So, a short apology. It was a little ambitious of me to think I’d get the review up in a day. If you follow my instagram you know I’ve got a lot of travel this summer. I’m currently in Kansas City, grading AP Literature exams. I read something around 100 today. There’s no excuse except that a man’s gotta eat. But let’s get to the point.
If I were to start my education in this craft over again, I feel like I’d only need two books: the Anarchist’s Design Book and New Traditional Woodworking. The ADB teaches you how to build sturdy set of furniture. NTW teaches you how to do everything before and after that.
I stumbled into woodworking through InterLibrary Loan. While working on my Masters I learned that no one at the library questioned if the books I wanted were “legitimate” research or “just for fun.” Wisely, they don’t recogize that distinction. And I don’t remember exactly how, but one day, I walked out of the library with Jim Tolpin’s book.
It was gorgeous. The rich red tinged colors of the design and the wood tones of the photography sucked me right in. The hand drawn sketches had personality. And the “story” of the book was the yin to Schwarz’s yang (or have I got that backwards?). I’d already found the Anarchist’s Tool Chest at this point, and enjoyed the thumb-in-your-eye contrarian fun. But, much as I admire that style, it’s not me.
Jim Tolpin gave me the story of woodworking that resonated with me. His Port Townsend sensibility was familiar. I’ve spent some time sailing on the Puget Sound, and the laid back hippie craftsman–though it might get scoffs–seemed like an echo of the Thoreau of the Journal that I think of as a good friend. Someone I could not only relate to and wanted to have a beer with, but a persona I could imagine myself inhabiting, a role model of sorts.
Tolpin’s story of a craftsman is more internal than some. Forgive a well worn cliche: it isn’t so much about the products as the processes. More about the satisfaction he guides readers to is in knowing how to do a job, and do it well. The book is basically a set of instructions for shop appliances, and yet each one is carefully designed to be both functional and beautiful. If you’re going to make your own stuff, why not enjoy the whole process? Why not make your shop warm and beautiful, too? As my sailor friend used to tell me: “You know you’re doing it right when it looks beautiful.” Tolpin told me, and modeled for me, a plausible story of that sort of livable grace.
The books had a few flaws for me, mostly in that it doesn’t seem to have been written for those of us on a budget. There are lots of glamour shots of expensive tools: endgrain shooting planes, toothing planes, a slick plow plane, that I will probably never own. But there are generally work arounds provided, and the explanation and step by step photographs of the procedures more than make up for it. The few places that I’ve encountered that leave me stumped are inevitably my thickness of head and not the fault of the text or photos.
I haven’t met Tolpin, though I’ve watched some of his videos at byhandandeye.com. He seems as quiet and peaceful as his writing. I hope to achieve that composure someday, and maybe I can learn it if I get a chance to attend a class at the Port Townsend School of Woodworking.
This book continues to be influential to me. I checked it out three times from the library before I finally caved and bought it. I have no regrets.
Next up (though probably not tomorrow): Walden.