The five-year-old said he loves his dad’s hugs and fly fishing together, so I came up with this pair of merging shrink pots carved with a line from Norman Maclean’s novella A River Runs Through It. The larger pot is about 10″ (255mm) tall with the finial, 7″ (180mm) without. Diameter is a little over 4″ (115mm).
After lots of sketchbook sketching and head scratching, I cut a fresh cherry log into two sections and drilled a hole through each with a 2″ T-handle auger. (I’ve written many other posts about making shrink pots; check out the “shrink box” category from the menu to the right.) Notice the fresher cut on the piece to the right where I had just sawed the one length into two. On the piece to the left, I have marked my plan for shaping the base of the larger pot to accept the circumference of the smaller pot. I sized the outer circle of the larger pot to maximize the heartwood while eliminating the sapwood.
There’s the view from the bottom of the finished pots nestled together.
Matching the shape at the bottom was easy compared to the rest of the way up, especially considering that both pots are hand shaped. It came down to shaving a bit more here and there with a gouge, checking the fit, repeat….
Following the 2″ hole, the rest of the material was removed from both pots with a gouge. The larger pot’s interior was shaped to reflect the form of the exterior.
After I cut and trimmed the top surfaces level, it was time to make tight-fitting lids. You can make rabbets on this type of lid by carving from a single piece, or turning on a lathe. In this instance, I laminated two pieces together to form the rabbet. Here’s a captioned slide show (below) that details that process:
I resawed two pieces, maybe 5/16″ (8mm) thick, from a thicker dry cherry board.
After planing the surfaces, I marked and cut out (with a coping saw) the shape of the interior of each pot on one of the boards.
I leave a little outside the line when sawing, then trim to the line with a chisel. You could do this with a knife, but the dry cherry can be tough and cutting like this with a chisel makes it easy to see if the edge is pretty square to the surface.
To match the rabbets with the upper lids, I stack the two boards on top of each other again to orient the bottom circles for gluing.
Then I clamped them down with a couple holdfasts. There is glue only under the circles.
I made reference marks so that the grain orientation of the two pot lids would match up once the two lids were separated from the one board.
I freed each lid with a coping saw, then trimmed to the line.
For the profile on the edge of the lids, marked a circle on top and a line on the edge, then worked a gouge around between those lines. You’ve got to go four different directions to adjust for the grain. The gouge cuts leave a subtle texture to the profile.
The finials were carved from walnut, for contrast and as a nod to the dark brown hair of the father and son.
The finials are fit to the lid with a shouldered tenon, wedged from below. The interior side of the lid and pots were left unfinished so that nothing might effect the taste of the oats, tea, or whatever stored inside.
The lettering was cut with a knife, along with a couple small gouges for the tighter outer curves.
My son, Noah, and I got out to the river together for a couple hours of trout fishing a few days ago. As we waded through the water and weaved around the top of a tree now living horizontally across the river, I noticed sunlight striking a flower, one of several peaking out through the treetop leaves.
Tulip tree flower in the sunlight over the Little Shenango River.
We were treated to an unusually close-up view of the flower of the tulip tree, also know as yellow poplar or tulip poplar. No matter what one calls it, Liriodendron tulipifera is not a poplar, but it is a beauty. It grows tall and straight, and the leaves are a fun shape. But, contrary to Thoreau’s suggestion, it doesn’t seem that these flowers were made to be seen, unless by a bird. As Charles Fergus put it in his book Trees of Pennsylvania and the Northeast: “Borne high up in the tree, the blossoms are rarely seen; the woodland walker is more apt to notice petals from the spent flowers lying on the ground.”
Fortunately, tulip trees have a wide range beyond Pennsylvania, covering most of the US east of the Mississippi. If you can’t find one alive and low enough to see the blooms, maybe you can find one that has fallen recently; tulip trees make nice bowls. There’s one on the right, below:
I found more flowers than trout. Noah caught seven, I only fooled one and fell flat into a patch of tall weeds and briars. And it was time well spent.
I’ve always got some spoons in the works. As good crooks are discovered, I rough the spoons out and set them aside, then finish carving them when I can. Here’s a group of eight I’ve got together now for sale. Unless otherwise noted in the description, these are all straight from the tool and carved from natural crooks. Finished with pure linseed oil cured in a kiln. If you’re interested, email me at dandkfish@gmail.com. You can pay by mailing a check or through PayPal; please let me know your preference in your email. Prices include domestic shipping. Thank you.
There are comparison shots above and below, heads and tails, respectively. Then I have an individual shot of each spoon further down.
#1: Maple, 8″ x 1 7/8″ A small server with a lot of crank. $110 includes shipping. SOLD
#2: Cherry, 14″ x 2 3/8″ A long multi-purpose spoon from cherry heartwood. $140 includes shipping. SOLD
#3: Apple, 9″ x 2″ A small server or maybe an eating spoon if you’ve got a really big mouth. There’s a little pin knot on the right side of the bowl that leaves a narrow void on the underside of the bowl. $90 includes shipping. SOLD
#4: Cherry: 15″ x 2 1/4″. Mainly sapwood with splashes of dark heartwood on the back. Long spoon with a slender bowl dictated by the form of this unusual crook. Another one good for multi-purpose use in the kitchen. Gives you plenty of reach, too, if someone’s trying to steal a cookie. $145 includes shipping. SOLD
#5: Birch, 8″ x 2 7/8″. A short serving spoon/ladle with a deep bowl. Ideal for that person, or fish, who doesn’t follow the crowd. Artist linseed oil paint on the handle. $190 includes shipping. SOLD
#6: Cherry, 13 1/4″ x 2 1/4″ Another good long kitchen spoon that’s ready for anything. $130 includes shipping. SOLD
#7: Maple, 11 1/2″ x 2 3/4″ This serving spoon had such gnarly fibers running through the handle that a scraper and fine sandpaper was the way to go in that area. The forward portion has been left from the tool. Detail photo below of the carved lettering and touch of artist linseed oil paint. $200 includes shipping. SOLD
#8: Cherry, 11 3/4″ x 2 3/8″ The last one of this group is carved from a straight radially-split piece of cherry. Just a very little bit of crank and dish to the bowl. More of a spatula/paddle good for stirring and cooking. $80 includes shipping. SOLD
A few months ago, I wrote a post about carving this bowl from dry walnut and mentioned that it would be part of an American Association of Woodturners exhibition The Space Between, and the connected auction. Well, as of this evening, the auction is now open for online bidding up through June 25 when live bidding will also take place for the items at the AAW International Woodturning Symposium in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
From what I understand, anyone can peruse the auction site, but they must register to bid by using the “register to bid” button. Anyone can watch the live event, but must pre-register to bid. Online bidding continues until the end of the auction.
Even if you have no plan to bid on anything, it is worth taking a look at the pieces for inspiration. Just one example is Greenwood Fest alum Kalia Kliban’s redwood burl turned box. Absolutely wonderful.
And you may be asking yourself, “Why in the world is a carved bowl that has never seen a lathe part of a woodturning exhibition?” Honestly I had no idea, until I read the note at the bottom of my page, which explains that they invite a few non-turners just to shake things up a bit.
I’ve mentioned and shown drawknives in use in many posts. I use them for bowls, shrink pots, big spoons, chairs, and all sorts of other things. I thought it was about time I shared a few specific thoughts about this versatile tool.
If you want the whole scoop on drawknives, read Curtis Buchanan’s article in Fine Woodworking #268 (May/June 2018) “Master the Drawknife” or Peter Galbert’s 40 page drawknife treatise in his book Chairmaker’s Notebook. There’s also a good article by Drew Langsner in FWW #25 (Nov/Dec 1980) called “The Drawknife.” I’ll add my two cents here based on my knives while trying to not muddy the water.
Top to bottom: D.R. Barton, Spannsage, Baldwin, Veritas
Above are four of the drawknives I use regularly. The top three are no longer in production, although you’ll find similar forms being made today by other folks. Since I have tried only a tiny fraction of the modern knives available today, I’ll focus on some of the characteristics that I would look for, regardless of age or brand.
I prefer drawknives with the handles up even with the cutting edge rather than those with wings that sweep the handles back toward the user and away from the edge. I think putting one’s hands more in line with the edge makes the tool more responsive to subtle movements of the wrists, which is what I want for carving. I also like handles that are oriented generally at 90 degrees to the blade, rather than splaying out. One reason is that this makes it more natural to keep my elbows tight to my body for more control. With the little Veritas drawknife with a 4″ blade, a little splay helps to keep one’s hands clear on such a short tool. The middle two have a slightly curved edge, a little belly, which may be somewhat helpful in some circumstances, but I’m just as happy with a straight edge.
I’ve probably been using the red handled one the most lately, but I used the larger one, the D.R. Barton, for shaving the arch onto the top of this walnut bowl blank this week. Although it has the same edge width (8″/200mm) as the red-handled Spannsage, the handles are further apart which provides better clearance on a large workpiece. Also, the Barton is more hefty, and if you get some momentum behind that mass, it can help when you’re hogging off lots of material. The red-handle Spannsage weighs in at 12 3/8 ounces (350 grams) while the Barton triples that, at 2 pounds (908 grams).
Thumbs Up: Notice in the photo above that my thumbs are up on along the top of the handles, even up onto the steel. The balance between the downward pressure of the thumbs in front and the thumb pad (thenar) in the back are important for controlling the depth of cut. So I would not grip the handles as in the photo below, as there would be a significant loss of control and sensitivity. It’s also important to me that the drawknife design allows my index fingers to curl over the top of the handles without discomfort.
There is commonly a lot of confusion about whether to use a drawknife bevel-up or bevel-down. The answer is: it depends. First, it depends on what type of cut you’re trying to make. For example, working with the drawknife bevel-down will allow you to make a concave cut much more effectively, since the back of the short bevel acts as a fulcrum to lift the edge as the cut proceeds. But some knives may work better bevel down for other cuts as well; the handles are a big factor in which way will work best for a given knife.
In the photo above, the four drawknives are all sitting bevel-up. You can see in #1 and #3 that the handles are oriented around 20 degrees below the plane of the back of the blade. This is comfortable for the wrists and shoulders. #2 is comfortable to use bevel-up too, maybe because the red handles are so short and below the plane of the blade.
In the next photo (above), the bevels have been oriented flat on the bench. While #1 and #3 could still be used in this orientation (bevel-down), it would be uncomfortable for long use. #4 has a better handle angle with the bevel down, which is indeed how I tend to use that little guy. And Red, he looks good like this in the photo, but is definitely more comfortable in use the other way, which just shows what oversimplification will do for you. With many drawknives, you can bend the handles to an orientation that pleases you.
And then there are the factors influenced by sharpening. If you’re using a drawknife bevel-up, a little subtle rounding (or dubbing, or secondary bevel) of the edge on the “flat” on the bottom provides necessary control. Without it, the edge may tend to dive overly-aggressively.
That can also allow you to make a concave cut, even with the bevel up, especially if the blade is relatively narrow as opposed to deep.
Still, you’re working with essentially a wide bevel made up by the entire depth of the blade, so if you push it too far you’ll start to get jumps and chatter. You can see those on the surface of the cut in the photo above as I’ve now flipped the knife around (bevel-down) and about to make the concavity more steep and, hopefully, more smooth. The short bevel allows me to rock through the cut more effectively.
That’s better. If I wanted to reserve a drawknife especially for making cuts like this even more smoothly, I could purposely create a slightly convex bevel on the knife. Of course, the tearout near the end of the log is due to climbing back up there against the grain. Don’t do that.
The same cut viewed from the side. Now I’ll finish with sharpening, since the worst drawknife is a dull one.
Here’s the core of my sharpening equipment. DMT dia-sharp stones (1×4, 2×6, and one 3×8). I bought most of those from Country Workshops, probably in the ’90s, and they’re still going strong. The 2×6 size is what I use most often, and if the XXfine came in a 2×6, I’d have that instead of that way-too-big 3×8. The white stone is an ultra-fine ceramic that I think was once part of a set offered by Wayne Barton. These stay flat and I can easily apply them to the tool rather than the other way around, which I often do. I sometimes use Arkansas stones too, which I like. I tried water stones briefly, but since so much of what I sharpen is curved (gouges, adzes, etc.) they dished severely and quickly, so I turned away from them. There are many other options available since I settled on this years ago, but I haven’t had the opportunity to try them.
Curtis, Peter, and Drew all discuss sharpening methods extensively in their writing. They detail methods for grinding, honing, and polishing. All of their methods make perfect sense. Like Curtis and Drew, Peter also shows how to hone the edge by taking the knife to a stationary stone raised up in a holder and he also sells a drawknife sharpening aid called the Drawsharp that gets universally rave reviews. I haven’t tried it, but it certainly would work well. So, while you should probably use those methods, I’ll show you what I do so you can shake your head.
I like to use water with just a little cleaner like Simple Green mixed in when I use diamond stones. I keep it in a recycled spray bottle and spray it onto the tool or the stone. You can see in that photo that I once hollow-ground this bevel. Subsequent honings have reduced the hollow grind more in the central area of the blade where the edge wears more and needs to be honed more. The flow of the edge has been maintained throughout, albeit with a little less belly.
For the honing, my body becomes the jig to hold the drawknife steady. I grip one handle in my left hand, cutting edge up, with the other handle pressed firmly into my chest. It helps if your chest has some give to it, like mine. My right hand grips the back end of a 2×6 stone with my index finger extended further up. If you’re smart enough to worry about your finger slipping off, you should wear one of those cut resistant carving gloves on your right hand.
Depending on how much renewal the edge needs, I’ll begin with my coarse or fine stone. I put the stone against the back edge of the bevel and rotate it forward until it lies flat against the bevel. I can feel and see this. With all of my joints locked except my right elbow, I slide the stone along the bevel…
…to the other end, and back, and so on…you can get moving pretty fast.
I flip the knife and do the same on the back side.
In between switching from bevel to back or vice versa, I check for a fine burr all along the cutting edge. This tells me that I have honed away all of the steel that needed to go away on the opposite side. I draw my thumb lightly from the back of the bevel toward the edge. Obviously, do not go the other direction or slide along the edge. That queasy feeling you get just thinking about it is the reason why. You can see where my thumb has rubbed away the sharpening swarth from the bevel. You’ll feel a faint burr where a thin edge of steel has been raised from the rubbing on the opposite side. Where you don’t feel it, keep rubbing on the opposite side.
I do the same process with each stone through my finest stone, to refine the scratch pattern and polish the edge. My goal is to finish with light passes with the finest stone to completely sever the burr away, but the strop assures that I’ve gotten it all. This strop has been working for me for 27 years. Leather on a wood paddle with extra fine polishing compound on it.
I start in this position with the strop flat on the bevel and move the strop forward as I proceed along the bevel.
Ending up something like this. The strop, inevitably, rounds the edge slightly, which, in the case of a drawknife, has benefits for control — just don’t take it too far.
Once you get that nice edge, protect it. It takes longer to repair a damaged edge than to make a sheath. There are lots of options. I made the one at the top from a piece of wood and leather straps. The second one is a length of water supply line; simply slit it lengthwise and tie it with a cord. Third is a crudely made riveted sheath made from an old leather belt. The forth one is a snappy leather one that came with the knife.
Over the last several years, I’ve enjoyed a deeper exploration into the work and life of Wharton Esherick. There is much to admire and contemplate. Esherick believed he had been overtrained as a painter and discovered his most creative expression in wood. His work included woodcuts, sculpture, furniture, his studio itself, and much more. Mansfield Bascom, Esherick’s son-in-law, wrote a fantastic biography, Wharton Esherick: The Journey of a Creative Mind that I highly recommend.
A sketch of Wharton Esherick’s wood sculpture “Spring Beauty” based on a photograph in Wharton Esherick: The Journey of a Creative Mind.
Over the winter, I read about the Esherick Museum’s Annual Juried Woodworking Exhibition. This year, they requested submissions that, in one way or another, represent a self-portrait. You can learn more about the theme and its connection to Esherick, along with the process, here. It got me thinking. Mixed into my thoughts were a chunk of crab apple tree and lines from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”
I had planted the crab apple tree in our yard, around twenty years ago. Eventually I had to cut it down, and I piled the trunk sections on the firewood stack. When I picked up this chunk to burn, the bark pulled away and exposed a form that brought to mind a human torso. I marveled at the color variation and surface texture, then hollowed the center away with an adze and set the piece aside, having no idea what I was ultimately going to do with it.
When this self-portrait idea came up, I reflected much more on that old chunk of crab apple, Whitman, transience, and oneness. Then I got to work.
The shot above shows the result of the experiments with the design of the lettering. Placing tape over the surface lets me erase easily while working on the actual shape and size of the surface. Sometimes I’ll completely redraw after removing the tape. In this case, I slipped some bits of graphite paper under the lifted tape and transferred the outline of the letters lightly onto the wood. You can also see the texture left by a course rasp on the interior of the torso. The rasping began as a preliminary to further smoothing, but I liked the directional texture so much, and its contrast with the adjoining surfaces, that I decided to keep it.
Apple wood is hard, but fine grained. It holds detail like this lettering well. Lots of work with the penknife and also some gouges for the tighter curves. Using our woodstove for a forge, and a chunk of railroad rail for an anvil, I did some shaping and texturing of some mild steel to hold the torso above the figured walnut base.
The Exhibition is online and just opened today, running through August 28. You can explore all 25 of the pieces that were selected here. Many of them are for sale, including this one; this link will take you to that specific page. And if you’re ready to Zoom, The Esherick Museum is hosting an online opening reception for the exhibition. It’s free to join in, but you need to register here.
I like the idea of wearing a shop apron, but I’ve never been able to get in the habit, for a number of reasons. Some guys swear by them, and some have truly special ones. Jögge Sundqvist wears an amazing apron hand-crafted from reindeer hide. It covers his torso and thighs, features stitched stars, and is almost as awesome as Surolle himself.
As for me, I’ve just been wearing a little leather bib apron when I carve spoons lately. There are many times that the spoon gets braced against my sternum, and the leather provides some padding and at least prevents wear to the flannel. I discovered these leather pads at a local Amish store. They’re made as pads for shoeing horses, so they come in various sizes and thicknesses up to over 1/4″ (7mm) thick. They’re natural veg-tan leather. If you don’t have an Amish store around, they can be found at various places online. Here’s one that has a pretty good selection.
I think the pad that I use for my bib cost around $5 at the store. So, while you may be able to buy a whole side for a cheaper price per square inch, these things are convenient and even the existing shape can be useful. I can see folding one in half and sewing or riveting the edges together for a sheath.
I’ve also been using one on my leg when carving lettering or chip carving, like having part of a super heavy apron just where I need it. And it’s easy to throw into a pack. With a rough side and a smooth side, they can work great as strops. Some are so thick that the edge could be shaped to serve as a slip strop for the inner side of gouges and v-tools.
Anyway, there are all sorts of potential uses beyond horse feet. The rounded end could make a nice pattern for the end of a bowl hollow. Vise and clamp jaw liners? Leather elbow patches for your sport coat? Loincloth?
We just had our first full week of summer-like weather, and it had me outside working and preparing some material for some of the projects I’m looking forward to. Some of them are in that willow basket waiting for the next carving stages: shrink pots, spoons, bird bowls….and plenty of other projects that won’t fit in the basket.
I’ve also been itching to make a couple more hen bowls, especially after receiving this wonderful watercolor painting from Peter Galbert of a bowl I made for him several years ago. Getting this treasure into a proper frame is another project I’m anticipating. Until then, I love to look at Pete’s artistry up close. It allows me to look through his eyes and reminds me to pay attention to the subtle colors all around us that require more than a glance to appreciate.
I’ve had some butternut logs laying around for longer than I had planned. With a hen bowl or two in mind, I took advantage of the weather and dug into one. I painted the ends, but could have done another coat. The deepest check just to the left of the yardstick dictated the initial splitting of the log. The smaller radial checks don’t run as deep, and I got past them by cutting three inches or so off the end of the log. That check up by the 17 inch mark that runs parallel to the growth rings probably indicates some ring shake that could be present all along the length of the log in that area.
After cutting the ends off, I split the log generally along that major check. For those interested in more of the splitting process, this post link goes into much more depth. There was a branch of this tree that snapped off early in its life. The tree grew over it, leaving no signs on the outer surface decades later. I’ll still be able to get something out of it, but I turned my attention first to the other half.
There wasn’t enough sound wood for a full half-log, but that’s no issue at all. A blank like this can still be used either bark up (just hew a flat area along the peak for the foot of the bowl) or pith up. I’ll probably go with the latter and have the hen’s wings spread out along the radially-split upper surfaces there. Too early to tell. For now, I just wanted to get this chunk into a garbage bag to keep it from drying while I take care of some other things.
Before that, I wanted to hew away the narrow ring of sapwood. The bark had fallen away.
Close enough. Lots of exciting projects coming up, including revisiting this piece. Maybe on a hot day in June, when this relatively soft butternut won’t make me sweat too much.
Geese still hold plenty of mystery for me. In this part of the world, they are Canada geese. Their abundance makes them easy to take for granted, but they’re fascinating. I’ve glided in a canoe unaware of how close I was to a nesting goose, her body absolutely still and head low in an attempt to remain unseen. Many times, walking along the riverbank, I’ve been loudly scolded for my intrusion. Often, I’m able to just watch as the geese, unperturbed, glide along the water’s surface. They seem to speak of contentment with muted honks.
Geese swim not far from where this crooked limb of sugar maple grew. It was cut off by the railroad company and left to the side of the tracks that run along the river. After splitting it along the pith and looking at what I had to work with, I began to see a “goose-inspired” form in there.
Above is what it looked like after the green carving stage, when I left it to dry. Not much extra material left, but still most of the work remains to be done.
Taking into consideration the figure in this piece of hard maple, I took everything down to a smooth surface. It made the most sense to me for this piece in terms of workability and aesthetics.
This angle shows the curl that was especially present through the tightest part of the crook.
The scrapers I had on hand weren’t able to reach into the area behind the breast very well, so I rooted through my scrap box of odd metal bits and came out with an old folding saw blade that I had broken in use. A strip of tape worked fine for some quick protection from the teeth.
I ground the broken end down to a curve then briefly and simply ran that edge square along a fine diamond stone. I did the same for the back of the blade while I was at it, then got back to work. Shavings!
The blade was able to reach in and then sweep back along the hollow.
The back of the blade was able to take heavy cuts in this crisp maple, serving as a shaping tool as much as a finishing tool. After the edge tools, I was able to go right to some very fine sandpaper to smooth the final surface.
The final dimensions came out to about 16 inches long, 4 1/2 inches wide, and 8 inches high. This one is flying west.
Peter Galbert, clearly, did not make this stool. Peter’s stool designs are graceful and thoughtfully considered. Someday, I’d love to make one. Regardless, this old perch will always have a place in the shop.
I normally don’t give my stool a second thought. Then, a few days ago, deep into an old-home maintenance project, I stumbled upon this old spade bit in a block of rarely used drill bits. If memory serves, that’s the bit I ground at an angle and used to make the tenons in the seat. (FYI: a tapered reamer works better.)
Flipping the seat over revealed that it had been 25 years, right to the month. That was so long ago, that there were no smart phones, no YouTube videos, and you could make a sandwich while you waited for the internet to, noisily, connect — if you had a connection. I had few tools, little understanding or money, but plenty of enthusiasm.
I went out to the neighbor’s firewood pile and rooted around. Nothing wide enough for a full seat, but a couple chunks that would work. Years later, I realized the wood was mulberry, likely from the neighbors’ tree. I edge glued the two pieces together. Not pretty on the underside.
The top side looks all fancy with the walnut inlays and initials. The only reason the inlays are there is to cover a mistake.
I saddled the seat, poorly, with a gouge followed by sandpaper. Oh the horror when my excavation exposed the dowel joints I had used for the glue-up. The D covered up one of them, but the F didn’t quite reach the other.
I’ve knocked the stool over about a thousand times and there are plenty of dents, dings, and concrete imprints to prove it.
I used 1 1/4″ hardware store dowels for the legs. I have no idea what the wood is. The rungs are pieces sawn from a 3/4″ walnut board with 1/2″ tenons abruptly whittled down at the ends. Somehow, not a single joint has even wiggled over the years. As my dad is fond of saying, “even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”
With all the talk of 10,000 hours, necessary tools, and conflicting information, a beginner in any craft can become daunted and discouraged. The important thing is to take action and begin the journey. Along the way, better tools and more complete understanding will come along. More importantly, you’ll make mistakes that will build judgement and lead to creative solutions. And some of those early projects might serve well and make you smile when you reflect on the beginning of your journey.
In an episode of the Cut the Craft podcast, Curtis Buchanan tells the story of Tim Manney succinctly expressing this idea. As with anything, it’s better to hear Curtis tell it, but the gist is that, as he is bidding goodbye to Curtis’ at the end of his apprenticeship, Tim says with a smile, “Curtis, what I’ve learned from you is ‘Don’t let anything get in the way of making a chair.'” Of course, the same lesson holds true for a bowl, a spoon, a song, or a loaf of bread.
David Fisher, Carving Explorations 
