Influences and inspiration

In a few months I will celebrate my 44th birthday.   That number seems curiously large as I stare at it, and it leads me to reflect on this winding  journey and where I stand in it.    All in all, I can say with some certainty that I like the view from the road I’m traveling on.    Somehow I have found my trade, and in that work, a  purpose.

When I was 16 years old, a book appeared on our coffee table, entitled Sam Maloof, Woodworker.   My father, an amateur woodworker, had attended a workshop by Mr Maloof  in Aspen, Colorado, and returned with a signed copy of his book and tales of a very inspiring man.  I couldn’t put the book down, and I poured over the glossy photos endlessly while reading and rereading every paragraph, as if I hoped to squeeze a little something more out of the book each time I picked it up.  I didn’t realize it at the time,  but that book was answering questions for me that I hadn’t even known I was asking.  This is what you want to do with your life…

My mother is a Julliard trained soprano; my father,  a chemist.    They both instilled in me a love of music, art, food, and creative expression.   I was a shy kid and a bit of a loner.   I loved to draw and build things, and to ramble through the deep woods that surrounded our home in Rochester, NY.  I felt more at home in those woods than I did up on the street, and in that setting my imagination was free to take me to those magic places that only children can go.  I believe this reverence for nature formed the foundation for my creative spirit.

There were other woodworking books on our shelves, by a man named James Krenov, and my father would spend hours studying them, then head down to the basement workshop to plane boards and chop dovetails as I looked on with interest.  I was 8 or 9 years old at this point, and loved being with dad down in the shop.  I clearly remember  the smell of cherry and walnut as he passed boards over the jointer, then ripped and crosscut with the big radial arm saw-what a scary machine that was!  The Krenov books were at first too wordy for me, but I found myself taking them down again and again as I grew older, gleaning a  bit more each time of what the man was saying, and finding myself drawn to the simple beauty of his cabinets and the passion of his philosophy.  Today these books rest on a high shelf in my study, and when I open them they still reveal new things and resonate with me all the more.

 

Fast forward to the age of 25.  I was working as a dinner waiter in Austin, Texas, feeling more than a little confused about what to do with my life.  On my 25th birthday, I felt a panic, and made a simple resolution.  I was done waiting tables:  whatever job was to come next, I had to be learning something absolutely tangible, and by the age of 30, I was going to be good at something.   A close friend who was a carpenter gave me a job.    After working with my buddy for a few months, I decided I wanted to frame houses.   Austin was booming, and beautiful homes were being built everywhere.   I loved the sight of these towers of blonde wood rising against the blue sky, carpenters climbing high and creating ordered beauty with lumber and nails.  Tangible.    I framed custom homes for five years, learned to work harder than I ever imagined possible, and then realized something else:  I wanted to get out of that burning Texas sun.  I took a job in a commercial cabinet shop, building laminate covered cabinets for Motorola and Intel, whole office floors of particle board boxes.  Fifty-six hours a week, low pay, and very little real wood.  I began to think about Sam Maloof and James Krenov…how could a person get THERE?   It seemed impossible.

I built myself a workshop on a piece of hardscrabble ground near Kendalia, Texas, and set out on my own, doing carpentry, remodeling, cabinets, an occasional table or bookcase.   Life in the hill country was sweet, and I was beginning to move toward  my goal of building fine furniture.  Then life and love brought me back to my college town of Ithaca, NY, and I caught a very lucky break.  I took a job with a furniture/cabinet maker working  in the barn behind his house.  His name was Chris Lowe, and he became my mentor and boss for the next three years.  I began to learn much more about real joinery techniques, solid wood, and hand tools.   His skills and experience were vast and rooted in traditional methods and uncompromising quality.  Together we built kitchens, chests of drawers, staircases, and most importantly, the case for the Cornell Baroque Organ.  http://baroqueorgan.cornell.edu/  This job took two full years and was a total immersion in handwork.  We were driven and consumed in our focus.  It was the job of a lifetime and we knew it.  We built a towering organ case of white oak, with no sandpaper allowed and a total imperative for authenticity.  With the organ complete,  I set up my own shop in the barn behind my home in Brooktondale, and I carry on working in wood, the road and the view becoming more fascinating each day.

Woodworking is an immensely humbling craft, and the process of teaching oneself is both frustrating and rewarding, often at the same time.  As I delve deeper, I find that I am influenced by many other woodworkers, and I have begun to distill for myself what it is I am moved by, what resonates immediately, what draws me in and causes me to simply say,  “I like this.”  I try not to analyze, at least not at first.   If I am drawn strongly to something, then I will start to ask myself why-is it the proportions and design, the physical weight or lack thereof, the joinery or technical mastery, or something more difficult to pinpoint?  We can all answer these questions for ourselves, and this is the beauty of individual taste.   It opens the door for craftspeople and buyers to make connections  naturally, united by that simple phrase “I like this.”   Beyond Maloof and Krenov, I am influenced and deeply inspired by the work of Hank Gilpin, Alan Peters, Curtis Buchanan, John S Everdell, Thomas Hucker, Wharton Esherick, and Hans Wegner, among  others.  The greatness of others work can be very daunting, but I have come to believe that it is much more important to do something well than to do something new.  In this sense I put myself squarely on the side of craft, versus in the world of art.   Building quality, functional furniture from local woods is my primary goal, and if I begin to find my own voice through that work, so be it.  The road is long, and I have just begun.