresh air. They scurried, out looking like they badly needed a smoke, while I kicked myself for pushing too far, too fast.

Back in session I asked everyone to pull out their sketchpads and work up a design for a writing desk. As their ideas took shape my excitement grew. Never doubt that a woodworker will surprise you in a good way. They got it! During the ensuing critique they spoke with a confidence absent just a day before. They explained their designs in proportional terms and questions were not about matters of taste but about, form and proportions. They took a leap into the unknown and it was marvelously obvious the underpinnings were holding. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

You can follow this link to a slide show of the class at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking.

I’ve been hinting about something big  in the works for months, now it’s official. A design book tentatively titled “Divide and Conquer” is in the wings co-written by none other than Jim Tolpin and yours truly. It’s an honor to have Chris Schwarz at Lost Art Press share our vision for an artisan’s design guide, there’s not a more passionate champion of the craft.  I’m sure he’ll drive Jim and I like sled dogs to write not just a good book but a great one. It’s also humbling to collaborate with Jim. He brings a lifetime of building knowledge and writing experience to this project. Our plan is to couple design theory with woodshop practice, every idea and concept  illustrated with shavings and sawdust, an artisans guide through and through. You might like to know how the three of us came together to hatch this book.   

I looked out at the packed auditorium and felt a big knot in my gut. Scheduled to deliver the Friday night keynote address at the 2009 WIA (Woodworking In America) conference in Chicago, it suddenly dawned on me this was a big crowd. That dumb inner voice that’s best ignored, started tossing out random thoughts, “DO NOT trip and fall down… Look, some of these guys have saws and sharp objects tucked under their arms…Please, please old laptop don’t crash now… Can I pull this presentation off doing shadow puppets?” 

 I took deep breath and reminded myself that if the message is solid it doesn’t matter if the messenger is flawed. Everything went great, how could it not? This was a room full of woodworkers eager to learn about design. They chuckled at my story about falling down the grand staircase in the Library of Congress. I could sense the group warming to the idea of a regular woodworker allowing curiosity to lead him where it might go. Off to my right I spied several guys scribbling notes, always a good sign. No one appeared to be nodding off with the occasional neck snap.

            Then I spied Chris Schwarz waving his skinny arm,seeking permission to drop a stink bomb, “So George, seems you intentionally omitted any reference to the most holy Golden Ratio in your lecture tonight, what gives?”

That dumb voice in my head chimed in again. “Here’s the part where they start heaving tomatoes and cabbages.”

The guys with notebooks paused to look straight at me. I’m sure everyone was waiting for a polished sexy answer. The truth is that pre-industrial artisans had well documented simple (i.e. quicker) methods that didn’t include the golden mean. It’s not in the historic literature of the trades, and doesn’t get along with other children on the playground. Note: I’ve learned since then, that no amount of evidence or argument can sway the true believers. Luckily I didn’t come off brash enough to cause the faithful to reach for their sidearms.

Another hand shot up from someone I later learned was Jim Tolpin. I can’t recall what Jim asked, but I do know I didn’t have an answer. It was the kind of question I love, just not in front of 250 people. Jim stuck around after the session and peppered me with more questions I couldn’t answer, things I’d wondered to myself. I vowed then and there to attend Jim’s session the next day.

Saturday I broke free and slipped into the back of one of Tolpin’s design classes. He demonstrated how he designs using the proportions from his body as a template to organize a form. Makes perfect sense; we build beds, and chairs to conform to our frames, yet Jim was going beyond using standard measurements to guide the height of a table. I watched him use his two outstretched hands like a yardstick to lay out proportions on a simple footstool design. Instantly I knew the reason behind those pointed questions the night before. I’d been exploring and teaching about the ancient proportional methods, whose roots can be traced back to the ideal human form, and Jim was using his own body as a form to guide his imagination. We were both rediscovering a timeless ancestral design code long lost to today’s artisan.

That was the start of a friendship and two years of discussions, questions, trading books, articles, pictures, ideas, and sketches. Slowly a larger picture emerged of a design language seamlessly linked to the traditional tools, methods, and natural materials of the pre-industrial artisan. Not a collection of prescriptive instructions but rather a body of first principles that enables an artisan to compose music in wood. Also, a bonus we had not counted on, this design journey is a path of self discovery as it awakens the inner ability to visualize more clearly and work more intuitively. Ideas flow naturally from mind to hand at the workbench.

It was only a matter of time till we asked the question. Should we write a book and share this? Both Jim and I agree that this knowledge will be a game changer for the post industrial artisan. The link that re-connects the crafts scattered parts. This design language marries the time-tested tools and joinery into something far greater.      

Luckily Chris Schwarz agreed that this is a book that needs written. So for the coming year Jim and I will be pouring over historical engravings, digging out gold nuggets, and refining each concept at the workbench. Our goal always is to equip you with that ability to create your own music with wood.

One final note. I have a weekend design workshop at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking Aug 26th-28th.  Actually it’s capping a week working with Jim on our manuscript. My plan is to pour this out on a group of unsuspecting woodworkers and gather some valuable feedback on the best ways to present material. If you would like to play a role in helping ”Design And Conquer” come to life, consider signing up. There are still a few slots left.  

Jim and I have lots to do, time to get back to work!

George R. Walker

bench detail by John Deerman

John Deerman, a furniture builder in Bozeman Montana submitted some recent work for critique. It’s been  a little while since we’ve done this and a few thoughts might be helpful about critiques in general. This might be a bit different than a critique in a classroom setting but actually I think that’s a strength. The majority of participant’s are woodworkers and builders more interested in concise constructive comments than dissertations on the influence of post-neo-midlothianism.

If you have a comment, it will help you as well as everyone else if you can give not just your opinion but also  communicate the reasons why. Whether you like something or hate it, there’s no benefit to anyone if you can’t explain what you see. If fact that’s a pretty good approach when looking at any built work. Why does it work for you? Change this or that because….  

Also, feel free to ask questions, I’m sure John would benefit by some give and take about his design choices.

 Below are John’s comments.

 I have been building furniture since 1993 and have taken many paths. The piece I would like you and your readers to critique is from a line of modern furniture I am developing. It is a bench seat. 52″ long, 17″ deep and 15″ high. It is made of Cherry and rift sawn red larch. The joinery is through mortise and tenon wedged both at the shelf aprons and at the top joints. The shelf is attached with Miller dowels. It is finished with a smoothing plane and scraper cards and Skidmores oil wax finish.
    You critique will be appreciated.

Many times I hear woodworkers venture their honest thoughts about contemporary design. It often goes something like this – “I’m really drawn to contemporary work, but…”

The “but” is usually followed by some head scratching mostly because the word contemporary is a wide ocean. That ocean includes wonderful interpretations of traditional forms like this rocker by Jeff Miller, to the opposite extreme of fringe artistic statements disguised as chairs. I once had a university student in a prestigious furniture program show me his “tornado” inspired pieces. Close your eyes and imagine boards slammed into ragged sections of drywall by hurricane force winds. The lumber jutting from the damaged wall becomes a table and chairs, complete with broken strands of wire and conduit. It left me speechless.

I too am drawn to some contemporary work but much in that vast ocean leaves me flat. This might surprise you, but I feel much the same way about a good deal of period furniture. A Thomas Seymour sideboard from early 19th century Boston is a page from a great symphony of work, while the uber-ornate Chippendale Gothic furniture is to my eye like a 1970’s era olive green dishwasher. Best laid to rest in another era.

My thoughts about design, contemporary or otherwise are summed up in the thoughts of Thomas Sheraton in his Drawing Book published circa 1793. Although he was introducing a new wave of contemporary furniture to usher in the 19^th century, he was most concerned that designers try to grasp basic fundamentals that are timeless and true. Principles like using proportions to create harmony and understanding form, concepts that transcend the whims of fashion. Like the value of perfect pitch to a singer, these core principles never change but always stand ready for infinite waves of creativity. Whether you understand it or not, if you see a compelling design, chances are you are hearing that perfect pitch, one or more of those fundamentals hardwired into our brains.

Shameful plug here. I’ll be out in Port Townsend Washington the weekend of Aug 26^th – 28^th for a workshop exploring these timeless principles of design. There are still some openings and I promise it will transform the way you approach design.  Hope to see you there!

 
George R. Walker