My Woodwork

What follows is a collection of some of the woodworking projects I created through the 1990’s up until about 2002. Soon after I became a father, I had to give up my hobby/obsession/art/profession, but when my children are old enough to join me in the shop without high risk of losing digits, the motors will start whirring again.

These Adirondack chairs were my first project (1993). I used to work for a Blake’s Antiques, a furniture refinishing shop in Lawrenceville, Georgia – he had an Adirondack chair sitting in pieces for awhile, and I offered to put it together for him so I could use it as a model to make my own set. (This was a few years before you could buy a similar set made in China for $125). I think the footrests are my own design. I’m sure the table is. I made three or four additional sets for friends of friends and made a bit of profit.

My mother-in-law wanted an arbor (1993), but it didn’t end up being installed at her house because her sprinkler system would have to have been rerouted had I installed it (my mistake, not hers). It is a very substantial piece, the angled segments forming the arch made of 4X4 pressure-treated pine. All I had to cut the segments with at the time was an ordinary Black and Decker circular saw, so I had to flip each 4X4 over and cut it twice, which was very tricky, then screw them all together using humungous wood screws. I was surprised the assemblage turned out as well as it did. Unfortunately, because I didn’t consider the installation requirements, this huge arbor had no home, so, naturally, my mother bought it from me. Later, she buried one of her dogs under it, which was sad but very flattering.

Starting out, I did not refer to books to learn how to construct things, as when I built this bed frame and end tables (1994). Its construction was pretty absurd, and I was lucky it turned out as well as it did. The posts are each made of two construction-grade 2X4’s, glued together, cut so as to accept the runners. It was extremely challenging to draw and cut out the arch on the headboard made from three glued together 1X12 planks, the middle skinnier than the rest to create a groove to accept the vertical slats. The end tables were ridiculous: I thought it would be sound joint it together by ripping a 2X4 in half then groove each 2X2 on two sides and slide the side panels into those grooves. The drawers were held in place with these ripped 1×1 sticks of wood that I just screwed in without much planning. Over the years, the cabinets got a bit shaky so I had to reinforce them with wood screws, but they held up pretty well after that. I was actually able to sell these pieces at a garage sale for $125, which is pretty amazing considering I built them with zero furniture-building experience.

Being a DINK (Double Income No Kids) can be good: I found this cherry-red 1965 Chevy pickup for sale down the road (1995), thought about buying it for only a day or two, and actually got the okay from my without any real debate. Now, I have no experience working on cars, and this beast had its problems, but I was able to drive it to work, the north Georgia mountains, and to downtown Atlanta before it started to give me real trouble. I loved that truck for awhile, though, and installed a wood plank bed in the cargo area, and this custom oak dash in the cab, including handmade knobs for the wipers, lights, and turn signals. Yeehaw! Even though it never ran all that well, I was able to sell it for $500 or so dollars more than I bought it because of the custom work.

What an ego-boost this project was: A customer came into Blake’s Antiques with a medium-sized box. Inside were the remains of an old rocking chair that was completely smashed (1995). Three or four of the spindles were snapped in half; five or six were missing tips that had to be completely reconstructed, and the seat was split in two.

After spending about three hours reassembling the back of the chair, Chris, my boss, suggested I finish it at home. I was proud of the outcome because, not only did the rocking chair become fully functional again, it looked and rocked just as it was supposed to, symmetrical and balanced.

Chris Blake laid me off (1996), and I lost the most enjoyable job I’d ever had. Wanting to pursue something would train me in furniture building, I got a job working for Nottingham Antiques in downtown Atlanta, a manufacturer of high-end antique reproductions for high-end customers. Brian Young, the owner, a Georgia Tech grad, and Clive, who was from the UK, gave me an opportunity to work in their shop even though every single other craftsman in their shop was Vietnamese and spoke little or no English. My understanding of cabinetry building exploded thanks to all those kind people. My work for them was satisfactory, I feel sure, though I was slower than the most. I don’t know if my production rate was the reason Brian pulled me off the main line and had me make this table, but I’m sure glad he did, because it was a tremendous learning experience. Cabinetry-type woodwork is relatively easy when it is based on the box principle and 90-degree angles, but this bean-shaped table had none. The sides are thin maple-veneered pressboard bent and glued onto blocks, but the curves of the front and back panels, and the drawer had to be cut out of three-inch thick maple planks on a jigsaw. The whole of the cabinet was glued together using a biscuit jointer and a band clamp. Brian had me deliver the piece to their showroom, probably because he could see how proud of it I was, and his wife, the store manager, gave me this very folky-looking, hand-carved crow, imported from Guatemala, that I still have on my desk today. I love that wooden bird; my wife doesn’t.

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A chest for silverware my uncle asked me to restore (1997). I got lucky on this one, because I had no experience replacing the felt interior, but it still turned out fine. The exterior is finished with paste wax, the same humble finish that Nottingham Antiques uses to make perfect their very fine and expensive antique reproductions. Every home woodworker should know about the joys of paste wax: It is no more challenging to use than shoe polish, and produces a mellow luster that can be rejuvenated with a light reapplication when needed.

I came upon this non-working floor-model Philco radio at an antique store in Monroe, Georgia (1997). The innards were a mess, but the outside looked alright, so I got this crazy notion to turn it into a liquor cabinet. I tore the radio apart and created the shelving with wine bottle holders, played with various hardware to make the “wings” open up properly (very tricky!), then had my old boss at Blake’s Antiques spray the finish on it for me. The results, as I hope you can see, were pretty cool.

I was so proud of this piece that I actually thought I could build a business making similar cabinetry with other unrestorable electronics. Problem was, I could not sell the thing to save my life. I actually rented a booth at the Atlanta Antiques market, juggling it along with my son Case, who was only four months old at the time, and sat with him for two eight-hour days while the piece was almost completely ignored by passers-by. No one seemed to understand it. Later, I found an antique dealer in Buckhead who agreed to display it in a corner of his store, but they got no bites either. Finally, my liquor cabinet got sold at a charity auction for maybe four hundred dollars, the final, but needed, blow to my ego that taught me I was not going to be able to make a living creating my “art”. I would cut off my left ear if I could have this piece back again. Maybe it’ll need repair someday and whoever has it will call me – my name is written in pencil on the back.

A customer had a set of dining room chairs that she really wanted to hold on to, but one was damaged, so she hired me to cut a new detailing on the chair back, and stain and finish it to match (1998).

While waiting for my radio/bar to sell, I had the bright idea to convert this old pump organ into a secretary (1998). Two old guys dropped this thing off at Blake’s Antiques, where I was working on and off again, and asked if I wanted to take it off their hands. I think I gave them $20 for it. The pump organ had been painted white, and these fellows were in the process of removing the paint and the finish beneath it, but had given up, so the organ was covered in dried white goo. I took it home, stripped it completely by hand (getting white paint out of corners and oak grain isn’t easy), ripped out the insides, and made the conversion.

The face below the keyboard hinges down, allowing you to push back the keyboard and pull out a writing surface. The sheet music holder hinges up, revealing some drawers I installed, detailed to match the organ’s design. A panel below the keyboard is now the face of a letter-sized hanging file drawer. I hauled this to the Atlanta Antique Mart, too, but no one was really interested – they just didn’t get it. Finally, my father bought it from me; today, it sits in his foyer. Thanks, Dad.

A set of twin beds commissioned by my mother (1999). By this time, I had purchased an HVLP system to spray lacquer onto my work. My old boss, unfortunately, had never taught me how to spray on finish because he thought, if he did, I’d have all the skills required to run a furntiture refinishing business of my own, and would break away from him, so I had to learn using trial-and-error (read: lots of errors). The books I had on finishing furniture were very poorly written: A common problem with finishes encountered by the inexperienced sprayer is called “orange peel”. I read those words again and again, wondering what it meant, but didn’t understand until I covered these beds with a poorly-applied finish that was smooth yet bumpy, just like the skin of an orange. It was only then that I understood what “orange peel” was, since the books named it but never described it very well. I never was able to master the spray application of laquer. Sometime my finishes would be excellent, sometimes not. There were just too many variables I had not learned to control.

I guess you could call this entertainment center (1999) my masterpiece, at least for now. It was commissioned by my brother-in-law and his wife, and it is a very nice piece. The drawers are held in place with this really expensive Swiss hardware that make them slide open smooth as glass even if they were to be filled gun ammo. The finish is colored paste wax; you can see the swirls in its application, which may be off-putting for someone who is used to seeing furniture made in factories, but I think of it as a proof that it was made by hand, and very endearing.

The piece breaks down into a top half and a bottom half, and weighs a bloody ton. It was installed in a room with an eighteen foot ceiling, and there is a walk on the upper floor that allows you to look down on this room. When I did this, I realized, to my horror, that the top of the piece, having no finish at all, was plainly visible, so I had to come back and stain and finish the top, which was very stressful and probably annoying to my brother-in-law. If I could do whatever I wished for employment, I would be making furniture like this piece.

In 1999, my second child was came into my life, so my workshop got much quieter, and the few projects I undertook were for my kids, such as this bookshelf, with a design that I ripped off from Pottery Barn or somewhere, and this toy box, with a sliding top like the one I had when I was a kid. Toy boxes, I’ve since learned, are overrated: They become a receptacle where all of the thousands of pieces from a hundred pawed-at toys get all mixed up into one big salad. Take my advice and purchase bookshelves for your child’s toys; s/he and you will be obligated to stay more organized, and you can use them to store books later.

The second commission from my Mom – a game table with chess board inlay (2001). It has a cute “hidden” drawer on the side.

A tower for holding photographs (2001); the idea was stolen from a high-end photography catalogue. I made one for my parents and one for my in-laws as a Christmas gift.

I worked awhile for a friend of my brother-in-law, Ron Hyman, a super guy who asked me to build some cabinetry for an architectural firm (2001). The counter top so long that it wobbled and bounced out of the back of my minivan like it was a diving board; I was sure it would snap in transport, but it didn’t. I ran paint through my HVLP system to finish it, which you’re not really supposed to do. I’m really proud of the grid shelving on the right, which holds rolled-up blueprints. It is constructed with fiberboard cut to fit together like the cardboard separators that protect the bottles in a case of wine. The results were dead-precise, like it was made by a machine. Yay, me.

A commission from my mother-in-law (2001). She had a pre-exiting desk (on the left side of the photo) and wanted me to construct an extension that matches in color and style. The results, as you can see, weren’t too shabby!

This table was my last major project before I had to get serious about finding a real job to support my family (for four-plus years, I had been a stay-at-home dad to my two children, and that had allowed me some time to putter in my shop). I had always wanted a thick, farmhouse-style oak kitchen table substantial enough to park a Volkswagon on, but had never seen one in the furniture stores, so I made my own. The 2” thick oak planks for the project were from Suwanee Lumber. Buying lumber from a supplier like Suwanee Lumber is not like buyng from Home Depot – the wood they sell is a less uniform, and might be slightly curved or warped (that’s not a negative; serious craftsmen who buy their stuff have the skill to modify their products into something usable). The oak planks I took away from them weighed hundreds of pounds, and they were so wide that I had to take them to a nearby sawmill to have them ripped to a more usable size (the foreman at the mill was very cool and stopped a large cutting job his crew was working on to help me). Even though the planks, after the help, were of a dimension that I could actually carry them around, it was a huge job to square them on my planer, and rip them to the exact needed widths. The pieces are joined together with biscuits, but I came behind with my Delta mortising kit to create these square-peg holes, simulating how these planks might have been jointed had they been assembled a few hundred years ago. My family and I still use this table today, though I’ve been wondering when my wife will finally say we need to move on to a table of a different style. Never, hopefully.