A Rant against Mediocrity

Anyone who has even been slightly paying attention to my blog posts will have noted by now that I like highly ornamental and decorative designs and do not shy away from the intricate or complex. I once designed something for a client, and when I presented the drawing, got the comment of "that is not going to be easy, is it?"to which I replied, "I do not do 'easy', If it was easy, it would be someone else's job." I enjoy the challenges that complex designs provide, and find making simple things extremely boring and uninteresting.

An early 19th century "Pietre Dure" table in the national Gallery, Washington
Made before people wanted everything "easy" to do
(own photo)

Part of my work involves coordinating tasks with other contractors to do work that I do not have time to do, or is outside of the scope of what I am proficient in accomplishing. In that vein, I was trying to work with three contractors this past week for the tasks of upholstery, painting, and marble work. All three had the same basic paraphrased complaint against what I wanted them to do. "That is too complicated, why can't you come up with a design which is easier?" They did not want to do the work I was asking for because it would take some actual thought and time (which they would be getting paid for) to complete. They would much rather do something simple and straight-forward; get done and get paid. Getting done seems to be the main goal of the modern contractor, with no enjoyment of the process of doing.

This reminded me of my college days studying interior design. At that time I realised why most modern architecture was so boring, In those days everything was still drawn on a draughting table with pencil, pen, triangle and parallel ruler. As a result, everyone wanted to do the simplest design they could get away with. once, we all had one project which involved drawing several walls all in brick, all of my classmates griped and complained endlessly about how long it took to do. Many of them tried to come up with methods to avoid drawing the bricks altogether, such as using a plastic brick template which would imprint the pattern onto the parchment, or drawing a grid instead of a running bond, both with horrible results. Draughting itself is an art which takes skill and practice to perfect, and something which one can take pride in achieving; an art which is completely and sadly lost with the age of computers. (The twisted irony is they now have programs to make the computer renderings "look like" daughtsmanship to give it "character"!)

I often got into conflict with my professors over design style; they wanted me to do "modern" things, and I wanted to do things which had style and elegance, which, to them were usually "outdated" or too complex, There was a sense that any style that had been previously used could not be used again, except that did not really hold true, because simple designs void of any decoration or real creativity had been being invented for most of the 20th century, fueled, in my opinion, by two things; a desire to be different, for the sake of difference, at the cost of beauty, and a general laziness resulting in trying to make things "easier".

A former factory building in Seville, Spain. It was built from day one as a factory
and continued as such until the 1950's
(source, Wikipedia)

A modern factory. Both of these factory buildings were built to process the same
raw material. The first was built in an era when people took pride in what they
built. I wonder if anyone would be interested in the second facade 300 years
from now. This is the sort of design my professors expected me to produce
but the first image is the sort of designing that I wanted to do. Sadly,
our world is now filled to overflowing with the sterile hulks of this style.

Wanting to make things "easier" is nothing new in human history, we have been inventing labour saving devices for thousands of years, and for the most part, these inventions have been useful and helpful. The past hundred years though, have marked a new phase in human invention, which is going from improving the way things get done, to creating devices for the lazy, and encouraging a general lack of skill. I have a poster on my wall with a quotation from Ogden Nash, " Progress may have been all right once, but it has been going on far too long." (He died in 1971, I wonder what he would think of 2017?)

Pick up any woodworking companies' catalog, today, and one will find hundreds of gadget which are designed to be so simple and easy to use, that "anyone" can do a task which formerly required someone with an acquired set of skills to accomplish. It used to be that a carver, for example,  would begin as an apprentice when  his muscles and brain were still so young as to be easily taught. He would then spend his youth honing his skills to be able to achieve the exquisite carvings which are seldom ever seen by even the best carvers of our day. (There is a reason that the best guitar players of our times all began playing when they were kids, it is much more difficult to train the adult mind/hand coordination.) Nowadays, no one seems to even be willing to invest the amount of time in a lot of skills to become proficient at them, and instead try to invent machines and computers to substitute for the time they do not want to spend. This comes partly from a lack of interest in keeping skills alive, partly from valuing income over a pride in accomplishment, and in my opinion, a general laziness inherit in our general human race. Personally, my biggest argument for my belief that God is an human invention is found in the very writings which are supposed to "prove" his existence. In this story, God "spoke" and things appeared, this has a very suspiciously human characteristic to it; a true "creator" would relish and enjoy the act of creating, he would want to "get his hands dirty" and actually be actively involved in making the things he thought of. A lazy human wants to "speak the word" (press a button on a computer) and have things come instantly into being.

A sad byproduct of this 'dumbing down' of creativity and design and of trying to make everything as simple as possible, has been to produce generations of consumers who no longer even know what fine quality, design and creativity look like. They go to the stores and shops and see mass produced rubbish and assume that is the way things should look. As a result, almost no one wants to pay for anything to be made well. I once spent eight hours hand rubbing the finish on a small table to give the look of a highly polished antique, but the client did not like the "streaks" that sharp light made visible; I spent five minutes spraying it with an aerosol finish and they were delighted. (I was appalled) All of the other furniture in their house was finished that way and when presented with something much finer, they had no point of reference in which to receive it. Taste is something acquired through exposure and education, as is the lack of it.

Another sad thing is that, for the most part, we are really no longer even able to produce the quality of work which was achieved in ages past. As a collective society, we have lost the skills and there is almost no one left to teach them to others. It is like we have artistically entered another "dark ages" if we compare the work created now, to that of the 16th through 18th century (and even before). In my work, I try to do the best I can, and strive always to improve and hone my skills, but I will readily admit that compared to the fine work produced in past centuries (and even by a few modern artists) my work is scarcely more than amateur cobbling. I have not had the fortune of receiving an apprenticeship to a true master of anything and have had to try the best I can to teach myself the "skills" that I do have.

My ceiling which I recently finished. Though I am a bit proud of what I
created, it is a far cry from a master of the 18th century as pictured below

The irony of the whole evolutionary process is also very stark. Before the 20th century a well established artist or a fine cabinet maker had a much more prestigious place in society and a better comparative economic position than his modern counterpart (does he even have a modern counterpart?) has for all of the time and labour-saving devices which have been invented since the time of such illustrious artists and craftsmen as Giotto, Michelangelo, Charles Boulle, Gringling Gibbons, or David Roentgen.

A random robot carved design as found on the web by a company advertising'
their "carving" machine

A carving by Gringling Gibbons illustrates the quality of carving to be had
in the late 17th century
(Many people will look at these and not even see a difference)

In this modern world in which we find ourselves living, we are caught in a vicious cycle of a lack of clientele willing to pay for truly well made products and a lack of artisans skillful enough or willing to take the time to produce them. Laziness and mediocrity have become the norm of our world and no one seems to be concerned. This really leaves me to wonder what this new century will bring?

An 18th Century Style Inlaid Candle Box

I made this box a couple years ago - back before the inception of my blog. This past autumn it sold at the Waterford craft show; so this post is, in part, a chance to show to the kind individual who purchased it, a little "behind the scenes" look at the production process.

As with most things that I make, there was a picture which was the inspiration
for this project; found on a random web-search

The original 18th century box had charm but not enough flourish to be Johann-esque; it was a good source of inspiration, however.

Slabs of locust which will become the box; just enough for the project. Two
will be for the back, one for the bottom, and the last for the top. They are
long enough that two of the cut-offs will make the ends

In 1998 I bought a very large band saw for the purpose of re-sawing timber to make veneer and thin panels, such as these. (I sold it in 2009 when the economy went down the drain) When it was delivered I looked around for something to "try it out" on, and a chunk of locust firewood became the hapless victim. I had no idea at the time what I would do with the pieces once I sliced them up, and most of it got shifted around in my shop for 15 years before inspiration struck on what to use the them for. By that time, they had taken on a nice rich amber orange colour which I so much love in this species of wood. Unfortunately, all of that colour was lost in the planing; intense exposure to sunlight gets it back fairly quickly however.

Planing a glued up two plank panel for the back

Most people have fancy workbenches with lots of ways to hold and cramp their stock in place to plane it; I do not have such luxuries, so I improvise; a couple pieces of five millimetre plywood cramped to the top of the bench serve to keep things in place whilst planing thin parts.

Cutting the shape out for the back panel after planing

My method of trimming dovetails

There are a lot of ways of cutting dovetails and I am no expert at it, I manage to make serviceable joints. There are many ways to cut them and trim them; To work the area between the pins I use a square block to true up the edges with a chisel after cutting away the waste with a coping saw.

Pins and tails cut to match

Final assembly. Notice the worm-hole which can be seen in the second from
left piece in the photo which shows the rough cut stock; this hole might be a
"defect" to some, but for me it is "character".

Looking through several sets of pictures for various projects, I noticed a trend in my habits. I seem to take a lot of pictures at the beginning of the process but as the work progresses, I usually become more involved and forget about keeping up the photography. I have no pictures of making the hole in the back, carving the moulding around the edges, (it was carved with a gouge, not done with a "scratch stock" or plane), nor any aspect of making the lid.

This box and a few other pieces which were made during the same work
period of activity

As soon as it was done I knew that it was not done, because even with the slightly embellished moulding around the edge and the "fancy" hanging hole, it was still just too plain and I was not satisfied with it. I spent a week debating with myself about carving or inlaying the front panel. I did not even attach the bottom because I knew I would have to do more work before I could give it my "seal of approval" or sign my name to it.

Cutting a channel for the inlay

In the end, the inlay idea won out. Nearly as old as the planks which were used for the box was a block of inlay that I had made up to do a restoration project on an 18th century chest of drawers. I made up the individual pieces of ebony and maple and cut and glued them together, then re-cut and glued them up as necessary to achieve the desired pattern. I cannot locate any pictures of my process of making that inlay but below is a picture which shows various stages of different patterns made in the same manner.

Pictured above are various inlay patterns in different stages of production
below that is one of the original 18th century drawers with a piece of the
same inlay banding inset, before colouring to match the original

Finished box with inlay banding; now it looks right

Showing the lid open

I did not plane the back because I wanted to leave the original aging colour
which 15 years of standing around the shop had given to the wood.
When a small piece is finished it gets my logo; larger ones get a signature
and date

Another view which highlights the hand-made character

Locust is a difficult wood to plane because it tends to tear and the fibres are very "stringy" If the grain goes the wrong way you are liable to get a very long splinter ripped out before you know it. The best way to plane the stuff is across the grain, then scrape it with a cabinet scraper to smooth it. This leaves a somewhat undulating surface, but that is fine with me. It is these characteristics which cannot be achieved by machine work but compel me to make my things by hand in the first place. I do not strive for 'dead flat perfection', because I find no beauty in 'overly perfect' objects. They look machine made, and I find no real beauty in them; wood is a natural thing, and part of the beauty of nature is giving the appearance of perfection, but not actually being perfect. The subtle waviness, and variation are what give life and vitality to nature. They are also what makes hand made objects so beautiful, desirable, and worth making in the first place.

Conecting with the Middle Ages - in the Philippines

Well, not really, but a lot of aspects of life in the Philippines are very much reminiscent of the way things would have been in medieval Europe. From abject poverty rubbing right up against immense wealth, buildings in every state from brand new, to near total collapse in the same city block, and craftsmen working with simple hand tools to produce all manner of finely made products.

Four gilt copper gem housings for my 9th century box
there will be a piece of lapis lazuli in each

It is the last aspect, which I want to focus on in this blog posting, as I made a new friend in the jewelry district of Chinatown, Manila, whilst on my recent holiday. He gave me a helping hand with some of the metalwork which I need to do for my 9th century box. The box will have embossed metal foil borders around the imitation ivory panels and the junctions of those strips of foil will be covered with gems and semi-precious stones, just as the more expensive caskets, and treasure bindings of the Middle Ages were made.

Nestor, a very talented goldsmith.

I took more than a hundred pictures as we worked to make the housing for four oval and four rectangular stones. It was hard to condense all those pictures down to one blog's worth. I will try to keep the text to a minimum and let the photos tell the story.

I couldn't resist getting in on the action as well

The work begins with square wire which is made with this wire drawing
machine; on the left, square wire can be made; or round wire on the right

Repeated passes, through the machine, and repeated annealing every other pass
eventually produces a suitable gauge wire. It is then passed through the flat
part of the rollers to transform the square wire to thin strips.

The strips are cut and bent to form the sides to the housing

Here one of the rectangles is being formed

Once the sides are formed, they must be soldered together. This is done with
silver; the little lump at the end of the flame

A long piece of stainless steel wire with a sharp point serves as a soldering iron

The finished solder joint

Filing the joint flush, notice the little work surface tenoned into the bench;
old worn-out sandpaper compensates for too much wear on the tenon

Some copper for smelting

Much like in medieval times, materials are usually more expensive than labour in the Philippines. I was not surprised to see Nestor collect every grain of gold and silver and re-melting it, but when he began doing so with the copper I felt guilty. I could easily bring him pockets full of the stuff from wire trimmings the electricians throw away on job-sites here in the West. He gets his copper from the scrap dealers because he cannot afford to buy new wire from the hardware shops. Every scrap he has left, he smelts and reuses. Hopefully, the cost of the fuel used to melt it is less than the value of the recovered copper.

This was not the same batch, but it shows borax being added as a flux;
this allows the copper to melt into a lump, with no impurities

Ordinary automotive grade petrol is the fuel used for smelting as well as
soldering

Just as in medieval times, a bellows provides enough oxygen to raise the
heat to melting point. Of course in the Middle Ages, the fuel was charcoal;
blacksmiths here actually still use that.

One cannot get much more medieval than a simple un-glazed clay bowl
used for smelting

If  too much heat is lost for a large batch, a pot shard serves as a lid, creating
a miniature smelting furnace 

Once the copper is melted, it is poured into a form, to produce a miniature
ingot

The resulting "ingot" and the wire which served as the valve

Another very medieval looking piece of equipment; the anvil, set into a log

Repeated rolling and annealing produces a thin flat sheet for use in making
the 'floor' of the housings

Trimming the sheet to width

Cutting rectangular plates for the housings

Another "anvil" this time the face plate off of an antique flatiron

Once the parts are made they are "pickled" in a borax solution to aid in the
soldering process

Soldering is done by picking up a bit of molten silver with the point of the
instrument and allowing it to wick into the heated joint of the parts

Soldering a rectangular housing

The oversised bases are to allow for an eventual beaded wire border, a detail
I forgot about with the first batch of oval housings

The only thing powered by electricity in Nestor's shop were the lights

Four oval housings, with holes bored to be able to eventually attach them
to the box; once I manage to find some tiny hand forged copper nails

The parts being scrubbed to remove any foreign contaminates before plating

Very much as it would have been in medieval times, each person specialises in a particular task. If I had wanted any sort of engraving, repoussé or chasing work done, that would have been done by a different artisan.

Once the pieces were formed and soldered, he handed them over to an old woman who works there polishing the pieces and doing electroplating. (I could have had them plated in the old fashioned mercury amalgam method, but then I would have had to wait a week, and that process is done in a village some distance from the city where there are no laws prohibiting the use of mercury). I opted for the un-medieval method of electroplating.

So I lied; this is powered by electricity as well. This is the liquid which
contains dissolved gold, which by some magic art... 

involving electricity...

Causes it to materialise and adhere to the object being plated

The finished rectangular housings 

Except that they are not finished, because oddly, they had no device for making beaded wire. In the book of "Diverse Art" written by "Theophilus" in the 11th  century, (and mostly reciting practices which were much older) he explains a method of making a stamping die for creating beaded wire. For some reason, no one in the Philippines seems to have a need for, or thought of such a device. If I had wanted him to add the beads around the borders he would have made and soldered them one bead at a time. I did not want to spend that much time on the project, and am planning to make a device to take back to him which will make authentic medieval beaded wires the next time I return.

I share this story and this series of photos because I really want to point out the contrast of the amazing things which can be made with the most "rudimentary" equipment in the hands of skilled craftsmen, compared with how most westerners seem to think they need a super high tech machine for every single task they do. A perfect example of that being the touch screen (really???!) controlled 100% automated KEY CUTTER, which I just witnessed two days after I returned.