Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Chasing the wire
A mere filament of steel hangs on the end of the blade, catching the light filtering into the window. I flip the blade over and work the other side, forcing the stubborn wire to the opposite side. This is called chasing the wire.
A red paste, a mixture of material worn from the stone and the water, coats the blade and my fingers. Every couple passes I move my finger gently over the blade, feeling for the wire.
And then the wire is gone, and I know it is time to move down in grit. This stone feels smooth to my skin, but the steel knows differently. The blade slowly becomes polished to a mirror finish from my efforts, and the edge disappears, splitting the light so that none is reflected back to me. I cannot feel it, but here too is a wire which must be chased from side to side.
Finally, some sacrificial hairs from the back of my hand are offered to the blade. It passes through them without so much as a tug, leaving barren skin in its wake. I doubt my razor is this sharp.
Fitted into the plane, the blade seems almost hidden, and the space given to it is just enough to let a thin sliver of light through.
Time to get to work.
The plank of cherry is rough and ugly from the mill's saw. The tree it came from probably saw the sun's rays before I ever did.
On the first pass, the plane sings me her song. A sweet note, as shavings thin enough to see through are peeled back from the plank. With every pass, the light red cherry wood is exposed, shimmering and luminescent in the sun's fading light. The depth of the wood's figure is exposed. Each pass is a cascade of notes sung by the blade, the siren calling forth the hidden beauty in the wood.
People ask why I do not work with power tools. It would be easier, they say. Faster certainly. They know nothing of this hidden secret, of this simple joy. It is a delicate thing, easily severed by the table saw's buzz.
A red paste, a mixture of material worn from the stone and the water, coats the blade and my fingers. Every couple passes I move my finger gently over the blade, feeling for the wire.
And then the wire is gone, and I know it is time to move down in grit. This stone feels smooth to my skin, but the steel knows differently. The blade slowly becomes polished to a mirror finish from my efforts, and the edge disappears, splitting the light so that none is reflected back to me. I cannot feel it, but here too is a wire which must be chased from side to side.
Finally, some sacrificial hairs from the back of my hand are offered to the blade. It passes through them without so much as a tug, leaving barren skin in its wake. I doubt my razor is this sharp.
Fitted into the plane, the blade seems almost hidden, and the space given to it is just enough to let a thin sliver of light through.
Time to get to work.
The plank of cherry is rough and ugly from the mill's saw. The tree it came from probably saw the sun's rays before I ever did.
On the first pass, the plane sings me her song. A sweet note, as shavings thin enough to see through are peeled back from the plank. With every pass, the light red cherry wood is exposed, shimmering and luminescent in the sun's fading light. The depth of the wood's figure is exposed. Each pass is a cascade of notes sung by the blade, the siren calling forth the hidden beauty in the wood.
People ask why I do not work with power tools. It would be easier, they say. Faster certainly. They know nothing of this hidden secret, of this simple joy. It is a delicate thing, easily severed by the table saw's buzz.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
About a year later
It has been about a year since I decide to set up a shop in the garage, and what a year it has been.
Well, not that it has been particularly eventful. But a year ago I was pretty significantly in debt, looking at the end of a crappy job, and not really sure what I was doing with myself.
And now I am mostly debt free, looking at the end of a decent but low paying job, and still not really sure what I will be doing with myself.
Grad school is still on the docket. Looking at Fall 2012. But the job situation is still very much in the air. I thought I had a job for a year, but 2 weeks in the boss approached me to say that they do not have as much business as they originally planned on. Now I have 2 more weeks, and then I am back to looking. Sigh.
The plus side is that my woodworking is getting much much better. I am slowly accumulating tools, and my skills are developing. I might try to make some things, and see if i can sell them to support myself through the winter. I really tried to take some pictures of my completed work, since this blog has absolutely none of my finished pieces, but it seems my poor lens decided it did not want to focus. I will retake them, and post them soon.
~matt
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