As those of you following long on social media know by now, I started offering woodworking classes in late December. I’m looking forward to getting people into my DC home studio later this month and I’m enjoying redesigning my space to better accommodate this. I’ve taught a few students in the past and I’ve really enjoyed it but it is never something I really promoted much. There are several reasons for this shift, both business and personal… So here’s 1400 words or so of me talking about some personal history in the craft and my intentions for teaching. If you want the TLDR, this is the wrong place. Skip over to the classes page for an abbreviated version.
When people ask how long I’ve been woodworking, I usually say, “pretty seriously since 2009, but I’ve been making things my whole life.” When I was about 7 or so, my dad brought home a small coping saw for me to play with. Since the saw has an easily replaceable blade and is not powered by gas or electricity, it was relatively safe by 1980s standards (this was a time when you could still buy “jarts” and smoke inside). I think he was also sick of me messing with his tools. I made a wooden toy truck for a neighbor boy who had been badly burned. Made hundreds of slingshots. Eventually, in high school, I made Rube Goldberg machines as part of an annual Science Olympiad.
This was in central NY, which is probably best understood as the northern tip of Appalachia. Though probably not geographically accurate, I would argue that socio-demographically, it is. We’re not quite the Midwest, not quite New England, too far north to be Mid-Atlantic. While there are downsides, like long cold winters with 100-200 inches of snow, and people flying the flag of the seditious losers of the South, there is a culture of hard work and respect for skills and the trades. You’re far enough away from the city and even stores with supplies that you learn how to do and fix things for yourself. People grew gardens not so much as a hobby or for entertainment but because it was practical. Same for hunting. Don’t get me wrong, Wegman’s was only 30 minute drive away; this wasn’t like a segment of the Oregon Trail. But let’s just say these folks would fare just fine in such an austere environment.
However, like many kids of my generation, I was encouraged to become a knowledge worker by going to college, honing my soft skills, and becoming flexible in a changing work environment. My dad, a mechanic, encouraged me to find a job where I didn’t have to get dirty (this comment was notably made after I came home from my night shift at the printing press, covered in paper dust and ink. It was a great job for a college kid). This was good advice and well-intentioned. I followed it and even found some success in that world. I remember distinctly driving across Washington, DC with a colleague on a warm day in June. Probably around 2007–just a few years into my government career. We were wearing suits and on our way to a briefing at the Pentagon. I looked out at the unmowed grass near the Washington Monument and thought that only a few years ago, I would have been back on my buddy’s family farm throwing the hay bales of “first cutting” and drinking Mountain Dew by the six-pack. I kinda felt like I had “made it.” Horatio Alger. American Dream. Riding the White Male Privilege train all the way to the top of the Government Bureaucracy Career Ladder.
So what happened in 2009? How/why did I get serious about woodworking at that point?
A number of things, really. A general anxiety and depression set in. I kinda felt out of sorts. Ungrounded. Despite having all the things in order (good job, good finances, good relationships, good marriage, etc.). I think a lot of people feel this at various points in life. As I stood back and reflected, I noticed that at previous times in my life I turned to making things in similar instances. When I graduated college I lived with my parents for a few months before moving to Baltimore. As the move approached, I realized I needed some bookcases and despite never having made a piece of decent furniture, I decided to build my own. When I went to graduate school, I built myself a desk for my 9X9’ bedroom in a group house. First place in DC? Built a bunch of furniture for the tiny “English Basement.” In all of these periods of tumult and change, I found myself making things. Kind of returning to my roots, in a way; roots of childhood and perhaps even more deeply, just basic human roots.
Two other important things happened around this time.
My job sent me to Israel. My assignment there was pretty demanding with long work days. But I lived in a nice hotel directly across from my office. I could cross the street and go swimming in the Med. And with the exception of a friend who happened to visit his family for about a week during my assignment, I knew no one there. My colleagues were temporary, had demanding jobs and families at home. I was in a different time zone than my friends and family back home. Facebook, back then, was still a social network and not social media. I could log on and see what the people I actually knew in real life were doing without being pulled into a vortex of short dog videos and tool porn. I could check in daily for 15-30 minutes max, not lose an evening in a dopamine fueled oblivion (#endrant).
So, I had solitude. I went on long runs along the Med. I ate almost every meal alone, many of them at restaurants overlooking the sea. I went to workout classes taught in Hebrew, which I had never studied. I walked the streets without a smartphone GPS. Solitude is a powerful thing and so is a drastic change in location.
The third factor, and perhaps the most influential, was reading Matt Crawford's Shopcraft as Soulcraft. This book helped provide me with an intellectual framework for the things I was thinking and feeling about making stuff and using my hands. It helped me better understand that for me, and probably others, making things is fundamental to being human. One of things that defines us as a species is making and fixing things, particularly with tools. That working in the physical world was a no-bullshit antidote to bizarre lives we live in an office environment. Having already recognized that my rudimentary efforts at furniture making grounded me during other periods of unease and transition, Crawford’s book hit me like a 2lb mallet (IYKYK).
When I returned from my assignment, I immediately signed up for an adult education class in an actual woodshop. While I had training and experience as a kid and in high school, I needed a refresher…and access to tools. This was really before people just started watching YouTube and teaching themselves, though I certainly benefited a ton from Marc Spagnuolo’s videos. At the time, we were renting a row house. My wife worked a lot of weekends and nights. I would set up saw horses in the living room and practice cutting joinery with a handsaw. Shop spaces have evolved a lot since then and so have my skills.
What does all of that have to do with teaching woodworking? Working with wood has brought me a lot of joy. It engages so many aspects of our humanness from artistic design, math of various sorts, building skills and using tools, engineering, and so on. Wood, as a medium, is intriguing and beautiful. Along with other varieties of making things, it is an elixir to the ills of our modern world. It is largely analog, cannot be rushed, and you get immediate and objective feedback: the table stands; the cabinet is square; the shelves are solid. Or not. And then you fix it or rebuild it. There will be no twitter debates about it. No extraordinary use of keywords on your annual review about how precise your joinery is to improve your chances of a bonus or promotion. There is a comfort in all of that and an aspect of life that many people unknowingly are missing and some perhaps never get to enjoy.
I have taken classes with many woodworkers far more talented and skilled than me. I don’t claim to be at their level; I aspire to it. However, I have 13 years of serious woodworking experience; I want to help other people enter this craft and share the joy it can bring (along with the splinters, real and metaphorical)