allow me to introduce my shelf

In an age of mass production and standardisation, there really is not a need for handcrafted furniture. On the other hand, people are becoming newly aware of and attracted by unique, crafted objects of wood. This quest for individuality allows a client to put his or her own stamp on something exceptional.

how things are made:

When I start a new piece, there are some givens and plenty of unknowns. The givens are that I will make something of lasting integrity and that is how it is made. The joints will be real, all connections and structural elements are based in a time-honored tradition of fine joining. My "designs" in turn reflect that given. The unknown aspect of what I do, is how I will blend the knowledge of wood, and its changing properties, into a cohesive, pleasantly proportioned object. How this all unfolds is a bit more unquantifiable. Grain patterns are considered, the weight of the colour in each of the species, how each species takes certain shapes, all this has an effect on the final outcome of the object. It is not something that can be entirely sketched in precise detail prior to making; through making I am sketching, sketching with the wood by means of the various tools, chisels and hand planes that I have at my disposal.

I start with a pencil sketch, one that is approximately "to scale". I may, at times, also draw a feature down in more detail, just to see how its elements relate to the overall feel I am trying to achieve. Sometimes things get lost in trying to have the whole object figured out prior to building. Part of the journey of building is that unknown, how it is going to end. It is that mystery that keeps my focus on the piece, and the subsequent elements.

How I work:

I work alone, one piece at a time. The choice of working alone has developed out of trying it the other way, which I have found to be less effective with this type of work. This is personal work, and not knowing entirely where it is headed makes it difficult to orchestrate in a group setting. That is how production work is made, and it is suited for multiple hearts and hands to execute, but one of a kind work isn't. Something has always lacked in the pieces made with others involved. That is not to say they were bad pieces, or failed in any way, I just feel that they could have been more.

Because the mechanics are important to me, that too influences my work ethic. Knowing which elements need special attention in order to achieve the level of precision of a well-fit door or drawer, I make certain that these elements get the attention they deserve. Because I prefer to make cabinets, which have many moving parts, I focus on detail work. Well-executed detail work is not fast work by any means, and is the reason I make about 9 pieces in a years time. Having said that, I don't think that is the supreme reason for someone to place any value on my work. To reduce it to being "well made" objects is not enough for me. Any craftsman can execute well-made work, if given the freedom to take the time. It is a bit more involved than that for me. Shaker, Arts and Crafts movement, Korean, Japanese, all these "styles" had well executed designs, with wonderful construction methods. Yet I am not content in duplicating what has come before me. I appreciate it, yes, and it influences me, but there is no desire to mimic it; rather I would like to participate in it's natural progression, to find my own way, while respecting what and who came before me.

Where I work:

My studio is in an enchanted forest (my garden behind my home), in a small historic town, London, in England. The studio, which I built myself, is situated near Wandle Creek in Merton, not far from Abbey Mills Market. Archaeology has shown that the area was active even in prehistoric times. Celtic warriors were roaming Wimbledon Village long before the tennis players of today. You can find the remnants of an Iron Age hill fort to the southwest of Wimbledon Common windmill. Coins, pottery and tiles have been found at the Creek crossing. In 1881, William Morris opened a factory at Merton Abbey producing high quality goods: printed and woven fabrics, stained glass, furnishings, tapestry and carpets. Morris is famous as a founder of the Arts and Craft Movement, which rejected the mass-produced workmanship of the industrial age. His company continued trading here until 1940.

Abbey Mills was also the base for Arthur Liberty, another eminent Victorian and founder of the famous Liberty's shops. The Liberty works produced thousands of yards of hand printed silks that made Liberty a household name. Coincidentally, Netta often remarks that I take liberties.

So with various artists having lived in this community (painters, sculptors, writers, photographers, blacksmiths, musicians, builders) over the years, to me, that adds to the charm of working here. There is comfort in knowing others have carved out a living doing what they are passionate about.

As I look out my studio windows, shaded by a magnificent silver birch tree, and see our enchanted garden, this too influences my work. Again in an intangible way, but it does. When we landscaped our garden we endeavoured to interpret our dream to create a garden in which man's historic past is inundated by the encroachment of nature in the ruins of an old abbey. The planting is not structured, colours are muted and restful. Sways of grasses, ivy’s and pond plants are in harmony with cascades of water flowing into a pool. Water is indicative of emotion and life which we represented by two water/nature spirits who have taken on physical form (man and nature in harmony). Water is also energy and life force shown in our small trickling waterfall, which we spanned by a small bridge to the still pond area, reflecting different states of emotion. I wanted to build a suspension bridge but wasn’t allowed.

other thoughts:

Occasionally I have harvested some of the timber I use which affects the outcome of my work as well. The participation in that process is priceless. How can I not be affected by planking a mighty oak into timber? It truly is a humbling process, seeing these large trees, which stood for hundreds of years, finally die, and become timber. How can I assure their second life in a piece of furniture is as noble as their first? I can't, but I strive to each time. To do anything but my best, out of respect for these beautiful trees, would be a travesty. As a child, I played in and under some of the very trees that I later was given the opportunity to use. How that connection influences the work is a feeling that is difficult to put into words.

my clients:

I have always felt I am very fortunate to do what I do. I feel even more fortunate that someone else is equally interested in what I do, and how I do it, to support it. I have a wonderful group of clients and patrons that have supported me though the years. Some have bought pieces I had on hand; others commissioned me to make something for them. There is something in each one of them that is shared, I feel. There is a level of trust for the work, and for me that is very moving. It is not for everyone, this work that I produce, so the ones that do gravitate towards it, and want to be a part of it always intrigue me. They understand I don't give detailed geometric drawings, they know I don't have a clear picture of the piece until I get into it a bit, yet they have the trust and belief that something beautiful will come out of the process. They let go of the control, and allow the process to unfold. That is not something just anyone can do.