It seems that our problem with portion control goes back at least 4700 years. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, probably the oldest recorded story in human history, Shamhat is tasked with civilizing the wild beastly man Enkidu. To lure him away from his animal lifestyle, she first seduces him (which, as it turns out, didn’t require much of a plan), then introduces him to bread and beer. After getting to know Shamhat, eating some bread, and drinking seven jars of beer, he assimilates.
Who knows how big those jars were, but if Enkidu had used this diminutive bowl, he may have kept his head better. It only holds about eight ounces, a half-pint. A small ale bowl, or maybe an ideal wine bowl (7 3/4 inches long, 5 inches wide, 5 inches high).
Most of us are familiar with the two usual orientations for bowl carving: working “upside down” into the bark side of the bowl (an innovation that Bengt Lidström was known for), and working into the flat split surface of the half log. Even with the same form laid out on the upper surface, these orientations result in completely different three-dimensional forms. By playing around with these initial surfaces, we can vary our designs in interesting ways. One variation that I’ve tried this year is what I call, for lack of a better term, a roof top bowl. Here is an example in alder.
The idea is to split the log to create an angle, rather than a flat, on the upper surface. This could be done by riving off another piece of a half-log, going for the split-into-thirds, or even splitting into quarters. For more information on riving into thirds, check out the latest newsletter from Country Workshops. (As a side note, Drew tells me that they’ve just been getting in their long-awaited orders from Hans Karlsson and Svante Djarv.— fresh tools!)
I flatten the split surfaces before layout. There is no single best angle, so go with what the log gives you and have fun exploring. The result is a bowl with an upswept rim as with an “upside down” bowl, but with a peaked center that lends itself well to certain designs.
I chose to undercut the interior of the rim, but it would be simpler to have a narrower rim with no undercut. I’ve indicated both situations with the dotted lines on the left side of the bowl cross-section in the top sketch. And, of course, the exterior tapering flutes and all that are just another option.
This example is 18 inches long, 11 inches wide, and 5 inches high.
As I happily remain in the shop this morning, in my head I hear Axl Rose’s refrain.
Positioning the light for carving
I’m carving flutes along the outer surface of this little “wine bowl.” This is quiet, contemplative work that seems to fit a rainy morning. The mood lighting is not an effect for the photograph. I leave the overhead lights off and move this old desk lamp around to get a raking light that makes the ridges between flutes appear more clearly as I carve.
I do sketch some pencil lines to serve as a general guide for the fluting, but ultimately it is the subtle variations of the gouge cuts that defines them.
Sam with cherry logs
As the day moves on and the neighborhood awakens, I’ll turn to more vigorous work on these cherry logs from a tree that went down up the road. Most will get their ends painted and be set aside for awhile. I may start to rough a couple chunks, as I did with one already. Every tree, even within a species, has its own character. Some are sweet and cooperative and others are more brash and resistant. When I make the first piece from a tree, we get to know each other. I’ve roughed out one bowl from this tree, and I think we’ll get along just fine…
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After hollowing the lip under the rim with the adze, I further shaped the area between that hollow and the bottom edge to form a flowing reversing curve. There will be some photos of that when the piece is finished. I’ll have to wait for it to dry before I refine it, but I’ve got some other projects to work on before I “end up walkin’ in the cold November rain.”
I had a plan in my mind for a square tapering shrink pot. As I smacked the froe and watched the waste from the first side fall away, I realized this log had other plans. This cherry tree had grown with a spiraling grain, now revealed in each of the four newly-split winding surfaces.
The opening lines of a poem I had read and copied into my sketchbook came to mind:
What has bent you,
Warped and twisted you,
Torn and crippled you?
What has embittered you,
O lonely tree?
— from The Pine at Timberline by Harriet Monroe
Here was an ideal lettering opportunity.
I followed the grain and carved a tapering, twisting, square shrink pot, leaving bold gouge marks on the interior, and a more subtle texture on the outside. The first two lines of the poem were carved, in part, near the edge of each side.
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The square opening shrinks around the bottom just as it does with a circular form:
6 1/2 inches high and 4 1/4 inches square at the base, cherry.
Here are a couple more recently completed shrink pots; both in aspen, but in very different styles:
When I write about trees and birds and the view from a hilltop, I wonder if they are important in the face of elections, and foreign aid, and taxes, and missiles and satellites. Then I know that arguments end, men die, and nations rise and fall, but that so long as there is an earth and a procession of the seasons there will be trees and birds and vistas from hilltops. And unless we are all incredibly stupid and recklessly wicked, there will be men here to see these things in Autumn and to feel, if never wholly to understand, what they signify.
Hal Borland, Countryman: A Summary of Belief (1965)
We carvers are fortunate to have the opportunity to both conceive a design and execute it with nothing more than a chunk of wood and a few sharp tools, and it’s a thrill when the idea becomes a reality before our eyes. I find that sketching helps the design process, forcing me to work through some of the practical elements of an idea by taking it out of my mind and onto the page. I also think that drawing in general, anything, helps to develop our design intuition, beckoning us to look closely and notice things that we may otherwise overlook.
I’ve been reading a book recommended to me by David Berman of Trustworth Studios: By Chance I Did Rove by Norman Jewson. In it, Jewson recollects his formative experience of hiking through the Cotswolds with a donkey and a sketchbook; the sketchbook proving more reliable than the donkey. He describes many memorable encounters, including his first with Arts and Crafts icon Ernest Gimson who went on to teach and employ the young architect and designer.
Intermixed with fond recollections of a place and a way of life that would soon be changed forever by the turmoil of the First World War are lessons learned from Gimson, including this one about sketching and design:
“…so at Gimson’s suggestion I picked and brought with me a different wild flower each day and made a drawing of it. This was part of his training of me in design and I soon found how differently one must look at a flower, or any other natural object, for this purpose. At first my drawings were as realistic as I could make them, with the accidental peculiarities of leaf and flower of the sprig I had brought with me, but he soon taught me to note only its special characteristics, making a simplified analysis of the basic peculiarities of the plant and then adapting this to a pattern suitable for modelled plaster, wood-carving or needlework as the case might be.”
Jewson himself was capable of executing the design, including those that called for wood carving. If I ever find myself in the Cotswolds, I’d like to find a donkey, rove a bit and possibly check out Norman Jewson’s sketchbooks. It seems that they have one here.
Here is a link to a previous post about the value of reference sketching.
…but Sigurd himself steered the dragon-keel which was the greatest and noblest; richly wrought were the sails, and glorious to look on.
— The Story of Sigurd from The Völsunga saga, 13th century
Ok, so that’s obviously not a photo of Sigurd’s ship on the north Atlantic. Rather, it is an ale bowl briefly launched on the Little Shenango River last evening.
Since receiving the commission along with a suggested possibility of a dragon design, I had been sketching some potential ideas and finally started in on the carving.
I carved this one from cherry. The grain direction does some funny things through those flutes flowing across the head. A hook knife comes in handy for dealing with it.
It’s 13 inches long, 6 1/2 inches wide, and 4 3/4 inches high, and it will hold up to 24 ounces of ale.
If only the river flowed toward the bowl’s destination…
Well, I think that’s how they say it in eastern Mass. anyway. Just in case you may not be aware, there’s a pretty unique riving and hurdlemaking opportunity coming up with Plymouth CRAFT; a chance to spend a weekend working with at least a couple of those guys in the fold above. You may not have any sheep to corral, but the deceptively simple skills involved in making these riven oak hurdles will transfer to the making of all sorts of things. Plus, I can think of many practical uses for these around a yard or in a garden. Sure to be a good time as well.
Check out Rick’s poetic post to learn more. (And thanks for the use of the photo, Rick and Marie).
To bore the initial hole in a shrink pot, I use an auger, typically this two-inch diameter T-handle auger. I found mine at flea market years ago. Large augers like this aren’t rare, but there are a few things to keep in mind when choosing one for boring into hardwood end grain.
The image below shows the edge configuration of this auger. There are many variations that will do the job well. This style has no scoring spurs, and for cutting into end grain none are needed. (This auger performs well on side grain as well, as when boring out timber frame mortises.) The two horizontal cutting edges slice wood from the bottom of the hole and the vertical cutting lips clean up the sides. The lead screw is not too aggressive and not too fine. If the threads were more widely spaced, it would take a deeper bite, maybe too much to expect in end grain. If the lead screw were too fine, it might not grip enough in end grain to pull the auger into the piece. In any case, more forward force is usually required to keep the screw engaged in end grain.
It would be tough to turn a two inch auger bit with a brace; much more torque can be applied with a t-handle auger. And like most tools, if it’s sharp it’s a pleasure to use. Sharpening is pretty straightforward. Auger bit files do a nice job, but lacking one, you may also get by with a narrow diamond paddle or a slip stone.
Remove material from the upper side of both cutters. I only use a light touch with the fine diamond paddle on the lower side to remove any burr.
Do the same with the vertical edge, keeping the junction well-formed and honed.
Here, I am ever-so-lightly removing the burr from the outside of the cutter. The most common problem I’ve seen on used auger bits of all sizes is sharpening that has been done on the outside edges. These edges cut the hole and establish the diameter. If the edges are rounded inward, a smaller diameter is cut and the rest of the bit can jam as it tries to follow into the narrow opening.
Here are three lengths of a cherry log that will become shrink pots. I still have to broaden the hollows (which I’ll probably make oval to use the natural shape of the rings in these pieces). The auger just provides a start. A narrower auger can be used. It will just leave more material to be removed otherwise. I usually leave the piece long for ease of holding in a vise. I bore a hole a little beyond what I need, saw off a length, then continue boring. I repeat the sequence until I bore through the last chunk.
I recorded a little video footage while I bored these a couple days ago; just simply the sights and sounds of the auger boring into cherry end grain:
I have some other posts about shrink pots. Just click “shrink boxes” in the category list to the right.
We’re all familiar with the idea of sighting down the length of a board to check for straightness of line. It is amazing how well our eyes can pick up even slight deviations in the flow of a line when viewed from such a vantage point. I use this concept all of the time when carving bowls, sighting along curves to check for fairness and flow.
When we look down a curving road, we can sense the flow of the curves through imagined movement along them. Likewise, when I look along the lines and surfaces of a bowl, I find my head and shoulders moving as if I am in miniature gliding along the surface. Maybe that’s weird, but I don’t have to stand in an amusement park line, and somehow it helps me to understand the forms.
I just finished a walnut bowl that features several flowing lines and surfaces, the one I was working on in the top photo. Here are a few other photos of the finished bowl:
We carvers are fortunate to have the opportunity to both conceive a design and execute it with nothing more than a chunk of wood and a few sharp tools, and it’s a thrill when the idea becomes a reality before our eyes. I find that sketching helps the design process, forcing me to work through some of the practical elements of an idea by taking it out of my mind and onto the page. I also think that drawing in general, anything, helps to develop our design intuition, beckoning us to look closely and notice things that we may otherwise overlook.
David Fisher, Carving Explorations 