The Time Machine

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it”

— Roald Dahl

Completing a project in my shop usually plays out like this:  first, I dance around and scream “It’s finished, it’s finished!” as loud as I can.  I’m ecstatic that I managed to finish the damn thing so I can move on to something else.  Once I realize that no one else in the house actually cares, I stop screaming and start to feel a little sad.  I’ve invested a lot of effort and emotion into the project which can make it difficult to move on. 

My curved-front desk project came to a close over the holidays.  It was a long and complex project, and I have a lot of memories stored up in it.  My projects act like a real-world version of Professor Dumbledore’s Pensieve.  Every piece of the project triggers a vivid recollection of my state of mind, surroundings, and worries at the time that I made it.  It’s a lot like hearing a song from years ago that instantly transports you back to that time in your life.

When I run my hands along the sweep of the legs I remember how hot it was the day that I cut the curves.  I was listening to Fleet Foxes on repeat and I nicked my finger on the blade of my spokeshave.  The dovetail joinery between the front rails and the drawer dividers reminds me of how sick I was when I cut those joints.  I can pinpoint the exact spot where I stopped mid-saw cut to go to the hospital.  Seeing the aprons joined to the legs brings back a vivid memory of complete joy when the joints slide together perfectly with minimal trimming of the tenons.  The drawers remind me of the despair I felt as I struggled to motivate myself to finish them over multiple consecutive Sundays, with my Chicago Bears losing on the TV in my shop and autumn rain pouring down outside.  And the top will forever remind me of the day that I explained to my eight-year-old daughter how the front edge would mirror the curve of the front of the carcase and she sighed, nodded, and said, “That sounds nice, but why don’t you just leave it square so it’ll be done already?”

A hand-made piece of furniture isn’t just some planks of wood stuck together.  Its a culmination of dozens of hours of work and thousands of decisions.  Everything I’ve ever made is a physical representation of that period of my life capable of transporting me back through time.  And that is one thing I know I’ll never get from a store-bought piece of furniture. 

Shock and Awe in the New Year

I can’t believe 2014 is over already!  As usual, the holidays were a whirlwind of parties, gifts, and food.  I’m looking forward to a new year filled with new projects; I have a number of shop improvements and furniture projects on my to-do list.  Now that the holiday gift projects are all wrapped up, I have a clean slate and I’m excited to get started.

Historically, I haven’t built a lot of Christmas gifts for my family, but this year presented me with the opportunity to build a small cutting board for my mom.  It was really no big deal; I don’t think it took more than two hours of my time from choosing the appropriate scrap wood to applying the final coat of oil.  The reaction that I got when she unwrapped it, however, was priceless:  no one believed me when I told them that I had made it myself.  Now, my family knows that I’m a woodworker and they’ve seen the furniture pieces in my house that I’ve built.  My mom and dad even have a corner table in their foyer that I designed and built for them.  None of those furniture pieces—despite the fact that they are all significantly more complex than a simple cutting board—ever elicited a reaction of shocked disbelief, however.

My day job is in downtown Chicago.  Every day, on my way into the office, I walk past a site where a new skyscraper is under construction.  Over the past year, I’ve watched this project progress from a big hole in the ground to a monolith of concrete, granite, and glass.  I’ve been completely indifferent to the construction process, however, because it’s just too big.  The project was so immense and so complex that my brain couldn’t process it… I just glanced at the new building everyday, shrugged, and moved on.  I think non-woodworkers have a similar reaction when they see a completed project.  A chest of drawers, a china cabinet, or a table and a set of chairs are just too big and complex to think about, so they just shrug and move on.  

A cutting board is a simple item that gets used every day.  Regular folks spend $40 or $50 for a nice cutting board and it never really occurs to them that they could make one themselves.  So, I guess some shocked reactions are understandable given the circumstances.  In 2015, I hope that all of your projects bring a little bit of happiness (or at least some shock and awe) to your loved ones, as well.  Happy New Year!

Challenge Yourself

“The person who says it cannot be done should not interrupt the person who is doing it.”

— Chinese proverb

I like to run.  It doesn’t matter what the conditions are:  hot, cold, rain, snow, sleet, daytime, nighttime.  There’s nothing better than being alone with your own thoughts in the dark quiet of the early morning and churning out the miles.  While I’m not really a competitive runner, I’m always looking for ways to improve.  Short of the handful of times that I was chased by some angry wild animals, I was disappointed with my average pace times.  I wanted to run faster and, try as I might, I wasn’t seeing much improvement.  That was when I changed the game by challenging myself.  I signed up for some races and set a goal for my finish times.  With a tangible goal set I was able to improve my speed to levels that I would have thought impossible just a year ago.  It wasn’t easy, but working toward a stretch goal instead of just exercising was what I needed to realize significant improvement in my ability. 

Take a look back at your last five woodworking projects.  How would you characterize them?  Are you basically building the same or similar items over and over again, or are you going outside your comfort zone by taking on projects that challenge your abilities?  If you want to improve your skills, you need to stretch your limits.  Build projects that you aren’t sure you’ll be able to finish.  I promise you that nine times out of ten you will finish them and you’ll be amazed at your accomplishment.

The most obvious way to challenge yourself is by taking on a style of project that you’ve never attempted before.  Do you usually build square casework?  Try a sculpted rocker, instead.  Have you mastered built-in bookcases?  Try building a small box.  Channel your inner George Costanza, and do the complete opposite of everything you would normally do.  A second option is to choose a “simple” project with only basic joinery, but take as much care and time with it as you need to execute every step of the build flawlessly.  Don’t settle for anything short of perfection.  Just make sure it’s a small project to avoid driving yourself crazy.

I often see woodworkers advising others to practice new techniques before trying them on a project.  While this advice is sensible and logical, I’ve often found practicing joinery techniques on throw-away scrap wood to be about as exciting as watching boiled linseed oil dry.  Do you want to master that new technique?  Then challenge yourself, grab ahold of that technique, and jump right into a project with it.  When the fate of your project relies on the proper execution of a brand new technique, you’ll execute it with a laser focus and learn to use it in a practical real-world scenario.

Challenging yourself by moving outside of your comfort zone creates an unbeatable learning experience, adds excitement to your life, and can be a whole lot of fun.  Don’t shy away from opportunities to build something that, on it’s surface, looks too difficult or was assigned an arbitrary difficulty rating of “advanced” by a magazine editor.  Jump right in with both feet and when you come out the other side, you’ll have created something that you can truly be proud of.

Sticks and Stones

“Putting labels on others creates a black hole of disregard where judgment thrives and schisms deepen.”

— David W. Earle

    No one would ever accuse me of being an extrovert, but occasionally I run into a fellow woodworker at a social gathering.  This is usually a great experience, but I recently had a conversation that had me looking for the exit.

    “So, what kind of woodworking do you do?”  The man didn’t look at me when he asked the question.  Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on his drink, which he swirled causing the ice cubes to clink.
    “Flatwork.  I’ve been building a lot of furniture in a modern shaker style, lately.  How about you?”
    “Oh!” he said, his eyes growing wide, almost as if he just realized I was standing next to him. “I’m a Norm-anderthal with an occasional Mayan-breakdancer mixed in.”
    I blinked.  He was saying English words, but they were not connected in any way that I recognized.  “I’m sorry… did you say, ‘Norm-anderthal?’”
    “Oh, yeah!  That means I’m strictly a power tool user, but I’ll only work with vintage machines.”
    “Is that a real term?  I’ve never heard that before.”
    “Of course.  Everyone is using that term lately.”
    “Who is ‘everyone?’”
    “You know… the forums.”
    “Which forums?”
    “THE forums.”
    I sighed.  “Fine, fine. What’s a ‘Mayan-breakdancer?’”
    He snorted and a few drops of his drink dripped on my shoes from his incessant swirling. “Boy, you must be a real newbie!  A Mayan-breakdancer is a small project that I build using only vintage hand tools from the ancient Mayan empire while wearing clothing from the 1980’s.”
     “Heh heh.  Yeah.  I must be a real ‘newbie.’”
     “Any way, it sounds like you like to use both hand tools and power tools.  Would you say you’re more of a hybrid woodworker or a blended woodworker?"
    “Errr… are those different?”
    “Oh, definitely!  A hybrid woodworker is someone who primarily uses power tools, but mixes in hand tools sometimes.  A blended woodworker is someone who uses hand tools primarily, but mixes in power tools sometimes.”
    “Huh.  I guess this is more complicated than I thought.  What do you call someone that uses power tools and hand tools equally with no real preference?”
    “What?” He rolled his eyes. “Nobody does that.”  His phone rang, and he held up a finger at me as he turned around to take the call.  While his back was turned, I slipped away.

    I don’t like to assign labels to woodworkers.  Sure, sometimes there’s no choice; if you want to discuss a particular topic, it’s best to name it so everyone has the proper frame of reference.  When you step back and look at the overall population, however, woodworkers are a very small percentage.  We’re a tiny niche group that insists on sub-dividing itself into even smaller niche groups.  These small groups then become cliques that either close themselves off from the greater community or outright go to war with other cliques on the internet.  This might be human nature since it’s common in all social groups, but that doesn’t mean it’s positive.

    I rarely improve my skills by limiting my interactions to a small group of people that do things exactly the same way that I do.  Every breakthrough that I’ve ever experienced came after talking with or reading about someone that approaches the craft from a different direction.  I need to surround myself with unfamiliar ideas and methods to spark my own creativity.  The Norm-anderthals could learn a thing or two from the blended woodworkers.  And I’m sure the hybrid woodworkers could find some great sparks by talking with the Mayan-breakdancers.  Well, maybe not… unless they’re looking for a good deal on parachute pants.

    The online debates over which group represents the more “traditional” woodworkers or the more “skilled” woodworkers or whatever people are arguing over these days need to stop.  It doesn’t matter what tool you use to accomplish a task.  The fact that you’re building things made out of wood is enough.  So put the label maker away and get back to work.

    Oh, and I guess it’s entirely possible that I made up that entire conversation.  Then again, maybe not.

Failure Is The Only Option

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”

— W.C. Fields

The year was 2002:  MTV showed us that in real life Ozzy Osbourne is actually more like your 95-year-old grandmother than the Prince of Darkness, people who couldn’t be bothered to read the books finally found out what was hiding in the Chamber of Secrets, and Whitney Houston reminded us all that crack is, indeed, whack.  In the midst of this pop culture hurricane, I attempted to build my first furniture project and failed miserably.

I wanted to build a blanket chest that would be used initially as a toy box.  I found a picture of one that I liked, and it seemed simple enough, so I headed down to my local big box store and bought some S4S hard maple.  I owned no woodworking tools beyond a few light duty f-style clamps and a circular saw at this point, so while I was at the store I also purchased a new tool:  a biscuit joiner.  My first (and last, as it turned out) step on this project was to glue up the panels for the sides and top.  I laid out my boards and used the biscuit joiner to cut slots in all the edges.  At the time, I wasn’t totally clear on why I needed to do this, but that’s what Norm did, so I figured it must be the right course of action.  I slathered on some glue, clamped up my panels, and let them cook overnight.

As you can probably imagine, when I removed the clamps the following day, I was disappointed in the results.  Maybe disappointed isn’t the right word.  Distraught is probably more accurate.  My panels were noticeably wavy instead of flat, there were gaps in my joints, there was too much glue squeeze out to clean off without damaging the wood, and, despite using dozens of freaking biscuits, the joints were misaligned.  I was beset by issues that I had neither the knowledge, skillset, nor tooling to correct.

So I quit woodworking and never looked back, right?  Wrong!  I tried again with a less ambitious project and succeeded due to all the lessons I learned in my first aborted attempt.  What could I have possibly learned from this disaster?  I learned that all the boards in a glue-up must be flat for the panel to be flat, you can’t assume lumber marked as S4S will be true, you need to joint edges to get a seamless glue line, you have to remove the glue squeeze out before it fully hardens, and that biscuits aren’t really needed for alignment except in special circumstances.  Gluing up a panel is perhaps one of the most fundamental skills that a woodworker needs to learn, and the lessons I took away from my first attempt served me well on subsequent projects.

Failing isn’t a bad thing; failure is what makes you better.  Practicing a skill is exactly the same as exercising:  when you lift weights, you cause small amounts of damage to the muscle causing your body to build additional muscle tissue for repairs, which makes you get stronger.   Likewise, when you make mistakes in your woodworking, you naturally adapt your techniques, which leads to success in future attempts.  I like to think that I have a library of previous mistakes and failures to draw upon whenever I take on a new project.  If you want to become a better woodworker, just remember that the only practical difference between a master and his apprentice are the number of mistakes each person has accumulated in their experience library.  Now go make something and start building a library of your own.