Flair Woodworks

At the beginning of October, I created a box whose design I absolutely adored. The proportions, the grain, the style... everything. It was also a fun box to build and simple in some regards, but quite challenging in others. I proudly showed my latest and greatest creation around and decided to go forward and begin producing them in quantities.

I started by analyzing the prototype and seeing what, if any changes were needed. A thicker lid reduced the chances of drilling through the top when installing the hinges. And routing, instead of drilling out the inside, created a more practical compartment.

To facilitate production, I started by building a jig which would allow me to hollow out the boxes accurately and efficiently. I also made a drilling jig which ensured that the holes drilled for the pin hinges were evenly spaced, which is crucial to their operation. And I also made a set of bevels (think sliding bevel, only fixed) to help lay out the carved lid. I also mortised a piece of plywood to hold a lid blank for carving without any clamps.

These four aids did help speed things along, but there is still an awful lot of handwork involved. The outside of the box is shaped by hand, the lid carved and everything sanded. Then I sprayed on three coats of semi-gloss lacquer, applied black flocking to the inside, and buffed the lid. Finally, I installed the pin hinges. Boy, that process sounds a lot quicker than it actually is!

For some reason, I have never experimented with finger joints. But recently, while playing with the dovetail saws at one of the woodworking shows, I found myself addicted to cutting them. Here's one of the better joints I cut:

While quite time consuming to cut by hand, they are relatively quick to do by machine (table saw, usually) and very accurate with a jig. Anyhow, I cut the joint in about 20 minutes and knocked it together. It took a bit of prior experimenting to get the fingers the right thickness for the joint to go together well. All the layout was done by eye, and sawing by hand, trusting my semi-practiced hand to saw in a straight line perpendicular to the face and end of the board. The saw didn't leave a perfectly smooth surface, and I think that the slight coarseness acts somewhat like a feather board, or maybe as a better comparison, knurling. The slight "tooth" provides loads of friction, and once assembled, is impossible to take apart by hand (I can wiggle it a bit, if I really try!). And that's without glue or finish!

So, inspired by this (and attracted to the fineness of the joint, I have a new interest. I bought some 5/64"-kerf sawblades and will make a jig to cut finger joints on the table saw. One of my friends, Jessica, has asked me to make a box for her, and I think that this joint would be well suited for what I have in mind.

Oh, and here's the hand-cut finger joint again, this time with something to provide scale:

Wood shavings are cool. They are fun to make. They are fun to play with. That is part of why I enjoy working with handplanes so much. It's not just because of the beautiful, polished surface they leave behind. It's because of the fashion in which they remove wood. I've found that different types of shavings can be produced by skewing the plane, adjusting the mouth opening, depth of cut, and the effective cutting angle (the angle at which the blade enters the wood, measured from the bevel of a low-angle plane or the face of a bench plane blade to the sole of the plane). Also, controlling how the shaving exits the plane has an effect on the shape of the shaving.

First of all, a straight-grained piece of softwood is the best material to use when experimenting, as it's the easiest to plane. And sharp blades are really a must, too. I have found that shavings are a great attention getter - at woodshows, everyone not so interested in the hand planes gravitates towards the shavings. They're just so fascinating!

If you take a bench plane set for a fine cut and push the plane straight over the wood, without skewing it, you will create a tight spiraled shaving. By skewing the plane, the shaving ejects at an angle, creating a long cylindrical shaving, called a spill. The more you skew the plane, the longer the spill you can produce with a given length of wood.

I've found that I can take the heaviest cut with a low-angle plane equipped with a 25-degree blade. With the throat opened up fully, I can take a full 1/16" shaving. The force required to take such a cut is quite a lot - sometimes more than my momentum can provide. For starters, try the edge of a 1/2" or 3/4" thick board. I've done 1-1/2" and it ain't easy. Rather than make these gargantuan shavings on the push stroke, I turn the plane around and pull. Somehow, I feel that I get more control and more power on the pull stroke. Maybe it's because I have no fear of falling into the workpiece. Anyhow, these shavings make neat bracelets.

Another way to alter the type of shaving produced is to control how it is ejected from the plane. Uninhibited, the shaving out of a bench plane comes out in a curl. But if you put a finger in the mouth (from above), effectively preventing the shaving from ejecting cleanly, you will end up with a wrinkled shaving. A similar shaving can be produced by using a plane with a high effective cutting angle. You can get a similar effect using a shoulder plane, whose body impedes the clean ejection of shavings.

I love modern art.

More precisely, I love making modern art.

Even more precisely, I love making a mockery of modern art.

This weekend, I am in Portland, Oregon working the Portland Woodworking Show for Lee Valley Tools. Popular demos included sharpening, hand planes, and the new dovetail saws. I started out this morning playing with the 14-tpi rip dovetail saw, cutting straight lines parallel to and as close as possible to the previous cut, resulting in a comb-like end on the board. Over the day, other people came along and made more cuts in the end of the few small boards we had on hand.

Later on, I picked up the Low-Angle Smooth Plane and brought it over to a piece of 2" thick basswood and started planing the edge. It seems that everybody these days likes to demo how fine of shavings can be produced with a hand plane. So I started there, making shavings that woud cling to me with static electricity. Then, half a rotation of the Norris adjuster at a time, I increased the depth, trying to see how thick of a shaving I could cut. I stopped when I reached 1/32", measured with a pair of calipers. That, 2" wide and about 18" long, was a pretty hard cut to make.

At the end of the day when things had quieted down, I was looking at the short boards with comb-like ends. I got thinking that some of the shavings I had made with the plane would probably fit into the kerfs, so I fit a shaving between two "teeth". Michelle came over and grabbed a second "comb" and fit it on the opposite end of the shaving. Then we added two more shavings, and voila!

I have, after much deliberation, decided that I don't really have a suitable place to display such a magnificent work of art. Therefore, I am putting it up for sale. Based upon some very complicated pricing formulas, I have settled upon a price of $15,000.

Remember: it's art.

Recently, a friend approached me and enthusiastically pitched his case to me. Gerald has a massive solid oak dining table with three table leaves. His family often reconfigures the size of the table so of course want to have the leaves convenient. In their previous house, there was a little nook just the right size to store the three leaves, but not in their new house. Looking for a solution, he searched the internet for inspirations and found a picture of an open cabinet to store table leaves vertically. With half the problem solved (the concept), Gerald came to me asking me to build one to match his table, both in colour and style. At first, I wasn't too interested - staining wood has always been a bitter point for me. For one, colour matching can be very hard, and different types of light can make colours seem different as well. Also, I have this slight adversion to staining wood. I've always preferred a clear finish. But Gerald really wanted this piece and he wanted me to make it. He won me over, and I took the job. The first step was to see the table and the table leaves. So I visited Gerald's house and took pictures and measurements of the dining table and leaves.

That gave me all the details I needed to design the Table Leaf Storage Unit. So I went home and drew up a set of plans. For most of my work, I don't bother with drawings, plans, or cutting lists. But in this case, because it has to match the table and fit the leaves, the size is critical.

I got the plans approved and got started on the build. It was straightforward - laminated strips for the top, a bullnose molding below, four frames mortise and tenoned together and a base. I added strips of wood to create steps in the base to support each leaf by the edge of the leaf, as opposed to just the bullnose molding. For finishing, Gerald and I collaborated testing different stains and settled with a gel stain called Early American. How they come up with these names is beyond me. Maybe it simulated the dirt and grime built up on furniture built way back when? Anyhow, the stain went on, followed by three coats of an oil/varnish blend. I had to be careful not to get too much gloss. The end product looks great. I'm really happy with it. Gerald and his wife are really happy with it. Life is good.

Best of all, I learned that staining isn't all that bad. It's nothing to be feared. Sure it's an art and can require a lot of skill to pull of certain effects, but it is certainly not something you should avoid doing just because you don't think you can. Staining, glazing, dying, toning... it can be intimidating, but it can be learned. One step at a time.

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Four same-sized off-cuts of Pacific yew just begged to be shown off. The amazing colour. The grain. Each piece was thin, long and narrow, restricting my options of what it could be used for. I have always found decorative boxes fascinating and there are really no rules when building one. Four pieces of spectacular wood for a series of four boxes. Each box, I decided, would be completely different from the others. Not to detract from the focus - the yew - I chose plain maple to construct the bodies of the boxes. All the boxes were finished with given a name describing the yew, carved in Latin with a V-tool, and finished on the outside with Shellawax. Overall dimensions given are length x width x height, in inches.

CETERA DESUNT ("the rest is missing")

13 x 2-9/16 x 1-5/8

If simple construction, the body was made from a single block of wood. I sawed off the front and back and, after hollowing out the center, glued them back on. The lift-off lid sits positively in the recessed body. The openings adjacent to the lid offer a glimpse into what may be contained within, teasing its audience while the curvaceous lettering blended with straight lines mimics the shape of the box itself.

IN MEDIAS RES ("in the midst of things")

11-1/8 x 3 x 1-3/4

Featuring a slick, sliding lid which will almost open by itself this box is just fun to play with. All the joinery of this box is cut at the table saw. Rabbets in the front and back accept the ends, and the bottom and sliding top are also rabbeted to fit in their respective grooves.

INTRA MUROS ("within the walls")

11-5/8 x 3 x 1-7/16

Framed by a mitered border, the yew really stands out as the center of attention. It's clean lines are accentuated by the ultra-modern lettering style which wraps around the box, unifying the lid and box. The lift-off lid registers securely on the base thanks to carefully cut rabbets.

NE NIMIUM ("not too much")

11-1/4 x 2-5/8 x 2-5/16

The cleanest and simplest design, the body is joined with dados and rabbets and the bottom simply glued on. A shallow rabbet around the outside of the lid permits a secure seat atop the box.

I wrote this after cutting myself on a plane blade that jumped out of a wooden plane due to a poorly set wedge (my fault). Only a minor injury requiring no more than a band-aid to remedy.

With the planes I played

My love never swayed

'Til I took the pass

That was my last

For out popped the blade

My right hand filleted

And now of the blade

Ever-sharp, I am afraid

Today was a beautiful day - warm and sunny. I went to work and, four hours later when I finished, my left side was completely soaked, my right side was dry, and I was standing two inches taller. What was I doing? Do you need a hint? If not, I know that you have done it before or heard this story before.

Hint #1: Shavings. Okay, that's probably not much help as I'm sure you already guessed it had something to do with woodworking. Now think - what would produce shavings like those?

Hint #2: What is that blurry thing in the foreground?

Hint #3: Okay... what does this have to do with the other two pictures? Everything!

Got it? Yes, I was turning some very green wood. Yesterday, my friend Dave brought down an apple tree on a lot where a house was levelled the previous week. Today, he and I went back to the site and milled the tree into boards. Using aluminum rails to guide the chainsaw, outfitted with and Alaskan mill, Dave cut off a 3" thick slab off the top so that there would be a flat surface on which the mill could rest on for the next cut. The rest of the cuts were done with the mill set to cut at 2-1/2" thick. I loaded the wood into my truck and drove home, stacked and stickered the bole on a skid in my backyard. I decided to turn some bowls out of the 3" thick slab, so I laid out three blanks with a clear plastic circle template (awesome tool, by the way - every bowl turner should have one!). I cut out the rounds on the bandsaw and bored a 1/4" hole in the center of the side we'd milled flat (the other side was still covered with bark) for mounting on a screw chuck. I threaded the screw chuck onto the headstock of my lathe, spun on the bowl blank, checked by hand that the blank spun free and that the lathe was set at its lowest speed and turned the lathe on. Immediately, water started flying off the blank like a sprinkler. I covered the bed of my jointer located 6' in front of the lathe with a towel and sprayed on a fresh coat of Boeshield on my bandsaw table directly adjacent to the lathe. I slowly turned up the variable speed of the lathe until it and the bench it was clamped to started to shake, then backed it off until the shaking stopped. Then I started to turn.

For years, my friend and lumber hook-up Dave has been using a hastily-designed rack for his chainsaw chains. Made of Pacific yew, it is sturdy enough and looks very nice with beautiful colouring and two live edges. However, it doesn't stand up on it's own and doesn't fare much better when propped up against something, so it often lays down on one face. A chain threaded through holes at one end allow the rack to be hung. There are chains on each side of the rack - dull on one side and sharp on the other side. However, there is no easy way to differentiate the sharp from the dull, nor are there any provisions for keeping the chains on the dowel posts they loop around so they frequently slipped off and had to be wrestled back onto their respective posts. And there is no easy way to carry the rack other than by the same dowel posts.

So when Dave asked me to make him a new chain rack, I immediately had some ideas. I started by adding a cutout at the midpoint of the body to carry the rack by, where it would also be balanced. I went from dowel posts to eliptical blocks with eccentric caps, which when rotated 180 degrees, prevent the chains from sliding off. I kept the hanging feature as an option, but added a base to allow the rack to stand on edge. This allows access to both sides of the rack. And to differentiate the sharp chains from the dull, I made the body of the rack from two pieces of maple - one which I had dyed dark brown and one left natural.

I joined the base to the body with a looooong sliding dovetail. I cut the slot in the base with a hand held router and a straight edge, wasting away the bulk with a straight bit, then finishing up with a dovetail bit. I milled the male part on the body using my table-mounted router, testing frequently to get a good fit. In hindsight, I should have made it a tapered dovetail, but I didn't think to at the time. So I kept trimming down the dovetail and testing the fit. When it fit well, I started putting it together. Well, I got it about 6" in and it started to get tight. What I should have done was pull the joint apart and trim it down some more. But I figured, it's fit this far, so why won't it go all the way? So I beat on it. And I beat on it more. It must have sounded like a pile-driver to the neighbors. Eventually, I got it together. Nothing split. And there is certainly no need for glue. And it looks awesome and works well to boot!

I just finished and delivered this demilune table (demilune means half-moon). It is made of Pacific yew and was custom made to fit against a short wall has a strategically placed shelf above a cold air return duct and below the power outlet and phone jack.

The most challenging part in the construction was making the bent-laminated apron. I made form and used all the clamps I could fit to hold the laminations to the form while the glue cured. With shop-made veneer, I covered the apron and drawer face to achieve the continuous grain right through. On either side, to accent the drawer, I added dark-brown-dyed maple moldings to draw the eye to the drawer. I carved and dyed a matching pull.