japanese planes

Photo by MAFE

A Japanese plane at its simplest is a blade in a block of wood.  The planes above have a second blade (a chip breaker) and a bar to hold the chip breaker.

I'm getting a gradual introduction to Japanese woodworking.  I've had a Japanese saw for some time.  It's lightweight and has a removable handle.

Robert LaPorte of Econest (where I'm taking a class this fall) recommended I visit Yann Giguere of Mokuchi who has a shop in Brooklyn.  I went last week, and hope to return for a more in depth class on setting up and tuning a Japanese Plane (chisels too).  Finding out about how Japanese planes work is initially intimidating.  I have a book that gave me some basic information.

Fortunately I was able to follow up my reading with a visit to a gentleman nearby who showed me that it's not as scary as it all sounds.  I'm warming up to the idea of planing on the pull.

...

I feel like this part of my life is about learning and gathering from various disciplines and identifying what aligns with the un-excavated vision within me.  I don't really have a choice about what I do, if I listen to the voice within.  I like making simple furniture, and I like hand tools.  I'm going to chase Japanese woodworking for a while.  I'm continuing with timber framing.  I'm taking a home building course this summer too.  All are slightly different.  I'm hoping I come away with a perspective that is my own, when I put it all together.

one room wide

A couple of weeks ago I attended a conference on historic barns in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.  A bunch of traditional timber framers and I all rode buses to visit a number of beautiful timber framed barns.

As we rode, we also saw many beautiful old stone houses.  Many of the houses were one room wide.

I reflected that many of the dwellings that have moved me and remained in my memory are one room wide.  In a house that is one room wide, you feel the house sheltering you.  You can see out windows in all directions, and the slant of the roof above you also gives a special feeling.

This may be part of the reason that small houses charm us more than small ones.  It's good to be able to feel the shape of the walls that protect you.  You can see that many of the houses I've saved here are small, and possibly one room wide most of the time.

What other qualities that make our hearts sing when we see a magic cottage?

be grounded

which can sometimes mean, lay on the ground, look at the sky.

(when you get up, sometimes there are leaves stuck to your hat)

trail of the cedars in glacier national park

Maybe 10 years ago my brother & I camped in Glacier National Park.  We did a little back country camping (my first and only experience camping out of a backpack instead of a tent).  We saw a bear.

One of the trails we hiked was so memorable that I am hoping to return to it.  By chance an internet search helps me to find it--Trail of the Cedars.  Not too far from the parking area, we came across these stream-carved channels in the rock.  I'm thrilled to have found a photograph, since I can't seem to locate my own.

It's not the same as the photograph in my mind.  But without the name of the trail, I would have a tough time getting back there.

Are there beautiful places in your mind that you want to return to?

more magic

This house is pictured in Lloyd Kahn's book Tiny Homes: Simple Shelter.  I devoured this book over a year ago so I'm not remembering the details of the story around this house.   The house is in British Columbia and those are whale bones.   

Here is an article from Mother Earth News about Lloyd and the book.  I also enjoy reading his blog.

Nuala O'Faolain's magic cottage

I'm reading "Are You Somebody", a memoir by Nuala O'Faolain.  The writing is rich--it gives you a sense of the texture of an Irish life in the 60's and 70's.

Halfway through the book, I came across a passage that brought me to a stop.  I read it over and over, and bent the page corner, and came back to it again.  Nuala would visit her boyfriend's home on weekends.  After a work week, she'd take the train north out of London, and get off at a quiet platform in a village.  He would step out of the little pub to meet her.

We'd buy our take-away bottles and head off.  We went home by a pathway along the edge of the fields, then by the side of a thick beech wood, and then we ducked into the wood and went across the soft forest floor, parting the boughs until we came out in a clearing in the middle of the wood, and there, in a patch of grass, like a thing of magic, stood the cottage.

Every season was beautiful.  In the spring there was a sea of bluebells under the sharp sweet green of the new beech leaves.  In summer the golden cubes of straw glowed in the stubble fields and the woods were blackish-green.  In autumn, the searchlights of ferris-wheel havesters played and replayed on the blank wall of the trees as they whirled and thumped up and down the big fields, chewing up whole pea plants and spitting the mulch out behind.  Winter was the most wonderful of all.  First there was a season when the leaves fell so thickly in the wood that there was silence.  The mist rolled up from the estuary and the bare twigs of the trees were covered in a cold sweat.  Then it would freeze, and when we came out of the pub and started along the path to home we'd be breaking the skin of ice that had begun to form on the puddles when it got dark.  We'd turn into the skeletal woods.  And there, in its little clearing crisp with frost, would be our cottage, the light glowing from the warm kitchen, the dinner ready in the stove.  We had no bathroom, no television, no telephone.  We had everything.

Nuala shares that although the relationship with this man was at times one of disagreement, that the year that they shared in this cottage was a year "of great happiness".  That rings true to me.  A house like this one sends peace deep into your bones.  It's solidly rooted in a place of beauty, and a profound sense of rest settles over you, grounds you, makes you unshakeable.

This passage paints a clear picture for me.  I don't want to include a photograph to interfere with your mental image.  All I know is I believe the world would be a better place if we humans had safe, warm bungalows to return to at night, with the feeling of security that this can not be taken from me.  Put that cottage deep in a beech forest.  "We had everything."  This is contentment, this is peace.

grounded and connected

I've uncovered two needs as I've journeyed into this woodworking career.

source

First, to become grounded in reality.  This means hands on woodworking.  Not dreaming about it, or saving pictures, or wishing to do it.  Just doing it.

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At the same time, as I move into the reality of learning skills, making furniture, acquiring tools, attending workshops, meeting timber framers...another need surfaces.  It's the need to stay connected to my original vision.  What was the initial attraction to this journey?  What is the vision?

made a mano

Suddenly my folders of inspiration pictures become a valuable resource.  I can come back to them and see what was my attraction.

made a mano

 Because as I move into the real world, many of my teachers have another vision that drives them.  And I will learn from these people.  But ultimately I will return to my vision and create that which gives me joy.

made a mano

So my pinterest account, my tumblr page, these weren't a complete waste of time.  It is a connection to my dream.

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I want to be grounded in my current woodworking practice.  And I want to stay connected to the dream that brought me here in the beginning.

Photo by Brian Ferry

Small cozy hand made homes.  Simple furniture with visible joinery.  Elements of a simple and satisfying life, both for the maker, and the owner.

Klaus Lictenegger

japanese chisels

I'm researching Japanese tools in preparation for some purchases for my course this fall.  I came across these very high end chisels on japanesetools.com.

Look at the pattern on these chisels!

Is this even real?  It looks like some kind of silk!

And as the chisel is sharpened, the grain of the metal (I never knew there was such a thing) is revealed.

toy box bench--done and delivered!

Today I delivered the finished toy bench to the friends who asked me to make it.  It was really exciting to see their reactions to it.

Here are a couple of more pictures:

Special supports hold the lid open if you lift it.  This is a necessity for a child's toy box.  The first hardware I installed was not strong enough to hold up the lid, so I got two stronger ones and they did the job perfectly.

Each board was sanded and its edges rounded with rasp, plane, or sandpaper prior to assembly.  It's important to me that the wood is smooth to the touch.

There were several mistakes along the way that I had to go back and fix, but I carefully fixed each one, taking my time.  It's incredibly satisfying to know that I'm giving them a quality product that will last.  I am hoping that it grows along with its baby owner, meeting different needs during each stage of her life.

a functional entryway

meg farrels' hallway: design sponge

There are two pieces of furniture in this picture.  The wall mounted shelf with hooks creates usable hanging space for coats and bags.  Functional and decorative items sit above at eye level.

Below, a bench is a place to set a bag down, or sit and remove boots.  Footwear can be stored under the bench.

No expensive cabinetry is required.  Just two simple pieces that transform a bare hallway, so it becomes a convenient and homey place to transition from indoors to outdoors.

perfect house

Houses don't need to be big.  They just need to be perfect.  Like this one.

With hand made twiggy railings and wood shingle roofs

Source: Small House Bliss

And plastered walls and beautiful green stillness around.

I'd love to make a house like this for myself.  Slowly, with time.  And I'd love to make perfect homes for others.  The workshops I take this summer will keep me moving toward that dream.

starting on toy bench

I finalized the design with my clients.  This is a side view of the toy bench.

I found this design in a book on country furniture, and modified it:

After the design process was complete, I purchased the wood.  

Here is the wood stacked on the sawhorses I made at Hammerstone School's women's carpentry class.  They've come in handy!

Then I transferred my design onto the wood...

...and cut it out using my coping saw.  As my arms were burning, I was wishing I'd accepted the free jigsaw I was offered earlier this year!  However, there is a nice handmade irregularity to the cuts.

I've got two of these so far:

I'm interested to see how long this project takes.  And I'm loving the process!

simple shelf

This shelf is made from 5 boards.  Hung on a wall, it transforms a space.

source

People need shelves like these on their walls.  Having objects like these on display, or at hand for use, makes a room feel more comforting.

do the hardest thing

You know that thing that you're avoiding?  That sort of nags at you because you're not sure you can do it?  You put it off till last, happily washing dishes, checking emails, or sweeping the floor, because your success rate at those tasks is 100%.

I'm starting to see that I'm going to have to start facing my scary hard things first.  The things I don't think I can do aren't as bad as I think.

I finished this table.  Sixteen mortise & tenon joints.  I attached the table top.  Then I mounted the vise.  The vise was the part I'd been dreading.  I had to do it last, once the table was done.  The vise is extremely heavy and I was afraid that somehow it would fall and land on my toe or break something.

Also, drilling holes in the table top was tricky, the bit wandered, I did things in the wrong order.  But  in the end, I didn't mess up my beautiful tabletop.

I followed the directions, bought a special drill bit to drill larger holes, and installed the heavy vise using lag bolts.  It's on.  It wasn't particularly easy but I did it.

What other hardest things am I avoiding?  Well, there's a long list.  I'm going to make a personal challenge to courageously face them, one at a time, until scary things aren't as scary.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote "Your fears are boring".  This comes to mind as I type this.  I am loaded up with fears, but writing them here makes them seem boring.  You should be turning away, distracted as I ramble on and on about how scary things are.  Good.  I'll stop now.  I'll go do one hard thing.  See you!

table is done!

Esther Freud's house

I finished my table.  I don't have photos right now as the computer got overhauled and all pictures are on the external hard drive for now.  However, I'm happy to be done, and to have a new improved work space in addition to the countertop I'd been working on.

Next project is a toy bench/box for a friend's baby.  I found a great design in a furniture book, which I'll modify slightly.  I'm gathering my energy for this next project, which I hope is a lot simpler than my table was.

I am making plans for this summer, making up my own apprenticeship program with travel and a variety of experiences.  A new idea is to purchase a van and use it for my travels.  A portable home for the summer.  And I'm excited to be heading west!

The image above is one I saved as my desktop image.  I love how the timbers add coziness to this room.  Have a cozy evening if it is winter where you are.  Soup, warm bread, tea, toast, blankets, hot baths, candlelight.  I wish it all for you.

irish stone hut

In 2007, I traveled to Ireland.  This is one of the houses I photographed there.  I have more pictures here.

invest in yourself

Anne Truitt is a fine artist who wrote the memoir "Daybook".  One piece of advice that stayed with me from the book was invest in yourself.

Another writer mentions this in an article on her website.  I've taken the advice to heart, spending money for courses and lodging during this winter break.  This also applies to spending money on quality tools, and to investing time in myself.

Speaking of time, if I just spend 30 minutes in my workshop tonight, I may complete a dovetail joint that would allow me to re-assemble my table.  The pegs will have to wait until next week.  Not sure how long it will take me to figure out the table top, and most challenging, installing the vise.  But bit by bit I'm moving forward.

Below is my workspace with one of the legs.  One mortise done and one drilled in preparation for chiseling.

And the next photo is the tenons, stacked and ready to assemble.  I found that very little adjustments were needed when I put it all together.  It was very exciting to assemble the table and see all the pieces FINALLY come together!

I'm still procrastinating putting the pegs in--nervous about draw boring, because if I screw it up I feel like there is no turning back.  Perhaps in my course this weekend I can ask for some advice.

new year

It's healthy to take time off during the dark months of the year.  Time to reflect, and recover.  I've dug into my journals and been reading back into my mindset from ten and more years back!  Wow.  I am getting reacquainted with myself.

Yesterday I drove to Philadelphia to take a sharpening class at the Philadelphia Furniture Workshop.  I learned how to sharpen my chisels, plane irons, and my new cabinet scraper (a tool I'd never heard of until this fall).

I don't have a grinding wheel at home so it was good to get familiar with one.  I learned that the grinding stone can get clogged with metal debris and needs to be "dressed" with another tool that freshens the surface of the stone.

I learned how to hollow grind, even though my timber framing friends say not to do it (they grind their chisels flat).  But then again, they're often working on oak and really hard antique timbers.   If I'm working on green wood, and especially softer woods like pine and poplar, like I have been, I may be ok with hollow grinding my chisels.

I watched how carving tools are sharpened, and decided that carving a spoon would be fun!

Two of my chisels are very low quality (they were hand me downs).  Of course my timber framing chisel is the best I could find.  It and all my planes are now sharp.  Between other obligations, I'll spend time this week working on my table.

Then I can get to making the toy box/bench that friends want me to make for their daughter.

Happy New Year, friends!

sturdy little bench

This little bench is very close to my heart.  It's made from old douglas fir (a board I picked up somewhere) as well as two cross pieces of new pine.

You can see the holes from the board's previous life as a shelf, and who knows what before that.  The wood is scratched and worn, which is part of its charm for me.

There is a photo of me that I don't have right now, on my first birthday, sitting on a little stool not too different from this one.  That little stool was part of my childhood.  I can picture it vividly still, although it was left behind in Bolivia when we moved over twenty years ago.

Two of my coworkers are originally from Africa.  When I showed them this picture, they said:  we sit on benches like that all the time back home.  And perhaps that is the appeal for me--simple benches like these are what Bolivian market vendors sit on while they spread their produce on blankets on the ground.

I want my furniture to be primitive, made from solid wood only.  It should be sturdy, an heirloom piece that stays in the family for a lifetime or longer, so that it holds an emotional weight.  It's a repository of memories.

The furniture should be unfinished, or at most rubbed with oil or beeswax.  It should not be stained or varnished or painted.  The edges should be rounded, sanded soft, so that your hand feels the wood's smooth texture.  Then as spills, scratches, or stains accumulate, you embrace the history that will be recorded on the surface.

This little bench will be part of my life for years to come.   I would like to make many more benches like it for people like you.

adobe hut

This picture was taken...a while ago.  We were hiking down from the top of the mountain above our house in Cochabamba, Bolivia, and came across this hut at the side of the road.

I don't remember the dog that got himself into this photograph, but I do remember being enchanted by this little house, built from whatever was at hand, including what are probably eucalyptus poles, as they grow a little further down the mountain.

At the top of the mountain, the grass is bristly yellow against a deep blue sky.  To me, these are the colors of the Andes.