The following is an article I wrote for a publication called Fodderwing, published by IM Press, in Takoma Park, Md.  The magazine contains a variety of short stories, and some poetry.  This particular issue is emblazoned with color photos of my turned wood on both the front and back covers, with more pictures accompanying the article.  I have a supply of this issue, available to the discriminating turned wood fancier, for the never-before-considered rate of four American dollars.

"The Good in Wood"

The water-logged, barnacle-covered, off-center piece of driftwood careened off the lathe (at 1200 rpm), glancing off my head, taking parts of my face and brain on its way into the far wall. I remember thinking, "Good, that was a part of my brain I wasn’t using." Then I looked at the clock on my dresser next to the bed: 3:09 a.m. Whew! A nightmare! (I should have realized that immediately – only an idiot, even in his dreams, would mount something on a lathe that was water-logged.)

I’d had ‘lathe on the brain’ lately. I just finished a weekend craft show, had a two day midweek show coming up, then I’d be out of town for a week. I was using whatever spare time I could to increase my inventory.

Several years ago I’d never have dreamed being busy with an income-producing craft/art hobby. That was when I was adding ‘lathe’ to the end of my Christmas list (our family traditionally makes lists for each other – it saves the aggravation of shopping that many men of the male/guy/masculine persuasion suffer). One year I wasn’t predisposed towards making such a list. So, I just put down ‘lathe’. Of all things, my wife bought me one! At the time I viewed it as a ‘fun’ machine, on which to make some whimsical things. Had I known my future involvement with this fascinating tool, I’d have bought myself one years earlier.

For the under-initiated, a lathe is an instrument to which you can attach a piece of wood and give it a whirl. Belt driven by a motor, it causes the wood to spin wildly. In fact, that’s part of the initiation process. In short order, one learns to appreciate rapid spinning, much more than wild spinning. By applying a sharp tool to the wood, while it is rapidly spinning, usually anywhere from a couple hundred rpm to 3-4,000 rpm, the wood can be shaped into myriad designs.

BEGINNINGS

I started out turning sticks. Into smaller sticks. Then I went for size, turning a door stop out of a medium size locust branch, 3 ½ inches in diameter, and 16 inches tall. The door stop is still as functional today as the day I turned it, and well denotes the progression of quality that has taken place since. As I practiced my craft, I showed the finished pieces to my wife, and received the obligatory "Ooohh, that’s nice", "Mm-hmmm", and "Yeah", it occurred to me that I would need to do something with this stuff. In spite of its usefulness, appearance, or any other criteria for adding it to my holdings, it was taking up space. And some of that was my space. I definitely had to do something.

It was then that I discovered art and craft shows. These are the epitome of the free enterprise system. They allow folks to display anything from cheap mass-produced trinkets to gallery-quality collectibles, in the hopes of selling them to other folks. I attended a show at a local high school for $25. This entry/booth rental fee, which can range to over $1,000, usually (but not always) defines the quality of the merchandise. I took my entire inventory, and spread it out on a table, spacing it carefully, to give it a ‘busier’ appearance. And I made $32.50! Well, actually, I made $7.50. Okay, if you apply generally accepted accounting principles, figure labor, mileage, supplies, overhead, tools, pro-rated cost of benefits, and all those other things that they could just shut up about, it only cost me $150 for the day. But it did prove to me that, if nothing more, this hobby might pay for itself – if I could improve my product.

FINISHINGS

In my infantile wood-turning stage, I was pleased to wind up with something that was round, and still in one piece. If its general appearance matched what I intended it to be, that was a pleasing bonus. (I occasionally had to change my intentions mid-stream.) Later, I thought I was finished with a piece when I sanded it smooth with a piece of 220 grit sandpaper that had been lying around for a decade or so. When that ran out, local hardware stores supplied ‘fine’ sandpaper. But further delving into the subject of smooooth yielded 600, 800, 1000 and even 1200 grit sandpaper. I now have ‘micro-mesh’, which starts at 1500 grit and works its way up to 12,000, which is not quite as rough as that scourge called facial tissues. We’re talking smoooooooooth, now.

And there are many different techniques for sanding turned objects. My goal is to show the beauty of the wood. Any time you sand wood, you’re likely going to have multiple sanding marks, those tiny little scratches that, left in place, denote amateurism. The secret is to use gradually finer grit sandpaper, so as to remove those ugly scars. But, even this isn’t fully effective, if you sand in the same manner while the wood is turning in the same direction. So, a reversing motor comes in handy. So does hand sanding, while the lathe is turned off, moving the sandpaper back and forth on the piece. Then, when the lathe is turned on, the next finer grit smoothes out the horizontal (axis-to-axis) marks, while the piece is rotating. Steel wool (size 0000) is a fine supplement to sanding paraphernalia, and is quite useful, particularly when the only remaining option is the use of ‘elbow grease’. The bane of sanding perfection is that pernicious end grain. Trying to make a mirror surface on all those tiny stubs that have to end somewhere (on the surface of that finely turned piece) is a challenge. But it is achieved exactly the same way as you get to Carnegie Hall (practice, practice, practice).

One would think that, whatever sanding marks might remain after one tires of interminable sanding, would be made invisible by applying a finish. Experience, being the fine teacher that it is, proves otherwise. Those perfectly symmetrical scratches are exposed, even high-lighted by the finish. So, of course, you must now sand off the finish, and begin again. This is the origin of the term ‘start from scratch’.

Eventually, sharp tools and practiced sanding techniques yields a suitable end result. Now, what finish do I apply? I like to mix my own French polish. There are dozens of recipes. The one I currently use is 1/3 boiled linseed oil, 1/3 white shellac, and 1/3 turpentine. These ingredients do not naturally blend with each other. I combine them in a squirt bottle, then, while the lathe is spinning, vigorously shake the contents, squirt some on a soft cloth and apply it to the piece. The turpentine coats the piece, the oil fills the pores, and the shellac hardens the mixture, so that the surface is smooth, dry, and finished, all at once. I find this a handy, and quick, method to give a nice appearance to most smaller items. There are countless brand name finishes that can be applied by brush, spray, dipping, or wiping. Most give specific instructions, which most people ignore, right up to the question, "What went wrong?" It is invaluable to talk with an experienced user of a product, before buying it, much less using it. One such conversation convinced me to try Antique Oil. It is applied with a lint-free cloth, then left to dry. It fills in all pores, and dries hard. Invariably, some ‘globs’ set up. These must be carefully scraped smooth by a sharp knife’s edge. Then the 0000 steel wool is used to even out any surface irregularities. Then, this process is executed twice more. This may take a three day period, or perhaps a week. After the Antique Oil has done its job, Paste Wax is applied, using a small cloth, to the entire piece. It’s ideal to do this about three times, over as many days. After applying each coat, the piece is buffed with a soft cloth. By now, the piece has a high luster, a glass-smooth surface, and will stand up to most elements, including children with cotton-candy-covered fingers. It is ready for public display.

Danish oil, teak oil, mineral oil, tung oil and even a product called salad bowl finish are also useful in completing turned wood projects. Most of these ‘oils’ are so diluted by commercialism, that it’s nearly impossible to find the ‘real ones’. There is also a hard compound made from carnauba wax and diatomaceous earth, which is applied to the spinning piece, after which a piece of terry cloth is held against the piece. The heat generated by the friction bonds the residue to the piece, and produces an adequate finish. It won’t stand up to water, but then, unless you’ve set your turned bowl on that high-boy in the living room to impress company, it doesn’t need to interact with water, does it?

WOODS

All this presupposes that any old hunk of wood, thrown close enough to a lathe, will supernaturally result in a gallery-quality finished piece. That is almost true, but impractical. Pressure-treated lumber will always look like pressure-treated lumber. And a fence post with nails in it will always ruin your sharp tools.

My favorite turning pieces are those with imperfections: knots, knot holes, bark inclusions, burls, and wood-borer tunnels. I find wood with color variations quite attractive. Box elder, a member of the maple family, is one of my favorite mediums. Brilliant red streaks are found in the heartwood of the female (not male, and yes, there is a difference) trees, and make attractive turnings. Since I have a neighbor with box elder limbs that demand occasional trimming, supply is not a problem.

Through an innate bargain-hunting sense, I keep my eyes open for opportunities to obtain free ‘inventory’. (Of course, there is no such thing. Time and/or effort are always involved, whether or not money is.) I have received a great variety from some of my customers, including cherry, walnut, locust, orchard trimmings, dogwood, sassafras, oak, plum burls, holly, and osage orange -- the tree that produces those grapefruit-size green things you see along the road in the autumn. The wood is very hard, like locust, has distinct color differences between the sapwood and the heartwood, like locust, but is ‘oranger’ than locust. Walnut can produce some truly distinctive turnings. Most people, who are familiar with walnut furniture, are unaware that walnut has nearly white sapwood. Woodturning bliss is finding a walnut burl, with some sapwood, a knothole, and maybe some spalting.

Now that the subject has come up, spalting is the name for black streaks that run randomly through some wood. It is produced by micro-organisms that grow in the wood when it is dead, and in a damp environment (like on a forest floor). When the wood dries, the organisms die. But, their residue produces magnificent art, which is exposed when the wood is turned. Spalting is more prevalent in some woods, such as holly, oak, walnut, birch and maple, rather than others. The trick with taking advantage of spalting is to get to the wood before it turns ‘punky’. After that, the wood is unstable, tends to chip apart, even when turned using properly sharpened tools, and is very porous, making it difficult to sand, and nearly impossible to finish with any glossy appearance whatsoever. I turned a dogwood stump a couple of years ago. It had more empty space than wood, but the solid portion had beautiful spalting and swirled grain. However, it was ‘punky’. (There’s that word again – it means cork-like, unstable, and capable of breaking apart when mounted on a lathe.) I turned it to about an inch and a half thickness, then set it aside for several months. Then I located a substance, similar to turpentine, which saturates wood, then hardens. I used the whole can on this piece, then turned it to about ¾ of an inch thickness. I wasn’t nearly as thrilled with the finished piece as I had expected to be, so I screwed it onto the top of a stump at my driveway entrance, and it has become a popular resting stop for robins.

A couple of years ago, a reproduction of the Kalmar Nyckel, the ship that brought the first Swedes to America in 1638, was being built in Wilmington, Delaware. By the time I got there to help ‘discard the refuse’, I found a six foot pile of discarded pieces left over after precision milling. I was able to obtain a large quantity of purple heart, green heart, hackmatack root, sapodilla, and some that I haven’t even identified. Most of this wood comes from South America. I’m sure most of it was procured for its specific qualities in today’s ship, since I doubt that very much wood was imported by the Swedes from South America in 1638. The purple heart was used to make the rudder. It is so named because it is, in fact, purple. Though most of this particular supply of wood is ‘featureless’ (it was acquired for qualities other than its appearance), it does have one characteristic that distinguishes it from the wood I gather locally: it is kiln dried. This means it is ready for turning, since it has already been relieved of natural stresses. It won’t split, or crack, or warp. Usually. This is a time saver, if a finished turning is demanded, immediately, and the several-month natural drying time of ‘back yard treasures’ is out of the question.

When I collect wood, it is usually in its natural state, meaning, it is the actual branch, or stump, or section of log. It still has bark on it. And it often has some peculiarity, which drew my attention to it. This could be a burl, spalting, a desirable grain pattern, or simply a species of wood I’ve been looking for. Boxwood is exceptionally fascinating. It has beautiful pale yellow grain, which runs in myriad directions, and is filled with tiny knots and eyes.

We were in Williamsburg, Virginia recently, I saw a large boxwood branch lying in the back yard of a private home. It had either been trimmed, or had broken off in a winter ice storm. Internally, I whined, like the family dog chained to the clothes line. I could have knocked on the door, and asked them if they’d object to my removing some of their refuse. I could have trimmed the branches off with the ax being used by the colonial craftsman on the next block, who was trimming lath, with which to plaster a renovation. I could have used it as a walking stick, as we hurried to the bus, in the wind and drizzle. I could have hoped that it wouldn’t make us too late to catch the bus, to take us to the car, to take us to an engagement for which we had ‘just enough time’. But, being the gentleman that I am, I pressed onward, right after my wife glanced at me, out of the corner of her eye, identified my dilemma, and emphatically said, "No." It may surprise you, but most of my successful wood-gathering excursions are done without the benefit of company.

I have a supply of cedar, most of which was trimmed from trees in the local cemetery. For that reason, and in spite of the fact that it is now lifeless, I call it dead wood. Some people, who don’t listen to conversation carefully, unwittingly invite me to tell them that twice, or more. (Or, maybe they are just overly polite.) It has beautiful grain, often with a multitude of eyes, and has heartwood the color of the ‘mountains majesty’ on a summer night. It is common throughout most of the U. S., but isn’t very popular as a turning wood. It has a tendency to crack, if turned to thin dimensions.

One of my wood sources is the local landfill – the area for grass clippings and branches trimmed from trees in residential back yards. You would not believe what people throw out. I can usually recognize the species found there, but I do have some inventory that has thus far escaped identification. One day I picked up a firewood-size chunk of spalted beech. It yielded a series of exquisite bowls. Why did someone toss just one chunk of wood away? Why cut it to firewood size? Where’s the rest of the tree? Why did they chop it down, to begin with? Didn’t they like it? Why didn’t they call me first? These are questions.

OBJECTS

You may be thinking that bowls are the extent of turned wood. You know you’re wrong, but the range of lathe art may surprise you. I’m constantly receiving catalogues from suppliers of lathe-related paraphernalia. And every one of them has numerous kits, parts, blanks, and/or attachments for turned objects. Some of the more unusual ones are hummingbird feeders, golf ball markers and diggers, sixty-minute hourglasses, fifty year calendars, coffee grinders, laser pointers, toothpick holders, perfume pens, whistles, flashlights, and bracelet helpers (for some reason some people think these are roach clips, whatever they are). These are relatively small items, except for the hour glass and coffee grinder, which, when nicely turned, are useful, and highly marketable at local art/craft shows. Of course, pens are a staple. Countless styles include twist pens/pencils, click pens/pencils, cigar (named because of their shape) pens, rollerball pens, fountain pens, mini-pens, and European and American style pens. The latter were known as Mont Blanc-style and Parker-style pens, but pressure from legal authorities motivated the turning community to adopt more generic names. Pens are always popular items, and are appreciated equally by both sexes, as gifts. The fact that they are also useful is just a valuable added benefit. I recently turned a Parker Duofold-style pen (which obviously isn’t the case, due to the aforementioned legal questions, so it is a ‘secret-top’ pen, with an as-yet-undetermined generic name) out of Thuya Burr. This is an underground burl that grows in North Africa. It has a distinctive aroma, not unlike Winter Savory. So, when you write with this pen, the memory of it will remain with you long after the occasion.

I suppose my ‘turned inventory’ is equally divided between small pocket-size items, and larger ones. This allows my creative juices to get exercised. The larger pieces often permit a wide range of shapes and dimensions, since they usually don’t need to fit into some other piece. The smaller pieces are often defined by the parts that come with them. The pocket clip on a pen, for instance, will be useless if the upper part of the pen is turned too large. If the pen is turned too short, the insert won’t retract. And, of course, if you try to fit part of a pen into part of a flashlight, for instance, you won’t be able to see, or write. Even with these restrictions, there is some latitude for artistry. For instance, I usually create a scooped out indentation on my pens, where your fingers guide the pen. This makes it a little more comfortable to hold, individualizes the pen, and defines the difference between mine and assembly-line pens you may see from The Eastern Hemisphere. I don’t imagine this feature has enough significance to make pens "my signature product", but I think it adds value to them.

The universally innate need for acceptance is fulfilled, in my case, by a challenge presented by nature. I utilize a tree component by embellishing it; by changing its appearance; by redefining its characteristics; or even by simply exposing it, so that natural wood is turned into a radiant object. My art is four-dimensional: Its height, width, and breadth is further defined by its relational connection to its beholder. If these objects serve a functional purpose, hold your evening salad, stir your cheese fondue, or write your letter, that is entirely satisfactory to me. If you set my work on the mantel, or hang it from a peg on the wall, never to use the object in its functional sense, just to admire its beauty, then I’m just as pleased. Wide public acceptance is further confirmation of what I already know. It is gratifying to see the evidence of this confirmation, when I see others appreciating my work, now in their possession.

Over the years, I’ve confirmed a widely-held theory: the more one learns about a subject, the more one realizes there is to learn. And the more I turn, the more I realize I haven’t yet turned. (There’s a poem in there, somewhere.) The paucity of turned wood products in craft shops in the U.S. (the British are far ahead of us in this area) is no indication of the number of excellent American wood turners there are. Many of them are doing such phenomenally delicate work, it tests my imagination, let alone my potential skill to match it. There is a huge market in this country for lathe artwork. In fact, we are merely on the threshold of this burgeoning form of art. Thankfully, wood-turning is a very enjoyable past time to me. So I always look forward to every sliver of time I can invest in my workshop. Perhaps my turnings will impact the market to some minute degree. In fact, several venues have displayed my work, so I suppose you could say my work has evolved from hobby to craft to art. If a customer especially cherishes something I’ve created…enough to buy it…neither one of us is particularly influenced by the market. We’ve each simply satisfied a need: to create, or to own, a treasure of unique value.