{ Category Archives: visceral inquiry }
I’ve always liked to use chalk when roughing things out on wood. Lately I’ve taken to scouring the beaches during negative low tides in search of seashells for making my marks. The Pacific Razor Clam is ideal, softer than the East Coast equivalent, but hard enough to make a clean scratch, and loaded with calcium carbonate to leave a crisp white line.
action at Mavericks portends the arrival of spring to the N. Pacific (public domain)
In West Sonoma County, early signs of spring are typically in sync with the arrival of a huge south swell, epitomized by the epic surf at Mavericks, about 100 miles down the coast. With more daylight and warming temperatures over the past few weeks, our hens have begun laying eggs, the acacia trees are in flower, the willow’s catkin is giving way to leaf, and the wild plum trees are beginning to blossom along exposed slopes. Yellow mustard flowers fill grazing meadows, vineyards and apple orchards, the clover beginning to recede. As we pack for the coming week of vacation on the beach north of Puerto Vallarta, I anticipate returning to a flood of fruit trees in full flower.
the acacia trees are in bloom along the Sonoma Coast
the willows are looking lively along the streams
To read more of my postings on cyclical, seasonal events, please click here and scroll down.
At a certain scale, production woodwork requires a lot of time spent physically sorting and grading material, then processing it through a sequence of noisy machinery. It can be dull, monotonous work, but I still get a thrill watching grain patterns emerge and generally enjoy the physical labor as a kind of meditation. I find it helps to begin a day of milling wood with an exercise I call balancing the brain. In the past, this has taken the form of a commute by bicycle to my shop, or practicing Tai Chi. Lately, I’ve been spending a few minutes each morning juggling and relearning to ride a unicycle, both familiar activities from my youth. The activity reminds me to be present and aware of my stance, which protects me from injuries associated with repetitive motion, and helps keep me safe and sound when working with dangerous tools.
I love my salvaged, battered unicycle and antique wooden juggling pins
someone left a rose in a driftwood log
I can’t think of a better way to recalibrate after an intense week of studio woodworking than a morning of beachcombing after a string of storms. I appreciate more and more living and working so close to the shore, and find daily release and inspiration being able to take a walk, a run, or an occasional dip in the surf when the waves are rideable. I always return to the studio refreshed, having put things in perspective simply by tuning in to the flotsam of the day.
beach erosion has uncovered an old engine block
I found a great piece of wood for my first driftwood skate deck
a sea lion briefly beached itself on Doran Beach this morning as we were walking by
During our morning walk along Doran Beach, Ene and I were greeted by a friendly sea lion, who watched us from the surf before proceeding to briefly beach himself within yards of us as if to say hello. We’ve made hundreds of trips to this beach over the past few years, but have never seen this kind of behavior. Of course, this would be the one time I forgot to pack my camera- luckily, I had my trusty cell phone. As a corollary to the Murphy’s Law adage, anything that can go wrong will go wrong, I would add, be equally prepared for when things go right.
As any crafts person can attest, there are occasions in the course of making that deliver uncanny coincidences, yet we most often do not prepare for success with the same ardent fervor that we do calamity. I’m not advocating unbridled risk-taking when it comes to safety or security, but suggest making room for the little successes that share equal probability with failure.
the sea lion returns to the sea after about ten minutes of staring us down
Note: After some thought, my theory about why the sea lion would behave this way is that he thought we might have food for him, mistaking me for a Bodega Bay fisherman, whose boats the sea lions are known to trail. Bundled up in my yellow slicker and ‘Sitka sneakers’ for a chilly morning hike, with a two week beard, I kind of resemble those ‘old sea captain’ carvings (see below). I’d love to hear if anyone has had a similar encounter.
I’m beginning to make an image archive of ‘old sea captain’ carvings
With enough rainfall, Estero Americano drains to the sea, becoming seasonally tidal
My favorite chair, by far, is an ocean kayak. To unwind after an intense week of new projects, I spent a quiet afternoon idly paddling down Estero Americano, my favorite local slough, now flooded to the coast. The marshy, seasonally tidal estuary is like a living almanac of coastal California birds, evidenced by my encounters with numerous cormorant, dowitcher, egret, snipe, willet, loon, night heron, bufflehead, black skimmer and, closer to the beach, a flock of white pelican.
It’s coming up on two years since I created this site, whose first post was inspired by a paddle down the same stream. This time around, my voyage taught me less about the material provenance of my chair design, and more about the simple pleasures of sitting with nature.
The white pelican takes flight over Estero Americano
My projects always begin with sorting the pile, touching the wood
Like cooking, working with wood engages all of the senses in symphony. Touch plays a major role in the early stages of a project, especially at the scale of fitting out the interior of a new building, like the Guest House that now requires my full attention and has my workshop maxed out to capacity. The start of my New Year has me managing stacks of Deodar Cedar I’ve had custom milled and air-dried for the project, and my days have been resplendant with re-organizing and grading the raw material, which I last saw as logs about a year ago.
After delivery, I estimate I handle each piece of milled wood at least five and up to ten plus times prior to installation, and I learn a little about how best to use each stick every time it passes through my hands. In many ways, this is my favorite part of the process, the most automatic, as the material practically grades itself into distinct piles based upon my assessment of touch, which leads naturally to visual patterning. Handling each stick gives me an understanding of where it lived on the tree, its structural integrity, moisture and resin content, which all informs how the wood will age when used daily in a home. Over the years, I’ve trained my hands to be the advance guard on seeing the wood and its color and grain, and I’ve learned to trust my sense of touch over my sense of sight when grading wood.
Ultimately, the logic of grading wood by touch informs how one interacts with the finished piece. Simply put, horizontal surfaces are designed for durability and a depth of grain that gains character over time, like a familiar path; vertical surfaces are designed for daydreaming, like clouds.