Combray Furniture Studio

Building A Lutyens Garden Bench -- The Base Comes Together

2012-01-23T09:00:00.001-05:00

So far, the most difficult part of the project has been the sheer size and weight of the stock. Here in Chester County, PA I have ready access to 8 inch wide, 12 foot long, 8/4 white oak. But hauling it around the shop, cutting it to the proper dimensions, and surfacing it becomes a big issue. In order to save my back I cut each piece to +/- 6 inches (to allow for snipe) of its final length. I don't even think about using the table saw to cut to width because of the extreme internal movement of flat-sawn white oak. In fact, it wants to twist so much during sawing that even the band saw is out of the question. Out comes the rip saw and wedges, and once chilly shop seems a bit steamy.

I cut this about 1/4" oversize, let it sit for a couple of days and pass one edge and one face on the jointer, then use the thickness planer to reach my final width and thickness.

The Back Legs
The most complicated element of the base is the back leg segment. In order to achieve the necessary heft, you must face glue two, 3 1/2" by 2" pieces of stock and band saw out the rough profile. I entertained notions of using two pieces of stock and fashioning some fancy scarf joint, but this bout of insanity passed and I went with the most straight-forward approach. The key is position your template so that you hide the glue line on the lower half of the leg.

I trace the template and rough cut each leg on the band saw. Outside faces are smoothed easily with a hand plane.

The inside faces are worked first with the hand plane, then a spoke shave, then a quick pass on the spindle sander at the interior angle. Once the two pieces match I use the template to cut them to length with each end sporting the proper angle.

Rails and Stiles
Like it or not, the next part of the project enters into the realm of chair making -- and I always find this both fascinating and slightly complicated. I like making chairs, and it is not really difficult if you can keep all of the angles straight in your head and remain mindful of the forces at work. While I won't attempt to give a step-by-step tutorial, it is easy to keep some general notions in mind:

Looking at a side view, all rails join the front leg at a 90 degree angle. They join the angled back leg at matching obtuse/acute angles depending on whether they meet above or below the back leg bend.

The dry fit looks good, the gaps are because I have it pulled slightly apart.

Looking at a front view, all rails join at a 90 degree angle (there is no "splay") and follow the lines of the leg to which it connects. This means that they are 90 degrees to the ground in the front, and angled along the same lines on the back.

Joinery
All joinery is done with loose tenons. Mortices that are on the faces of boards are done using the router fence . . .

. . . Or in my ugly-but-useful morticing jig.

End grain mortices can be a bit more challenging. Short pieces fit in the jig . . .

Long pieces require a bit of a high-wire act, which looks worse than it actually turned out to be . . .

I like to cut one mortice, place it against its mating piece, and then transfer the dimensions of the first mortice. This ensures that the joint will be properly aligned and that the loose tenon will have a snug fit (oxymoron alert!)

I've also found it useful in these situations ("found it useful" as in made the mistake of not remembering to) cut one piece from the plans, complete a dry-fit, and cut the remaining pieces with a story stick from the semi-assembled piece. This is important as I am prone to adjust the dimensions from the plans as I go along. Looking at the side view dry-fit above, I see that the lower side rail will need to be re-cut, as it seems to be about 1/4" shy. Working with loose tenons makes these kind of mistakes less catastrophic.

The dry-fit, with the curved seat supports in place, shows me that I am on the right track (with one exception.) Normally, I would think about a sub-assembly at point, but the complicated nature of the seat back joinery makes this impossible. And we'll tackle this next time. Cheers!

Building A Lutyens Garden Bench -- Templates and Tricky Bits

2012-01-14T16:03:00.000-05:00


A Lutyens Bench peeks out from among the yews at Sissinghurst in Kent

If I were to list the dozen or so pieces of furniture that have stopped me in my tracks over the years, high among that list would be the traditional Lutyens bench. Named after the architect and frequent Gertrude Jekyll collaborator Edwin Lutyens, the bench brings a rare sense of high Victorian style to outdoor furniture. His list of architectural credits is immense -- everything from the design for Jekyll's iconic house, Munstead Woods, the redesign of Lindisfarne Castle, and the complete city plan for New Delhi.

But among American gardeners and furniture-makers, we are most familiar with his eponymous bench. To me, the style seems to combine the ordered design of Thomas Chippendale's Chinese furniture with the arts and crafts cloud lifts of Greene and Greene. The challenges to building the piece are that it works best on a large scale, and that the construction process is fairly complicated -- requiring nearly every tool in my shop and taxing every muscle in my body.

Right from the start I made two decisions. As my head was wrapped around an original design that I was building, and I wanted to nail the curves without too much frustration, I purchased ready-made plans for this particular project. Available though Taunton Press, these plans turned out to be $20.00 well spent. Printed on thick glossy paper, with accurate dimensions, this is a great jumping off point. In addition, I decided to build the bench in white oak. The white oak is, in many ways a compromise, but teak was out of the question, and 8/4 cedar and cypress were not readily available. Research on finishes, and the advice of some artisans I trust, has led me to believe that I can make the oak viable over a twenty-year life.

Building the Templates
Taunton's plans include full-scale drawings of the most difficult components. I traced these onto a sheet of my over sized printer paper, and made plywood templates of the crest rail, front legs, rear legs, and seat rails. In order to get a perfect circle on the top of the front rail, (the lollipop) I drilled a hole in the center and cut a 3" radius circle on the circle-cutting jig at the bandsaw. In fact, if you can keep this set-up intact, this will be the best way to cut the actual legs.

For the angled rear legs, I cut a single 11/2" plywood strip, then cut it into two pieces in a modified scarf joint, that gave me the proper angle. As I've done in the past, I achieve straight lines by hot-gluing a thin 1/16" strip along any plywood edges that I have to cut freehand.

This design lives or dies by your ability to replicate the signature crest rail. I set aside an entire afternoon to creating this template. I started at the bandsaw and finished at my bargain-basement Grizzly portable spindle sander. As you can see, I left the template long so that I can start and end my router passes without encountering end grain.

Cutting The Crest Rail and Front Legs
Once the crest rail template is complete, I trace the image on the 8" wide 8/4 oak stock. To ease the transition through the tight curves I drill 1" holes right to the line.

I cut very close to the line on the tight exterior curves in an attempt to minimize catastrophic tear-out at the router table. Plan B was to sand and around these difficult bits at the first hint of a blow up, but things went well so I routed the entire piece.

As you can see, there is a trade-off around the speed at which you rout (too fast and you risk tear-out, too slow and it burns.) I generally opt for too slow as the final sanding removes any burned material. Through a combination of spokeshaving, hand-sanding, and spindle sanding, I come up with a final surface.

In order to achieve a snug fit with its mirror image, I use a T-square to align the joint perpendicular with the horizontal edge of the crest rail. This is cut most easily at the miter box.

The front legs are best cut by squaring the inside long edge and then referencing this face on the bandsaw up to the "lollipop." Then attach the leg to the template on the circle-cutting jig and finish the cut. This avoids potential end grain disasters.

With the two tricky curved components complete, it's time to focus on the rear legs and the base. And we'll tackle that in the next post!

Contemporary Shaker Style Table -- Completed and Delivered

2012-01-06T15:10:00.000-05:00

After an intense bout of machine time on the Hammer Beam Tables, I was looking forward to completing this Shaker table with a bit more handwork. I keep a foot in both the machine and hand tool camps -- and I believe that they each require a different but complementary skill set. The bottom line is that I'll use the technique that best serves the piece. All that being said, I'd rather be planing than sanding, listening to Bach than listening to Delta.

I rough joint the edges on the jointer and then plane them, side-by-side, with my #8 Bailey to achieve perfect edges for the glue up.

Once the dark wood glue was dry, I scraped the surface and tuned my 4 1/2 hand plane. My initial idea was to add butterfly keys to the joint between dark and light woods. But after further inspection, I felt that the curl in the maple had enough panache to carry the design on its own.

I also finished this soft-ish wood right off the blade to avoid any sanding that would spread dark walnut dust into the maple pores. The wood planed quite well, and the high angle frog was up to the task of taming the maple curl. I do, however, encounter the tell-tale lines of a smoother doing its work without a cambered blade -- or do I? A quick check with a square tells me that a camber does exist, so what gives? I take a couple of passes without the blade and find that the pesky still line exists -aha! the fault lies on the body of the plane, and sure enough, I find an almost indiscernible little ding at the back edge. I guess the recent trip from the benchtop to the hardwood floor left its mark. Some 600 grit paper does the trick, and the top is ready to finish in very short order.

A good example of a mixed approach is creation of the circular top from the glued-up walnut and curly maple stock. For me, the idea of cutting this by hand never enters the picture -- I use either the bandsaw or plunge router. And it is a case of "choose your poison." The bandsaw, with the appropriate jig, will give you a uniformly rough surface, irrespective of grain. The plunge router gives a better overall surface, but can be quite rough around the end grain areas. I go with the plunge router, in its circle-cutting jig, and take light passes in different directions to approach the end grain in the most effective manner.

The top, straight from the router . . .

Now that the circle is free, I smooth the edge with a spokeshave. The mouth is quite closed and I take a very thin shavings of chocolate and vanilla wood. The best surface comes when you find ways to work "downhill" with the grain and skew the tool as needed. I take a few passes with some 400 grit paper and break the edge ever so slightly.

. . . And after the spokeshave

The top is secured to the base with the usual brass bolts into a threaded insert. I start by routing a 1/4" wide groove about 1/2" through the support (so the bolt can slide with wood movement), and drill a 7/8" hole about 1/2" deep to recess the head. I invert the table base and mark the underside of the top to accept the hardware. And just like that, the table is complete.

I used the spokeshave to create an almost propeller-like profile to the base support

I use my go-to finish on pieces like this -- two coats of boiled linseed oil followed by two thin coats of paste wax. And I'm pretty happy with the result.

The base support runs perpendicular to the grain

I stayed consistent with my idea to keep the table "chunky." There is no taper to the thickness of the legs and the edge of the table top retains its plain, thick profile.

These tables are always a little mini-woodworking class in one project -- turning, surfacing, multiple board glue-up, sliding dovetails, and finishing all in one go-- very satisfying!

Next up, a three part series of posts about the construction of a massive Lutyens Bench. Cheers!

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . Finished! (and finished)

2012-01-01T13:19:00.000-05:00

Out of the shop, the Hammer Beam tables are finished and cooling their heels in my family room. I built these as a prototype for a motif I'd like to use on several other pieces. Overall, I'm quite pleased with the end result and I feel that in my own (very) small way I've advanced the cause of arts-and-crafts furniture.

Once the main construction was worked out, all that was left to do was to add a few details, secure the top to the base and complete the finish. There isn't much ornamentation on this piece, but I added two little refinements.

The first is a chamfer on the curved beam to give a nod to the furniture of Edward Barnsley.

The second is a small triangle of exposed dowel joinery that will affix the top support to the base. I create a template for hand drilling and then drill without the support in place. After removing the template I slide the support in place, level it, and drill through. The dowels are installed and trimmed. Once completed, it gives a nice rustic-yet-refined look.

I secure the top to the base by installing threaded barrel inserts into the top and passing matching brass bolts through the support and into these inserts. My new method for installing this hardware works as well in oak as it does in walnut. As this is a cross-grain situation, I expand the slot in support piece to accommodate the bolt as it responds to seasonal movement.

I really like the mission oak finish techniques that Jeff Jewitt writes about at his Homestead Finishing site. He has step-by-step instructions for a variety of finish colors, and all of the products are available from him online. I chose the "Fayetteville" finish which is a three-step process -- stain the overall color, glaze to bring out the grain, and seal to protect. The result is an historically accurate look without the perils of ammonia fuming.

Finishes are always tricky to describe (and photograph!) Jeff's instructions are quite good, and I found the greatest success when I mixed the gel stain (glaze) at a 2:1 ratio with odorless mineral spirits. This increased open time and helped with the flow. I then followed it with a paper towel, also soaked in mineral spirits. This is really something that has to be done by feel, but once the sealer coat was in place, the tables compared favorably with several arts and crafts pieces I picked up in the UK.

What would I change? I like the segmented construction of the base "T-Bar", but in future I will create the corbels from one block and secure them with slip tenons. Which has led me to some serious thoughts about a dedicated machine for this purpose. The more I work with contemporary designs, the more I like this invisible, flexible joinery system. And this part of construction (basic joinery) is a bit of a grind with a plunge router. I'm not sure if I want the portability of a Festool Domino, or the cast-iron brute power of a Laguna slot mortiser -- and with my next big project, a Lutyens bench, I see a lot of slip tenons in my future.

But before that, I'll finish up the Contemporary Shaker Table I started last week. Cheers!

Contemporary Shaker Style Table -- Building a Base

2011-12-24T13:48:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays!

While the second step of the finish on my Hammer-Beam Tables is drying, I'll take the opportunity to post about another recently completed project. This table is a variation on the Shaker Candle Stand idea with a couple of contemporary updates. First, it is made primarily from black walnut -- one of my favorite woods to work with hand tools. Second, the design of the top includes includes a strip of figured maple. I suppose the unifying element is that all the stock comes directly from my scrap pile.

As I've posted about Shaker tables in the past, I'll review the highlights in two posts. And remember, I'm always up for questions or discussion about the techniques.

The base begins with a turned column. I've found that these can be glued up from leftover stock with great success. If I use Titebond II Dark Wood Glue and try to keep the grain running in the same direction on each piece, I've never been able to see any difference between this and solid stock. The design is simple, which just about matches my skills at the lathe. The only hard number that I need to hit is the diameter of the top tenon that will join with the top -- and even this just needs to match a Forstner bit in my collection. The bottom is turned with a slightly narrower diameter, the length of which matches the top of the leg. This creates a base ridge that is the stop for the leg as it sits in its sliding dovetail.

Without removing the column from the lathe, I set up my sliding dovetail jig on the lathe bed. I now mark the stops in the indexing head to allow me to make three cuts, dead center, at 120 degree intervals. The first step is to create a flat spot upon which the leg will rest. Structurally, this doesn't matter, but aesthetically it makes for a better join between leg and column.

Through trial and error, I know that I should first cut a 3/8" groove to a depth of 1/2" in a series of passes in these three places. I follow this with one pass (at a depth of 1/2") with my 5/8" by 14 degree dovetail bit to achieve a perfect sliding dovetail mortise.

When this is complete, remove the column from the lathe and place the dovetail bit in the router table.

I've redesigned, slightly, the shape and size of the cyma-curved leg that is part of the beauty of the Shaker table. The top is larger on this table than on previous iterations, so I've expanded the spread of each leg and reduced a bit of the bulk from my last design. I do this by means of a pair of flexible bending sticks. An initial drawing is made on my plywood template, small blocks are hot glued to the lines at intervals, and then the sticks are clamped to these blocks and manipulated to create fair curves. I trace this and cut the template close to the lines. Finally I hot-glue thin (1/16") strips of hardwood to the template edges -- ensuring a fair, bump-free, routing template. It is important to make this template longer than the actual piece so that you can begin and end your routing without encountering end-grain.

Stock preparation for the legs has a bit of a twist as well. Once the board is planed to the desired thickness, I cut it into leg-sized lengths with a cut that is at a 30 degree angle. This allows me to line the tenon up along this cut line and keep the grain running along the long axis. I trace each leg onto the stock, but I do not cut it to shape yet. This allows me to machine the tenon at the router table with a wide bearing surface.

As usual, you use a piece of spare sock to dial in the thickness and depth of the sliding dovetail tenon. This is a very sensitive part of the build -- one or two mm can be the difference between a good fit and firewood. I like to err on the too-tight side and take a couple of passes with 220 sandpaper to get perfection. I also strike a line with a cutting gauge along this cut. At this angle, and with walnut in particular, you will get tear-out unless you take this precaution.

Only now do I take it first to the band saw, and then back to the router table to bring it to final dimension.

I trim the top and bottom of the tenon and round the top portion to match the round mortise of the column. The actual stop for the mortise is the flat top of the exposed leg above the tenon. These should be trimmed to the same length, and to the thickness of the base ridge to achieve a good fit. Now all that is left to do is put together your first trial fit.

I'll wrap this up with one more post about fashioning the top and applying the finish, as well as a wrap of the Hammer-Beam Tables. Cheers

Workshop Tips You may Already Know -- Installing Metal Threaded Inserts, Correctly!

2011-12-15T15:54:00.000-05:00

Recently, I was searching the web for something or other, (a video of a porcupine who likes corn? a Lance Link: Secret Chimp lunchbox?) and I came across this video. At first I thought it would be about as useful as the instructions on a bar of soap. I mean, C'mon how hard is this? Sometimes the screwdriver breaks the top while you are bearing down, and they always seem a little tight, but this is intuitive, right?

I use threaded inserts when I attach table tops to their base, (this is called foreshadowing) and they look good when they don't snap in half. Which for me, is too frequently.

Well, the tagline that shouted "YOU MAY BE DOING THIS INCORRECTLY!" drew me in -- and sure enough, I had been doing it incorrectly. The video explains the correct technique much better than I could, and armed with this new knowledge, I sheepishly gave it a shot. I'm happy to report that, indeed, that is not a screwdriver slot on top and that the drill press works a treat for providing even pressure while you turn the wrench. Go figure.

So in case I'm not the last person to learn this, enjoy! If I am, well, it won't be the first time I was a bit behind the times. I'm still wounded by the experience of showing up on the first day of school with a Lance Link: Secret Chimp lunchbox and everybody else had switched to carrying their sandwiches in paper bags.

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . . Making Breadboard Ends

2011-12-09T21:15:00.001-05:00

We're on the homestretch now, with the table flat, the base built, and the scent of TransTint is in the air. I really enjoy making breadboard ends -- the process is very tactile and represents everything that is good about hand-made furniture. As with most joinery, it helps me to start with a known dimension for the "mortise" element and then dial in the fit of the "tenon" element.

The thickness of the top is approx. 7/8" so I'm going to go with a tongue thickness of 3/8". I will cut this groove, on visual center, on the breadboard end piece that is about 1/16" thicker than the top. I say visual center as I just eyeball this on the router table. Inevitably, one cheek is ever-so-slightly thicker than the other and I orient this on top to ensure that I cover the end grain of the table field. I may be over-cautious in this regard, but coming up too thin on the top is an automatic reboot in the process. I cut this to a depth of 1/2" on the router table.

Setting this aside, I begin to create the tenons on both ends of the table top. I make a rough and ready jig that sandwiches the top between two pieces of plywood that creates identical fences on both sides of the board. I measure back from the edge, with the bit in place so that it will cut a 1 1/8" tenon. I then make a spacer block of this width that will align the jig to the correct distance from the edge every time.

I measure the width of the cheek on my mortised end piece with digital calipers, reduce it by a few mm, set this as the final depth of the router, and cut to completion in several passes. I reduce it by that little bit to ensure that the end piece will stand proud of the table top. With the dual fence in place, I flip the piece and rout the other side to within a few mm of completion. Checking the actual fit with the end piece, I continue until there is a snug fit.

Now I make my story stick for the tongue. The tongue features three longer tenons that will be 1 1/8" in length -- adding the real stability to what is by nature an awkward cross-grain situation. These tenons will be pinned with a dowel through the end, and depending on the orientation, the holes for the pins will be widened to allow for wood movement. I lay out the tenons symmetrically so that if it gets accidentally rotated 180 degrees between passes on the router table, the piece will still fit.

I mark the tenons and cut them out by hand. From the tenons I mark the corresponding mortises on the end piece, adding approx. 1/4" on the two outer mortises to allow for seasonal movement. I then return to the router table and "plunge cut" these mortises against the fence (I'm not detailing this procedure because I'm not sure if it is a good practice -- proceed at your own risk.) A quick dry-fit lets me know that I am on track.

As you can see, I've cut the end boards slightly thick and overly long to allow for an exact fit. My next step is to trim these ends, along with about 1/8" from each edge of the table top, to bring to the final dimension. As my sled isn't large enough for this piece, I friction fit a spacer between the two end boards and run this edge along the table saw fence to the correct size. Once one side is cut. it can run along the fence to cut its opposite number.

Using my 4 1/2 smoothing plane, complete with high-angle frog, I then plane the top of the end board to match the height of the table top. I find that if I keep the end board attached to the top, pulled away by about 1/2", I can plane without the risk of making a cross-grain gouge, and monitor the fit with a square. In practice, I leave the end board just fractionally proud.

With the edges cut to fit and square, all that is left to do is to pin the end boards to the tenons with dowels in a manner that addresses the cross grain nature of this joint. I find that a plunge router acts as portable drill press, positioning the hole very accurately and spinning the bit at a speed that discourages tear out. While it might seem intuitive to use the edge of the end board as a reference for plunging these holes, I've found a method that I like better. If you create a fence that is attached to the table top, you can drill the holes through the end board and tenons in one go, remove the end board, widen the two holes on the outside by about 3/8", without readjusting the fence. This gives you a very clean channel for the dowel to ride in during the table top's seasonal journeys.

The best part of this is that you have already built the fence.

I start by marking the dead center of each tenon on my story stick and transferring this line to the end board. Using the jig I created to cut the tongue mortise, as well as the spacer block, I reset the dual fences in their original position relative to the ends of the tenons and clamp them down. I dry fit the end board in place and add a 1/4" spacer strip to the fence. Why the spacer?

Using the jig without a spacer would place the bit dead center of the 1 1/8" original width. Experience has taught me that this is too close to the short portion of the joint. Pushing it out 1/4" places the hole completely in the long tenon portion of tongue. This is better both functionally and aesthetically. Now insert a 1/4" spiral bit and plunge through the three marked holes for the dowels.

Remove the end board, and expand the two outside holes to create a channel somewhere in the vicinity of 5/8" wide. Now, the top is free to expand with the heat and humidity of summer, and contract in the winter dry spell.

The final step is to re-install the end board and peg with the dowels. I place bit of glue only on the center tenon and reassemble. Using a cotton swab, I coat the inside of the center hole with glue, dip the peg in glue, and drive it home. The excess glue will fill any gaps created by slightly out-of-round dowels. Reaching from underneath, I place a bit of glue in the outside holes, but only deep enough to coat the bottom cheek portion. I drive a peg 3/4 of the way through, apply glue to the top of the dowel, and drive it home. My objective is to keep any glue from traveling down to the tongue portion of the joint. In all fairness, I'm not sure if excess glue would cause a problem, I just want to ensure that the joint will work properly.

After this cures for a few hours, I trim the dowel with a Japanese flush cutting saw, take a few passes with a block plane, and finally make a couple of passes with some 220 grit paper to make sure that I've removed any excess glue and to clean up any "bench rash." be sure to take care when using the delicate flush-cutting saw on the white oak dowel. I've read that this saw is not really designed to cut tough American hardwoods, so a light touch is important.

Several times along the way I used my smoothing plane to clean up the surfaces. In a couple of spots I pulled out the shoulder plane to fine-tune the intersection of the end piece and the table top, and I finished the ends of the end board with a few passes on the shooting board. All of this is intuitive, and you won't go too far wrong if you go with your gut on these decisions.

This turned into a much longer post than anticipated, and I'm sure that I've left something out. Please feel free to shoot me a note i if you have any questions or see a better way to approach this most satisfying part of this project. Cheers.

Next up: Final construction and a bit of finish.

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . . Flattening a Table Top with a Hybrid Approach

2011-12-03T14:35:00.002-05:00

I often wonder whether my procedure for a given task is the "right" way to go about things. I suspect that I'm not alone in this feeling. Woodworking magazines make it seem very arbitrary - creating a linear approach that gives consistently good results. And that works well, up to a point. On the other end of the spectrum is an approach that says "I'll let the wood be my teacher." You experiment with a number of known techniques until the wood yields the outcome you desire -- and those techniques may vary given the wood species, your mood, the weather, and the application.

As a hybrid hand tool/machine woodworker, I'm comfortable moving forward with my preferred method (generally hand tools) but jumping ship the minute the going gets rough. This is how I approach the all-important flattening of a table top.

It starts with two things: a Number 12 Scraping Plane and an open mind.

That's not quite fair, it actually begins with a sense of what's possible and important during glue up. I always orient my boards with the grain in one direction in order to keep the option of hand planing to completion in play. This limits my design choices a bit, but I've not found that to be too onerous. Depending on the species, whether I'm re-sawing, and my deadline, I machine-surface my stock over a series of days. Hopefully I can keep any post-planing movement to a minimum. I try to bring the machined thickness to somewhere around 1/16" above my goal, but I've not been in a situation where (within reason) final thickness was visually critical.

This is a five board glue-up, and I do it in two steps. Perfection is the goal, but I've found that it is nearly impossible to fully correct any bend down the long dimension. You must keep checking the joints to see that they are even and use a straightedge across the boards ensure that they are not cupping. I use bog standard pipe clamps since I find them easier to adjust than Jorgenson clamps. My experience is that in spite of your best efforts, the wood will want to move to its own stasis point. Forcing joints closed with too much pressure can result in instability down the road. If things really start to go pear-shaped, I stop, scrape off the glue, and think about resurfacing/rejointing the boards.

My finished glue up (I'm doing two tables at once) looks like this. It is not perfect, but it is within my own personal tolerances for quarter-sawn white oak. For the record, I find QSWO to be prone to movement after cutting and surfacing, and sometimes balky to finish with a hand plane.

Once out of the clamps, I have a go at all the glue lines with a card scraper -- doing this while in the clamps and the glue is gelatinous is even better.

It has taken me a long time to understand fully the real difference between Flattening and Surfacing. The first, Flattening, has much more to do with geometry (is it level, across all the boards, with no variations between each board.) It is a prerequisite for Surfacing which has to do with the texture of the flat surface. In this case there are ridges on the boards, and in some places the variation is around 1/64" of an inch. I began flattening with my Number 12 scraper, equipped with a Hock blade. The blade is honed to a 45 degree angle (with no hook), and I lean it well forward. Moving diagonally, but with the grain, I come from two directions -- creating a crosshatch pattern and removing stock at a pretty good rate.

I prefer scraping to planing with a jack plane. In my experience a scraper will only dig as deep as the blade is set (in this case, the thickness of a paper towel) without any real risk of tear-out. I'm sure that there could be a long discussion here about "type 1" or type 2" chips, toothing planes, and scrub planes -- I'd I'd like to explore that -- but this is what I know and it works for me. I'm looking to create a uniform cross hatch pattern that touches all surfaces of the wood.

I also look at the quality of the scraping to make sure that it is fluffy and long (not chunky or just dust) and adjust the scraper accordingly.

Once I'm pretty sure that the high spots have been brought to the level of the low spots I remove the blade, hone it, and set it for a very light cut. I now go with the grain and remove any ridges left by the diagonal scraping. I have found that this is an important step, and can save a great deal of time when I begin surfacing. Finally, I break out my 5 1/2 bench plane, set for a light cut, and begin first diagonal then straight passes with the grain. I'm hoping that with this light cut I can plane with no tearout.

. . . And right away tear-out begins to appear on one board. I quickly switch to my high angle 4 1/2, and though it is better, tear-out continues. I even give my low-angle jack a try, but it is no better. For the record, I have found that this light-colored, slightly stringy oak can be difficult to work. Using a card scraper, I surface the wood to a depth below the tear-out. I suspect that with ultra light cuts I could get the rest of the surface down to this level, but I'm not up for the task.

Breaking out the RO sander, I begin with 120 grit paper and in about 15 minutes have the surface completely finished to 220. It could have been done more quickly if I could have found any 80 or 100 grit paper in my mare's nest of a sanding cabinet. Was this my first choice? No. Would I have preferred to finish this with my 4 1/2 plane? Absolutely. But I'm long past the idea of pursuing a course of action simply because I want to prove to myself (or the hand tool orthodoxy gods) that I can complete the task with style points intact. I'm interested in making furniture, not making a point. Now all that is left to complete are the breadboard ends.

I'm curious to hear about your procedure for table tops and results and style points. Cheers!

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . . Creating Corbels and Making Sliding Dovetails

2011-11-27T15:25:00.000-05:00

With the greater part of the base complete, it is time to tackle the decorative corbels that adorn each foot of the table. I began with the idea that a stacked and constructed piece, incorporating a large tenon, would add visual flair and lock the curved beams in place.

I construct each corbel with five small pieces of stock -- a tenon, an upper internal piece, a lower internal piece, and two external cheeks.


The tenon and the internal pieces ready for glue up.

As the individual components are all small, I use "rub joints" and line up the pieces by eye. I start with a sub assembly of the internal pieces and add the external cheeks once these are dry.

Using my initial drawing as a guide, I place an arm on my bandsaw's circle cutting jig and set the it for an 8 3/8" radius cut. Aligning the drawn piece against the curve, I'm able to hot-glue two stops on the jig to transfer this curve on the glued blocks. A bit of carpet tape holds the block in place and they pop out of the jig nearly complete. A quick chamfer on the front edge and a bit of sanding results in a finished corbel.

The end grain was sanded quite easily with the pneumatic sanding attachment on the drill press, and as I'd already checked the fit of the tenon in the base unit, everything came together with just a bit of work with the shoulder plane.

I'm joining the two base assemblies together with a stretcher that attaches with sliding dovetails. I always enjoy making sliding dovetails. There is a great deal of instant gratification as the pieces come together in a perfectly fitting joint. It also helps that I have a method, and a pair of bits, that make it very easy.

The stretcher is 3" wide and will attach dead center at the top of each base assembly. Because I want this to be a stopped mortise, I will only cut the groove about 2 1/2". I start by finding center on the mortise stock and begin to make a 3/8" groove on the router table. I bring the depth to 1/2" in a number of passes. Experience has taught that if I create this groove, and follow it with a single pass with my Lee Valley 5/8" x 14 degree dovetail bit (#16J1755), set to a depth of 1/2", I get a perfect sliding dovetail mortise without stressing the bit with too much stock removal. The only challenge with this technique on the router table is that you must make the bit change in a way that allows you to keep the fence in the same place.

The advantage to the router table is that once you have made the pass with the dovetail bit in the mortise, you have automatically set the right height for the bit to cut the tenon. All adjustments to the width of the tenon will be made with the fence. I like to start by marking a deep mark in the tenon stock with a gauge to help eliminate tear-out.

I adjust the fence, using test stock of the same thickness and with passes on each side, until I have a snug fit. Patience is key here as you dial this in -- one overly-ambitious cut and you will need to start over. Using a jig, or your own steady hand, cut the tenons to size.

As these are stopped joints, you will need to remove some stock from the tenon to complete the joint. I start by sliding the tenon into the mortise until it stops. I set my gauge to this depth, mark the tenon on the bottom of the stretcher, and remove with excess with a hand saw.

Although this joint will never be seen, I do get some weird kind of satisfaction as it comes together without a hitch.

In order not to bore you (too much!) I did gloss over some of the specifics of how I went about these parts of the project -- but I'd be happy to go into more detail if you have any questions. I'm also open to being shouted down if you see some glaring error, or know of a better technique.

Next up -- the breadboard top. Cheers!

Workshop Tips You may Already Know -- Drilling Perfectly Centered Holes

2011-11-21T09:03:00.000-05:00

I'm often the last to discover a brilliantly simple method for overcoming some devilish workshop problem. So, in case this little technique isn't in your bag of tricks, I thought I'd pass it along.

Say you have to drill a hole through stock that is one diameter on the entry side and a second diameter on the exit side. To make matters worse, there is no square reference surface to place against a fence, and you cannot tolerate any tear-out on either face. This situation presents itself when making an electric guitar with a string-through bridge -- the strings come through the metal bridge, enter a 1/8" hole, pass through the body, and exit a 5/16" hole that contains a ferrule.

There are many ways that you could attempt this, but this method is foolproof. Start with template with holes that match either the entry or exit hole dimension. In the case of a guitar, the metal bridge works a treat. Position the template on the correct side and affix using carpet tape. Using a drill press, and allowing the bit to find its way into the template hole, drill most of the way through the piece.

The key to this technique is a purpose built jig with a post that matches this first hole. In this case I use a small length of 1/8" steel rod and allow it to protrude from a piece of MDF by about 1/2". Now, making sure that you have enough clearance between the bit and the jig (to allow sliding in the workpiece before plunging for the hole), center the bit on the post. Insert the bit for the second diameter and double-check that the bit is still centered.

Now it is just a case of placing each hole over the post and drilling to the proper depth. The resulting holes will be centered over the smaller holes, and keep the perfect alignment of the template. One caveat -- place a thin piece of waste board on top of your stock when removing it from the post. The snug fit can (will) make you pull hard enough to recoil the piece right into the bit above.

This technique comes from the archives of TDPRI -- a great source of information for building Telecaster-style guitars. BTW, I'm finding loads of tips from the guitar-building world that have broad application in making custom furniture. So I'll pass them along from time-to-time.

Cheers!

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . . Building the Base

2011-11-15T20:03:00.000-05:00

There are many reasons to avoid designing and building simultaneously. Materials and time may be wasted, and there's no guarantee that the whole thing will hang together -- visually. But it does give you the maximum degree of flexibility for the greatest amount of time. After fiddling with the design on paper, I decided to flip the entire piece and and place greater visual weight along the floor. I wasn't exactly sure, as I started to saw the white oak, how the joinery would come together -- but once underway, it became pretty straight forward.

Given that I'm looking to give the appearance of post and beam construction, I knew that each piece would be fairly thick, and given that I didn't want to invest in 12/4" timber, I knew that I'd be gluing up for thickness. This gave me the chance to "build" more complex joinery in pieces, simulating large mortise and tenon joints without all the chiseling.

I start by gluing up three pieces to make the vertical post. Because I want to create a shadow line against the bottom support rail, I sandwich a 3/4" thick piece between two 7/8" pieces. I take care to keep the grain running in the same direction to facilitate the hand planing that blends them into one visual post.

This support rail is an odd-looking little construction (3/4" thick), that will slide into the post's bottom. creating a bridle joint of sorts.

I then attach a series of 3"x7"x 3/4" "cheeks" that make the rail look to be one solid piece. As long as every cut is square, you create a perfect 90 degree angle. As all glue surfaces are long grain-to-long grain, I'm not worried about the strength -- but they will be reinforced later. Once dry, I'm ready to move on to the curved "supports."

I drew the curves using the method outlined in the contemporary chair project -- attaching flexible bending sticks to a block the width of the leg, and moving it until I had the curve I liked. It's then into pattern-making mode to cut and refine a template that reproduces that pattern. I remember to make the template longer on both ends to facilitate the entry of the router bit without encountering end grain.

As I want the final thickness of each support to be approx. 2", I select some chunky 8/4" white oak stock. I Surface, bandsaw, and template each piece, arranging the stock in such a way to avoid routing against the grain. I do not cut the straight sides with the router, rather I plane to the line on the long straight side, and cut the bottom of the support with a newly-sharpened saw.

A quick pass with a my 4 1/2 plane over this very straight-grained oak results in a glass-like finish. I've found that adding a high-angle frog to the mix improves almost all of my smoothing jobs,

The support is joined to the post and rail by a joint (that must have a name), that slides along a loose tenon on the post, and is fixed to the rail by means of a dowel. There will be a corbel that attaches in a very robust fashion that will also secure this piece.


The support on the right will slide along the tenon, cut to provide a long grain-to-long grain strength . . .

. . . and the dowel pops into place

The next step is to create the corbels that will act as feet on the table, provide visual interest, and secure the supports.

Cheers!

Shopmade Cam Clamps -- Revisited and Refined

2011-11-08T17:43:00.000-05:00

Last year, I made a pair of cam clamps to secure workpieces in my Hot Rodded Stanley Mitre Box. They were long on function but short on form, and it set me to thinking about my own personal criteria for the make-or-buy decisions on jigs, tools and shop furniture.

I realized that shop-made tools only end up in my hands if they a) are cheaper than the store-bought version, b) perform better or at least as well as the store-bought version, and c) look better than the store-bought version. In spite of my workman-like attitude towards tools, I'm surprised to find that their aesthetics are as important to me as the look of my shop or the view out my window.

As I've had my nose in several acoustic guitar-building books, it has become clear to me that I will need cam clamps in quantity if I am to proceed. I wanted to see if I could come up with a consistent method-of-work, and quantify the key elements that I've found to be critical in building cam clamps that move smoothly and lock securely. I also wanted to use only materials that were readily available at my local home center or found on the internet.

It seems that jaws that are 7 1/2" long, with each jaw being 1 1/2" wide and 3/4" thick result in a useful size for luthiery work. For the purposes of this test, I'm making some jaws from hard maple and some from white oak. I'm placing the oak on hot rolled steel bar (1/8" x 3/4") and the maple on aluminum bar (1/8" x 3/4".)

In general terms, the clamp consists of two jaws that ride on the bar. A top jaw is fixed to the bar and the bottom slides freely up and down. Pressure is applied by engaging a cam lever that, because of the placement of its fulcrum, pushes a lower arm out and pinches the workpiece against the top jaw. I use roll pins to secure the top jaw to the bar, to create a friction fit for the sliding bottom jaw, and as a fulcrum for the cam arm.

While I'm giving exact dimensions for every step, the most critical geometry comes into play around the sliding mechanism of the lower jaw and the placement and pinning of the cam lever. I'll deal with these in the step-by-step instructions and I hope that my experience (and mistakes!) will take some of the mystery out of creating a really useful tool.

Making the Parts

1. I start by milling all stock to the correct dimensions and I create identical sets of top and bottom jaws. Using the tenoning jig on the tablesaw, I cut a 1 1/2" kerf on the back end of each jaw set. As the bar stock is 1/8" thick, it fits nicely in this channel. I also cut 12" lengths of the bar stock with a pair of bolt cutters (far superior to sawing in my opinion.)

2. Next, a quick trip to the router table (with a 1" straight cutting bit) to place a relief on the inside of all the jaws. Right away, the oak gives me more trouble, chattering, and requiring three incremental passes in order to avoid tearout. The maple responds well to one deep pass. I built a cradle to hold each jaw tight to the fence and keep my fingers well away from the bit.

3. With the relief cut, I then take the lower jaw to the bandsaw to cut the section that will flex under the pressure of the cam. I leave 3/16" between the relief cut and the cut line and cut back to within 2 7/8" of the back. I drill a hole at the terminus to prevent the piece from splitting.

4. Switching to a 5/16" dado blade in the tablesaw, I prepare to cut the curved channel into which the cam lever will ride. I flip the lower jaw upside down and set the height of the blade to just brush against the flexible arm, I want to cut the channel 2 1/2" along the top of this lower jaw. I do this by aligning the overhead fence with the back of the jaw as it just touches the blade. I then mark on my notched push stick a line 2 1/2" back from the edge. I now know that when the mark on the back of the push stick meets the overhead fence I've advanced the jaw the proper distance onto the dado blade. Turn off the saw, wait for the blade to stop and remove the jaw. Repeat this for all of the lower jaws. I also extend the distance that the cam contacts the arm by removing some material with a mortise chisel. This increases the length of throw on the cam arm.

The mortise chisel removes material the cam lever has access to nearly 1" of the flexible arm

5. I used white oak to create the cam levers. I start with a blank that is 4" x 13/16" x 1/4". I use a 13/16" Forstner bit to scribe a circle at one end. Using a saw, or a file, or a disk sander, remove material until a half circle remains. I then taper the cam arm to a narrower radius at the back end, but this is primarily for aesthetic reasons.

Assembly

6. I start by securing the upper jaw to the bar stock in a little jig that holds the bar at a 90 degree angle. I snug the bar tightly into the kerf

Now, drill the holes at the drill press and drive in the roll pins. It is important, particularly with the steel bar stock, to drill at a medium high speed with little pressure, to keep from bending the bit. This last piece of advice comes from experience.

Attaching the sliding lower jaw to the bar is one of the more crucial tasks in this build. If it is too tight, it will not move up and down freely; if it is too loose, it will require a great deal of throw in the cam arm to get enough pressure to secure the workpiece. Like most tutorials, I use roll pins, placed in a staggered fashion with just enough play in them to allow the jaw to slide. However, my method is a bit different as I secure one pin, check the fit, and then decide whether the friction of the bar against the end grain of the jaw is sufficient for the clamp to operate. If it is too loose, I Install the second pin, protruding only slightly into the kerf to dial in a fit. Here's how I do it.

7. Slide the lower jaw onto the bar and align it so that it is tight to the back of the kerf. Using a small square, mark the back of the bar on the face of the jaw.

Drill and install a roll pin so that the edge is against this line (see the photo above.) It is crucial that it is behind the bar and aligned as above. If the clamp gods are on your side, you can slide this on the bar and it will move with the smallest amount of effort. Ideally it will hold its place on the bar when you slide it up and down vertically. If it is too tight, you can remove the jaw from the bar and file or chisel the inside of the kerf until it moves freely. If it is too loose, don't worry, we'll address that in a minute.

8. Installing the cam lever in the slot is best done in one operation (match drilling I think this is called.) It is important that you drill the hole for the cam so that it creates an eccentric circle -- meaning that as you turn the cam lever up, the effective radius becomes larger and it flexes the cam arm toward the opposing jaw. Here's an example of how it looks when completed.

This is achieved by placing the cam in the slot, with the front of the cam arm even with the front of the jaw. Drill through a spot 3/4" down from the top of the jaw and 5/8" from the front of the jaw. I have my two shop made marking gauges (kebiki) set to these dimensions for quick marking. Tape it in place and drill on the drill press.

Drive through a roll pin, slide it back on the bar, and give it a test run. If everything has worked out, when you slide it together, push a bit on the back, and lift the cam lever, it will push the arm out enough to pinch the workpiece between the jaws with a great deal of force. If it it doesn't, you can trouble-shoot these pretty effectively.

If it fails to clamp: Either the fit on the bar is too loose or the cam lever is not pushing the arm away from the clamp. Check the fit and look at how the bar moves. The easiest fix is to add another roll pin, diagonally and on the other side of the bar on the lower jaw.

The pen points to the second roll pin installed to create a tighter fit on the bar. My roll pins have a funky look because they are 1" long and then ground down at the grinder. It sort of "peens" them.

The pin should be visible from inside the kerf, reducing its effective width. If it protrudes too far, you can file down the pin from inside the kerf.

If the cam lever isn't moving the arm far enough, tap out the roll pin, remove the cam lever, make another, and reinstall, allowing it to protrude from the front of the clamp when you drill.

If cam lever won't lift far enough to hold its position: It is probably too big or it is making contact with the jaw before it can fully engage. Remove the cam lever and sand a flat spot on the top of the circle. While it is out, remove more material with the mortise chisel to allow it to swing freely.

9. Using carpet tape and whatever leather you have sitting around, fashion and attach pads to the business ends of the clamps. I found it easier to attach the tape, then a slightly oversized piece of leather, and then trim with a razor blade to fit, using the sides of the jaw as a template. It's also a good idea to run a file over the edges of the steel or aluminum bar.

The clamps are now complete!

So what's the verdict on the make-or-buy decision? First off, I used nearly every one of my stationary power tools to make these clamps, so if you don't have a fully-equipped shop, I'd think twice. Also, it took more time than I thought, but I wanted to get this right, document it and have a zero percent failure rate -- and that I accomplished.

On the plus side, you can't argue with the economics. I spent approx $2.00 apiece for clamps that would have cost around $15.00 each (with shipping) and I've heard some real gripes about quality on the clamps at this price point. I made 20 clamps, so that's around $300 worth of tools. And if you told me I could build my own Lie-Nielsen plane in this time, and improve upon its quality, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Oh, as I expected, I much prefer the aluminum bar and the maple over the oak and the steel. The maple works more easily and the aluminum is cleaner -- but because it is slick the tolerances on the lower jaw must be tighter in order to grip. Thanks for hanging in there on this long post, and please feel free to contact me if I can answer any questions or if you have any corrections.

Cheers!

Next up, the Hammer-Beam Tables begin to take shape.

The Hammer Beam Low Table . . . and Stumbling Through the Design Process

2011-11-03T19:01:00.000-04:00

I would never have become a custom furniture builder had it not been for my time living in the UK. My mind was open, I was surrounded by thousands of years of history, and I was exposed to rich palate of art, design and architecture. And although there were some disappointments (Stonehenge, Marmite, Stoke-on-Trent), there were several things that just blew me away -- The Devonshire Hunting Tapestries in the V&A, Supermarine Spitfires . . . and the Hammer-Beams in Westminster Hall. Built in 1393, this ingenious system of timbers changed the architectural world forever, and made a statement about where England ranked in the medieval world.

This image has been bouncing around my head for awhile, and as I start to apply this style to a piece I'm working on, it made me think a bit about how I go about designing a new piece of furniture. I'd be interested in hearing how you go about this process as well.

For me, I think I start by asking myself a series of questions -- not always in this order -- and not usually in quite such an organized way.

What is the function of the piece? Is it a table, a chair or a desk. Regardless of how creative I want to be, there are conventions that I feel comfortable working within. If I stray too far outside the norm, I move from working furniture, to studio furniture, to contemporary art -- and I don't have the design chops to hang with that crowd. (In this case, it is a low table that can be shipped, flat, and may become part of a "line" of furniture that I debut in September.)

For whom am I making this piece? Is it a custom one-off, or will I want to replicate it. Is it built on spec, for a specific individual, or for myself. This will determine whether I deviate from standard dimensions, keep a build diary, or alter my method of work for replication. (I hope to build again, and it should be robust and appeal to people who prefer arts and crafts style custom furniture.)

I start with a big piece of paper, a T-square, a ruler, and some idea of what I want to build. This is the base of the table.

What is the major design element? Whether it stays within a particular genre, or pushes forward a single visual element, it needs (for me) to have a "plot" to it. "This is my interpretation of a Morris chair", or "I'm going for a Usonian credenza look," is enough. I like designs that are fairly singular and can be articulated. (English arts and crafts, Gothic/Gothick, Cotswold's style.)

What kind joinery will be used, and is that joinery part of the design (dovetails) or merely functional? This generally raises other questions about cross grain situations and mechanical fasteners. (modified mortise and tenon, both for function and show, and the design provides some efficiencies.)

The bending strip allows me to play with the curve using nails to adjust and hold the bend in place.

Is this a machine project or a hand tool project? My work seems to be primarily one or the other (with obvious exceptions.) Before I start, I want to make sure that I have the proper tools on hand. (Alas, it is another machine project, but there is some hand work.)

Can I visualize the order of operation? I always get into trouble if I don't thickness all relevant stock at the same time. Also, if there is a fussy machine set-up or cobbled together jig, I want to do it once and move on. (It's pretty straight-forward.)

Once I like the bend, I create a 2 3/4" radius circle out of fibreboard that allows me to trace a line 2 3/4" away from the curve to create a design element.

Do I need to create a drawing (probably), make some templates (usually) or build a mock-up? (not that often) (Absolutely jigs for the curved bits, and a drawing from which to make templates.)

What wood will I use? Which prompts the question, "How will I finish this piece?" If the wood is particularly pricey, I may actually opt to do the mock-up. (Oak, with QS Oak or Pippy oak on the top.)

What will be the biggest challenge? There is usually one part of the gig that wakes you up in the middle of the night. If I'm in game-shape, and in my stride I may start with this to ensure that I can do it properly -- then everything is downhill sledding. Or, I may want to refresh those skills on another part of the project and "work myself into shape" before I tackle the line of dovetails or that turned leg. (Bread board top. It's not too difficult, just time consuming.)

Is this piece "The One"? Every artisan that I admire must have made his or her first signature piece without knowing that it would define their career. Can I see the potential for something important in the midst of the inevitable frustrations of a first build. (Who knows, but I do think there is a theme upon which I can expand.)

A sneak preview of the bottom portion of the table leg. This is the only part of the design that I feel is complete.

Cheers! - And let me know about your design process!

Tele Style Guitars from Scratch -- The Double Bound Tiger Sycamore Version

2011-10-29T16:23:00.000-04:00

I know that autumn has arrived when I pick up the guitar. It starts with playing through my journeyman renditions of Beatles, Roy Orbison, and Van Morrison tunes, and ends with me trudging through several pages of various jazz guitar books. "Now is the time to get that band together, start playing out. If I really push, I'll be stage ready in less than a year, I'll only be XX, and who knows what will happen." The fantasy generally ends when the daffodils come up in the spring.

But along the way, I always entertain thoughts of becoming something of a luthier -- and it seems that this road starts with solid body electric guitars. A couple of years ago I made a Telecaster style guitar for my daughter from a Grizzly kit. It turned out well, and somewhere along the line I made a few neck-building jigs. But alas, something shiny caught my attention and I moved on to another obsession.

So now, at least for a while, I'm tilting at the luthier windmill once again. First, let me say that everything I'll talk about, and much, much, more is available in detail on the excellent TDPRI site. It includes a robust and active forum on all things Tele-building, and the members are quite eager to share their expertise.

My project starts with some walnut that I had gathering dust, and a short piece of figured sycamore that I picked up at my supplier. I'm building two bodies simultaneously since the first may end up being sacrificed to the learning-curve gods. After downloading the acknowledged best template (quite generously developed/drawn/posted by Terry Downs and used by nearly everyone) I set about building the templates that will allow me create the finished product,

I first glue the paper printout to posterboard, cut this out, trace to and cut 1/4" plywood. This is sanded and adjusted and finished until you are happy with the pattern. From this you trace and roughly cut a 3/4" plywood version. Finally, using a 1/2" bearing bit, use the 1/4" version to make your exact body replica that is 3/4" thick. For me, this chunky template is the easiest from which to work.

You will also need a second template from which to rout the cavities for the pick-ups, controls, and neck mount. You really must make this second template since it must be over-sized to accommodate the router to cut the neck pocket. I also made a third template from which to cut and f-hole for a thinline version.

I start by drawing the outline onto my stock and cutting on the bandsaw. I then attach the template to the stock, via screws that attach in areas that will later be routed out for neck and pick-up cavities, and rout to final shape. BEWARE . . . even with the very big 1/2" template bit, you must follow proper downhill routing techniques around corners to avoid catastrophic tear-out. There are spots where climb-cutting is appropriate, but hold on as this bit is a monster and can throw your piece across the room. Once complete, I set this aside.

I then resaw, bookmatch, and glue up the sycamore caps. These just fit in my drum sander and it makes short work of truing the 1/4" "veneers." I did hit one detour, however. A standard Telecaster is approx. 1.75" thick, and I only took into account one 1/4" cap in the thickness. This meant that the body needed to go back into the planer to remove another 1/4". By placing the body on a sled, and attaching blocks at the front and back to stop any snipe, I was able to run it back through the machine. I don't, however, recommend this "out of sequence" plan unless you are feeling lucky.

Once dry, the sycamore is rough cut and glued to the faces of the walnut body.

Out of the clamps, it starts to look like a guitar. I'm now at a fork in the road. I could (1) rout the edges and install a cream colored binding, or I could (2) mask the lighter sycamore edges and finish creating a "faux" binding, As my brain hurts from all this research and thinking, I'm going to sleep on it for a couple of days.

BTW, I'm also looking to begin studying, in earnest, the steps for building an acoustic guitar. In order not to post too many things about guitars, I'll chronicle these projects in fits and starts -- mixed in with a couple of commissions I have on the boil.

Next up, routing cavities and building a thinline body.

Cheers!

Prairie Chair -- Assembly . . . and Advice I Should Give Myself

2011-10-22T08:48:00.000-04:00

Well, many distractions have come between me and the Prairie Chair this month. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sick to death with the thing. Its simple lines tend to highlight any minor errors, and quartersawn white oak is rough on your tools, your lungs, and your patience. But after a few false starts it is assembled and ready for finish.

In my defense, I am in the middle of a big landscaping project that requires lots of stone wall building, stair construction, and fooling around with the tractor -- all of which I enjoy. But I'm constantly shocked by how my summer hiatus has taken a toll on my skills.

Using biscuits (both for alignment and strength) I glued up the arm assembly. The 45 degree angles were correct, so everything was square upon completion. If this is not the case, the priority is to glue this tight as any "non-squareness" will be undetectable and no dimensions depend on this being perfect. I glue and transport this on a a large piece of plywood as this is very prone to racking.

The next step is to rout the grooves in the legs -- some grooves for the decorative corbels (1/2" deep), some for the side and back panels (3/4" deep.) Cutting these grooves on the router table is machine woodworking at its worst. I find that if I use the 1" ring with the 1/2" spiral bit, and collect dust from underneath, it helps a bit. This has convinced me that (among other things) I need to invest in a good respirator.

Routing the corresponding tenons in the panels, in a dead straight manner, is critical to the fit of the chair and is where big mistakes can be made. In this case, my inattentiveness resulted in one side panel that was out of square by about 1/8". It is amazing how a small error magnifies over the length of one of these large panels.

I fix this by squaring each side with either the top or the bottom. If you square one to the top and one to the bottom, you will end up with a parallelogram. Also, you need to complete the out-of-whack panel first, as it will reduce it in size by the amount that it is off. I use a dead-straight guide on which I can run the router on either side, squaring it (in this case) with the top rail. This squares the exposed bit of the panel, and makes the tenon slightly askew -- which can be be trimmed. I use a 1" straight cutting bit and set it to the depth of the previously completed corbel tenons. Now use this corrected panel to set the dimensions on the opposite panel.

The back bottom rail and the front rail have tenons that are a full 1 1/2" deep for stability. I cut these after the main grooves are cut with a plunge router.

With these long grooves and when using white oak, I've found that tenons cut to the exact width may need a couple of passes with a rabbet plane to slide into place -- which is fine. A dry fit shows that things are now square and final sanding (which is not worth blogging about!) can take place. All that's left to do is glue, finish, and haggle with the upholsterer.

So, what's the advice to myself?

1. Perfect sub-assemblies increase your chances for a perfect final product
There are too many moving parts and not enough reference points to ensure that each panel hits its marks in one glue up. I should have glued up the top rail and side stiles with the panel in place, let that dry, and then slid it in place on the bottom rail.

2. Tenons should fit under the pressure of your hands, not a mallet
On the panel that was out of square, it seized up because things were too tight. Adjustment were impossible when the application of glue swelled the joints.

3. I've got to get a handle on the dust situation
I'll always be a hybrid woodworker, and my current Delta 1.5 hp system is not cutting it for sanding and routing. I'm actually thinking about going the Festool Rotex 150 route with their mid-sized dust extractor unit.

4. Square and true don't just happen by eye -- no matter how cocky you feel

5. Never rush a project to get out a blog post

I'm happy to have this in the rear window as I have two projects lined up that should be fun. The first is a tiger sycamore tele guitar that I'm building from scratch (I've assembled a kit before), and an original design for a table that is loosely based on my love for Westminster Hall's hammer beam construction.

Cheers.

Prairie Chair -- Frame and Panel Construction

2011-09-28T16:02:00.000-04:00

In many ways, making prairie-style furniture is like building a series of cabinet doors and sticking legs on them. It requires only the foundational skill of frame and panel construction. And because quarter-sawn white oak is fairly tough, some robust stationary equipment. I wouldn't want to contemplate building this as a hand tool project.

Setting the quadrilineal legs aside, I start by building the frames, and then building the panels to fit. I started with plans from Robert Lang, but have modified them over several iterations and worked out the bugs. All stock is 13/16" thick, and all grooves start at 1/4" wide by 1/2" deep. On my notes, I draw boxes around dimensions that are gross (including tenons) and then write tenon dimensions next to these numbers. To avoid confusion, I write the distance between tenons (the net dimension) in another place. The frames come together quickly and I dry fit them right from the machines. I've become increasingly fussy about keeping every machine in perfect alignment (and trust me this is not in my nature) and it saves so much time and frustration.

After selecting the second-best figure (I saved the best for the arms), I resaw the panels right from stock that has been made square and true from 4/4 stock. I want to net out something above 1/4" for each panel. You may well need all that extra thickness as qswo will warp a great deal after it is resawn. I've found that working with stock to net two doors at a time (30" or so works best for me.) Resaw, joiner, planer and set aside. Joint the edges and bookmatch.

Once the glue has dried, I bring out the beast.

I bartered this from another woodworker who thought he'd use it a lot, but didn't. All it cost me was several days of hair-raising, high-wire act ceiling installation. Moving very slowly, with 80 grit paper, I achieve a "uniform scratch pattern." It is amazing how quickly the finish sanding goes when you use this to true up the surface, don't skip grits, and sand two panels at a time.

Flipping to the back side, I use a 3/4" straight cutting bit to thickness the edges of the panels to 1/4" to fit in the frames. In they go, and it's time for a quick dry-fit. As you can see, I leave a bit of room for movement within the grooves.

I generally stain panels before construction to avoid having white wood expose itself in the middle of winter, and as it is so humid right now, that is a necessity.

The arms on the prairie chair are very simple, but require two absolutely accurate 90 degree angles or the effect will be ruined. Starting with straight and true stock, I put them in my tablesaw miter jig. There's nothing too exotic here, just micro-adjustments to dial in a fit. One key is to have a support on the right of the blade to catch the piece that falls off when the cut is complete. Securing the workpiece to the jig with a clamp, and starting with a sharp-ish blade, also helps. Once in place, you just need (as Julia Child says as she's about to whack a chicken into two pieces with an enormous meat cleaver) the "courage of your convictions."

My handy angle block tells me everything is cool -- but I knew this already as I had made a test cut. Someday I will have a Lie-Nielsen No. 51 and I'll be able to fine tune this with a clearer conscience. But I don't see that happening soon.

Now, I pretty much have all the pieces ready, and it should look like a chair within the next few days. Cheers!

More Quadrilinear Boffinry

2011-09-23T11:48:00.000-04:00

Well, after my long summer hiatus, the last thing I wanted to do was re-emerge with a Don Quixote-esque post about chasing the perfect quadrilinear leg post, but here goes. As you probably know, the quadrilinear leg post is an identifying feature of high-quality arts-and-crafts furniture. By careful construction, it allows you to create a post (in this case 2.5" by 2.5") that displays quartersawn grain on all four faces.

Every iteration of the Stickley factory has used this technique, and even low-end manufacturers tried to mimic the effect with a faux finish. If this type of discussion floats your boat, I encourage you to check out the excellent book, Arts & Crafts Furniture: From Classic to Contemporary by Kevin Rodel and Jonathan Binzen. It is equally appropriate in the workshop or on the coffee table.

In the past, I've used the standard whacking big locking mitre bit in the router table with less than satisfactory results. Yes, I have a big 3 1/4 hp router and a nice Jess-Em table, but the whole process still scares the bejesuz out of me -- one slip and you've ruined a nice bit of timber. Here's one I made earlier:

It was so good that I cut it up and used it to support a shelf.

I've also just mitered the four long edges, glued the faces, and using strapping tape, rolled it up in a bundle. The results are nearly as good as the lock mitre bit, and slightly less nerve-wracking. You do, however, often end up with one less-than-perfect joint. I can hide it in construction, but I'm not happy about it.

So, with the price of 4/4 quartersawn white oak at $7.50 per bf around my neck of the woods, I decided to give modified veneering a shot. Veneering has many things going for it. It cuts your timber costs in half, and allows you to select some particularly tasty figure for the post you are making. The drawback, of course, is that making your own veneer requires some (expensive) machines and can be tedious.

I started by making two 60" cores of 3/4" plywood. As I wanted to net out around 2.5". I cut the width to about 2 5/16". this allows me about 3/32" for the veneer on each side. I stacked three of these core pieces of approx. 3/4" plywood to a net something less than this (plywood being less than its stated dimension.) I would compensate for this with one slightly thicker veneer on that side.

I selected some very nice pieces of QSWO that were 2.75" by 62" -- from different boards but with similar figure. This was facilitated by the fact that most of my stock was around 5" wide, and I needed to the leftover 2" pieces to make corbels. I cut 1/4" veneers on the bandsaw with some great blades I recently purchased from Woodcraft Bands. He puts together blades that resaw as well as that big name brand, but at a significant discount. It is important that between each slice you pass the stock across the joiner to have one flat face. When complete, you will have eight slices.

Now, I know that 1/4" stock isn't really veneer, and that it is at risk of seasonal movement. At the heart of this method is reducing the thickness of each piece while it is attached to the core, requiring you to always have a dead flat surface to reference in the planer -- so sequencing is important.

1. Glue up one veneer (flat side against the core) to the core with the edges of the veneer standing proud. I do two legs at once and clamp.

2. Once cured, run this through the planer (veneer side up) to get the veneer to about 3/16". Repeat this process on the opposite side.

3. Now trim the overlapping veneer edges flush on the router table with a spiral flush trimming bit.

4. Now repeat the glue up, in a similar fashion, on the remaining faces, cure and trim the edges on the table.

5. Finally, and with a great deal of attention, run the completed posts through the planer to achieve uniform thickness.

There is no doubt that this is a fiddley process, and you can argue that the money you save on stock you spend on shop time -- but I'm really happy with the results. In addition, because there a number of steps that require cure time, you can fit it between other tasks. The other issue is deciding how thin you dare go with the veneer, and how much you reckon QSWO is going to move. I'm comfortable with 3/32" -- chunky enough to withstand wear, but not thick enough to overpower the glue with movement. So, let me know what you think. Thanks!

Next, I'll construct the Prairie Chair.

Building A Mt. Lebanon Side Chair: Finished and Woven

2011-02-23T13:20:00.001-05:00

I've been dragging my feet on this project, and too much woodshedding and good times with distant friends has kept me from the shop (No complaints on either front, by the way!) Thanks for the comments as well. To answer James's question, all stock was kiln dried -- I'm sure that air dried stock would bend more easily.

All that remains to be done is to glue up, level the chair, apply finish, and weave the seat. The glue up was a doddle. I apply a bit of glue to the mortise and then I squirt some glue on a damp sponge brush to paint it on the tenons. Insert, clamp, rest.

In a perfect world the chair would sit level right out of the clamps. But because of a slight problem with my Side Rung Mortising Jig (the back slats were brushing against a support piece and altering the angle -- corrected by adding some height to the sliding arm.) there was a wobble of about 1/8". Nothing to panic about. I level the chair by placing it on a large, dead-flat surface (my tablesaw top) and identifying one of the offending legs. It will always seem like two, and they will always be on a diagonal. By measuring these two legs I can determine whether the issue is length (then trim the long one!) or twist. With twist I dangle one of the "long" legs over the edge of the table -- with the others flat -- and mark the difference. If it is slight (less than 1/16") I just trim it from that leg. If it is more, I take about half off that leg, repeat the marking process on the diagonal leg, and remove the rest. I think that this maintains some order in the universe.

The finish for this chair is boiled linseed oil (blo) followed by paste wax. I like both the look and feel of a nice thin coat of wax and I'm not looking to alter the color. As expected, it does nothing for the posts, but it really makes the figure in the curly slats pop. I let 48 hours pass between the blo and the wax application, and let the wax sit for about three hours before I buff it out. As long as you don't really slather on the wax you won't get into much trouble.

I defer, completely, to Kerry Pierce on the seat weaving portion of this project. In his book, Chairmaking Simplified, he outlines a very straightforward and cost-effective way to weave the seat with rattan splint. I purchased my splints from The Country Seat for about $10.00. Pierce's instructions are pretty foolproof and explains everything but the tedium. Soaking the splints helps to make them more pliable, but as they are so rough, you will be wondering at about the halfway point "Where is that blood coming from?" Spoiler alert: it is coming from your fingers. Oddly enough, I found this part to be the most satisfying (Not the blood part, but the weaving.)

So satisfying that I bought some extra thicknesses of basket reed with my order and fooled around making a basket. (I know nothing about basket making, but like Manuel from Fawlty Towers, "I learned it from a book.") I really like the strength and form you can get from weaving, and I'm wondering how I might use this in future pieces/designs.

Well, what do I think about this project?

I guess I could just say that I hated it, but that would be unfair. Even with the back post bending omitted, it was very time consuming. Coupling that with the fact that these chairs have a low-ish perceived value, I'd be hard-pressed to put these into the mix. In fact, I just say an original go under the hammer for less than $300 not far from here -- one with provenance, made at the Mt. Lebanon Community! However, now that I have the jigs, I may make more -- either as a batch of side chairs or as a single rocker. I will say this. Now that it is done, it is quite comfy!

Thanks for reading. Up next is upholstery for the contemporary chairs, a prairie chair, an oak bookcase, and maybe a peek at a Butterscotch Blonde Tele I'm working on. Thanks for reading.

Building A Mt. Lebanon Side Chair: A Web of Intrigue

2011-02-10T14:04:00.000-05:00

While upholstery decisions are being made on the Contemporary Chairs, I have some time to complete construction on the Mt. Lebanon Side Chair. Up to this point it has been primarily an exercise in turning spindles and making jigs -- oh, and some steam bending. I let the back slats and back legs cook in their forms for about two weeks and released them into the wild. As I suspected, there was significant spring back on the legs (for the record, they stayed in the steam box for 2+ hours at a constant 200 degrees F. They just didn't seem to want to absorb any of the water.) A bit of research tells me that hard maple is a real bear to bend, and that there is a high failure rate.

The remaining steps were to install the back slats, glue up the front and back "ladders", make the side rungs, drill the side rung mortices, and construct the chair.

Installing the Back Slats

Although it may be difficult to see, the front of each slat lines up with the center line of the back leg, but because they are bent they, emerge at a different angle than the rungs. This angle will vary, and you will need to eyeball it. Kerry Pierce, in his book Authentic Shaker Furniture, outlines a method for hand-morticing these back slats that is quite workable.

However, as I rained blows upon it, I thought "There must be a better way." So I made yet another jig. This set-up allows me to suspend a router at an approximately 30 degree angle over the leg and rout for the slat . . . and I'll write about it in more detail on Sunday. And while the 30 degree angle is fairly arbitrary, there is plenty of flexibility in the slats and the exact angle is not critical. Once these are complete I glued up the back ladder.

Making the Side Rungs

I spent a pleasant hour at the lathe, listening to Billy Bragg and turning the six identical side rungs. I've really become comfortable with the wrench-as-measuring-tool approach to tenons. I just use a 3/8 parting tool and stop removing material when the 5/8" open wrench slides over the tenon. Because the wrench is just a hair over-sized, I take one more little shaving before I remove it from the lathe. Once the tenons are in place I shape the subtle swell-and-taper in the rung itself.

This little stack goes to be cut-off at the new Stanley Miter box, and then I get the absolute, precise OD by driving them through my dowel plate and trimming the waste with a chisel.

Drilling the Side Rung Mortices

Using the Side Rung Mortice Jig (as described in Pierce's book, Quick and Easy Jigs and Fixtures) I went about drilling the mortices.

The whole point of this contraption is to drill the holes in such a way that you create a seat that is wider in the front than it is in the back. The geometry is simple as you drill the same angle in both the front and back ladders -- it is just that you turn the jig 180 degrees between the two to drill obtuse angles in the back and acute angles in the front. The master angle in this case is 10 degrees (giving you angles of 80 and 100 degrees.) And that is the angle of the wedge you cut to position the jig.

That angle, by the way, is determined by the width of the front legs. If you were designing your own you could cut an angle that suited your eye, install the side rungs, and then cut the front rungs to create a front ladder that fit. In this case, Pierce has already worked this out and you just work to his specs.

After drilling holes in the back ladder you turn the jig around and drill the holes on the front ladder. The jig adjusts to accommodate the wider front.

Assembling the Chair

The moment of truth has arrived. All the pieces are in place and it is time to see if your patience has been rewarded.

I start by placing the rungs in the front ladder and then slowly working this unit on to the back assembly. In this case, it goes together fairly easily. And I know why.

According to some builders (Kerry Pierce) perfection is not your objective, and in fact he would argue that you want there to be some deliberate misalignment. As long as it is consistent it will add tension to the chair --like a spider's web -- and make for better construction. I liken it to the forces within a basket that give it strength and shape. I know that I had a couple of errors in my drilling, but this really seemed to add to, not take away from, the stability of the chair.

Now on the other side, I've read a compelling argument from Peter Galbert on his excellent blog, Chair Notes, countering this error-as-strategy approach. If you've ever seen his outstanding work, you would be hard-pressed to oppose anything he has to say about the designing or building of chairs -- so you decide for yourself.

Next, I'll apply the finish, weave the seat and have some final words about what I really think of this project.

Thanks for reading!

A Pair of Contemporary Chairs: Working the Angles, Coming Together

2011-02-03T14:24:00.001-05:00

It's a real leap of faith to conjure up an image in your mind and then begin creating it in wood. It is also can be a sign of extreme hubris. So, as the pair of contemporary chairs move from being stock, to pieces, to furniture, I approach the shop with equal parts impatience and terror. The two skills -- designing and building -- are not necessarily linked and both are crucial if you want to be happy in your work.

That being said, things have gone well with these chairs and I am even ahead of schedule as I start the dry fit. I was wondering why this has seemed fairly stress-free, and I really believe that it has been because I've tried to employ some discipline on the design/build process. I'm sure that you've developed your own set of check points, but these tend to work for me.

1. Begin with the form, but let the technical stuff follow right on its heels. There are a thousand primers on how to build chairs, and each one is different. When I noodled through the steam bend, lamination, cut-out decision for the curves, I was pretty confident that my chosen method would work. Once I committed to drawing and cutting the curves, I never looked back.

2. Don't make hand or power tools a religion. There has been far too much power tool action in this project for my liking -- and, for the most part, I think it was the right way to go. The problem is that I'm not good at keeping two ideas in my head at once. While routing the mortices I got into machining mode and grabbed a random orbit sander (because this oak was proving to be a bit stringy.) In ten minutes my shop, clothes, and lungs were filled with dust. After spending an hour cleaning, I switched my 4 1/2 smoother to the high angle frog (55 degrees) and had no problems with the oak. I had just turned off my brain and turned this into a factory job.

3. Making good jigs is the best possible use of your time. Whether it is a template to rout curves, stops on your morticing jig, or wedges under your router, well-made jigs reduce frustration and make your shop safer. It is so hard to stop from just digging into the project, but with all of these angles it was crucial that I let something else carry the burden of the geometry and the mathematics. Below, you will see that I even made a jig to make a jig. This contraption allowed me to put precise 5/8" mortices in my back leg routing template that would, in turn, allow me to use a collar with my 1/2" spiral bit and mortice the upper and lower back rails.

4. Remember that hand tools can make a good project great. Hand planed surfaces cannot be reproduced by a sander and just look at how the first pass with a smoother exposes all the little ridges from your surface planer (thicknesser). Beyond that, I've found it impossible to get the tolerances required in good furniture by any other means than by the micro-adjustments available with a plane or chisel. Here is an example of how you can dial in a very small reveal by test fitting, and checking, planing and re-checking the fit.

5. Leave a trail of bread crumbs. Last year I was fooling around on the guitar and came up with a killer version of Petula Clark's "Downtown" with a funky rhythm and jazz chords. Did I capo at the 5th or 7th? I think I used a D form, but did I start right out with a Maj7 or did I go to it in the chorus? Or were they 6ths? "Surely I won't forget, so why write it down?" Now I have no clue. The same goes with "composing" a piece of furniture. I'm sure that I can make these chairs again in half the time if I just write down my process. So why haven't I yet?

6. Know when to quit. And I don't mean sensible rules like no power tools after 9 pm. There are several points in a project where you need to look at it with fresh eyes. Before glue up, I like to start the day with a final look over every detail, with all tools sharp, and with no end of the day rush to get done. I'm much more likely to hold myself to the proper standard at 7:30 am than 6:00 pm. The same goes for finishing or re-sawing.

7. Treat yourself like a King (or Queen) in your shop. For me, that means complete self indulgence with the tunes and the caffeine. Most of the time I pipe in BBC Radio Three while I work. I consider Sean Rafferty and Sara Mohr-Pietsch as my friends. But today I listened to "Darkness on the Edge of Town" five straight times -- and I may listen to it again! I find that my shop atmosphere plays a big role in how creative/professional/happy/patient I am. I'm even finding that cleaning the place once in a while helps me to get more done.

I'm afraid that this shaggy dog story hasn't included much of the specifics about making the chairs. I will say that as a loose tenon project, many questions are answered for you. As I'm using a 1/2" bit, all mortices are 1/2" thick. All pieces of stack are cut to their final length and mortices are centered in their thickness. I generally cut one mortice, fine tune the slip tenon width to fit, and then mark the matching piece from this tenon.

I first glue up the rails with their tenons and do a dry fit. In several cases I need to "relieve" the non-visible edge by 1/64" to allow the front (visible) edge to line up exactly. I suspect that this translates to an error of less than 1/2 of a degree from the "Master Angle" of approx 4 1/2 degrees.

As you can see, I've let the front seat rails until last. Theoretically, these should be 20" wide and meet the front legs at a 90 degree angle. Once everything else is dry fit and clamped, I'll measure this and cut it to the real dimension -- it should be fairly close.

Next week I'll wrap up the details (such as squaring up the top rail "wind" -- at least that's what it is called on side rails), contemplate finishes, and prepare the chairs for the upholsterer. I'll also free the Mt. Lebanon Side Chair pieces from their forms and assess the damage.

Thanks for reading.

Sunday ToolFoolery: Building An Improved Steam-Bending Box

2011-01-30T17:11:00.000-05:00

Hot on the heels of its inaugural run, I thought I'd post the design of my improved steam-bending box. I really wanted to "turn it up to 11" -- both to remove any doubt about whether I was getting the wood pliable enough for chair leg bending, but also with an eye to building a nice little high-transomed rowboat for our pond.

The first decision I made was to move from electric to propane power. This came at a cost, as it forced me to move my bending outdoors (I've moved it to the shop for glam photos.) The intensity and number of warnings on the instructions convinced me that stoking this thing up under cover -- even in the garage, was a death wish. So out it went.

The only real "innovation" is the sliding box-within-a-box that allows it to go from three feet to six feet in length.

A short run of galvanized, 2" pipe attaches to a rubber doohickey that couples the 1 3/4" spout of the petrol can to the OD of the 2" pipe. Needless to say, this is a new petrol can, and I was surprised at how robust it was under fire. It holds two gallons of water. Much to my surprise, this was not enough for the 2 1/2 hour burn. Refilling it with boiling water was easy via a funnel.

Although I've been referring to it as the "Bayou Burner", the heat source is actually a Bayou Classic High Pressure Burner that I found on Amazon. All of the fittings should be available at your local home center, and I don't see why you couldn't replace the steel with PVC.

When in full flight, it maintained a constant temperature of 200 degrees F and belched out a goodly amount of steam.

Feel free to shoot me any questions. Thanks for reading!

A Pair of Contemporary Chairs, A Mt. Lebanon Side Chair, and NDB (New Bird Day)

2011-01-27T15:47:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like hoisting a big beautiful hunk of 8/4 oak onto the bandsaw to test the courage of your design convictions. I love oak, the "monarch of timbers" -- it's tough, but responds to handtools, it's heavy, but its strength allows you to create graceful forms. And it bends well -- unlike hard maple -- but I don't want to give away the end of this tale.

After laying out my final design for the contemporary chair on plywood, I cut the template, and using a flexible sanding stick, faired all the curves. I then transferred this to my stock and cut to within 1/16" of the line. Using a honking big piloted spiral router bit (that I bought during my brief foray into guitar building), I brought the shape to its near final form. One mistake I made was not cutting the template a couple of inches over length on both ends to avoid grabbing end grain. I did, however, cut the stock long and I was able to baby it through the process.

I thought about noodling through the joinery before I cut the components, but one thing I have learned about chairs is that the most accurate way to hit your mark is to start building and cut pieces to fit the developing form. Using loose tenon joinery also helps with that approach.

The next step is to cut the mortices with my router and shop-made morticing jig -- a Frankenstein's monster if you ever saw one. To get the angle from front to back of the seat, I used the bevel gauge to cut wedges and placed these under my plunge router. Now, all I need to do is line up the legs in the jig, determine the distance of the mortice from either the outside or inside face of the stock (it doesn't matter which, as long as you are consistent), and take multiple passes with the router to a depth of 1 1/4". If this sounds swift and easy, it was not. I woke up several nights puzzling through the joinery and I was on my toes the whole time.

After cutting the side rail mortices I inserted little tenons to ensure that the angles were correct and look at the way things were progressing. Right away, I noticed that my original dimensions seemed too massive and I adjusted accordingly. My next step is to cut the side rails, scribe the actual angle that they meet the front and back legs, and compare that to my original "Master Angle". I will then fit (what should be) the front and back rails at the correct 90 degree angles. Ahhh. . . the joys of a prototype.

Now that the correct parts have arrived, it is time to give the new steambox its inaugural run. The "Bayou Burner" did everything that it promised and really put out the BTU's.

The temperature stayed consistent at 200 degrees F and the steam just poured out the front and back.

My steam-bending experience is exclusively with oak, and I was up for a surprise bending this hard maple. I gave the back slats 45 minutes, and secured them in their form. Not bad, but I would have thought it would be more pliable.

The back legs cooked for two plus hours and were more of a challenge. I expected that, like oak, the legs would come out of the hot-box just a-steaming -- but they were made of sterner stuff. Jump in if you know the answer, but it seems that maple, much less porous than oak, really doesn't want to take in any of the water. I wrenched them into their form with some difficulty. I am expecting some serious spring back.

Strictly from an ecological point of view I really didn't like working maple in this fashion. Using all that energy to force the material to do something it didn't want to do seems a waste of time and resources. It gives me new insight into the wisdom behind stock selection with Windsor chairs.

As the above picture illustrates, we got a bit of snow last night -- fifteen inches to be precise, and it brought our house to a standstill. But, it's an ill wind that blows no good, (as they say) and the upside is that it allowed me to add a new bird to my life list. A pair of Ring-Necked Ducks, a smallish diving bird, took refuge on our pond. They will probably split after the snow melts, but they were a most welcome surprise.

Next, I'll install the rails on the contemporary chairs and (hopefully) complete the Mt Lebanon Side Chair.

Stay warm!

A Pair of Contemporary Chairs: Layout and Design

2011-01-21T09:48:00.000-05:00

Never fear, you didn't miss any steps in the construction of the Mt. Lebanon Side Chair. My efforts to improve my steam rig have backfired a bit, and caused a slight delay in the project. After building an upgraded box, with options for expansion, and enlarging my fittings to an inside dimension of 1 1/2", and increasing water capacity by using a 2 gallon gas can, my first run was a bit of a damp squib. It seems that the 1000 watt hotplate didn't have enough gumption to get the job done. Maximum temp. in the box: 155 degress farenheit. So, if Amazon cooperates, the mighty "Bayou Burner" should arrive today with 185,000 btu's of propane muscle that will allow me to power a small locomotive.

Meanwhile. . . I was approached about building a pair of upholstered chairs. Modeled on the photo below, made of oak, and with a deadline. So I thought I'd go over the way I lay out a project when I don't have a set of plans.

The first order of business is to say that I don't make direct copies of other people's work unless they put the plans out in the public domain. I wouldn't, say, make a "Mira" chair and sell it -- not cool. This piece is a fairly standard contemporary design, by an unknown manufacturer, and I'm using it only for inspiration.

I call this approach "furniture lofting" as it is inspired by my very limited knowledge of boat building. By drawing the actual piece (templates, angles, and dimensions) I save myself heaps of frustration and define techniques and form a loose cut list. I start with the most important element, the double curve of the back leg/post.

A couple of things are going on here at the same time. First, I'm looking at the design -- how dramatic is the curve, what are acceptable chair dimensions, where can I anchor a known dimension to get the proportions right. And second, I'm trying to nail down the technique. In this case, will the profile be cut from stock, steam bent, or laminated. Steam bending would be tough. The stock in some points is more than 2 inches wide, and unless I felt lucky, I'd need to bend it first and then do the profiling. Lamination makes a lot of sense, but again, I'd need to form it to the inside curve and then profile it -- running the risk of a bunch of lamination run-out along a very visible edge. In this case, as the curves are not too dramatic and I have a lot of faith in the strength of oak, I think I will cut the profile from the stock. The downside is that there will be some concern about short grain, but in this thick stock I believe it to be less of an issue.

Using a pair of splines, and starting with a 1 1/2" block glued to the plywood to mimic the width of the foot, I start to lay out the design. I align the profile of the leg with the short edge of the plywood as the floor, and the long edge as the vertical axis. This means that in order to simplify the joinery, I want a flat spot from 10" to 13" up the front face of the leg. It is at this point that the side rail will meet the leg. Adding six or so inches in height for the cushion and batting will net me a final seat height of around 19 inches. I make this spot flat by glueing a 3 inch block. The rest is by eye. I first wanted a final height of 35 inches, then felt that 37 looked better. I glued one more block, fiddled with some clamps, and was happy with the look.

I use a similar method to lay out the shorter front legs, but I raise the flat by 1/2 inch. That will tilt the chair back slightly, without any compound joinery.

What did I learn. First, I have a template that looks good - in actual size. Second, without even fiddling about, I determine that eight inch wide, 8/4 stock, will accomodate back leg pattern with space for the front leg. If it were any wider, I'd be kicking in a price multiplier at my supplier. As it stands, I can get a handle on my stock needs and begin calculating board feet. For every two legs (approx. 3 feet x 2" x 8/12 wide) I'll need 4 board feet.

I lay out the seat joinery by drawing an actual-sized overhead view. Four 2" by 2" block stand in for the legs and I start with my final front and rear dimensions. Like most seats, it will be slightly wider at the front than at the back. I settle on 24 inches at the back, and 27 inches at the front. I also decide on 27 inches for the final length of the combined seat posts and side rails. Drawing these dimensions on my board, and taking advantage of the right angles that exist, I can quickly place the posts. I draw centerlines on the posts and connect the lines of the trapezoid. The front and rear rails are easy -- 23 and 20 inches with right angle joinery. The side rails are different -- but it doesn't matter, I'll be making a template from the drawing, and in this case, making a mock-up before I go live. I do take one measure with the bevel gauge to get the Master Angle. This angle, and its supplement, will determine how the side rails meet the posts.

I'm choosing to go with loose tenon joinery on this project, and that means that the net and gross dimensions of all parts are the same. The bevel will determine the angle I place the posts in the jig later.

And that's where I'll pick up next week!

Thanks for reading.

Sunday Toolfoolery - A Shop Made Steady Rest, A Center Marker and Some Bending Jigs

2011-01-16T16:29:00.000-05:00

Without a doubt, I've been spending more time making jigs than making furniture in the last few weeks. It wouldn't bother me so much, but my track record with these shop aids, especially when I start freelancing on their design, is decidedly poor. When one doesn't work, I usually just strip off its parts and move on, trying not to think about the time I wasted. But when I spend a good solid week on nothing but jigs, I'd like them to pan out in the long run.

The Steady Rest
One that has already proved useful is my shop-made steady rest. I'm willing to entertain the idea that this is unnecessary, that a real turner just wards off chatter with good technique and a calloused palm, but I like the stability it gives me on these long shaker chair legs.

It starts with an approximately 4" hole cut in a piece that runs perpendicular to your lathe bed. The center of this hole is exactly the height of your lathe centers. This is easily determined by standing the board on end and squeezing it between the head and tail stock. This is secured in place by attaching it at a 90 degree angle to a board that rides on the lathe bed. It is held square with a rail.

In order to hold your work steady, this rest must contact a perfectly round spot at several points around the circumference. This is done via four sliding bars with wheels on the end -- well, not exactly wheels, but skateboard bearings. So along with my order for some aluminum rail, and some other jiggy screws and handles, came a little red package that looks surprisingly like contraband. (The complete plans for this come from Fine Woodworking, Issue 143.)

The Center Marker
Designed to mark the centerline of your turned piece, this is necessary to keep the axis of the back rungs and the back slats aligned. It is basically an L-Shaped piece of wood with a hole drilled for a pencil. Like drilling the hole for the steady rest, the hole for the pencil lines up with your head and tail stock centers. Once you have finished turning, you just slide it down the bed to mark your center line.

The Back Slat Bending Jig
This is taken directly from Kerry Pierce's Authentic Shaker Furniture Furniture plans -- with one modification. I attached oak slats on the sides so that it will stay aligned when bending a group of slats. Now I just pop the steamed slats in all it once, put the jig in my front vice, and crank it down tight.

The Leg Bending Jig
I fiddled with Pierce's idea more than I should have to develop my version. His plans are very simple -- the legs slide into a hole on the bottom, wrap around the form, and are drawn together with a big hose clamp at the top. I wanted to have the flexibility to do thinner and shorter legs, so on my version I secure the leg to the forms with C-clamps. If I want to make a children's chair I can start the bottom of the leg higher up the form to make the leg begin its bend at, say, 15 inches instead of 19 inches. Time will tell if this is an improvement or a nuisance.

By the way, I want to make a strong recommendation for the book in the opening photo. I seem to have become a collector of Kerry Pierce books and this one is my favorite. Chairmaking Simplified is readily available, packed with information about chair construction (and jigs!), and the sections on splint, rush, and cane seat weaving are invaluable.

Now, if the parts for my improved steam-bending rig come soon, I'll feature some bending on Thursday.

Thanks for reading!

Building A Mt. Lebanon Side Chair: Turning and Thinking

2011-01-13T09:29:00.000-05:00

I've never built a post-and-rung chair before, and I'm amazed at how slowly I progress when I'm trying to simultaneously work wood, make jigs, plan the next step, and visualize the final product. Maybe this is just a fancy way to say that I'm way behind schedule on this project.

However, there may be more to it than that. Each of us has our own way of working, and even when we are following a set of plans or copying someone else's jigs, we are constantly asking "Does this work for me?" Or, "Is this like something I've completed (successfully) in the past?" I'm constantly wondering "If I'm going to do this 20 more times, is this the best method?"

The turning of the long back posts is one example. I can fit the 43" long maple blank on my lathe, but something this long and thin presents a number of issues. I normally think cutting a blank into an octagon (as opposed to starting square) is a bit of a faff, but in this case, it seems wise. Anything that avoids placing too much stress on the blank is a good thing -- plus, you can place your palm on the spinning octagon in a way that you cannot on a square. "Should I use a steady rest?" Designed to hold long spindles in place, it requires that you start by creating a perfectly round portion in the middle of the spindle. (The answer for me was, "Yes" and I'll outline my shop made version on Sunday.)

Turning at the lathe is sure to bring out your idiosyncrasies. I like to move from my right to my left, turn at as high a speed as possible, and sand as little as possible. "How can I do that with this piece?" The steady rest was a big help, and I roughed the cylinder at 1300, defined the taper from the seat top mark (19 3/4") to the post top at 1500, and sanded at 1800. The taper went from 1 7/16" to 1" at the top. I tapered using the same method I use when tapering a table leg with a hand plane -- I start 1" from the top and take a thin pass, then 2", then 3", until I'm taking a pass along the entire taper. I repeat until I've achieved the dimensions I need.

The most important part of this piece, at least visually, is the finial atop this back leg. It punctuates the chair and defines it among the many Shaker chair-building communities. Again, on a detail like this I think, "What are the steps that will, if executed correctly, result in that form?" I'm not thinking, "How do I copy that?" For me that distinction is important and hard to explain.

I believe that forms like this come about because an artisan has a method of work that is unique to him or her. They go through a series of steps -- move the gouge here, cut this cove, taper down to the cove. I think that it is this process, as opposed to simply thinking of a design and doing whatever it takes to get there, that defines the look and proportions of what I call "vernacular" furniture -- furniture worked by hand to be placed in a working environment. Reproductions always carry the weight of a pre-conceived form, but I still think that your best results come from copying the methods, not copying just what you see. It is in some ways, a digital rather than an analog reproduction.

Drilling the 5/8" holes for the rungs is the next step for these posts. While still in the lathe, draw a centerline down the entire length of the leg (I'll talk about this jig on Sunday as well.) This line is not critical to center the rung holes, since the jig will do this, but it is critical to put the rung holes and the back slat holes in the same axis (more about this later.) When setting up the jig you set the tip of the Forstner bit one-half of the diameter of the post from the fence. You place the leg in the Front Rung Mortise Jig, align the center line with the Forstner bit tip, and secure the leg with a screw at the end of the sliding platform. Drill to a depth of 15/16" -- which is 1/16" more than the 7/8" tenon that will be turned on the rungs.

The front posts are much easier, as they are shorter, and proceed in a similar fashion. When working with plans, I always create story sticks. Each set of rungs are placed at different dimensions and it would be easy to get confused. Clear your head, make your marks, and double check your work before you move to the drill press. When turning the front posts, I found it helpful to turn one a few inches longer, drill one of your rung holes in this extra length, and then trim the leg to the correct dimension. You can use this drilled off-cut to check the fit of the rung tenons in the next step.

The front rungs are turned to a dimension of 15/16" and the rear to 7/8". On each of these rungs you will turn a 7/8" long by 5/8" wide tenon. The rung itself will taper from the center to each end leaving a 1/16" shoulder at the tenon. I turned to maximum dimension, then formed the tenons, then put in the taper. The taper is visual, you are not turning to a specific fit.

Turning the tenons, is a different matter. Hard maple leaves you very little room to maneuver, and as you are not tapering this tenon and placing it in a reamed mortise (like in a Windsor Chair) there is no room for error. Use your calipers, set on the 5/8" bit itself, and turn to this dimension. I don't find this to be fool-proof, so I tip-toed up to the fit, checking it on the rung hole mortise I drilled on the off cut. It was slow and tedious and I will be changing this method. Options include one of those Sorby Sizing tools (which seems fiddly), Peter Galbert's Calipers (which I've used, and like very much) or the old open-ended wrench while using the parting tool one-handed trick. All of these would benefit from the use of a flat-edged, slightly wider, parting tool (ordered today.)

Once the tenons were turned, I enjoyed that squeaky hard-maple-on-hard-maple sound of a good, tight fit.

Next, I'll be making the steam bending jigs, cutting and shaping the back slats, and maybe even doing a bit of bending. Thanks for reading!

Building A Mt. Lebanon Shaker Chair - Jigs and History

2011-01-07T17:27:00.000-05:00

Once this Shaker thing gets a hold on you, it's hard to shake off its allure. While doing the research for the tables, I started to be drawn into the complicated web of Shaker chairs. I suppose that it is because, like Stanley planes or English silver, there are a set of markers on each piece that allow you to identify their date, community, and even the individual makers. Understanding this brings order, and (sometimes) order is a good thing.

When embarking on a project like this I often end up referring to two sources -- one directive and instructional, the other more qualitative and expansive. In this case I found two excellent sources of information that fit the bill. The first, I must say, is a masterpiece. The Shaker Chair, by Charles R. Muller and Timothy D. Rieman pulls together a vast amount of information about Shaker chairs -- from standard rockers to makeshift wheelchairs -- and the communities who made them. In its profiles of individual craftsman like Freegift Wells and Robert M. Wagan, it tells the story of the chair's path from utilitarian furniture to iconic symbol of American design. And if that wasn't enough, it comes with a big fold-out wall diagram that compares styles across time and among communities. I haven't been this excited about a poster since the one of Farrah Fawcett-Majors that hung in my high school bedroom.

Kerry Pierce's book, Authentic Shaker Furniture is a very good, straight-forward how-to book. Loaded with photos and a great deal of descriptive text, he is honest about his strengths and weaknesses as a craftsman. He gets the most of of a modestly-equipped workshop -- and I mean that as a compliment. I think a beginning woodworker could take a project from start to finish under his tutelage.

In my opinion, chairmaking is one of those specialized woodcrafts like boatmaking or woodturning that can require a whole different mindset. No piece of furniture is expected to be as strong or as graceful as a chair, and successful pieces use geometry and physics to their advantage. This chair will more or less follow Pierce's dimensions for a a #6 side chair from the Mt. Lebanon community of New York State. Within that genre, it is modeled on a chair that would have been built by the grandaddy himself, Robert M. Wagan. Wagan, quite literally, turned that community into a chair-making factory, and many of the pieces that survive today come directly from his influence.

Chairmaking also lends itself well to the use of jigs. . . and because Kerry Pierce never met a jig he didn't like (see his book, Quick and Easy Jigs and Fixtures ) I'm starting with two of his most popular contraptions. Just a word about chairs in general (from someone who is not a chair specialist.) Chairs are all about materials and angles. Select the right stock and they will last; noodle through the correct angle and they will come together like a dream. In my limited Windsor chair making experience, I always measured and drilled by hand, setting legs and spindles with my Fray brace and a bevel gauge. In this case, I'm building two jigs that will help me drill the holes for what is, by category, a post and rung project. If I don't explain it well today, hang in there until next week as I will show them in use.

Front Rung Mortise Jig
OK, here is what I will not do. I will not reproduce Pierce's jigs and pass off something that he worked hard to design for free. For complete instructions, I encourage you to buy his book. I will however, show you the jigs and tell you how they are used and clear up a couple of points of confusion.

This jig will allow you to drill the holes for the rungs that connect the back posts together into a "ladder" and the front posts together (also in a "ladder".) This is a simple 90 degree hole drilled into the dead center of the post. On this chair there are two back rungs and three front rungs. The top rungs are also referred to as seat rungs as the seat material will be woven around these "stretchers". The jig itself allows you to set a fixed distance from the fence to drill your hole, and then lets you slide the post along so that you can drill additional holes on the same axis. It lies flat on your drill press table.

Side Rung Mortise Jig
If chairs were like boxes, you could take those completed "ladders" and drill another set of 90 degree holes and insert the side rungs -- but they are not. Most chairs are wider in the front than they are in the back. Another way of saying that is that the front rungs are slightly longer than the back rungs. In order to accommodate this difference, the angles between the back rungs and the side rungs are slightly obtuse, and the angles between the front rungs and the side rungs are slightly acute. This difference will always result in supplementary angles (92 and 88, etc.)

This jig allows you to insert the entire "ladder", angle the jig a couple of degrees (with a wedge) off the 90 degree table, and drill holes. Rotating the jig 180 degrees on the table allows you to the cut the supplementary angle on the opposite side. Many plans will tell you this angle, and you can work backwards to create the appropriate wedges. More on this later.

Next week, I promise to raise a tool in anger in order to start making a chair, but still have a couple of little jigs to help with the turning. I'm not ashamed to admit that this is the first time that I've ever spent an entire week simply making jigs, and I do not wish to repeat this experience.

Thanks for reading!

Shaker Side Tables: Finally Finished

2011-01-03T10:18:00.000-05:00

My two favorite ways to finish cherry always come under fire for being both finicky and not very durable. -- but I've never had any problems. I use Tried and True oil, with its honey like consistency and non-toxic pedigree, when I want very little sheen. When I want to dial in the desired amount of gloss, I go with boiled linseed oil and paste wax. On my three Shaker tables I went with the latter. All received just one coat of boiled linseed oil. On the two round-topped stands I applied two coats of wax, on the drawered stand I applied just one. Some final thoughts:

Shaker Round Table

It is no surprise that this simple, elegant form is the most recognizable piece of Shaker furniture. In my eyes, its success relies upon the profile of the pedestal and the graceful curves of the legs. The top is secured with a support that travels across the grain to reduce cupping. I've secured it with brass inserts and brass screws, leaving ample room in the support for wood movement.

Shaker Single Drawer Stand

I really like the utility of this little table. the pedestal is the shortest of the three, and there is no apology for its straight-forward design. The subtle snake-legs are a focal point and, for better or worse, the center board on the top displays some quarter-sawn figure. The double-sided drawer rides on guides that affix to its side. I used a bit of curly cherry for the drawer fronts, and the oil really makes them pop.

Imperfection #1

This is the only one of the three tables where I made radical alterations to the traditional Shaker design. The maple butterfly keys span two largish checks, and the top is thicker than normal. The tilt-top mechanism is of my own design, in the hope of reducing the bulk of a traditional "bird-cage" tilter. When horizontal, the top rests on a turned button affixed to the pedestal.

I must say that I love working with cherry. It is easily worked with hand tools, it is economical to buy, and the figure never disappoints. Living here in Pennsylvania, it is quite plentiful, and my local hardwood suppliers always have interesting shorts and flitches that make great table tops and seats.

During the past couple of weeks I've been doing a good bit of research about Shaker chairs -- their design, manufacture, and evolution over the years and across the various communities. As I start the new year, I will be making a pair of New Lebanon side chairs in maple. The project will include lots of turning, steam-bending, and seat weaving. . . and I'll begin making the jigs that will speed production in my next post.

Thanks for reading!

The Perfunctory 2011 Resolution List

2010-12-30T11:54:00.002-05:00

At the risk of sounding too self-indulgent, I thought I'd get a jump start on everybody else and write out my resolutions for 2011. Looking at it, I think it reflects my hopes for the future, a recognition of my woodworking shortcomings, and an account of the things I hope to improve upon . . .

1. Any blog posts will come with the implied "This is just the way I do it -- and you may have a better way." There are so many great artisans that I would never want to think that I have the best methods or results. In fact, I hope you are not shy in sharing your own best practices through this blog.

2. Now that I have a pair of over-the-reading-glasses safety glasses that fit, I will have them on whenever I use any power tool -- that includes the drill press and the router table. Plus, I secretly think they make me look like Sam Maloof (or Buddy Holly, or Brains from The Thunderbirds, or Rockin Mel Slirrurp.)

3. I will get a hot hide glue set-up. I used it once and I thought it was fiddley and that it smelled bad. Now, I am fiddley and I smell bad, so we should get along.

4. I will pay tribute to the spirit of Woodwork magazine. I love all the unpretentious, mad-monk, woodworkers who just make it happen. I love the way each issue seemed to be a labour of love for the (no doubt) overworked editor who made it all happen. It is sorely missed.

5. I will make sure that I can sharpen every tool in my shop. This sounds pretty elemental, but it is not universal in my shop. Obviously, I have the basic chisels and planes down, as well as my turning tools. But my draw knife is simply functional -- hook knife, forget about it. Scrapers, pretty good. Moulding planes -- I don't know where to start.

6. I will learn to French polish. When I lived in the UK, I trained to be a pastry chef while there was a French polishing school ten miles away. Where was my head?

7. I will bring in a couple of guest bloggers to keep things interesting or, at the very least, interview the woodworking stars who live right around me. I see this blogosphere stuff as a virtual Guild. I think we can create even more if we work together.

8. The chop saw will be banished to the garage. Sitting in my shop it is both a nuisance and a symbol of a different stage in my work. It, will not be missed.

9. I will take another chairmaking or turning class. I have some world class people within a couple of hours of my shop. If I want to take it to the next level, I must invest the time and money in our craft instead of always just stumbling around my own little burrow.

10. I will thank my wife more often for understanding that abandoning my old career to focus on our daughters, my furniture-making, and our property was the way to go. She has made it happen and my daughters make me want to be better every day. You guys are the one thing that can't be improved.

As a side note, I've deemed 2011 "The Year of the Chair" -- Shaker chairs, Stickley chairs, Windsor chairs, contemporary chairs. And that's where I'll start with my first project of 2011.

Cheers!

Sunday ToolFoolery - Monday Edition - Miterboxing Day

2010-12-27T13:07:00.000-05:00

I was well pleased when my package of two saw plates arrived in the post last week, straight from the bench of Bob Rozaieski -- sharp, straight, and ready to be put back into service. The first, a crosscut carcass saw, was ready to be a companion to my large-ish Wenzloff tenon saw. All that was required was a quick reassemble and a new spot on the wall.

The second saw, is the dedicated miter saw for the Stanley 4460 miter box. First, I want to say how quickly and professionally Bob handled these saws. Just as important as how sharp they are, is that they have been given the correct fleam, rake and set for their purpose. His price is very fair and the transaction is quite straightforward.

I decided to make a new handle for the miter saw in order to spruce it up a bit. Those 1960's beech handles don't do to much for me and I have never made a saw handle from scratch. After looking at a few saw designs in my shop, I just decided to freehand the changes -- it is easier than you think. When I was done with the shape I cut out a template and transferred it to a piece of curly cherry.

A couple of holes (7/8" and 1") with a forstner bit marked the inside dimensions of grip and I cleared out the rest of the waste with a coping saw. The external shape was cut on the bandsaw. What followed was a great deal of rasping, spokeshaving, and sanding to get it to feel correct. I didn't develop a system, I just kept removing material until I was happy.

It was here, to quote Fantastic Mr. Fox, that this threatened to become a "cluster cuss."

There is that moment, when a piece that you are creating has left your hand, but has not yet reached the floor, when you honestly believe that it won't break. But very quickly you are proven wrong, it does break, and you are experiencing the first stage (Denial) of the five woodworking stages of grief. It is quickly followed by (Anger) "Ah, for #%$%& sake, how could I be so stupid. To (Bargaining) "OK, just a hairline crack, fixed with glue, that would be good -- give it some character." Then (Depression) "Well, that just looks awful, four hours, down the drain." Finally (Acceptance) "Well, it is a tool handle, if it works, then it is serving its purpose." Happy Christmas.

Once repaired, I realized that it wasn't all that bad. I slapped on a coat of boiled linseed oil. this will be followed by some wax next week.

Cutting the slot for the saw plate and back was the trickiest part. I started by duplicating the mortice from the old handle. Using a marking gauge I marked this mortice on the new handle on both the top and front. In this case I decided to drill 1/4" holes to remove the waste -- you could also use a mortice chisel. A little bench chiseling turned the holes into a square mortice. I cut the slot for the saw plate with a tenon saw. After a bit of fiddling, the handle slid right on.

I marked the holes from the old handle for drilling, but drilled only one, to see how the would line up. I then attached the saw plate (on the outside) by this one screw and remarked the rest of the holes. After drilling the remaining holes, I slid things in place to see how they lined up. The fit was OK. but I did need to use a file to "re-adjust" the holes in the saw plate. After countersinking for the various saw nuts, I put everything together and tightened things down.

The last step was to readjust the guides on the miter box so that the saw teeth just brushed the surface of the new oak top. A couple of test cuts confirmed the sharpness of the saw and its correct setup. All-in-all a victory. I think this will serve me well moving forward, and the total cost, including the box itself, the saw, the postage, and the sharpening was less than $100.

If you note a lack of enthusiasm in my tone it is because this "little" project took me a great deal longer to complete than I had budgeted. In the future I'll be leaving saw handle making to the pros -- but I will be sending any of my vintage saws (handle intact) to Bob for sharpening.

On a positive note, I did receive a couple of neat woodworking-related gifts for Christmas, including a high-angle frog for my 4 1/2, a Ron Hock blade for my #12 scraper plane, and this most excellent book.

If you are not a Wallace and Gromit fan, I encourage you to become one at your earliest possible convenience. They are, in a word, superb. Cheers!

Shaker Side Tables: Butterfly Keys on Imperfection #1

2010-12-23T12:12:00.000-05:00

I've been looking forward to inserting the butterfly keys on Imperfection # 1 since I first saw the checks on this highly figured board. These inlays bring to mind George Nakashima and all of the great furniture and noble ideas that he brought to the craft. And I must say that when Tyler mentioned them on teal and gold, his hip, artsy blog , I remembered how satisfying it feels to tap them home with just a bit of glue -- each tap snugging the carefully-cut key into its recess.

Sometimes these keys are completely cosmetic, inserted to add interest or to justify the inclusion of a tiny crack that poses no structural threat to the piece. In this case they are very necessary as they need to span a fissure of nearly 1/4".

My method for making the keys, cutting the mortices, and truing the butterflies is fairly old school, with a couple of my own quirks.

I cut the butterflies by hand. In my opinion, a great deal of the charm in these details lies in the slight asymmetry that comes from hand sawing each piece. Those templates with their sterile forms and perfect geometry always put me off. In many ways this is just like cutting a double-sided tail in a half-blind joint. And like executing this joint, success for me comes when I keep in mind which faces will show in the finished product.

I cut these butterflies on a 1:8 ratio, using my dovetail marker on 1" maple stock. As much as I wanted to create slim hourglass shapes, I needed to keep some meat in the middle for strength. I like the subtle contrast between cherry and maple; I suppose that if I really wanted to make it pop I would have gone with holly or box keys. The grain should run the length of the key. I like to lay them out, angle the tops, make the cuts on the side, and free them all with one crosscut along their bottoms.

After laying out the shapes my aim is to make sure that the bottom of the key is ever so slightly narrower than the top. To prepare the top of the keys I take a few passes with a low-angle plane, across the grain, creating an angle toward the back of the key. For the zig-zag sides of the key I start my saw cut at the outside of the line at the top and on the inside of the line at the bottom. This biases the cut to something like a 1 degree angle. To quote James Krenov, "just enough so that only you know that it's there." Once the keys are cut, a little cleanup with a wide chisel makes the edges true -- straight lines and consistent angles are important.

I transfer the shapes of the keys to the table top with a sharp pencil, tracing around the slightly narrower bottoms, just as they will be placed in the top. I find that if I cut the mortice to the outside of these pencil lines it give you clearance to insert the key without fiddling. And because the key gets slightly wider from bottom to top, it snugs itself as it is inserted. I do use a router to hog out most of the waste, but not in the traditional manner.

I have never liked working a router freehand, regardless of the situation, and in particular I don't like moving it within a scribed line -- too many things can go wrong. Instead, I use a 1/4" spiral bit and plunge it into the waste area. The result is no broken bits and no irretrievable disasters here at step 432 of the project. I then incise the line with a chisel and remove the remaining waste.

Just a quick word about the thickness of the keys. The recess is about 1/2" deep and the keys begin life at about 1" thick. I'm unconcerned (within reason) about how deep these get inserted as long as they don't bottom out before they are snug. I use just a bit of glue around the bottom edge of the key as it goes on. and a bit of glue in the mortice -- but not much. As much as I'd like to trim these with a flush cut saw, I don't. The maple is hard, a bit chunky, and I've found that a delicate saw balks at this challenge. Instead I use my dovetail saw and remove the 1/4" that remains with a block plane.

When using the block plane I put a sheet of paper or masking tape down before I start. The result will be a key that protrudes by that thickness (which sometimes I leave) and can be easily sanded with 220 grit during final surfacing. In this case, I sand to 400, to get a bit of sheen on the top (contrasting with the imperfection of the mended crack.) A quick bit of work with the spokeshave readies the edge for finish.

I couldn't help myself. The top picture shows how the table is coming along with a quick coat of boiled linseed oil. I'm pretty pleased with the look, but there are a couple of little cosmetic tricks I need to do before it is complete. The last step is to secure the top to the pedestal. As I want to display the figure and the butterflies, I'll do this via a tilting mechanism.

The final post in this series will have a (mercifully short) description of aforementioned tilting mechanism and final pictures of the Shaker Round Stand, The Single Drawer Sewing Stand and this, Imperfection #1.

Cheers, Merry Christmas, and let me know what you think.

Sunday ToolFoolery - A Stanley Miter Box As Bench Accessory

2010-12-19T14:00:00.000-05:00

You may remember, (from your county fair-going days) the old midway game where you roll a coin down a slot onto a platform. A long bulldozer-like blade moves forward and, if you are lucky, your coin will force other coins (or valuable prizes like switchblades and naked lady bottle openers) off the other side and into a tray.

Keep this image in mind and you have a fairly accurate picture of my benchtop. I start the day with the best of intentions, but as work proceeds, tools begin taking that short drop into the tray. I knew my new Stanley Miter Box wouldn't stand a chance in this environment. I would need it, there would be nowhere to put it, and I'd stop using it.

That tool tray, however, may be the answer to all my troubles. In my hands it is simply a catch-all for tools, an amalgam of shavings, and tiny pieces of wood I "must keep." But in an organized person's shop, it could serve as a kind of bedway for two sliding platforms to hold a miter box and a support/stop for longer work.

But before I begin, I need to thank a couple of very helpful folks who set me straight on my misguided thoughts about the "holdfasts." Both David from the Yukon and Greg from Kentucky correctly noted that they are actually "stops" to help you create a compound angle for cutting crown moulding. This makes much more sense and changes my approach to how they are secured. Instead of the cam clamp, I will use thumbscrews on two stops. Thanks for your insights.

Now back to the platforms. . .

I started by glueing up more oak to a width of around 11 inches. After a quick scraping, I cut this into two pieces -- the first to hold the box, the second to hold the support. A block on the back and a strip of oak along the underside created a channel to allow the platform to slide along the back rail of the bench. An eyescrew through that back block secures it in place.

The platform for the box is very straightforward -- just place the box on top and secure with screws. The support is a little more interesting.

I wanted something simple and robust. The main objective was to have something that could serve as just a support, or as a support and a stop. Here was my solution. As a support. . .

And as a stop. . .

The height of the support box matches the height of the miter box top and the stop meets the box top at the fence line -- so that you can use it as a stop for the narrowest of material. As you can see, the stop just pops in and out.

I even had some time to make a start on a new handle. The original was beech, ugly, and machine made. I also had to cut it two in order to remove the sawplate for sharpening. My plan was to make a smaller handle, from walnut, to match my other hand saws. Upon reflection, I realized that the size of the handle on the the sawplate needed to be the same as the old profile. If not, the aging of the metal would form a shadow of the original. Also, a smaller grip looked out of proportion with the full-sized front of the handle.

The new handle will be made of curly cherry (an offcut from Imperfection #1) and be a stylized version of the original. Here it sits after the initial bandsawing and some rough rasp work.

I'll complete this handle, attach it to the newly-sharpened saw plate, and take the miter box for a test drive in the next edition.

Meanwhile. . . I have to share these photos. We never get snow geese in our pond, so imagine my surprise when I looked out of the shop window this morning.

They spent the day parading through the yard and squabbling with the resident Canada geese. . .

And when dusk came, off they went . . .

Good luck, and happy holidays.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to make corrections!

Shaker Side Tables: Designing and Creating Imperfection #1

2010-12-16T11:54:00.000-05:00

The third in this series of three shaker tables is a bit of a departure. During my last long cycle ride of the season I stumbled upon, quite by accident, the relocated Amish school in Nickel Mines, PA. I was taken by the beauty of the day, the autumn weather, and the sheer joy of the children outside playing baseball. I was amazed at how such beauty could exist so close to such tragedy; our own imperfection lying so close to our innocence.

On the long ride home I wrote some words in my head and sort of put those feelings aside -- until I saw this bit of wood leaning up against the wall at one of my hardwood suppliers. There, next to a stunning bit of figure, ran two long cracks that rendered the wood virtually worthless -- except if you were willing to accept the beauty and the imperfection side by side.

So instead of building a double drawer sewing stand, I'll be using this board to create Imperfection #1, a tilt-top round table -- inspired by Shaker design. And because of the size of this board, most of the cutting, smoothing, and shaping will need to be done by hand tools -- with some exceptions. I'll be using the pedestal base that I built a couple of weeks ago and fashioning a simple "bird cage" tilting mechanism. So here goes.

Using a hand saws I crosscut and ripped this to about 120% of its finished size. While crosscutting, the kerf snapped closed and I had to wedge it to finish the cut. Duly noted.

The next order of business was to address the severe cupping inherent in a board like this. I started on what will be the underside of the table to get a sense of how difficult this will be to work. The crotch figure is fine -- almost like working a hard burl, no tearout, especially with the low angle jack. There is one area (near the knot that I have eliminated) that wants to tear out regardless. I pulled out my Stanley #80 cabinet scraper and worked that area. I'm looking to get this fairly level but not perfect as I don't know how this will move given some of the stress.

I needed to take down something in tha area of 3/16" on the sides of the top, and a similar amount from the middle of the bottom. Starting with my much-loved Stanley 5 1/2 used as a scrubber, I went after the top. The low angle was great on the middle figure on the bottom -- and curiously -- a spokeshave put a nice sheen on this underside (I mean, why? One is low angle; the other is high angle!)

When I had this to somewhere in the vicinity of 1/32" flat I called it quits. There were more cuts to come (that might unleash the tension I'd already seen) and I was going to be banging it around a bit (so it was sure to pick up some scratches.) In order to figure out the layout of the circular top, I used two spring clamps and a length of old bandsaw blade set to a diameter of 21 inches. I drilled a 3/8" hole in center and used my circle-cutting jig on the bandsaw to cut this to size.

So, if you think handling a naked bandsaw blade as a template looks dangerous, then we're just getting started.

The Occupational Safety and Health Administration, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and my own conscience require me to toss up all kinds of red flags at this point. If what what follows next doesn't seem like the scariest thing I've ever done on a table saw, it will do until a scary thing gets here. So even with all the caveats about guards, eye protection, and staying very aware of the moving blade, I'm not recommending this method to anyone.

At 21 inches, this top was too big to put on my lathe to taper the edge (which is about 1 inch thick and too clunky for my taste.) I suppose that if I had an outboard rig I could strap it on there, but most of the work would have you pushing the top away from the headstock, without a tailstock to back it up. So this is a non-starter. Recently, I read an article about using your table saw to taper the curved end of a table top. You hoiked it up on edge, angled the blade, and ran it through in a series passes, sanding the rough spots after you were done. I thought, "Why not turn this up to 11" and do an entire circle in this manner.

So I created a set-up, with the help of my tenoning jig, that allowed me to angle the work back about 15 degrees from the blade.

I then used the same 3/8" hole on the bottom that affixed it to my bandsaw circle-cutting jig, and built a support to hold the top against this board so that it would stay in place, yet turn freely. I started by taking a pass, rotating it 10 or so degrees, then taking another pass. Here it is, part way through.

As you can see, there is a bit of burning that took place -- a direct result of the slight wobble in this somewhat flimsy jig. And in spite of the terror it invoked when I crawled atop the saw and gave it a final 360 degree turn, whilst centered against the blade, I will use this method again. I'll just build a much larger, purpose-built, jig that will be more solid than this arrangement.

In contrast to this two-hours-of-jig-building-and-45-seconds-of-terror experience, I was happy to get to some hand work. I started by scribing a reference line about 1/2" from the table top along the edge. . .

. . . And then worked it to an even reveal along the edge and on the back. "Ahhh, what a piece of work is a spokeshave, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving."

Next, I will layout, cut and install the butterfly keys, build the tilt-top mechanism, and install it on its base.

Thanks for looking, and please let me know what you think!

Sunday ToolFoolery - Hot-Rodding A Stanley Miter Box (Part One)

2010-12-12T17:04:00.001-05:00

The best car I ever owned was a brick red 1970 Karmann Ghia convertible. It wasn't fast, but it did most of what a pricey roadster did at a fraction of the cost. And because it wasn't a museum piece, I was free to make any modifications that I saw fit -- such as adding a chrome gas pedal in the shape of a bare foot. I have similar emotions about my favorite used tools. And while I won't be painting any flames on the side of a Stanley #1, I will do what it takes to modify things to make them fit my style.

Enter the Stanley 2246 mitre box.

Christopher Schwarz, (a man who is apparently not above decorating the sides of planes!) has been making it rain around the value of these fairly workaday tools. Every time I looked for one on ebay, the winning bid was outrageous (My ebay account is still watching a box that went for $387.00.) So his latest musings, imploring us to get off our butts and look for them in person, was a stroke of the bleedin' obvious

Right on cue, I stumbled upon a well-used Stanley 2246 in my super-secret antique tool shop. All the mechanisms worked great and the price, including a non-descript 27" saw (Disston, a division of Porter Co.) was less than the shipping price of many I've seen online. And because it was missing a few bits and bobs, I had no qualms about customizing this little beauty.

My goal is simple -- I want to get that blasted chop saw out of my machine tool room. Even by my pretty loose standards it is too loud, takes up too much space, and belches forth way too much dust to rationalize its existence. It has a home waiting for it in the garage. But in order to make this happen, I need to make the new saw accessible, versatile, and able to do everything that the electric version does today. So here goes . . .

The first step is to get rid of the bright red, balsa-wood top that comes standard. I want to be able to support slightly longer stock on a wider base. I decided to use white oak as that's what I have lying around. The 2246 has two holdfasts that slide across the top in order to secure pieces during the cut. While I'm not sure of the real utility of that, I didn't want to abandon the idea completely. Instead of two, I opted to go with one (on the left side) and I decided to fashion it from oak and cherry to replace the pitted steel original. (I can easily add the other if it seems useful.) I also switched from a thumbscrew to a purpose built cam clamp to add a bit of grip to the holdfast.

The plans for the shop made cam clamps came from a helpful article written by Sam Howe. I modified this just a bit, using a wooden clamping bar and doing a glue-up of 3/8" cherry for the body. It will be interesting to see how these hold up. I won't go into too much detail on the construction, as I plan to do a full post on the clamp construction in January. Once completed, the clamping mechanism looks something this.

Next, I wanted to deal with the grubby grey paint that adorned the top half of the cast iron body. Traditionalists look away, as I'm about to make you sick. After a quick scrub down I gave it two coats of Rustoleum's "Hammered" grey finish. I think it looks pretty spiffy, and I must say that I would consider this (in black) if I wanted to dress-up a low grade plane with some faux "japanning". I'm leaving the black portions "as is" (even I have my limits.)

As luck would have it, just as I started thinking about the saw, I read a post from Bob Rozaieski at Logan Cabinet Shoppe that he was getting into the saw sharpening business. I like his blog, and interactions with him are always pleasant. So, after some back and forth about fleam and rake, this blade (and another carcass saw) was on its way across the Delaware River for sharpening. The cheap handle on the saw was stained, so off it came. Unfortunately a chisel and saw came into play, which means that I'll making a handle in next week's post.

I'm convinced that the success of this tool, for a lazy man like me, will depend on whether it stays close at hand. If I have to lug it out from under the bench every time, I'll pine for the old chop saw. Likewise, if I can't set it up for repetitive cuts (such as making rails and stiles), it will become a bore. So my task between now and next Sunday is to get a good start on a new handle, and come up with a good way to mount this on my bench. And that's where I'll pick up.

As always, improvements, comments and questions are always welcome. Thanks for reading!

Shaker Side Tables: Two Down, One To Go!

2010-12-09T09:17:00.000-05:00

The second in this series of three Shaker side tables is a Single Drawer Sewing Stand. Historical accounts from people like John Kassay, Christian Becksvoort, and Robert Treanor would place this piece somewhere in the middle of the 19th century. If you are keeping score (and I am), a table like this may have been made in the Hancock community in western Massachusetts.

Having turned the simple post, and shaping the cabriole snake-foot leg, the main work at hand was to complete the drawer and affix the top. As this is a two-fronted "push-me-pull-you drawer" it requires two drawer fronts fitted with half blind dovetails. I had stumbled across some stock marked "common curly cherry" (the only thing that made it common were its dimensions, as it is completely clear) and I was happy to pay the $2.50/bf for this fairly tasty bit of figure.

Fitting the drawer into the yoke exposed a bad habit. Like adding one more jalapeno to the pot, or having one more glass of wine before I go, I tend to add about 1/16" extra to a cut "just in case." It doesn't sound like a lot, but it caused me more time than I care to mention when it came to fitting the drawer. That being completed (with the requisite self-loathing), the next step was to turn the pulls for the drawers.

I suspect that if you came into my shop while I was turning, it would be like some anthropologist stumbling upon a lost tribe along the Amazon, completely untouched by civilization. I'm self taught, and there is no doubt a better way to do this, but here goes:

I use 3/8" holes in the drawer fronts because I know that my 25mm jaws can grip this dimension. I also know that, in cherry, I can turn a couple of inches of this dimension without the work flexing and causing chatter.

Once I'm down to this dimension, I pop it out of the lathe and cut it in two.

Now I chuck it back into the 25mm jaws, and turn it to the final profile.

There are endless number of mushroom profiles that are accurate, and as I'm not trying to reproduce an exact piece, I just turned them to what suited my fancy. I made them a little chunkier than usual, this being a fairly squat little table. It was a nice tight fit, and wedges and glue followed.

The drawer rides on two runners that slide in a dado cut into the yoke. I affix these runners with glue (as it is long-grain to long-grain), reinforced with small 1/8" dowels. The secret to my dowels is that they are actually bamboo skewers -- tough as nails and pre-cut.

Affixing the top is straight-forward with the compulsory accommodation for wood movement across the top. The drawer hangers are morticed onto the yoke arms, and each has four elongated holes to accept screws. When using mechanical fixtures I often use brass insert nuts and brass screws, but as this top is only 5/8" thick, that method would risk ghosting through to the final surface. I've also used rounded wooden pegs, glued into the top but allowed to slide freely in the elongated holes, but I'm suspicious that this might fail. In this case I used drywall screws (I vowed I'd never do this!) Function before form in this case, and they are hidden from view.

Nothing left to do but slide the legs into their dovetails and make sure that the drawer moves freely. Now it can take its place next to its sister the round stand, and its brother, the final stand in this series. My original plan was to make a double drawer sewing stand, but I think I have another idea . . .

As always, just jump in with a comment if you think I'm all wet, or want to share a better method. Oh, and questions are welcome too.

Next up, I finally found my Stanley Miter box. Spoiler alert --it needs work!

Sunday ToolFoolery - A Pair of Japanese Marking Gauges (Kebiki)

2010-12-05T16:44:00.000-05:00

After completing a large shoji screen last year, I vowed to make myself a couple of Japanese marking gauges that were robust enough to lay out large tenons. A quick trip through the Japan Woodworker catalogue gave me some inspiration about the design, as well as a source for the razor-sharp marking knives that are the business end of this contraption.

First of all, I'm no tool fetishist. I believe that Wharton Esherick said it best when he explained that he would "use any tool that'll do the job. If I have to use my teeth, I'll use my teeth." That being said, I do like the look and feel of a nice tool and I've never regretted it when I spent a few extra bucks on a high-quality item. But tool-making for me is a busman's holiday, and I take a fast-and-loose approach.

Marking gauges (kebiki) are deceptively simple. An arm with a marker on the end slides through a fence. The arm is locked in the fence (thus locking in the distance of your knife mark from the edge) by means of a wedge. I chose quarter-sawn white oak for most of the gauge because it is tough, and walnut for the wedge as it is softer and that little amount of give should help the wedge to stay in place. I also think that walnut and oak is a really nice combination.

I also made it a bit chunky, as I wanted to be able to whack the pieces on the bench in order to loosen the wedge, adjust the bar, and lock the wedge with three easy taps. Given the tough and stringy nature of this piece of oak, I opted to use a router to cut the two overlapping slots that hold the arm and the wedge - 1/4" and 3/8" respectively.

This also assured that the arm and wedges would protrude from the fence at a 90 degree angle. (The hand-tool gods had their revenge for not morticing by hand -- they took a big chip out of my 3/8" bit.) Now use a chisel to make a flat shoulder where the larger arm slot meets the smaller wedge slot.

The Wedge

The wedge slips into the smaller slot. It is important that the wedge is angled at less than about 12 degrees in order to get the right purchase. It set this angle on my bevel gauge and cut the wedge accordingly and cut it with a coping saw.

After a bit of spokeshaving and sanding I was pleased with the result. I then moved on to adjusting the angle of the slot in the fence. Using the same setting in the bevel gauge, I cut a guide block to insure that the angled surface of the wedge would ride against a matching angle in the arm slot ensuring maximum contact. Now, regardless of where the wedge is placed in the slot, it will be perpendicular to the fence.

The Fence

Since I ganged up the two gauges on one board, now all that is left to do is cut out the design. I didn't push the boat out too far with this as I went with the traditional (I think?) Kebiki outline. Once rough shaped, I popped it on the bench for a little spokeshave action.

The Arm

The fit of the arm, the profiling of the rounded edge, and the placement of the knife in the arm are the most important parts of this project. I first brought the thickness of the arm down (by hand) to 3/8". I want there to be some friction as it moves, and as I've yet to round over the edge, I checked it by sliding one corner into place. The edge rounding was done with a block plane -- a #3 round plane, a router bit with a 3/16" radius, or a scratch/bead plane could be used. When the arm could inch along the fence, I considered it done.

To install the knife, I started by drilling a 1/4" hole, one inch from the end of the arm. This allows you to cut a slot on only the edges the hole to fit the knife into place. Here is where you will use geometry and physics to your advantage.

If you angle the knife by say 2 or 3 degrees (facing the arm as you will use it, this means the knife slot will angle toward your left shoulder -- for righties) the cutting action of the knife will pull the fence tight up against your work. I cut this slot with a naked coping saw blade. Proceed slowly, with the knife in hand. You will only need to cut the slots a bit to guide the blade. Insert the blade and give it a couple of taps so that it protrudes by about 1/16". This friction fit will hold the blade in place, but allow you to remove it for sharpening.

A couple of test cuts show that it holds its line, even with the grain. The lines are deep enough to aid in making those little angled chisel cuts that allow you to get precision lines when sawing tenons by hand, and great shoulder lines on dovetails. And having a couple of them lying around will save time resetting gauges.

If you have any questions on the X's and O's of this -- or have a better way to do things -- just make a comment. Thanks.

Shaker Side Tables: Snake Handling and Drawer Making

2010-12-01T13:51:00.000-05:00

Welcome fans of obscure Appalachian religious practices! However, your Google search has brought you to a woodworking blog, and the snakes I'm talking about are Shaker table leg snake feet. Also, if you hang in there, I'll punish/reward you with some blather about half-blind dovetails.

The Single Drawer Shaker Stand is the only one of the three tables in this series that does not have the classic cyma-curved leg found on the iconic Round Stand -- rather it relies on a more stylized snake leg. As I mentioned in a previous post, the snake leg is much trickier to template rout; it has several changes of direction and there are many times that you are right up against a nasty bit of short grain. A more sensible approach might be to cut this entirely with a bow saw or with a coping saw. In either case, the final shaping will need to be done by hand.

While a snake leg can be finished in varying degrees of lightness on the topline, (almost an inverted "V" shape in profile) Shaker examples seem to go from dead flat at the top (no final shaping) to a soft inverted "C" shape. I'll be creating the latter.

As I see it, you come armed with three weapons in hand to approach this task -- spokeshaves, rasps, and a sanding drum. Oh, and sandpaper --FOUR weapons to approach this task! The sanding drum (which I put in my lathe) is tricky to use, too dusty and not fun. Spokeshaves are great to use, but the aforementioned short grain and tight turns make them time-consuming. And while going straight for the rasp seems like punting on third down, it seems to do the trick for me. Sandpaper is a necessary evil for any of these approaches. I like to increase the amount I round the leg as I go from pedestal to foot -- leaving it flat right at the top where it meets the pedestal. I don't draw any guidelines for registration (though I could see why they'd be helpful) and I just have at it. This is "Free Workmanship" at its purest -- contrast this with template routing! The above picture shows how they look at three stages of completion.

Moving on to the drawer.

For me to talk about making drawers is truly an exercise in the near-sighted leading the blind. There are many books and tutorials that do a complete job of explaining in great detail the subjects of half-blind dovetails and drawer construction. I've read many of them, and I'll just pass on the tips I use when I cut these dovetails. (I'll leave the drawer hanging to another day.)

I really like Ian Kirby's The Complete Dovetail. It is old school and explains how to go about cutting several types. I use his method and I like the way he explains the whys of how he goes about things. He offers no shortcuts and takes no prisoners. Another good read is James Krenov's The Fine Art of Cabinetmaking. This book is more about the feel of making a good joint, but he helps you to understand why you do it in the first place. Of course, as "How to cut dovetails" is to woodworking magazines what "How to cure your slice" is to golf magazines, you can't swing a cat without finding a good magazine article. Over the years I've tried and discarded the little jigs to guide your chisel for the final cut and boards that help you cut the shoulder square. I'm not a purist, but they never worked for me -- maybe I'm just dim.

In the end I go with the traditional tails-first approach with a couple of well-known tricks: (By the way, after re-reading this it sounds kind of pedantic, so please accept that this is just my experience, yours may be better and produce better results!)

The 140 Trick
Named after the Stanley block plane, it allows you to cut a small rabbet along the inside of your tails that mirrors the width of the pin board (except my 140 is a tablesaw and a tenoning jig.) When you set it on the pin board, it registers things in perfect alignment. It is the first line of my mantra Mark The Line. In this photo, you can see that I also bevel the hidden edge of the tails to ease in assembly.

My 4 1/2 and Tail Vice
Once "140'ed" I stick the pin board in my tail vice, projecting above the benchtop the width of my 4 1/2 plane. I use that plane to support the tail board. In addition, I often attach a quick clamp across the width of the boards to lock them in place. Now I can mark the pins in a fairly aggressive manor. Sometimes I go back with a chisel and push down on these marks so I can See The Line (the second line of my mantra.)

Cut the Damn Line
The third line of my mantra. I try to cut the final line with my saw -- not by going back with a chisel. For me, I can't abide picking and pecking at my mark. The final result of chiseling (in my hands) is generally a wiggly ledge, not a crisp edge. As I use a western saw, I bias my cut to the waste side of line. Good technique is everything and worth practicing. The first cut is a gentle thing, like a conductor coaxing a ppp entrance from an orchestra, not a Klitchko right cross. I haven't used a dozuki in a while. I wonder, does the thin kerf let you start right on the line?

Abuse an Old Scraper
When cutting the pocket on your drawer front. geometry dictates that you will have a 45 degree angle on your saw cut. If you slowly advance an old cabinet scraper, hammering it down to the shoulder as you advance, you can extend the line to its full depth and make life easier.

The Leather Pad and Wooden Clamp
The first decent dovetails I ever cut were ruined by "bench rash" -- those little dings you get while you are flipping and chiseling. It is easy for bits of wood to get between the bench and the piece and leave impressions. With a square of leather cut from an old pair of chaps, a wooden clamp set to hold my piece, and a brush, I can make pretty quick work of clearing the waste without ruining the piece.

Stick With A System
None of the above is gospel, and some of it may be dead wrong! But it is my system and I'll stick to it. My results are good, but they only progressed from bad to pretty acceptable when I just repeated things. (The above photo shows the first stages of planing the drawer side. The cracked board you see is a backer board since this drawer is a "push-me-pull-you" with two fronts, which dictates that in order to follow the grain of the drawer side, you will have to go the "wrong way" on one drawer front. The backer board prevents blowout.) If cutting dovetails is new to you, faff around for awhile, delve into the resources, get a feel, then commit to a system. I'm hoping that over time, my results will be what I want them to be -- I'm still a work in process.

I'd love to hear about any great tips or techniques that work for you, so please feel free to post them in the comments. Meanwhile, I promise to put this thing together next week and talk about a change in plans for the final table in this series.

Striving For Imperfection

2010-11-26T09:30:00.000-05:00

"There is hope in honest error, none in the icy perfections of a mere stylist." -- C. R. Mackintosh

I've been thinking a good bit about why we, as craftspeople, do what we do. If you were to look at the cumulative cost of our tools, books, and stashes of lumber it just doesn't add up. Even the best-known woodworkers, those who teach classes, publish articles, sell their own line of tools, live modest lives. In fact, there seems to be an inverse relationship between commitment to the craft, and success as defined by society at large. Yet, we persevere in an impractical pursuit for questionable rewards.

The world values perfection -- perfect teeth, perfect grades, perfect furniture. Yet the things that mean the most to me are flawed, either by use or design. It has taken a while for me to realize that success will come, both professionally and personally, if I learn to embrace this imperfection. Not that I'm advocating shoddy workmanship, I'm saying that what we can do as individual artisans is to look at a piece of wood and understand how it might speak to the human condition.

The above bowl was turned from an imperfect piece of burl I saw on a neighbor's downed tree. I knew it had flaws, but I thought it might be interesting. Turning it was work -- the void in the middle made it impossible to ride the bevel and acheive a perfect surface. In fact, I couldn't hollow it to the degree I wanted to as it was becoming increasingly unstable. As a green piece of wood, it will move and warp -- hopefully not to the point where it breaks apart.

But knowing the why of making it made the how enjoyable. This bowl is a gift to friends with whom we shared Thanksgiving dinner. Having been to their house, I knew that the objects that they valued were things that had some meaning. I'm convinced that the only way we can proceed as craftspeople is if we stay true to that credo -- what does this piece mean? There's no way we can stand up to the pace or efficiencies of a factory, but we can create pieces that mean something to us or to those who take them into their homes.

Nothing original here, I guess. James Krenov, John Ruskin, and William Morris have said the same thing for generations, and that elusive coupling of art and technique is what keeps me in the shop (and being my own harsh critic.)

Shaker Side Tables: Simple Lines Define Round Stand

2010-11-21T08:33:00.000-05:00

In my opinion, no piece of furniture defines Keats' observation "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" like the Shaker Round Stand. Everything about it makes sense. Three legs mean that it will never wobble unevenly; its shape allows it to fit in the smallest possible space. Even the round top ensures that there are no edges to chip or corners to poke passers-by.

The only surprise is that it did not emerge, wholly formed, from the mind of Shaker craftsmen, but evolved over time. Early incarnations have the look of a high school shop class gone terribly wrong -- a square top, peg legs, and awkward turnings. The model for my stand was made somewhere around 1850, (according to Christian Becksvoort) in the Mt Lebanon or Hancock communities.

I made only a couple of modifications to the original. The first being that the top for my piece is turned on the lathe, from a single 17 1/2" board I found in the "odds and sods" section of Groff and Groff. I think I paid something like $15 for it. The top starts life at around 1 1/2" thick, so the main purpose of turning is to lighten the appearance and keep it in scale with the whole piece. I actually used the screw center in my Novatek chuck to secure it to the lathe, and steadied it with the tailstock. It would have been better to use a faceplate with an integral screw, but I don't have one. I turned it at around 300 rpm and took very light cuts and sanded to 220.

The second modification was that I cut a wide 1/16" groove in the bottom to accept the support piece and extended the tenon from the pedestal so that it extended into the top. There is plenty of meat in the 1 1/2" top to accept about a 3/8" deep hole, and its only real purpose is aid in assembly. This is part of an experiment I'm doing to see if I can create pieces that can be shipped with ease, allowing the client to assemble it at home.

I will secure the top with brass insert nuts that are drilled and embedded into the top. These accept a 1/4" round head screw and, since this is a cross grain application, I will expand the hole in the support to accomodate wood movement. My normal finish for pieces such as this is Tried and True oil, however, I'm going to wait until the other tables are complete and finish all in one go.

Next, I'll look at a handy tool and complete the Single Drawer Sewing Stand.

Shaker Side Tables: Of Dovetails and Woodworking Theology

2010-11-15T09:14:00.000-05:00

I've long felt that woodworkers can be categorized in the same way that you approach comparative theology. You'll find Amish woodworkers who use no power tools. Evangelical woodworkers who believe that their way is the only way, and that all others will be punished with an afterlife filled with MDF and Harbor Freight tools. Unitarians whose methods and approaches change weekly. Presbyterian woodworkers who understand that the tearout on that table top was predestined, and that only the elect will make true heirloom furniture.

Look around and you'll find Lutheran cabinetmakers who feel that their techniques aren't important, but that all good furniture comes from the grace of the big sawyer in the sky. Mennonite drawermakers that feel that they will be judged not by their ideas, but by their actions. Hindu tablemakers who know that their ruined project will reappear in another life as a piece of baltic birch plywood. Cultists who follow a charismatic personality (WWSMD -- What Would Sam Maloof Do.) And most recently, we've seen the rise of what I'll call Samsonites -- Chris Schwarz, David Charlesworth, and Tom Fidgen -- who somehow derive their woodworking prowess from the length of their hair.

And there is nothing that will define these hard-won theological positions like a row of dovetails.

Theoretically, the resurgence of the premium dovetail saw, rip-filed and well-sharpened, has put hand-cut joints, with tiny pins and aesthetically pleasing layouts, within everyone's reach. It is certainly my first choice and it carries with it an aura of craftsmanship. If sharpening is a gateway skill, precision handcut dovetails ushers you from the realm of the journeyman to that of an artist. They are (in spite of the videos that promise "Five-Minute Dovetails") time-consuming and there is a longish learning curve. To add insult to injury, I've found that it is other woodworkers, not potential customers, who find them most appealing. But still I persevere.

I have not reached that state of Nirvana where I can, Samurai-like, pull out the saw, pencil, marking gauge, and begin a stream-of-consciousness-mind-straight-to-wood display of artistry. It is work, and it defines "workmanship of risk."

Still, I have no interest in being converted to a "Normite." Dovetail jigs define blandness and scream compromise. I guess they are not too bad for shop furniture, but I use shop furniture to keep my technique in some sort of order for real furniture. When under the gun I use a hybrid approach, adapted from (I think) David Marks, that is a hand-cut dovetail, with an assist from a machine.

The heart of this "Middle Path" is a set of two jigs, designed to be used on the bandsaw, that cut the tail board and pin board with complete accuracy and flexibility. My jigs are set to a ratio 1:8 and are quite simple to make.

Tail Jig
Start with something like a 6" x 18" piece of MDF or plywood. Mark 8" down a long side, and 1" over from that mark. Make a 1" wide fence from 1/4" plywood and connect it from the top left corner to the 1" mark down the long side. A check with the dovetail gauge shows that it is a 1:8 ratio.

Mark your stock just as you would for traditional hand-cut dovetails. Check that your bandsaw blade is running 90 degrees to the table and adjust the fence for any drift. Set the fence a couple of inches to the left of the blade, place your work on the jig, and have at it. You'll find that if you slide the work along the fence you can line up the cut line without moving the fence. Just make sure that the wood stays firmly seated on the fence, and that you advance the entire jig while you make the actual cut. This setup allows you to cut one side of each tail -- flip the workpiece to cut the other angle. When the angles are cut, you can take the piece off the jig and hog out the pin waste.

Now, continue with a chisel to clean the half-pins and the pin waste. If you are making half-blind dovetails, you will mark the tail piece and proceed by hand.

Pin Jig
Now mark the pin board in the traditional fashion -- be sure to mark the waste side and strive for accuracy.

I know that most bandsaw tables tilt, (some in both directions) but I prefer to make a jig that can flip both ways to make the pins. My jig starts with a platform, with a fence, angled to the 1:8 ratio. That angle comes from three supports that maintain that angle. I cut the first support (on the right), then with it in place, put hot glue on top of a shorter support (with the same angle on top) and slid it into place. I did this while the jig was on the bandsaw table and I could see that the blade would follow the correct cut line.

Just as in cutting pins with a hand saw, the trick is to nip the line you have marked, but not take it out entirely. Just stay aware of which side is the waste side. Again, turning the jig around allows you to cut both angles. Your biggest concern while cutting is ensuring that you do not over run your mark (easy to do with an aggressive blade.)

At the risk of sounding like that Woodrat spokes guy, the obvious advantage is that you have complete flexibility to make the pins as small as you like, as no router bit is used. You can also stop at any point and finish the work in the orthodox manner. I guess the downside is that you need a bandsaw.

I almost forgot to mention, in all this meta-woodworking blather, that I did cut dovetails (by hand) for the drawer supports and I made progress with the Single Drawer Sewing Stand.

I write this blog to stay connected with other woodworkers -- so I encourage comments and dissent. Let me know what you think. Next, I'll see if I can turn the top to the Round Stand and build the two-fronted drawer to the above Sewing Stand.

Shaker Side Tables: Sublime Shavings and Bonehead Blunders

2010-11-09T16:28:00.000-05:00

I was eager to get beyond the machining phase and get back to some real hand tool action. With all three sets of legs removed from their templates I needed to take care of any machine marks, remove any nubs left at the end of the legs from the templates, and taper the legs to their final profile.

I started by inserting the legs in their dovetails and marking where each leg contacted the supporting ridge on the pedestal.

With the use of a spokeshave (steady on, there's lots of short grain around these parts) and an inflatable doohickey that goes on my lathe and holds sanding sleeves, I brought the profile down to the correct arc. I also made sure that the curve was still "fair" up to the top profile. In addition, I made sure that the length of the shoulder along the dovetails was equal, as this (and the overall length of the legs) would determine whether the table would be level. I held off on radiusing (if that's a word) the topline as still thinking about the final look.

I wanted the leg width to taper from 3/4" at the top, to 1/2" at the bottom. By scribing a line 1/8" at the end of each leg, I had a reference point for hand planing.

I also made a handy jig for holding these odd-shaped pieces in place for planing. I just drew an outline, predrilled the holes, applied some hot glue, lined it with scrap leather, and assembled.

I had been careful to make sure that the grain ran from the dovetail-to-foot direction to accommodate the planing. I started with my old Stanley #3 (set for a medium cut) and did my normal routine for tapering. Starting about 1 inch from the end I take three passes, then three passes two inches from the end (all the way to the end), then three inches from the end, etc. I do this all the way until I'm planing the entire piece and repeat until I have some thing that looks like the right angle and I've reached my scribe marks. I then switch to my Stanley 5 1/2 for a couple of swipes to make it an even slope.

Setting this aside I moved on to some drawer construction. The Single Drawer Sewing Stand has a drawer that is housed below the top. Taunton's In the Shaker Style has a good diagram.

Right, just a quick through dovetail job to make the U-shaped support that will hold the runners and call it a day. I cut the parts, trued them on shooting board and marked everything for dovetailing. After taking the summer off, I really felt rusty as I pushed on with the tails and pins. A few minutes turned into an hour and still I worked -- marking and cutting. OK, almost done let's just assemble, and . . .

Arrgh. I failed to notice that I'd marked out the second tail piece upside down. Instead of a U-shaped support, I had a Z-shape hunk of firewood!

But, like the proverbial fox who couldn't reach the grapes, I concluded that the dovetails were not great anyway. I think I'll spend a few hours bringing my hand-dovetailing skills back to their former mediocre state.

Next, I do a bit of work on the Round Stand and see if I can get my spatial relationship issues worked out on that support.

Shaker Side Tables: Subtle Lines Make All the Difference

2010-11-04T15:39:00.000-04:00

The three pedestals are turned to their various dimensions, and dovetailed mortices have been cut to accept the legs. As you can see from the photo above, the Two-Drawered Shaker Stand (left), the Round Stand (center), and the Single Drawered Shaker Stand (right) stand different heights as each has a unique drawer configuration.

And now a word of praise for 4/4 common cherry.

I always feel a bit shabby sautering into Hearne Hardwoods, eyeing of some choice 12/4, medium figured board that is wider than nine inches (and thus sets off all kinds of monetary multipliers), and then selecting five somewhat ratty common boards at $2.25/bf. . . But that feeling passes quickly. I happen to have some leftover 12/4 from a previous project, so what I need is leg material. My method of cutting and templating legs suits itself well to short pieces of interesting stock.

I start by cutting an angle of about 40 degrees on the stock from which to reference the template. The template is cut the full size of the leg, including the 1/2" dovetail tenon. This angle allows me to line up the back of the tenon with the angled cut and naturally aligns the long grain of the stock along the long dimension of the leg. Failure to do this would put too many short grain fibers across the leg and it might fail. I then trace the outline, cut another angle, and repeat. These pieces go to the bandsaw for a rough outline cut.

Each piece can now go to the router table for tenoning. I know that the area where the tenon will be cut is dead straight (it was the angled cut from which I referenced the template) and that (with my setup) the tenon needs to be 1/2" tall. Using the same dovetail bit that I used on the lathe, I set it up on the router table, and take some test cuts. When the test cut fits, I run the real thing and have a dry fit.

Even in this rough state I can tell that the fit will be snug. I'm ready to switch out the bit and start using the templates.

Routing with a spiral bearing bit and a template is what makes you love hand tools. Everything about it is noisy, dusty and dangerous. If you are not worried about breaking the bit, you are always on the lookout for unexpected, catastrophic failure. And, -- like a motorcycle accident -- there are no fender-benders, just carnage. So, why do I do it? Because it works.

My templates all have a thin strip of wood that matches the space where the new dovetail tenons are located. By sliding these into place I can line up the template on the right spot everytime. Using double-sided carpet tape I affix the template to the leg.

I also like to make my templates in such a way that you can affix them on ether side. This allows me to read the grain and decide which way gives me the least chance of failure.

It would be irresponsible of me to try to give a fool-proof method of routing with a template. (By that I mean, do it at your own risk!) All I can say is that you want to be cutting "downhill", with the grain, as much as you can, and never try to take off too much at a time.

This first picture shows some clear sailing. Moving the work right to left, and with the grain running downhill, you don't encounter much resistance until you start up the the hill at the end of the leg (on the far right). Just don't start the cut on the edge of the far left, as that would be entering end grain.

The beginning of this cut might give you some problems the arrow shows where you will be cutting uphill into the grain. You could put the template on the other side (thus reversing your direction of attack) but I wouldn't do this mid-stream. You could also cut the portion on the right and then "climb-cut" your way (moving the work from left to right along that uphill portion. Do this at your own risk! The work will want to fly out of your hand to the right. I actually took very thin passes, moving the work in the correct direction and got away with it. In any case, do not let the cutter make contact with the end grain on the left. . .

Entering on end grain is instant disaster. The work will snap, your hand might fly into the cutter, and you must start again. Ahhh, the joys of the router. Just be safe and careful.

Once all of the template routing is done you will be left with plenty of hand tool clean-up to remove any burn marks and finish the places that were too risky to complete with the router.

Next . . . I'll taper the cyma curved legs and shape the cabriole legs for final fitting.

Shaker Side Tables: By Turning, Turning (I hope) It Turns Out Right

2010-10-30T18:41:00.000-04:00

A long walk with the wife and dogs, a hot cup of tea, Pipeline streamed from BBC Radio Scotland, and an afternoon at the lathe -- pretty close to perfection. The three shaker tables require three different pedestal profiles but all share the use of sliding dovetails to affix the legs. This joinery is brilliant, efficient, and the bulk of it can be done while the pedestal is still mounted in the lathe.

As you can see from the profile of the Single Drawer Sewing Stand pedestal, the legs will attach to the slightly narrow portion of the base. As there will be three legs, they will be aligned at 120 degree intervals around the base. In this case the sliding dovetails will be 3 1/2" long. I'm assuming that, if you are building along for the first time, that you are working from a set of plans -- they are readily available on the internet.

Shaker furniture maker, Robert Treanor, has a nice article in Taunton's In the Shaker Style, that demonstrates how you can attach a jig to your lathe that suspends a plunge router above your pedestal and allows you to cut the dovetailed mortices. A couple of photos of my version reveal its simplicity.

The box attaches to the bed of the lathe, and by adjusting the fence on your router you can align the bit to meet the pedestal at the dead top center. The clamped stop block registers the correct travel of the router and must be adjusted for each of the three steps in this process. If your lathe has an indexing system, now is the time to use it. I know that on my Laguna I must turn four holes to get 120 degrees. I mark these places (in pencil) on the headstock to save time registering each pass.

Step One: Create flat faces on the pedestal

Using a 1" straight/hole drilling bit, I take a light pass over the place each leg will be attached. As I will use 3/4" stock for the legs, I need a 3/4" wide flat spot.

Step Two: Rout out the bulk of the waste with a 3/8" spiral bit

With my set up, I rout to a depth of 1/2". A quick way to set the correct depth is to set the router atop the jig, release the plunge mechanism and drop the bit down to touch the pedestal on the flat spot. Now, adjust the depth stop mechanism -- with a 1/2" setup block between the stop. Now when you fully plunge the router it will be 1/2" below the surface. When you begin routing, hog out the material in a number of passes until the router is fully plunged.

Step Three: Cut the final dovetail with a dovetail bit

I use Lee Valley bit "16J1755(5/8" by 14 degrees) When plunged 1/2", the neck of this bit just just reaches the 3/8" width of the spiral bit. As it is important to have the dovetail's depth match that of the spiral bit, I make a mark on a board and install the dovetail bit to this depth.

I double check the depth when a place the router on top of the jig, and make the final pass. Remember, you will make only one pass, at the final 1/2" depth, for each dovetail mortice. This is possible because you have removed the bulk of the waste with the spiral bit. The result will look like this:

Next, I'll work on the other profiles, template rout the legs, and cut the dovetail tenons to match these mortices. Oh, and shoot me any questions if any of this doesn't make sense

Shaker Side Table: Variations on a Theme

2010-10-25T12:53:00.000-04:00

It seems that the Shaker aesthetic has never left us. Grabbing just a handful of my hoarded stash of Woodwork Magazines results in a dizzying array of articles on Shaker design, techniques,construction, and finish. And like any truly elegant form, it has survived endless adaptations and "improvements" with most of its dignity intact (Shaker entertainment units excepted.)

Sadly though, Sister R. Mildred Barker's fears have come true. "I would like to be remembered as one who had pledged myself to the service of God and had fulfilled that pledge as perfectly as I can -- not as a piece of furniture." It seems that the beauty of their creations has outlived the integrity of their lifestyle

But just as it is impossible to separate the music of The Clash from the punk ethos of the '70's, or the fierce cave drawings from early hunter-gatherers, the stark furniture of this radical, short-lived movement opens our minds to the Shaker emphasis on simplicity and fitness-for-purpose. Good words to use when designing furniture.

We're lucky to have several outstanding interpreters of Shaker design who are very willing to share their expertise on the subject. At the top of the list is Christian Becksvoort, whose book The Shaker Legacy: Perspectives on an Enduring Furniture Style pays homage to the history, theology and output of this surprisingly varied sect of believers. I will be building three tables -- the Sewing Stand (pictured above), the Round Stand (below left), and the Two-Drawer Sewing Stand (below right). While Becksvoort's book does not include plans or drawings, the excellent In the Shaker Style: Building Furniture Inspired by the Shaker Tradition does include some measurements, but due to my contrary nature, I am using these as a reference, not as a template.

Speaking of Templates:
Because of the Spartan design, every element becomes very important -- none more so than the curves and proportions of the legs. Both the Round Stand (RS) and the Two Drawer Sewing Stand (TDSS) feature sinuous flattened cyma-curved legs, dovetailed into the post. A simple method to create the dovetails while the post is on the lathe is woodworking's worst-kept secret, and I will cover it later.

For now, the challenge is to draw the profile of the legs and cut them out by hand or machine (When you see photos of clean-cut, smiling' Shakers standing next to their industrial-age machines, you won't feel that you are violating their spirit by firing up the router.) I have never been happy with the "Draw Spunky" approach of looking at a small drawing on a grid, drawing a larger grid to scale, and then attempting to draw the design to scale on the grid. I never seem to fair the curves properly. "Hey, wait a minute, fairing a curve reminds me of that boat-building class that I took." "How did we fair curves?" "With a spline." "Right."

So my hybrid approach is to draw out the leg via the grid, cut it to shape (which may or may not be perfect), cut some 1/16" thick splines and hot glue the splines to the template. If you have a light hand you can follow the cyma-curve but not reproduce the little bumps and flat spots that come with trying to sand the template to shape. The result looks something like this:

Right off the bat you notice how the spline avoids the little imperfections and fairs the curve. Just make sure that you secure one end of the spline and ease it into place, holding it lightly, and then securing the other end. Hold for a few seconds and you are done. I also have a 1/2" block at the end with a lip that fits into the dovetail portion of the leg and references the piece. Also note (on the center template) that I ran the splines off the end. That allows you to rout off the end cleanly. And make sure that you use proper template routing techniques. Entering your cut on endgrain will make the piece explode. I don't usually have problems if I climb cut, but be sensible and hold on.

The legs for the Single Drawer Sewing Stand (SDSS) are of the cabriole/snake leg variety and I will work on that, as well as the three pedestal designs in the next post.

Wow, That Was A Long Break

2010-10-22T08:27:00.000-04:00

So here's the problem with building guitars -- you start playing them. It seems that one thing led to another and my time in the shop started to give way to time with the axe. The things that I did build were either duplicate pieces to round out a set, or items in the same motif that didn't provide enough interest. I also had some major landscaping projects and an exterior spiral staircase walkway that is in process.

But enough excuses! I'm back in the shop and have several projects on tap that should spark some conversation. First, I'm looking at building three shaker tables of differing styles, (all with turned pedestals, some with drawers) doing some steam bending, and continuing to increase my knowledge of Japanese furniture design.

Above you see my new Mike Wenzloff Carcass saw (rip) designed to hand-cut larger tenons (for doors and larger shoji.) The kit was pretty straightforward and, as you can see, I chose to go pretty simple with the handle carving. Anyway, thanks for hanging in there, and I'm looking forward to a good season of furniture building.

The "Finished" Telecaster

2010-02-10T19:21:00.000-05:00

The absolutely horrid weather of late (more than 3 ft. of snow ) has kept me pretty distracted, but I have had a chance to finish the guitar project for my daughter. It has been a great project, not without its challenges, and I'm very happy with the result -- so much so that I'm watching an eBay auction for a swamp ash telecaster body for myself.

I won't go through the Grizzly details, (yes, I will stoop for this low pun) instead I'll just mention a few things that can apply to any similar project.

1. When it comes to these high-gloss, exceedingly fussy finishes, every step counts. The places that were glass smooth after the grain filling stage, and after the sealer, and again after the primer tended to be the places that took the final color and lacquer best.

2. While the color coat seemed on the verge of sagging, the lacquer coats could be applied in a heavier fashion. These heavy coats gave it the french polished type of finish. That being said . . .

3. Applying the finish to a horizontal surface worked best and helped to stop sags and runs.

4. Give the final lacquer coat at least three weeks before polishing. I found that the finish stayed plastic and evened out over the first week or so.

5. If you are using typical abrasives (silicon carbide) for polishing, wet sanding is the only way to go. The paper loads almost immediately when dry and creates little globs that scratch the surface.

6. When polishing, use only the pressure of the weight of your fingers -- if you feel that is not enough, get a coarser abrasive.

7. My backside was saved by the fact that we were creating a "relic" guitar with a slightly distressed finish. If I needed perfection I would have failed. I had hoped to make it perfect as a dry run for the next (non-relic) version but that wasn't the case. But, I really like the way it looks -- used but not abused.

8. Read all Grizzly instructions start to finish several times. The instructions said "now secure the neck of the guitar to the body" at least three times before they really meant it. If I had really bore down on the screws the first time I could have risked losing some grip by the last time.

9. With a couple of caveats, this Grizzly kit is good value for money. The specs were not dead on, but it got the job done. Here you can see that even with the bridge back as far as possible, you really had to back off the string saddles to get the necessary 25 1/2" from nut to saddle. If this isn't right, the intonation will be off.

And although it looks like the action is high, it is not. The neck is not at all bowed, but I'm not sure that the neck pocket was routed (at the factory) dead plumb. It gives it a bit of character.

The best surprise came after set-up. If you'll pardon my Anglo-Saxon, this guitar kicks ass. It growls more than my strat and the sustain is really good. Even with the bargain basement pups it has that jangly Tele sound -- and all for less than 200 bucks. I'm not sure I've been more excited about a project in a while. And I think I know why.

Several years ago, after a long day over a hot stove, I was stumbling down the steps of the Piccadilly Circus tube station. At the bottom was a guy wailing on "Voodoo Chile" with a similar guitar, and for that moment, I knew he was the coolest cat on the planet. So while my musical ambitions have all but vanished, I still dream of busking, with a homemade guitar for anyone who will listen.

A Shoji Inspired Screen -- Out From Underfoot

2010-02-04T12:01:00.000-05:00

It would seem like one quick hop from designing and cutting the kumiko (lattice) to final completion. But as this is an insulated Shoji screen, there are a few more challenges which require some chess-like strategy.

In a traditional screen there would be a single lattice covered with rice paper attached by means of rice glue (or wallpaper paste or double sided tape.) My project is sort of a sandwich -- two kumiko lattices surrounding a 1/2" piece of rigid insulation that is covered in rice paper. I start by using my story stick to transfer the half-lap marks to the rails and stiles. This ensures that the kumiko will run in straight lines. I considered marking right from the assembled lattice work itself, but it is cumbersome and way too flexible to give a true reference.

After marking, I ganged the rails and stiles together and drew out the mortices. They are 1/4" by 1/2" and sit 1/4" from the outside of the frame. This leaves a 1/2" space for a groove that will hold the insulation. For whatever reason it seemed easier to drill the mortices, then cut the groove, and finally chisel the mortices to final dimension. Cutting the groove was a machine job (as I don't have the right plane) and it was just a case of running it over the dado blade in the tablesaw, both ways, to ensure that it was centered. After that, the handwork was a piece of cake.

The trickiest bit was trimming the tenons to proper dimension. On paper I have left 1/2" on each end to be tenoned into the frame. I've learned (through bitter experience) that as a project gets bigger, the chance for measuring error increases. So to give myself the greatest chance at success I developed a system.

1. Leave some excess on one end when cutting the kumiko piece to length. Mark the end with the correct dimension with the 1/2" tenon. Trim accordingly and fit into place.

2. Mark the actual intersection with the frame on the long end of the kumiko and dimension the tenon. Insert in place -- it should be a custom fit.

3. If you are confident about the squareness of the frame, complete the rest of those in that direction using this piece as a story stick. If not, repeat for all those on that row using the same process.

4. Now set these in place and (because this is a half weave) thread the first perpendicular piece in place. Give it a wiggle and make sure it is square. Now mark both ends where it intersects with the frame and dimension. Again, you can use this as a story stick for the rest, or do each one individually.

If you remember, I did one set of kumiko in an alternate stick weave and one in a flat weave. The former is stronger, but more complicated, and is best installed before you glue up the frame. It is, shall we say, the bottom slice of bread in the sandwich. For ease of installation I opened the frame by about 1", placed the alternate weave kumiko nearly in place, and drank a cup of coffee.

The next step is to glue up the frame and capture this first alternate weave kumiko in place. As you can see, the glue only reaches the first 1" or so of the tenon. This is fine (and I think, better) because we will be wedging the end of this big through tenon. Once glued, I created this awkward little rig to hold it in place.

In the final post of this project, I'll outline the process of affixing the rice paper to the kumiko, wetting it to (hopefully) tighten it on the frame, and the installation of the door on its tracks. While I wait for the proper hardware to arrive, I'll take a look at the progress of the Telecaster and maybe even make a tool or two.

A Shoji Inspired Screen -- Designing and Cutting The Lattice (Kumiko)

2010-01-30T09:52:00.000-05:00

There is a dramatic shift from the heavy, nearly timber-frame, work of the rails and stiles to the light and flexible construction of the kumiko. At last, my hand tools seem in proportion to the project and I could set out at a relaxed pace. The individual pieces would are 3/4" wide by 1/2" thick. I thicknessed the oak board to 3/4" and cut 1/2" slices on the tablesaw. With these two operations complete I moved out of the "shop" and into the studio.

For aesthetic reasons, I wanted an odd number of panels in each direction. I went with five-by-five (keeping the same number of panels in each direction makes each panel proportionate with the entire piece.) This is where a story stick is a must. The internal dimesions were 58 1/8" by 70 7/8". Subtracting the width of the four kumiko (that divided each dimension into five panels) reduced each by 3" (4x 3/4"). Dividing this by five gave me panels that were 11.025" by 13.575". I threw in the towel on the Imperial measurement system at this point and converted to metric, giving me 280 mm by 345 mm. I cut a stick each of these lengths, and in combination with a 3/4" measuring block, stepped out these measurements on a longer story stick. I will use this to mark the half-laps on both the kumiko and the frame.

I ganged together the kumiko (first the verticals and then the horizontals) and marked them together. If I were using a dozuki I would have cut them at this point as well, since the thin kerf holds well in even a knife mark. As I am using Western saws, I will cut them individually (more on that in a moment.)

There are several traditional ways to arrange the kumiko in the frame. The most simple is a series of half laps, all on the same side of each of the horizontals and verticals (flat weave). To assemble you just lay down all the verticals with the half laps up and set the horizontals on top, half laps down. The result looks something like this:

If you alternate the half laps on one piece, but keep them on the same side of the other, (allowing you to weave the horizontals through the verticals in an alternate stick weave) it looks like this:

And still a third way is to alternate both the horizontals and verticals to get what is called an alternate lap weave. It is the most complicated as the joints are cut on alternating faces on each piece. It also gives you the most stability. Alas, as I was making only two grids, I made only the first two patterns. Now, from the side from which you will be cutting, mark the depth of each joint with your gauge. As this is 1/2" thick, the half laps will be 1/4" deep.

The only thing remaining was to cut the individual joints. What can I say? If you like this sort of thing, this is just the sort of thing you will like.

The essence of all joinery is so simple -- determine the line, mark the line, cut the line. Master these three elusive steps and your days will be happy ones. This following method of cutting the kumiko brought me as close as I can get to joinery Nirvana.

Begin by exagerating the knife marks with a chisel and then cut the little indentations (from the waste side) in which to rest your saw blade. This not only ensures that you cut on your mark, but it places the set of the teeth below the surface, giving the joint a razor edge.

Cut to your depth on each side. Depending on your temperment you can chisel every joint as you cut, saw the joints on one kumiko and chisel, or do all the sawing and then all of the chisel work in one go. Removing the waste is a two step process. Your first cut removes most of the waste and your second cuts to the line. As you probably know, the geometry of a chisel makes it that when it encounters too much resistance, it moves back from the bevel edge, "overcutting" the line. If you are taking only a sliver (less than 1/16") it will stay true.

For me, this kind of work hits the sweet spot of hand tool work. Sure, you have to concentrate, but your mind is free to listen to Haydn on BBC Radio 3, put on a Tom Waits CD, or sing "Love Potion #9" at the top of your lungs. Once completed, the kumiko snapped together quite easily. The slight wood movement that occurred after cutting actually put the whole grid in tension and held it in place.

And to top it off, I was rewarded with one of the most spectaclar "moonrises" I've ever seen out of the shop window.

"Relic-ing" A Tele - A Bit of Fun

2010-01-25T12:10:00.000-05:00

I've always had complicated relationships with guitars. In college, I sang in a band and I still remember the lead guitarist giving me the "Son, put that thing down or you'll hurt somebody" treatment. My best friend and bass player went on to win a grammy as a sound engineer, and I went on to take voice stuff more seriously and struggle with the instrument.

A parade of guitars have passed through my house. The good ones (Ric 325, Gibson Nighthawk) usually ended up being sold when I needed the scratch. The bad ones tend to hang around forever (Sigma DR-35). I do still have my American-made Strat, and I have no reason to need another.

Yet, in a recent assault on the fortress of Mel Bay (blues scales in five positions!) I got the itch. An ES-335, not a chance. Maybe a Godin Archtop? Probably not And while I couldn't justify a guitar for me, my younger daughter only has an acoustic, so we really need a second electric (I say, keeping a straight face.)

Enter the Grizzly fake Telecaster kit. A fun project, a guitar that she can take to her scream-o band practice, and a chance to fantasize about being Springsteen, Joe Strummer, Keith Richards or Albert Collins. After some jousting about the color, (I wanted butterscotch blonde, she wanted black) we settled on Surf Green and got started.

Let me be clear that this is not about any real luthiery work; this is mostly an excercise in finishing. If you'd like to learn more about real instrument making, check out Khalaf Oud Luthiery .

The very helpful Guitar Reranch site gave me a sense of what I wanted to do, and a look into the cult and controversy of building, distressing (Relic-ing), and tricking out guitars.

The first and only real woodworking is the design of the headstock, and I've replicated the classic Telecaster look. Draw the profile, cut, smooth with a spokeshave, sand, and set aside. The biggest challenge was keeping the maple neck dust off the rosewood fretboard

Moving right to the finish, it seems that this is a cross between french polishing and auto body repair. The steps include sanding, filling the grain, applying a sanding sealer, priming, painting, and then an application of clear coat. However, like many woodworkers I know, this is all new to me. I tend to stay in the shallow waters of hand applied finishes -- shellac, dyes, oils, and wiping varnish -- avoiding the rough seas of spray guns and lacquers.

The common theme of all the finish steps seems to be "somewhere in-between." The grain filler needs to be applied, then wiped off "somewhere in-between" the time that it is wet and the time that it will adhere within the grain. The spray finish (from a can) needs to be applied at a rate "somewhere in-between" it starting to sag and it drying in the air (and becoming overspray.) That means that unless you are brighter than I, or very lucky, there will be mistakes. I opted to go for the more-leaning-toward-overspray approach and applied the sealer over the filler.

As you can see, the finish after this step is "somewhere in between" a shiny finish and a nappy one. Is this correct? I don't know. If you consult the internet you will get conflictng answers. The Randall "Tex" Cobb look-alike guy in the house trailer says it doesn't matter. The guy from the set of "Wayne's World" seems to think it does. Who knows? As this is my first attempt, I will leave some as it is in the picture and spend 15 minutes on another area getting it glassy smooth and see if it makes a diference. We will be distressing this so I can cover any blatent errors down the road.

As it hangs in its makeshift spray booth, covered in primer, it looks like one of those cheesy haunted house displays -- "This is what the devil will do to you if you play Rock and Roll!"

By the way, I haven't forgotten the Shoji screen. I'm just looking for distractions.