On Curves... and current projects

My wife recently called me out on being a nerd. No, it wasn't the first time she's leveled such accusations. I was reading a victorian-era book on mathematical instruments at the time, because I wanted to read about trigonometry from people who had a more intimate familiarity with how it worked. (I learned to push a button on a calculator. It works, but Mr. Thoren, my trig teacher in high school, didn't ever really get around to explaining why. His ability to teach a class, or lack thereof, was perhaps the only thing my father and I agreed on during my high school years.) 

The backstory is that I need to brush up on my trig, so I can take a running start at Calculus. My current intent is to use those trig exercises as an excuse to get back into drafting and design. So, it'll be a few months of using lots of paper and spending time with these books:

-A Treatise on Mathematical Instruments, by J.F. Heather, 13th ed. I think the original was written in 1853.
-Industrial Science Drawing, by S. Edward Warren, 2nd ed, (I think) from 1889. Parts I, II, and maybe III.
-Essentials of Plane Trigonometry, by Rosenbach, Whitman, and Moskovitz, original copyright, 1937
-And, if I'm feeling froggy enough, I might add in some of Walker and Tolpin's book, By Hand and Eye. More likely, I'll use that as a distraction during vacation, after Calculus, and keep the drafting thing going.

I enjoy reading books from the late 1800s, when it comes to technical things. Among other reasons, that pile of books I just listed, combined, weigh less than the average 21st century math textbook. They're also more concise, and they make an effort to be readable.

Another reason I'm taking this route: I've found that drafting things by hand makes me think harder about what's actually getting laid onto the paper, and why it works, or doesn't. Some of that is because my brain, to steal a quote from Doug Stowe, is in my hands. Some of it is because, unlike working in CAD, the hand-drawn page does NOT automatically propagate, and I can't put a detail down on paper very well if I can't see it in my own mind first. Usually both images co-evolve, because I use the paper drawing to help hold the framework for my head, while I focus on the particulars... I think. It's a weird back and forth.

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...And so it is that I found myself skimming through a section on free-hand geometrical drawing, from part I of Industrial Science Drawing. I got poked in the eye by the following quote:

"Work becomes costly as soon as straight outlines are abandoned, and especially as carved work begins to be employed, that its consequent difficulty of attainment makes it symbolical of the grace and beauty that can only be had under the best conditions, or, as the result of man's best aspirations; while the plain lines of ordinary work represent, by comparison, humbler human industries. Hence a bit of choice carving to crown, or tip, or face a piece of otherwise plain work, happily symbolizes the cheerful co-operation of happiness and honest industry, the meeting of truth and beauty."

Nineteenthth century predilection for male accomplishment aside, the quote stood out in part because it's basically the reason most people I've met as woodworkers, got into woodworking. They just want something that's a little bit nicer than what's typically on offer. It may also have something to do with why so many industrially executed embellishments fail so miserably to look nice: Something that skilled artisans used to do, to show skill and pride, is now done by machine, so the manufacturer can pretend to. It also reminded me of David Savage's telling of the story of the infamous 863, and the personal pride in making things that the 'daft old 863' had in spades. See his book, The Intelligent Hand for more.

Lastly, my mind read the quote, in part, as metaphor. Sometimes it's hard to take a roundabout way to get somewhere, like I'm trying to do with engineering. Like any other endeavor, really, as soon as the straight and well-worn path is abandoned, and the traveler tries to do something a little more meaningful along the way, it's just a little bit harder... and more precious.

Some basic trig, from Mathematical Instruments

Roubo on Furniture

The other day I posted this tease picture, under the headline "Satisfied would be a gross understatement."

After thinking about it, I felt weird and self-conscious about my approach to the post from a few different directions. And so I pulled it down.

And then the next day, I noticed that someone had left the following comment:

"I love those books, and can't believe we actually got to publish them. Plus, I use them all the time, so it's a joy to page through them."

For those who don't know, this is a shot of the spines of two expensive, limited edition books, in a very large, long-abandoned format. (12-1/4" x 17-1/4") The first, I bought years ago, when it was still available. The other, arrived this week. They're English translations of two (out of five) volumes on woodworking that were written by André Jacob Roubo. They were translated, and the content clarified, by a multi-disciplinary team that are each authorities in their own right, intending that the book should be not only authoritative, but readable and use-able to an English-literate audience. My understanding is that producing each of these books was a long, arduous, and devoted labor of love, that spanned an ocean, and many years. It also resulted in the production of two, separate, Award  Winning volumes. There are smaller, 'normal sized' editions of these books that are, and will continue to be available from Lost Art Press. But these are the big, fancy, brag-worthy ones. And I'm pretty sure that the comment was left by Chris Schwarz, one of the owners and stewards of this particular imprint.

And so, after noticing the comment, I felt like a dope for pulling the post. But here's the rest of the story. 

I had already planned to road-trip down to Lost Art Press this month, specifically to buy this book. This was back when they had planned to open the doors to the public, as they do every month. But fate, and the pandemic, had other ideas. As I said the other day, I can't think of another way to support the lunatic ideas that are coming out of Lost Art Press, than to continue to buy their product. So, since I had the money earmarked for this particular book already, and because I was knocked so far sideways by what he's got planned for the forthcoming Anarchist's Workbench book, I knee-jerk ordered this thing in response. ("Books for free, my eye! Take that, you Anarchist! HA!")

I don't like doing reviews of things until I'm familiar with them. And it's Roubo. If I need to explain that to you, as the saying goes, you wouldn't get it anyway. For me to offer to pass judgment on Roubo would be the height of vanity.

That said, I can at least say something about the physical object that LAP has produced. Yes, it’s award-winning, and I can see why. But aside from that, there’s good reason to go with the large format: The plates and illustrations in Roubo are large, and detailed. And you get a much better look at large, detailed illustrations when they’re printed in a large, detailed format. And the resolution on the page is incredible, so those images are even more crisp. I can't decide if these books are too nice to use in the shop, or if they deserve to be on the bench as regularly as possible. Probably a false dichotomy: I do respect my tools, and I do use them on the bench. And the pages in these editions are printed on very heavy stock. So they’re going, in theory, to last for a good, long time. That, on top of a sewn binding, heavy, durable covers, and a slip case that actually slips off. (I’ve owned fine copies of other books, where the slip cases were very, very tight, and so some man-handling was required to extricate their contents..)

I can also say I was caught off-guard by the packaging of this latter book when it was delivered. They invested in some custom cardboard crating to provide ample crumple zones around the edges of the box, and did a noteworthy job protecting the volume. It's one of those little things that conveys just how seriously they take their product, and their customers. So, job well done. And thanks, for that.

Totally worth every penny.

Where I am now

One of the things I miss about my shop in Lawrence is the pillars. They gave some pretty ideal spots to take shots from. Recently, given all the downtime, I was feeling nostalgic, and went looking back through the old posts that I'd put up, and it was fun to see the shop in various states of construction, re-arrangement, or mid-project. So, I thought I'd try that again here. Seventeen years ago I got started in a basement, and moved through a few iterations of 'real' shops before shutting down in 2014. I'm back in the basement again. (Different basement, though.)

This is a shot taken from one of the lally columns, back by the bulkhead door, next to the rubber exercise mat I set up for working out. Yes, that's an old-school tool chest with sliding tills. No, I didn't build it. Yes, it's cool. No, I didn't need to read a book on it to understand that at the time.

Incidentally, the thing on top is something called an opaque projector, that was marketed under the brand name projecta-scope. I remembered my mom having one back in the 70's, and thought it would be perfect to keep the kids occupied while we were stuck at home. Essentially, you drop it on top of an image. (Book, trading card, or, in our case, Pokémon card) A light bulb illuminates the image, which then bounces off of a mirror, and is projected onto the wall. No circuitry, nothing much more than a light bulb in a box with a lens on the side. Yes, the room needs to be very dark. No, it's not very bright, but it works. It's very old-school, decidedly low-fi, and cost me maybe $30 on ebay. Worth it. The 4 year old gets to work on his own Pokémon drawings to color, instead of having me do it, and it's been remarkable watching his hand-eye coordination develop as a result. Doug Stowe would probably be proud of me for following my son's lead, and letting his interests dictate the project. I'm just glad it's had as much mileage as it's had, already.

Shot from the bulkhead door. You can see the shelves I put up to provide storage, and some pegboard. To the left, you can see the end of the bench. Yes, there's a shave horse on the bench. It's up there because I finally realized why I couldn't quite get it to work well: It's too tall. In practice, if you're astride your shave horse, and your feet are on the floor, your knees should be above the thing. In this case, my knees do not come up that high. So I need to take 6 inches or so off of the legs to turn this clydesdale of a shave horse into more of a carnival pony. Maybe more, we'll see. So, it's up on the bench to have the legs laid out for trimming. And in the background, you'll see my bandsaw.

The bandsaw is a Laguna LT18 HD. Italian made, circa 2007. Incidentally, that was the year I graduated North Bennet. Of all of the stuff I sold from my old shop, I missed having a band saw the most. I thought about settling for a 14" saw, but over the 7 years that I owned a 14 and an 18, and ran them side by side, I noticed that the 14" broke blades a lot more frequently. Not often, but more often than the 18. I have a lot of crazy ideas for things I'd like to do someday with this saw. It's almost 7 feet tall, has a 4.5hp Baldor motor, and even with my ambitions, it's likely to be more band saw than I'll ever need. It's expected to be the heart of my shop, instead of the table saw that everyone else has.

I've done the cabinet saw thing, and there will likely be times when I'll miss having one. I might buy a benchtop table saw for fine cutting of joinery and banding and little toys and trinkets. But, knowing what I know now, I think I'll be just fine without a big table saw for a while. Behind the bandsaw is my Festool MFT, which handles panel work, and has been a workable substitute for a chop saw station, too.

Around the corner, behind the saw, is a mess of stuff that still needs to be organized and given real homes.  In the foreground is a shop cart that dates back to my days up in Lawrence, behind that is the MFT, and a rolling station with a benchtop drill press on top. In the garage I have a lathe that will get set up out there. Beyond that, the only thing I lack right now is a planer. Maybe. I have thoughts on that, but it's not holding anything up at the moment.

Unlike previous shop iterations, this shop is planned to be a multi-function space. There's a wall-hung monitor at the right end of the bench, since that's where my laptop is. I've been studying calculus recently, and have plans to work my way back to school for an engineering degree. I also have plans to install a 3D printer down here. (The printer itself is on backorder.) The notion chafes against my traditional woodworker experience, but quite honestly, I've seen some interesting things done with 3D printing in my flying car day job, and I want to learn more about it. And, truth be told, it's something I want my kids to have access to as they get older, if they're into it.

So... yeah. As man-cave fab labs go, this one's off to a pretty good start.

Book Review: Guide to Woodworking with Kids, by Doug Stowe

This image copied directly from Doug's website, but without his express permission.

"Our own life is the instrument with which we experiment with the truth."
-Thich Nhat Hanh

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I love reading about what Doug Stowe is up to. As a graduate of North Bennet, there's a common thread of Educational Sloyd that ties together my experiences and his, but in vastly different ways. I wasn't really exposed to it until I was in my late 20's, and I will always remember walking around the school with my jaw on the floor for the better part of an hour, during the tour. I wasn't even sure people still knew how to do those things, let alone that there would be a school, let alone that it would be so close to me, and that I'd never even heard about it until then. North Bennet will always, always, always, have a warm place in my heart. And the roots of what they taught, and how they taught, were rooted in Educational Sloyd, which had actually been taught there by Gustaf Larsson to the teachers who would be bringing the experience to children. Reading his source material feels like coming home, in some ways, to a home I wish I'd grown up in... and maybe, would like to provide for my children.

But in my experience, there's a difference between the theory of what I thought I wanted to do for my children one day, and what I'm actually doing. In the trenches of temper tantrums and fights over screen time, snack food, and all of the other little battles against low blood sugar, neurological development, growing pains, younger/ older brother power plays... Well, I'm human. And I miss the mark sometimes. And that's when I have to step back and re-assess.

There's a great quote that I read once upon a time, that in an age of information overload, plans don't work, and maps don't work. What you need is a compass, a trajectory, and a way to measure the key values. (Are you headed where you want to be headed, how far do you have to go, how fast are you moving, and so on.) It doesn't matter if you're in over your head, as long as you can swim. And, keep swimming. (cue the inevitable Pixar earworm) And so, when I do step back, I have to consult some of my personal compasses... of which my wife is one. (Having the right partner is key.) But there are others.

And that leads me to this marvelous book, because it's reminded me of a few things. One of those things is, in no uncertain terms, don't project your own self-deluded nonsense onto your children. Another thing I needed to remember, is just how much I didn't know, and just where is the basic base-line?

As I've been getting things set up in my basement, I've been trying to think of ways to integrate the boys, ages 7 and (almost) 5. I've been reading about stick furniture and tapered tenons, and thinking to myself how easy it would be for them to understand. And they've helped, a little, with one small project (a bench) so far.

And in so doing, I missed the point completely. The children ARE the project: The wooden MacGuffin is just a thing. Sure, I'm happy to help them figure out what they can do with their hands. And in good time, I'm sure they'll be more interested in specific projects. But of all of the various tips and tricks and suggestion that Doug has, (and there are many) the big one is this: The point of woodworking with your kids, is not to build objects. It's to help to help the children grow, help them learn, and to stay out of their way while they figure out what they have to figure out. And maybe that's the second half of the point: The children are the project, but (just like all of their really cool LEGO sets) it's not my project.  Not really. They need me to provide boundaries, and give them a basic understanding of the structure they'll be working with, but they rest of it is up to them, their nature, and their inclinations. If I do it right, I'm just a spectator/ assistant.

Ultimately, the part of my experience at North Bennet, that I want to provide for my kids, is the learning part. And it's all too easy for me to forget the vast difference between learning, and being taught. And just because I see something cool in the bones of a particular project, doesn't mean that they see it... or that they see the same cool thing. Maybe that ball and claw foot really is the leg of Optimus Prime's long-lost Cybertronian nemesis, after all. Who am I to say otherwise?

That's actually one of the great things about the pictures in his book, of the children's projects. They remind me of what it was like as a kid, building similar things, that probably looked even worse, and how the real significance at that age isn't the finished project... it's that the object itself is simply a placeholder for the imagination, while it projects all of the epic adventures and zany experiments with reality that a child's head can produce. Ninjas, dinosaurs, misguided refrigerator monsters, and a family of broken crayons who only want for a hamburger... And that process is much more important than some poor parent's need to take the kid's newly finished project into the basement to be sanded, and refinished, and made into something for the parent's imagination to project greatness upon. Who cares if it looks like something that was made by a child? It was. And that is absolutely ok. 

I was fifteen before I had my first experience with jealousy over someone else's achievements: Scott McClary made a really cool coffee table in 9th grade. I really wanted to be that guy, who could build things. But my 7 year old isn't even halfway there right now. There is nothing in his world that demands that I help him to avoid my teenage experience. (And, for that matter, there's nothing I can do with him now that would ever help me feel better about my own childhood experience.)

So, this is a woodworking book, sort of. It's a teaching book, sort of. Maybe once you blow off some of the sawdust, it's a mystical zen treatise on child rearing, sort of. (Hence the quote with which I began this post.) Or maybe it's a map to the Lonely Mountain Erebor, where we can all battle our own hidden dragons, in search of treasure.

Or, maybe it's a compass.

Am I helping them learn? Or am I trying to teach? What was it about learning fine craftsmanship, that I want to help them find for themselves, if they need it? Do they even care, yet? Am I the person in their life who is best positioned to help them with that? Is this really my shop right now, or theirs?

In my experience, when I find myself neck-deep in questions, I'm probably in the right place.

(I'm still proud to see them sitting on the bench they helped make.)

Thanks, Doug.
 

What I've been reading and doing lately, thinking round, and the curious case of Mr Schwarz

So, I've been home at this point for almost 100 days. I've lost count. I spent money on various things, including a bunch of books from Lost Art Press. (Campaign Furniture, Welsh Stick Chairs, Good Work, Ingenious Mechanics, pre-order for Kitchen Think, and...one more.) I also ordered a copy of Doug Stowe's book on working wood with kids. I can't wait.

I've been gearing up to do some chair making, because it sounds very straightforward, and more visceral than the work I'm used to doing. Quite frankly, the Welsh stick chair thing has been an interesting footnote in my understanding of Chris Schwarz, and what he's been up to: The Anarchist's Design Book has a little more depth for me than it did before. Design Book was a bell-clear call for the reader to start doing things, without obsessing, or stressing the little things. And the more I read from, and about, John Brown, the more I understood those undertones of Design Book. My understanding of Brown's 'Welsh' approach to things boils down initially to 'I'm not a classically trained anything. I needed a chair, so I made one.  It came out the way it came out.' And when he saw the chair that apparently inspired a career, he went straight after it, know-how be damned. Don't have a lathe? Grab a block plane, and 'think round.' I wonder, a little, how he'd have gotten on with Lance Patterson.

Schwarz, the editor, spent a career, publishing a magazine dedicated to all of the must-know techniques, must-build pieces, must-have tools and jigs, must-try suggestions, must-own shiny things, and on and on. So I could see why Schwarz, the anarchist, would ultimately decide that the list of must-anything should be zeroed out, and to follow that thread. And now that I've read a bit about John Brown, that notion has crystallized a bit more. Think round, indeed. And get on with it.

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Aside from that, I've also been reading the news, and despairing at how much of a boost it's given companies like Amazon, and gutted so much of the rest of the economy. Had anyone asked me, I might have justified buying the books, and a few spokeshaves, by citing my own effort to help stimulate the economy... Money should go to the small businesses, who need it.

Truth be told, I was just aching to get my hands to work. I needed space to work, so I carved out some space in my basement. Got my bench situated, and put an extension on the thing to use for homework, and such. The last piece fell into place yesterday, when the wheels started spinning on my bandsaw. With any luck I'll be writing about building things again soon, instead of just writing about reading about it.

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Schwarz bent my head the other night. He's announced plans to give away his next book electronically, for free.

Initially, I was a bit angry. As far as I'm concerned, people should be paid for their work. How dare he... but who am I to judge, really? It's his to give away. But, still... you just can't do that.

Can you?

Then I thought, maybe he's worried about legacy at this point, and what he leaves behind. This idea seemed to miss the mark, somehow. I'm sure the book will have various new observations and helpful hints, but his legacy, when it comes to bench-building, is all over the internet. He's already written a book or three on the topic, blogged (almost) ad nauseum about workbench builds and theory, and inspired a lot of workbench builds. And that experience is pretty evident in the lines of the bench that he's built. (Or, at least, the bench that he shows us a photo of. I can't imagine he'll pull the rug out at the last minute and do a big reveal of a door on sawhorses. But I'd laugh if he did.) In point of fact, it may have been easier for him to actually write a whole new book, than it would be to actually index everything he's ever blogged about.

Then this morning, I thought about his focus on Individualistic Anarchy and where that goes, and it overlaid with my frustrations about Amazon laying waste to the economy and the little guy, and wondered if that's been on his mind as well. The notion that he's distilled 20 years of bench building and offered it up for free, so people can get on with it, and get set up and start building things for themselves... Well, I can't say that it's the kind of thing he would do, because it's something he's already decided to do. But in the absence of any other meaningful gesture in the face of Amazon's gigantic money-funnel... it's actually not a bad response.

Or, maybe it's just that the pandemic has been a windfall for him, too, as the woodworking world has been left with not much to do but stay at home, and read, and build things, and he issued that missive from his yacht. I doubt that, though. It feels more like an attempt to keep the community active and engaged, and help everyone get up to speed while we're all locked up anyway, so that the seeds of more anarchists can be quietly nurtured in a soil that should be good for such things. The idea that people should stop obsessing, think round, and get to work?

Maybe it's not about legacy at all, so much as what he's trying to accomplish right now. Maybe this is his version of thinking round, and working with what he has, in the absence of whatever else he's lacking while we're all locked down. Or maybe he's more worried, in the context of this particular content, about the students than the teacher. Lost Art Press seems to be on more solid ground these days, and the catalog is expanding. Maybe this feeds the community, some of whom may be unemployed right now anyway, more than anything else he could be doing.

Maybe I've been thinking too much. I'm still on lockdown, too.

In any event, in the absence of a better response, I decided to continue to support his lunatic ideas, and ordered another book. According to my email inbox, it'll be on its way shortly.