Don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst critic. Without exception, I
don’t feel I’ve ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone would
pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have surprised
myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write it off as a
series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments me on something
I’ve made I assume they’re just being polite and overlooking all my
mistakes.

Now I’m not egotistical - or humble enough - to think I’m the only one
who feels this way. But for convenience sake, I’ll put what follows in
the first person. I hope a few who read this will see themselves as the
“I” in this tale.

With that as the context - read on - or not.

I recently returned from reunion with a bunch of my high school
classmates. It wasn’t a class reunion per se, but rather an excuse for
getting together from all over hell (one guy spent 51 hours getting
there from Australia) and spending three days enjoying a bit of a place,
Charleston in this case, and each others company. The excuse was that
we all have made it to, or will be before year’s end, sixty.

Three things about what happened at this gathering got me thinking.
This’ll ramble a bit but may be thought provoking.

In my freshman year of high school I did a series of blackboard chalk
carvings and gave them to anyone who wanted one. One I gave to a girl
in one of my classes and apparently it was good enough, or odd enough,
to be worth keeping -for four decades - and warranted reminding me about
at the get together. “You wanted to be an artist but your parents
wanted you to be a lawyer or engineer.” I don’t recall ever really
thinking or telling anyone I wanted to be an artist. Never crossed my
mind. I drew, painted and carved things just for fun. I figured
everybody could do what I did - but chose to do something else instead.
Didn’t occur to me that you could earn a living doing that sort of thing
- earning a good living having fun. I did study Chemical Engineering
but spent my working career playing with computers in a field that
didn’t exist when I went to college.

At our 20th reunion, several of my classmates brought their kids. I was
the only “adult”, other than their parents, who spent time with them,
often sitting or laying on the floor playing “Doodles”. Put a pen or
pencil in a kids hand, have them close their eyes and scribble and
doodle on a blank piece of paper ‘til I yelled “STOP!” We’d then
examine the doodle, turning the page this way and that, looking for
something recognizable. Once something was spotted, even if it was just
a hint of an eye, nose or maybe a wing, I’d flesh out whatever it was we
found. The newly discovered artist would save their masterpiece and
want to “do it again!”. “After everyone else has had a turn you can do
another doodle.” - I’d say. To this day, one of those former kids still
tells her parents to say high to Doodles each time they depart for one
of our reunions. She’s in her late 20s or early 30s now. At the
Charleston reunion I did a cartoon for her -”The Duality of THE
Doodle-ette” - and hopefully it will bring a smile and bring back some
fond memories of at least one non-parent adult who played with kids and
really had fun doing it.

As a token of appreciation for the work my two classmates put into
making these reunions happen, I turned a pair of redwood lidded “boxes”,
with ebony finials. Each took about an hour to make and while they
looked fairly nice I didn’t think they were anything really special -
just a small acknowledgement of all their hard work.

Now one of my classmates is the acting director of operations for The
Cheetah Conservation Fund (www.cheetah.org) and is heavily involved in a
bird sanctuary and visitors center in Panama (where we grew up). There
are more species of birds there than anywhere else on the planet
apparently. They need to raise two million dollars for the first phase
of this sanctuary and a another classmate will be hosting a dinner for
800 potential major donors (read Rich People) which will include an
auction of artwork. Several very well know artists are donating works
for this auction. It was suggested that I make a few pieces for that
auction. I politely begged off - certain that my stuff isn’t in that
league. My work in the vicinity of other’s work would be like swine
before pearls. And I wouldn’t want to put a friend in the position of
having to mail me back my unsold work or worse yet, having to make a
trip to drop them off at Good Will. But several classmates who go to
mid to high end galleries regularly - and actually buy pieces - assured
me that the pieces I’d given them were as good or better than what
they’ve seen in those high priced galleries.

So now I’m faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket as it were and
never know if a piece I did helped raise some money for a good cause.
I’ve started a lidded box and have noted that I’m taking more time to do
things “just so”, finding the nice grain pattern, making the walls
thinner and more delicate, the form a lot more thought out, the fit nice
and snug but not tight etc.. And as I go I notice that what I’ve got so
far is pretty damn nice and I’m surprised I did it (though I’m certain
disaster lurks just around the corner). Maybe I CAN make stuff that’s
“good enough” to share space with nice works by other, more capable and
confident than I am, “artists”.

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?

Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?

When you’re working on a piece and everything comes together “just so”
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?

Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an “Aw shucks.” while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.

charlie b

On Mon, 04 Sep 2006 09:24:10 -0700, charlie b
wrote:

Don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst critic. Without exception, I
don’t feel I’ve ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone would
pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have surprised
myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write it off as a
series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments me on something
I’ve made I assume they’re just being polite and overlooking all my
mistakes.

I think your feelings are pretty common. After all, we made the piece,
we know where we made mistakes or where we had to cover over some flaw.

.... snip
As a token of appreciation for the work my two classmates put into
making these reunions happen, I turned a pair of redwood lidded “boxes”,
with ebony finials. Each took about an hour to make and while they
looked fairly nice I didn’t think they were anything really special -
just a small acknowledgement of all their hard work.


good for you

Now one of my classmates is the acting director of operations for The
Cheetah Conservation Fund (www.cheetah.org) and is heavily involved in a
bird sanctuary and visitors center in Panama (where we grew up). There
are more species of birds there than anywhere else on the planet
apparently. They need to raise two million dollars for the first phase
of this sanctuary and a another classmate will be hosting a dinner for
800 potential major donors (read Rich People) which will include an
auction of artwork. Several very well know artists are donating works
for this auction. It was suggested that I make a few pieces for that
auction. I politely begged off - certain that my stuff isn’t in that
league. My work in the vicinity of other’s work would be like swine
before pearls. And I wouldn’t want to put a friend in the position of
having to mail me back my unsold work or worse yet, having to make a
trip to drop them off at Good Will. But several classmates who go to
mid to high end galleries regularly - and actually buy pieces - assured
me that the pieces I’d given them were as good or better than what
they’ve seen in those high priced galleries.


Maybe you need to take a trip to some of those galleries and see for
yourself. After all, if a fairly well-made cabinet with a bent-over nail
hammered into it can be called "art", then you may be surprised at what you
see.

So now I’m faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket as it were and
never know if a piece I did helped raise some money for a good cause.
I’ve started a lidded box and have noted that I’m taking more time to do
things “just so”, finding the nice grain pattern, making the walls
thinner and more delicate, the form a lot more thought out, the fit nice
and snug but not tight etc.. And as I go I notice that what I’ve got so
far is pretty damn nice and I’m surprised I did it (though I’m certain
disaster lurks just around the corner). Maybe I CAN make stuff that’s
“good enough” to share space with nice works by other, more capable and
confident than I am, “artists”.


Apparently your friends think so

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?




Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?


Not so much gifted as very interested and see it as providing an outlet
somewhat different than my day job

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?


Of course. There's always a matter of satisfaction one feels when
everything goes together "just so" and looks like what was pictured in the
mind's eye.

When you’re working on a piece and everything comes together “just so”
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?


More thankfulness and appreciation that this has occurred rather than the
idea that a message is being sent

Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an “Aw shucks.” while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?


As I've heard one person put it, it's often too easy to do the "humble
bit" and the "humble bit" often comes across as insincere. There is
nothing wrong with gratefully and graciously accepting compliments. A
simple, "thanks, that was the look I was after" or "thanks, I'm glad you
like it" or even, "thanks, yes, it took a whole lot longer than I had
initially thought it would" is a lot more sincere and comes across better
than the "aw shucks bit".

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.

charlie b

Good, thought-provoking post


+--------------------------------------------------------------------------------+

If you're gonna be dumb, you better be tough

+--------------------------------------------------------------------------------+

Several answers interspersed within the text.

"charlie b" wrote in message
...
Don't know about you, but I'm my own worst critic. Without exception, I
don't feel I've ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone would
pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have surprised
myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write it off as a
series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments me on something
I've made I assume they're just being polite and overlooking all my
mistakes.


In a world where fewer and fewer thing are actually made by human hands,
anything that is made of natural materials (by hand) is desireable by many.
If some attention to detail and a little craftmanship is included, it
borders on a spiritual experience for many. Don't sell yourself short.


Now I'm not egotistical - or humble enough - to think I'm the only one
who feels this way. But for convenience sake, I'll put what follows in
the first person. I hope a few who read this will see themselves as the
"I" in this tale.

With that as the context - read on - or not.

I recently returned from reunion with a bunch of my high school
classmates. It wasn't a class reunion per se, but rather an excuse for
getting together from all over hell (one guy spent 51 hours getting
there from Australia) and spending three days enjoying a bit of a place,
Charleston in this case, and each others company. The excuse was that
we all have made it to, or will be before year's end, sixty.

I haven't quite made it that far. But it won't be long.


Three things about what happened at this gathering got me thinking.
This'll ramble a bit but may be thought provoking.

In my freshman year of high school I did a series of blackboard chalk
carvings and gave them to anyone who wanted one. One I gave to a girl
in one of my classes and apparently it was good enough, or odd enough,
to be worth keeping -for four decades - and warranted reminding me about
at the get together. "You wanted to be an artist but your parents
wanted you to be a lawyer or engineer." I don't recall ever really
thinking or telling anyone I wanted to be an artist. Never crossed my
mind. I drew, painted and carved things just for fun. I figured
everybody could do what I did - but chose to do something else instead.
Didn't occur to me that you could earn a living doing that sort of thing
- earning a good living having fun. I did study Chemical Engineering
but spent my working career playing with computers in a field that
didn't exist when I went to college.


There ya go Charlie. You are an artist! Certainly not the conventional
variety. But in the midth of your writings and various wood creating
endeavors there has got to be an artist lurking somewhere in that Charlie B
psyche.


At our 20th reunion, several of my classmates brought their kids. I was
the only "adult", other than their parents, who spent time with them,
often sitting or laying on the floor playing "Doodles". Put a pen or
pencil in a kids hand, have them close their eyes and scribble and
doodle on a blank piece of paper 'til I yelled "STOP!" We'd then
examine the doodle, turning the page this way and that, looking for
something recognizable. Once something was spotted, even if it was just
a hint of an eye, nose or maybe a wing, I'd flesh out whatever it was we
found. The newly discovered artist would save their masterpiece and
want to "do it again!". "After everyone else has had a turn you can do
another doodle." - I'd say. To this day, one of those former kids still
tells her parents to say high to Doodles each time they depart for one
of our reunions. She's in her late 20s or early 30s now. At the
Charleston reunion I did a cartoon for her -"The Duality of THE
Doodle-ette" - and hopefully it will bring a smile and bring back some
fond memories of at least one non-parent adult who played with kids and
really had fun doing it.


I used to make cedar hanging planters when I was a kid. The kind words of
the neighbor ladies who bought them from me for a coupldebucks are cherished
to this day. A lot of kids do not get any kind of encouragement for their
artistic attempts. Those are the iknd of experiences that deeply infuence a
child. Good on ya Charlie.


As a token of appreciation for the work my two classmates put into
making these reunions happen, I turned a pair of redwood lidded "boxes",
with ebony finials. Each took about an hour to make and while they
looked fairly nice I didn't think they were anything really special -
just a small acknowledgement of all their hard work.


My wife makes quilts. The simple, small lap quilt is always greeted with
squeals of delight. These things are not available at the store. Small,
handbuilt things are prized by many.


Now one of my classmates is the acting director of operations for The
Cheetah Conservation Fund (www.cheetah.org) and is heavily involved in a
bird sanctuary and visitors center in Panama (where we grew up). There
are more species of birds there than anywhere else on the planet
apparently. They need to raise two million dollars for the first phase
of this sanctuary and a another classmate will be hosting a dinner for
800 potential major donors (read Rich People) which will include an
auction of artwork. Several very well know artists are donating works
for this auction. It was suggested that I make a few pieces for that
auction. I politely begged off - certain that my stuff isn't in that
league. My work in the vicinity of other's work would be like swine
before pearls. And I wouldn't want to put a friend in the position of
having to mail me back my unsold work or worse yet, having to make a
trip to drop them off at Good Will. But several classmates who go to
mid to high end galleries regularly - and actually buy pieces - assured
me that the pieces I'd given them were as good or better than what
they've seen in those high priced galleries.


You are thinking like the person who makes the crafts, not the person who
buys them. There is a sense of wonder by the non artist and non
craftsperson. Part of our job is to make things that keep that healthy
sense of wonder alive in people. In a world of mass produced mediocrity,
anything you make will be a healthy alternative.


So now I'm faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket as it were and
never know if a piece I did helped raise some money for a good cause.
I've started a lidded box and have noted that I'm taking more time to do
things "just so", finding the nice grain pattern, making the walls
thinner and more delicate, the form a lot more thought out, the fit nice
and snug but not tight etc.. And as I go I notice that what I've got so
far is pretty damn nice and I'm surprised I did it (though I'm certain
disaster lurks just around the corner). Maybe I CAN make stuff that's
"good enough" to share space with nice works by other, more capable and
confident than I am, "artists".

Get over yourself Charlie.

You are an artist.

It is time to come out of the closet.



So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?


I divide all work I do into three catagories.

1) Totally functional. This could be a shop jig. Or something basic that
solves a problem. Or a job for somebody I don't paticularly like.
Appearance and finish is not important here.

2) Functional and Purty. It has to look good as well as being functional.

3) Ahht. This is totally an artistic endevour. These projects are usually
smaller, with a lot of attention to detail. Both in terms of
machining-joining and finish.
..
Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?


I think of myself as being fearless and often having to pay the price for
that personality trait.


Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?


I just appreciate the fact that I got the job done. That is good enough for
me. But there are pieces that I am fond of.

When you're working on a piece and everything comes together "just so"
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?


I am not much for giving credit to others for my good works. If a job was
done well, it is because of my creativity, hard work and perserverance. And
since I worked hard on it, the law of averages will see that I turn out an
exceptional piece now and then.

I once knew a photographer who did a lot of magazine work. He got a lot of
covers and worked with the top models and products. I asked him once what
the secret of his success was. He said it was to take a minimum of 500 shots
of each page he was working on. And often he shot many more than that. One
cover he did took over 1200 shots.


Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an "Aw shucks." while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.


I get accused of being a perfectionist a lot. I always laugh and point out
the many compromises I willing included in the project. I think it is
important to know what perfection is. Then compromise to prove that you are
truly a human being capable of enjoying life. No sense knocking yourself out
if there isn't some kinda reward for it.

charlie b

Go for it Charlie. Make some stuff. Think of it as helping out with a
worthiy cause. You helped out your friends and some birds too. There is no
downside to that.

Lee Michaels

charlie b wrote:
Don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst critic. Without exception, I
don’t feel I’ve ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone would
pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have surprised
myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write it off as a
series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments me on something
I’ve made I assume they’re just being polite and overlooking all my
mistakes.

Now I’m not egotistical - or humble enough - to think I’m the only one
who feels this way. But for convenience sake, I’ll put what follows in
the first person. I hope a few who read this will see themselves as the
“I” in this tale.

With that as the context - read on - or not.

I recently returned from reunion with a bunch of my high school
classmates. It wasn’t a class reunion per se, but rather an excuse for
getting together from all over hell (one guy spent 51 hours getting
there from Australia) and spending three days enjoying a bit of a place,
Charleston in this case, and each others company. The excuse was that
we all have made it to, or will be before year’s end, sixty.

Three things about what happened at this gathering got me thinking.
This’ll ramble a bit but may be thought provoking.

In my freshman year of high school I did a series of blackboard chalk
carvings and gave them to anyone who wanted one. One I gave to a girl
in one of my classes and apparently it was good enough, or odd enough,
to be worth keeping -for four decades - and warranted reminding me about
at the get together. “You wanted to be an artist but your parents
wanted you to be a lawyer or engineer.” I don’t recall ever really
thinking or telling anyone I wanted to be an artist. Never crossed my
mind. I drew, painted and carved things just for fun. I figured
everybody could do what I did - but chose to do something else instead.
Didn’t occur to me that you could earn a living doing that sort of thing
- earning a good living having fun. I did study Chemical Engineering
but spent my working career playing with computers in a field that
didn’t exist when I went to college.

At our 20th reunion, several of my classmates brought their kids. I was
the only “adult”, other than their parents, who spent time with them,
often sitting or laying on the floor playing “Doodles”. Put a pen or
pencil in a kids hand, have them close their eyes and scribble and
doodle on a blank piece of paper ‘til I yelled “STOP!” We’d then
examine the doodle, turning the page this way and that, looking for
something recognizable. Once something was spotted, even if it was just
a hint of an eye, nose or maybe a wing, I’d flesh out whatever it was we
found. The newly discovered artist would save their masterpiece and
want to “do it again!”. “After everyone else has had a turn you can do
another doodle.” - I’d say. To this day, one of those former kids still
tells her parents to say high to Doodles each time they depart for one
of our reunions. She’s in her late 20s or early 30s now. At the
Charleston reunion I did a cartoon for her -”The Duality of THE
Doodle-ette” - and hopefully it will bring a smile and bring back some
fond memories of at least one non-parent adult who played with kids and
really had fun doing it.

As a token of appreciation for the work my two classmates put into
making these reunions happen, I turned a pair of redwood lidded “boxes”,
with ebony finials. Each took about an hour to make and while they
looked fairly nice I didn’t think they were anything really special -
just a small acknowledgement of all their hard work.

Now one of my classmates is the acting director of operations for The
Cheetah Conservation Fund (www.cheetah.org) and is heavily involved in a
bird sanctuary and visitors center in Panama (where we grew up). There
are more species of birds there than anywhere else on the planet
apparently. They need to raise two million dollars for the first phase
of this sanctuary and a another classmate will be hosting a dinner for
800 potential major donors (read Rich People) which will include an
auction of artwork. Several very well know artists are donating works
for this auction. It was suggested that I make a few pieces for that
auction. I politely begged off - certain that my stuff isn’t in that
league. My work in the vicinity of other’s work would be like swine
before pearls. And I wouldn’t want to put a friend in the position of
having to mail me back my unsold work or worse yet, having to make a
trip to drop them off at Good Will. But several classmates who go to
mid to high end galleries regularly - and actually buy pieces - assured
me that the pieces I’d given them were as good or better than what
they’ve seen in those high priced galleries.

So now I’m faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket as it were and
never know if a piece I did helped raise some money for a good cause.
I’ve started a lidded box and have noted that I’m taking more time to do
things “just so”, finding the nice grain pattern, making the walls
thinner and more delicate, the form a lot more thought out, the fit nice
and snug but not tight etc.. And as I go I notice that what I’ve got so
far is pretty damn nice and I’m surprised I did it (though I’m certain
disaster lurks just around the corner). Maybe I CAN make stuff that’s
“good enough” to share space with nice works by other, more capable and
confident than I am, “artists”.

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?

Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?

When you’re working on a piece and everything comes together “just so”
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?

Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an “Aw shucks.” while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.

charlie b

I think I'm going to simply ramble as well, rather than answer parag. by
parag.

I don't think everyone is their own worst critic; there are
self-delusionals who insist to everyone, including themselves, that
they've produced the best that anyone can. For the rest of us, I think
we're quite critical of our own work, and see imperfections that no one
else could find. Or the imperfections that others can see are much
bigger in our own eyes.

And there are two (or more) schools of thought when presenting this
"imperfect" thing to someone else for feedback on how it affects them.
In some ways, we never know how good a thing is. Sure, we can look at
the joinery and say "Alright it's nearly as good as anyone else's", or
we can look at the finish and be very satisfied with it. And if we're
building for only ourselves, then it's a moot point whether that's the
truth or not, because in our minds it's great. But to look at an entire
piece, and critically evaluate it objectively - well, that is nigh
impossible because it's not an objective situation. That's where you
need someone whose opinion you value to give a truer impression of what
it really is, what it stands for and how "good" it is. "Good" is in
quotes because that too is subjective. Unfortunately this is a vicious
circle, but we spiral out the more opinions we get.

Charlie, you got opinions from a few people and I'll assume they are
people who mean something to you, and people who would be honest enough
to tell you what they really think. If that's the case, and they weren't
trying to snow you, then you've at least impressed those people. Which
means your work is probably very good. I agree with another poster about
the "Aw shucks" response. I'd be beaming and very grateful that someone
said that to me.

Last winter, SWMBO asked me to fix up a doll bed she'd bought at some
craft fair. It was slapped together and sold for $20. I yanked it apart
and put it together a bit more sturdily and gave it back to her as a
gift for her grandaughter. SWMBO came back and asked if I could build
more, which I did. She added a lot of fabric and sewed gusses an
truffles and a bunch of other stuff on them to make them look very nice.
Nieces and others got a few of these things. Eventually the local
craft store got hold of them and sold them for an exorbitant amount of
money. I felt the same as you - this is really not that good. (In truth
it wasn't. I'm a beginner, and the work was rudimentary.) But a lot of
people were thrilled with these things for the simple reason that we
both put a lot of time and effort into them.

Go ahead. Make the pieces for the auction. If you put as much effort
into them as you do with the thought-provoking posts that you put in
here, your work will make them a ton of money. If the mystery of whether
or not they sold is bothering you, insist up-front that you find out for
sure what happens to your pieces. My guess is that they'll sell and for
much more than you would have charged if you were in that business.

"Art is in the eye of..." In some ways you aren't that beholder. You're
the guy who made it, and with all due respect, your opinion doesn't
count that much if you're making it for someone else. That someone else
is the beholder.

Make the pieces. Post them on the web. Revel in the feelings that
someone thought enough of your work to ask you to make them in the first
place.

Tanus

--
This is not really a sig.

On Mon, 04 Sep 2006 09:24:10 -0700, charlie b
wrote:

So now I’m faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket

I'm in sort of a similar situation. While I've been selling stuff for
a while I keep getting told that I should be in the League of NH
Craftsmen, for which you have to go through a jury process. I've been
told this by family and friends, and the owner of the craft store
where I have some of my stuff. But it's one thing to hear it from
friends and another to go into a room of woodworkers and have them
*look for things wrong with your stuff*. I've read the technical
guidelines at:

http://www.nhcrafts.org/forms/MediaGuides/Wood.pdf

And I go, "Ack!" "Urk! "Eep!" and various other noises as I read
through it.

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?

I'm still very much learning and expanding my capabilities, and I'm
generally pretty conservative about adding new skills. When I do
something special that tends to go out the window and I'll go further
outside the bounds I set for myself, usually with good results,
interspersed with moments of cursing and frantic pounding and
clamping.

Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

Nope.

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?

Sure. When I've finished something that turns out well I'll catch
myself just sort of hanging around looking at it for a little too
long.

When you’re working on a piece and everything comes together “just so”
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?

I'll let you know when it happens.


-Leuf

"Lee Michaels" wrote in message

I once knew a photographer who did a lot of magazine work. He got a lot of
covers and worked with the top models and products. I asked him once what
the secret of his success was. He said it was to take a minimum of 500
shots
of each page he was working on. And often he shot many more than that.
One
cover he did took over 1200 shots.

When I was a kid in S. Louisiana hunting ducks and geese we called that the
"more lead in the air, the more meat in the pot" principle.

--
www.e-woodshop.net
Last update: 8/29/06

Charlie
Being your own critic makes you reach for better next time. It can also stop
you from seeing what is right in the midst of a little wrong. Rembrandt was
not perfect, just more right than wrong. Put the pieces in the
exhibition/auction. The worst you have done is support a friend in a worthy
cause. Besides, except for the nerves, these things are fun.
______
God bless and safe turning
Darrell Feltmate
Truro, NS, Canada
www.aroundthewoods.com
"charlie b" wrote in message
...
Don't know about you, but I'm my own worst critic. Without exception, I
don't feel I've ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone would
pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have surprised
myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write it off as a
series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments me on something
I've made I assume they're just being polite and overlooking all my
mistakes.

Now I'm not egotistical - or humble enough - to think I'm the only one
who feels this way. But for convenience sake, I'll put what follows in
the first person. I hope a few who read this will see themselves as the
"I" in this tale.

With that as the context - read on - or not.

I recently returned from reunion with a bunch of my high school
classmates. It wasn't a class reunion per se, but rather an excuse for
getting together from all over hell (one guy spent 51 hours getting
there from Australia) and spending three days enjoying a bit of a place,
Charleston in this case, and each others company. The excuse was that
we all have made it to, or will be before year's end, sixty.

Three things about what happened at this gathering got me thinking.
This'll ramble a bit but may be thought provoking.

In my freshman year of high school I did a series of blackboard chalk
carvings and gave them to anyone who wanted one. One I gave to a girl
in one of my classes and apparently it was good enough, or odd enough,
to be worth keeping -for four decades - and warranted reminding me about
at the get together. "You wanted to be an artist but your parents
wanted you to be a lawyer or engineer." I don't recall ever really
thinking or telling anyone I wanted to be an artist. Never crossed my
mind. I drew, painted and carved things just for fun. I figured
everybody could do what I did - but chose to do something else instead.
Didn't occur to me that you could earn a living doing that sort of thing
- earning a good living having fun. I did study Chemical Engineering
but spent my working career playing with computers in a field that
didn't exist when I went to college.

At our 20th reunion, several of my classmates brought their kids. I was
the only "adult", other than their parents, who spent time with them,
often sitting or laying on the floor playing "Doodles". Put a pen or
pencil in a kids hand, have them close their eyes and scribble and
doodle on a blank piece of paper 'til I yelled "STOP!" We'd then
examine the doodle, turning the page this way and that, looking for
something recognizable. Once something was spotted, even if it was just
a hint of an eye, nose or maybe a wing, I'd flesh out whatever it was we
found. The newly discovered artist would save their masterpiece and
want to "do it again!". "After everyone else has had a turn you can do
another doodle." - I'd say. To this day, one of those former kids still
tells her parents to say high to Doodles each time they depart for one
of our reunions. She's in her late 20s or early 30s now. At the
Charleston reunion I did a cartoon for her -"The Duality of THE
Doodle-ette" - and hopefully it will bring a smile and bring back some
fond memories of at least one non-parent adult who played with kids and
really had fun doing it.

As a token of appreciation for the work my two classmates put into
making these reunions happen, I turned a pair of redwood lidded "boxes",
with ebony finials. Each took about an hour to make and while they
looked fairly nice I didn't think they were anything really special -
just a small acknowledgement of all their hard work.

Now one of my classmates is the acting director of operations for The
Cheetah Conservation Fund (www.cheetah.org) and is heavily involved in a
bird sanctuary and visitors center in Panama (where we grew up). There
are more species of birds there than anywhere else on the planet
apparently. They need to raise two million dollars for the first phase
of this sanctuary and a another classmate will be hosting a dinner for
800 potential major donors (read Rich People) which will include an
auction of artwork. Several very well know artists are donating works
for this auction. It was suggested that I make a few pieces for that
auction. I politely begged off - certain that my stuff isn't in that
league. My work in the vicinity of other's work would be like swine
before pearls. And I wouldn't want to put a friend in the position of
having to mail me back my unsold work or worse yet, having to make a
trip to drop them off at Good Will. But several classmates who go to
mid to high end galleries regularly - and actually buy pieces - assured
me that the pieces I'd given them were as good or better than what
they've seen in those high priced galleries.

So now I'm faced with a quandry. Make and donate a few pieces and see
what happens - or just keep my light under the basket as it were and
never know if a piece I did helped raise some money for a good cause.
I've started a lidded box and have noted that I'm taking more time to do
things "just so", finding the nice grain pattern, making the walls
thinner and more delicate, the form a lot more thought out, the fit nice
and snug but not tight etc.. And as I go I notice that what I've got so
far is pretty damn nice and I'm surprised I did it (though I'm certain
disaster lurks just around the corner). Maybe I CAN make stuff that's
"good enough" to share space with nice works by other, more capable and
confident than I am, "artists".

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?

Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?

When you're working on a piece and everything comes together "just so"
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?

Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an "Aw shucks." while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.

charlie b

Charlie,

Good, lay-it-on-your-sleeve thoughts and the responses are great to read as
well.

I'll add that I look to my work as a legacy. A gift to someone that has my
heart in it has a value that a monetary gift would never match. It's
potential to last well beyond my few years left is inspiring. Hopefully, it
will reflect my values including workmanship.

I hope that my love of wood produces an embellishment that increases or
awakens the appreciation of a basic natural material. A collaboration of
God's work with my talents and efforts. The wood being center stage with me
being a good supporting actor trying to make the star look better. The
critic's review being mine and did I do my best. As a work in progress
whatever stage I'm at is OK and just this step to the next step.

And if those results could then multiply through a charitable exercise then
life is good.

TomNie

charlie b wrote:

From Charlie B
[snip]

So here are my questions:

When you do a special piece, do you work at a higher level than you
thought you were capable of - and often surprise yourself - in a good
way?

Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

Do you, or will you, allow yourself a self pat on the back for a job
well done - even just once in a while?

When you’re working on a piece and everything comes together “just so”
do you accept the fact that the universe / God or whatever is trying to
tell you something?

Humility is a good trait. Some self deprecating humor is too. But if
you have a gift why not use it - to its fullest - and take any
compliments with a shy grin and an “Aw shucks.” while counting - and
using - your blessing(s) / gift(s)?

Attaining perfection is impossible - but a good goal to shoot for.

Just something to think about - or not.

charlie b
Ah Charlie, you have insight. As background, our village has a thrice
annual "Artisan's Walk" where local artists display and hopefully sell
their stuff. It can be frustrating. A wall hanging out of eucalyptus
crotch wood (firewood) and two pull toy ducks (fir and Ipe) never sold.
Then I dug out a sketch of a squirrel feeder made from 6' cedar
fencing and a glass pickle jar. I made one and it was stone ugly -
never sell says I. Guess what, gone in the first ten minutes. Now I
have to keep making these because if I run out, customers are
disappointed. Grumble. To answer your questions:

When doing a special piece, I don't think I elevate my work level very
much. I am capable, however, of slap-dashing something together. And
no, I don't think I am especially gifted, although most of my pieces are
self designed.

I will give myself a pat on the back on occasion. When everything comes
together, I think it is some combination of inspiration, perspiration,
and just plain cussed stubbornness (gonna get this right or know the
reason why).

I am a people person. I have always made sure that kudos and blame were
placed in the proper place, even if I was the subject. Kudos in public,
blame in private, usually.

Well I have written more that I usually do, so I'll give you folks a break.

mahalo,
jo4hn

charlie b wrote in
:

Don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst critic. Without exception,
I don’t feel I’ve ever made anything out of wood I thought anyone
would pay any money for, let alone a real chunk of change. I have
surprised myself occassionally (my workbench for example) but I write
it off as a series of lucky accidents. And when someone compliments
me on something I’ve made I assume they’re just being polite and
overlooking all my mistakes.

snip
Do you think of yourself as being gifted when it comes to woodworking?

more snip

Sometimes, the passage of time helps a lot. Yesterday, I put a
headboard that I built three or four years ago into my son's apartment,
and saw again some nightstands I had built for his wife a couple of
years ago. And I was impressed that the hack that had built those
pieces was a pretty decent builder. Fairly nice stuff.

Seems we are often perfectionists, with regard to our own pieces. And
sometimes, not sufficiently patient, either. The headboard took forever
for the finish (semi-experimental on my part) to cure, and the
nightstands got moved about for months, as I redesigned them over and
over and over. I was pretty tired of looking at them by the time I
rushed them out of the shop, so I could start on another project. But
they look pretty good now.

I have a talent for the design, and the shaping and the finishing of
wood, and maybe other materials. But I lack patience, a key ingredient.
The woodlathe is a fun tool, because the nature of the project is often
determined in a matter of a few hours, and I can either toss it in the
burn barrel, or bring it quickly to a finished state. And only keep the
winners.

That's one of the beauties of the world in which we live. There are all
kinds. Much of what is prized to others is just stuff to you and me,
which we can do without as we progress towards the ends of our lives
here. But those little redwood boxes, with grain matched lids and ebony
finials will often be of great interest to someone else, admiring the
experienced eye that found that in a chunk of recycled 4x4.

Do another dozen, and toss the firewood.

We know where the artist lives.

Patriarch