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.

Johann International goes to the Fair

Next weekend I will again be exhibiting at the Waterford Craft Fair, in Waterford Virginia. This is a quaint little town tucked in a valley near the Potomac River which time has mostly forgotten and, by American standards, is rather "old". I like doing this show because the exhibitors all dress in period, (or period inspired) clothing and demonstrate their crafts to the visitors. This gives me the excuse to dress up without people thinking I am a 'freak' (actually I am, but no one needs to know) and provides an opportunity for me to give others a glimpse of what goes into actually making something by hand, instead of with machinery.

Carved from antique, re-claimed timber, this is my interpretation of a
16th century "strap-work" box. Inspiration for the front dovetail and rebated
back joinery comes from a mid 16th century box in the V&A

Last year, a storm washed out the event, so I was not able to participate, thus this will be my third year of attendance. (the show has been running for 74 years) Because of the work I have been doing on my moulding project, I have had no time to make anything new for the show this year, but since I had no show last year, and was 'ready' then, I will just consider time to have stood still for a year, (it feels like it has anyway) and whatever was ready last year should still be ready this year.

Many pieces which I will be exhibiting have been seen on this blog before; here is a collection of things that have not been featured yet. Most of them were made just before the blog got started and a couple of them were made quite some time ago.I thought this might be a good excuse to showcase all of them, since I probably never would otherwise. All of these pieces have been made entirely by hand without the aide of machinery, (except the sawmill that cut it, the lorry that carried it, and... OK, all the work I did was by hand)

A close up showing the strap-work detail and the hand forged iron nails which
I embellished with a file.

Yours truly, in my shop, getting ready for a show

This is a delightful little form, or boarded stool, in the late medieval style

A baroque inspired revolving top table, in cherry

An 18th century "barrel back" corner
cabinet. I formed the hinges with a file

This and the following table were commissions, but the client is kind enough
to loan them to me for the show.

Inspired by 18th century style; made of American walnut

A hanging plate rack in the 18th century French
Provincial style, made of cherry

I love boxes, and love making them. In fact, if I could get enough clients to support me in such an endeavor, I could be perfectly happy to spend the rest of my life making boxes and chests. Below are a few that I have to offer.

Oak with cherry edge-banding and an inlay of
holly and walnut. This is a traditional English
style "candle box" of 18th century form

I used a "rat-tailed" saw to cut out the core from a solid block for this box

One of my best boxes, this was cut and carved from a block of extremely
dense and hard American walnut. This wood took on a lovely chocolate
colour and a fine polish; it is not stained.  I also made the escutcheon, the
hinges are traditional 'snipe' hinges.

No; the large worm hole did not "bother" me in the least

Most people think that black locust is a nasty wood; it is a bit of a challenge
to work by hand, but I find the colour it takes on to be worth the trouble; it
quickly mellows to a rich amber.

This was another fun project that I spent way too much time on, but
enjoyed every minute of.

As I said, I spent way too much time on it!

Most of what I have to exhibit has been made in the past couple of years, but there are a couple exception, including this box. It used to be for sale; in fact I made it with the hopes of selling it at a show I did... in 1998! For some reason, no one ever seemed to be interested in buying it, now I have had it so long, that I do not wish to sell it any longer, but do still like to exhibit it.

The design for this echoes a much larger early 16th century chest in the V&A

The above picture was taken in 1998, not long after I had exhibited it in my first show. This was the third carving project I had ever attempted, and by far, the most ambitious at the time.  Not long before making it, I made an accidental discovery of a cleaning chemical which nicely darkened mahogany to a rich deep red-ish colour. I treated this box with that chemical...

The box as it looks now

The deep red colour did not last, however, and now it has mellowed out and turned much lighter. It actually has a colour which looks much older than its 19 years of age, so I am not actually disappointed with the experiment. 

Yours truly again, at a show last year, demonstrating my work

Wish me a good show for this year...

Thoughts on "Traditional" woodworking

This blog was supposed to feature a story and pictures of my Show in Waterford Virginia, but there was a threat of a hurricane and thus a "state of emergency" was declared; therefor the show was cancelled. Very disappointing, but what can you do?

Right; moving on...

Yesterday I read Peter Follansbee's blog, in which he began a discussion of the current state of "traditional" woodworking as it is in the world today. You can read all about it here. The main point (as I understand it) is the lack of a traditional foundation for most modern woodworkers, and the attempts to revive old skills without it.

Peter Follansbee at work, doing his part to keep alive the traditional methods

As the word, tradition, denotes, this would be something that was handed down from generation to generation so that the work would grow and change, adapting with the times in a very organic way. Peter has suggested, and I concur, that for the most part, this tradition has been "broken". Now, most people who are attempting, or successfully practicing, these "traditional" skills, are coming at it without any prior knowledge or personal experience in these crafts. After reading his blog, I thought to add my comments to the matter, but then realised I had more than just a quick comment to add, and besides, I have my own blog page from which to express myself.

As I already stated, I agree with Mr Follansbee, and his view on the matter, Like him, I also am attempting to revive and keep in motion those methods, long discarded by most modern people who are hell bent on the latest everything, as outmoded, old fashioned, and too time consuming. I find it interesting that in other parts of the world, where I have traveled extensively, and have met craftsmen working in very primitive conditions with only the most rudimentary tools, that they think I must be out of my mind to want to forego the use of machines which are all around me, and revert to the mostly discarded methods of earlier generations.

For these people, and for most in Europe and America, getting the job done as quickly as possible is the primary goal. In a world where one has to earn an income to stay alive, this makes good sense, but it also causes the artist to lose out on the joy of actually doing the job. Is your goal the journey, or the destination? For most people, myself included, getting the job done brings immense satisfaction, and a sense of accomplishment, but for me, the actual act of doing the work can often be more rewarding and enjoyable than the satisfaction that comes with its completion. Once the task is done, one has to forget about it and move on to what is next. When I am doing something by hand, the process takes longer and gives me a chance to get to know the piece I am creating. It becomes an extension of myself, and I have a chance to infuse a bit of my soul into it. I cannot speak for others, but for me, I do not have this same connection with pieces I made with a machine. They were simply a product to give in exchange for some income, not much more.

Tradition is still very much alive in the Philippines and
the things they create every day with only the simplest of
tools are amazing

It does not feel like it could have already been more than 60 years ago, but back in the 1950's John Seymour, traveled about his native UK, and other places in the world, documenting the, at-that-time, nearly vanished traditional craftsmen who were still carrying on the actual tradition of their crafts. The book is a fascinating read, and though it was not an inspiration to me, because I had already embarked on my journey before I discovered the book, it was something to give me resolve to continue in the path that I was choosing to follow. I noticed that all the people featured in the book were either old, or ancient, and thus, when I read it in the 90's, were all, it is fairly safe to say, gone to wherever we go, when we go. This book helped to firm up my belief that someone must take up the tools of the forefathers and continue in their traditions, because it was worth preserving the methods which they used to create the objects of their world.

Originally published in the late 50's and still a good read,
this book covers much of what "traditional crafts"
really means.

When we live in a world where most people think that vegetables, eggs, and meat come from "the supermarket", and everything has a flaming "ap" to make it work, I feel it is important for people to see the actual skills that went into creating the things that our ancestors had all around them. It is also important to remind people that every single new-fangled gadget that they have in their possession is only there because someone long ago, first learned to use a stick and a stone to make something finer and more precise.

Near to where I currently reside, there is a canal that was built in the early 1800's. Whenever I go there for a visit, and see all the blocks of stone cut and fit so perfectly, I cannot help thinking, as they slowly erode away,  that every single one of them was cut by a man and moved into position by other men and animals. No lorries, cranes, or hydraulic lifts, just skill, muscle, and ingenuity. I wonder, as I am thinking these thoughts, if anyone else ever thinks of such a thing, and wish I had a way to make them aware of it. I think it makes us better people when we are connected to out past and aware of skill and craft that was involved in getting us to the point where we are now.

Does anyone ever consider that it was manual labour which went into cutting,
dressing, and setting these stones which have been here for nearly two centuries?

I know that it is (lamentably) impossible to return to a life of earlier times, but at the same time, it would be even more lamentable to toss out all the old traditions simply because we have ways of getting more work done faster. I also think I am justified in my belief, when I consider the fact that in the days with very few machines, people produced far superior works of beauty and craftsmanship than what they do now with all the modern things which are meant to speed things up and make life "simpler". I know there are modern craftsmen who make fine things with their machines and power tools, and have no intention of disparaging anyone who works honestly to earn his bread, but I am quite certain that there is none among them, who can produce anything close to the level of refinement that went into some of the finest objects made for the crowns and courts of Europe, all with hand-tools.

I too, began my career as a furniture maker using power tools and machinery. In fact, the first time I decided to get a hand plane and use it, I worked with it until it could not cut butter because I was so afraid of trying to sharpen it. I had no one to teach me anything about how to use hand tools, so I had to learn by trial and error. It would have been wonderful if I had had a teacher, but I was determined to learn, regardless. My first reason for going in this direction was simply because I love antiques, and had a realisation that most of their beauty came from the subtle irregularities caused from working the materials by hand. I decided the best way to make something look more like and antique was to fashion it with the same methods as had been used in the original. Along the way, I came to realise there was a satisfaction from, and a connection to, my work which I had not previously felt. It was as if my soul had finally been reconnected to its tradition.

The very first thing I ever built using hand tools, back in 1997

My journey into traditional woodworking was a very long and slow one. No one in my family for as many generations as I know of, practiced any sort of craft, with the exception of a grandmother who was an amateur "Sunday painter". I did, however, frequently spend time in the workshop of Herr Pfeuffer, who was in charge of all the maintenance of my childhood home and its surrounding buildings. The one tool in the workshop which he allowed me to use was a hand-saw, and I loved to cut anything I could get my hands on with it. He never taught me the correct way to use it, but that did not stop me learning. I also (without his permission) got an axe and went around chopping small trees and trying to make them into square timbers, but I do not think my juvenile attention span ever saw a single one to completion.

A typical Schrank like those which I grew up with. This is not a picture
from my home, it came from Wikipedia, but is typical of many of the ones
found in most rooms of my childhood home.

Everything changed when I was 14 and we moved into a brand new house in a small village just outside of Schweinfurt. Up until that time, I had grown up with antiques all around me. These objects were to me "normal" and all the new things that came with the new house in the town were alien to me. I believe it was then that the seed of my career as a traditional woodworker was planted. From that time on, I spent my time reading books, drawing, and dreaming about things related to the past. It was as if my soul had a connection with all the dust of history in our centuries old home, and it had been ripped free from its roots and was seeking a way back. I think part of having a sense of tradition comes with being surrounded by things that are older than we are. It is no wonder that modern kids, living with five minute product life-spans, seldom value anything "old".

Again, this was not the exact piece in my new room, but
I found this on E Bay,and it looks almost exactly like
the new soulless furniture I had to live with once we moved

On the other hand, perhaps this is the very reason that some people are searching out those traditional methods or the products created by them. Perhaps part of the human DNA requires us to have a connection with our past, and when that is missing, we feel incomplete as a species. We also find, in our modern world, more people than ever, attempting to live in an alternate universe because they find the one they actually habit to be so sterile and unattractive; void of any true meaning. I know I do not, and I doubt that Mr Follansbee has an "online, alternate personality" either. Our connection to our crafts, friends, and supporting clients, gives us all the grounding we need.

If we consider a building constructed of stones or bricks, and think of its individual courses as years of history, then its foundation would be the beginning of that history. The building will always need that history in order to stand up and remain stable. If that history were removed, there would no longer be a building. I believe we need our tradition and history to remain grounded humans.

A building which loses its foundation of history loses itself

Not everyone can work in traditional methods, but we can all do our part to keep our traditions alive by supporting and encouraging those who do. By doing this, we will all have something meaningful and worthwhile to pass on to future generations.

Here I am in my shop, doing my bit to keep those traditions alive
(someone needs to come and take a new picture, this one is almost ten years old)

Some Interesting Gleanings from "Theophilus"; Part I

A couple weeks ago, in the course of preparing different materials for my box, I picked up my copy of Theophilus to re-acquaint myself with possible medieval methods of faceting and polishing gems. I will be using some semi-precious stones as part of the box decoration, and was trying to think of how they might have been ground and polished in the early Middle Ages. I was right in remembering that he had written on that topic, but wound up reading the entire book again in the process.

At the beginning of the book, in his prologue, Theophilus makes mention of Germany producing "fine work" in many mediums, including "wood" Unfortunately, he does not elabourate on this, but there are a few very finely wrought, surviving wooden artifacts, both sculptural and furniture, which come from Medieval Germany. (Of course the same can be said of Italy, France, Spain, England and the North Countries.)

I have already mentioned, here, his writing about gluing up panels, which also includes the mention of planes; a couple of points of great interest to anyone such as myself, who is both a furniture maker and a student of Medieval History. As I went through the book, I began underlining all the passages that spoke of furniture and furnishings, and methods of applying ornament to those objects. In this blog I will share many of those passages with you; as well as a few of my own thoughts inspired by them,

12th century altar panel in the Vatican Museum
This panel was joined as described by Theophilus in his
De Diversis Atibus. The green arrows point to cracks
in the joins between the individual timbers which make
up the panel as a unit. Notice that not all the joins have
failed, however.

For me, the largest 'nugget' of information is the just-mentioned text about panels, planing, and glue. The book I have, was written/translated by John G. Hawthorn, and Cyril Stanley Smith in 1963 (available from Dover, in the States), but I have also read a couple on-line translations, looking for variations in the text. The on-line version I like best can be found here, I like it, because it has the Latin text to compare the English translation with. This version was written/translated by R Hendrie, in 1847. (the first "modern" version of this work was translated in the late 18th century; it has been a work of interest to historians for a long time.)

I do not want to get into the weeds of technical details of the book, and the issues of dating or authorship, all of which are highly subjective, and disputed, but the core text, as it has been preserved to our day, comes from a couple of mid 12th century copies of the work, as well as a few later copies bound with additional texts from other sources.

I will copy here, the version from my book, because it is the easiest to read, whilst trying to type this. The first part I will share is the much mentioned bit about gluing up panels;

"Chapter 17"

"The individual pieces for altar and door panels are first carefully fitted together with the shaping tool that is used by carpenters and vat-makers. Then they should be stuck together with cheese glue which is made in this way;
       "Cut soft cheese into small pieces and wash it in hot water, in a mortar, with a pestle, repeatedly washing it with water until it comes out clear. Thin the cheese by hand and put it in cold water until it becomes hard. Then it should be rubbed into very small pieces on a smooth wooden board with another piece of wood, and put back into the mortar and pounded carefully with the pestle, and water mixed with quick lime should be added until it becomes as thick as lees. When panels have been glued together with this glue, they stick together so well when they are dry that they cannot be separated by dampness or heat. Afterwards they should be smoothed with an iron planing tool which is curved and sharp on the inside and has two handles so that it can be drawn by hand. Panels, doors, and shields are shaved with this until they become perfectly smooth. Then the panels should be covered with the hide of a horse or an ass or a cow which should have been soaked in water. As soon as the hairs have been scraped off, a little of the water should be wrung out and the hide while still damp should be laid on the panel with the cheese glue."

There is a lot of information in this short bit, but what is interesting to me is the mention of "the iron planing tool" The authors of the version of the book I have, are letting their pre-conceived prejudices about medieval technology get in the way of their translating and put in bracket "i.e., a drawknife" but they obviously  do not know much about planing and joining, or how nearly impossible it would be to join up timbers with a drawknife, nor do they seem to be aware of existing medieval planes and plane illustrations which show that the planes often had two handles. (You can read St Thomas Blog, for a lot more information on medieval planes if you like.)

An early medieval/late antiquity plane made of ivory and iron

It is also worth noting that in order for timbers to be glued together in such a way as to stay glued, they must be absolutely uniformly mated together, as in, no gap between them. The only way to practically achieve this is with a plane. Notice in the first illustration of this post, a 900 year old panel which still has many of its glue joins intact.

Another interesting bit about planing timber can be inferred from a passage in section three, chapter 2, where he is giving instructions on setting up a goldsmith's workshop. Speaking about the workbenches, he states; "The table should be so flat and smooth that any little shavings of gold or silver that fall onto it can be carefully swept up" This sounds like a very different surface from what most people have in their minds when it comes to medieval tables. I even venture to be bold enough to say that these tables would need to either be waxed or varnished, because no matter how smooth they were planed, without a sealer, they would still trap gold filings.

Theophilus actually has a chapter specifically about making exactly that, varnish and coloured varnish, and especially mentions "making doors red" with this oil varnish. Mick Jagger could have even seen his red door in the 12th century apparently.

In later chapters of the first section, following those related to making the glue, (both cheese and hide) he speaks more about gluing and using hide or cloth to cover the timber before adding paint. In Chapter 22 he states that "Horse saddles and eight man carrying chairs, that is , curtained seats, and footstools and other objects which are carved and cannot be covered with leather or cloth", should still be covered with gesso before painting.

An interesting bit that I did not catch in the first couple of reads of this book, was a chapter on making paint with the resin of the "cherry or plum tree". I wonder how that works out? I have not heard of anyone using this method.

Still on the topic of paint, chapter 26 states;

"On wood, you should apply all pigment, whether ground with oil or with gum resin,[the just mentioned fruit-tree resin] three times. When the painting is finished and dried, carry the work into the sun and carefully coat it with the gluten varnish. [oil varnish mentioned above] When the heat begins to make it flow, rub it lightly with your hands. Do this three times, and then leave it until it is thoroughly dried out."

This brings to my mind, images of bright, gaily coloured, glossy painted panels, not the worn out battered bits of objects left to us in museums. As I have said many times before, medieval society loved vibrantly coloured and decorated objects. There are yet more snippets of information in this book to confirm that notion as well.

The third section of this book is the longest and most detailed, and is primarily concerned with the various arts of metalworking. Because of this, many historians believe Theopholis to have been a goldsmith himself. In chapter 72, he is writing about making copper foil and the things that can be done with it, such as punched work, openwork, and other types of sheet-metal decoration, both gilded and silver plate. he then says; 

"Copper plates are also made and engraved and coated with black and scraped. these are then put in a pan containing molten tin so that the scraped places become white, [silver] as if they had been silvered. Painted chairs, stools, and beds are bound with these plates and books of the poor are also ornamented with them."

This passage, to me, is nearly as exciting as the one about glued up panels. Here, he is making a distinction of less costly furniture, but it still obviously quite highly ornamented. He specifies "painted" furniture, to distinguish it from other types, unfortunately, we do not have any full record of what other types there might be, but they would obviously include furniture which was completely covered in, or even made of, gold and/or silver, furniture which was covered with ivory, and dare we think, perhaps, even furniture which was finished with "the gluten called varnish"? He does have a passage in chapter 75 which includes the mention of "precious wood" presumably this would be wood which had a beauty thought highly enough of, to not paint it or cover it with gilt foils.

It is also interesting that he states this type of work being applied to things related to "the poor" perhaps this is a relative term, but he uses it again in another chapter, this time on making foil of gold and silver soldered together. "This work has the appearance of silver that has been gilded on one side... Borders are made out of this sheet and are impressed with a die... Narrow strips are cut from this sheet and they are twisted around silk in spinning. Gold fringes are woven from them in the homes of the poor just as among the rich they are woven of pure gold."

Wow, that sound to me just like the drab grey or brown woolen clothing that is all too often seen in modern "medieval reenactment" scenes! 

Yet another passage of class distinction comes from chapter 92;

"When you have made spurs, bits, and saddle furniture for humble clerics and monks and have filed them smooth, heat them a little and rub them with the horn of an ox, or with goose feathers. For when these are slightly melted with the heat and stick to the iron, they will provide a black colour which is somewhat appropriate for them."

In contrast to this statement is the passage in chapter 78 on gilded or silvered repousse' work;

"Now gild the plates and polish them first with brass wire brushes as above, and then with burnishing tools. Colour it [gold requires some sort of treatment after being heated, to actually give it the 'gold' colour we know], fasten the gold settings, each one in its place, and insert the gems, and fasten the pearls round them. In the same way you can, if your inventory allows, make gold and silver on the books of the gospels and on missals; also animals, small birds, and flowers  [This is a distinction from the saints and angels of which he had been speaking of for the ornament of ecclesiastical furnishings.] on the outside of the riding saddles of matrons."

The last little tantalising allusion to opulence, insofar as furniture is concerned, comes from chapter 95; a short bit on working ivory. 

"Now fashion ivory handles, round or ribbed, and make a hole down the axis, Enlarge the hole with various appropriate files so that the inside is the same shape as the outside and the ivory is even throughout and moderately thin. Around the outside delicately draw little flowers or animals or birds or dragons linked by their necks and tails, pierce the grounds with fine tools and carve with the best and finest workmanship that you can. After doing this, fill the hole inside with a piece of oak covered with gilded copper foil so that the gold can be seen through all the grounds. Then seal up the hole with pieces of the same ivory...so cunningly that no one can see how the gold was inserted."

Unfortunately, he does not go into any detail about what one is meant to do with these "handles", but I like to think perhaps they belong on the doors of cupboards and desks.

A 12th century French capital showing a cabinet
Though this cupboard has no doors, it is likely depicted that way for
technical reasons, and to more easily show the contents of the interior.

In all, this is a fascinating book, and there is much more to be gleaned from it than I have time to share now, but I hope you have found these bits as enlightening and informative as well. As I have said before, the "Dark Ages" were dark because no one bothered to put the lights on; that is what I am trying to do, one blog entry at a time, however.

Videre Scire

To Ornament or Not - Part III Lost Ornamentation

In this ongoing series about medieval ornamentation, we have examined some aspects of decorative styles that could have been applied to furniture. In this post we will look at actual objects which have lost all or part of their decorations, leaving us with a very different impression to that which was originally rendered.

A 14th century chest from All Saints Church,
Graveney, Kent, UK

The chest pictured above is very typical of what most people would probably picture in their mind, if you asked them about medieval furniture. This chest is raw natural wood, has some old rusty iron fittings, and only a hint of "scratch-carved decoration". Chest like this are the favourite of people who wish to make reproductions of medieval furniture as well. This chest seems very straight forward, simple, and primitive; but has it always appeared like this since it was new?

14th century casket from the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, Madrid

This past week, whilst looking through some pictures of objects in the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, in Spain, I came across this picture of a small box. The condition of the finish reminded me of a position which I have held for a long time; namely that just because an object from the Middle Ages, as it survives now, has no finish or ornamentation to it, in no way means to say that it never had any.

If you look carefully at this picture, you will see that the bottom edge of the box on the left side and end are bare, raw wood. There is no trace of any of the finish which is abundantly clear and visible on the remaining parts of the casket. If whatever misfortune befell the lower edge of this box had been more severe or pronounced, then it is quite likely that all of the decoration would have vanished, and what we would be left with, would be a very plain, unadorned box, like the chest in the first picture of this post.

Sometimes when items are painted, the paint soaks into the wood and it is very difficult to remove all traces of it. I recently restored an early 19th century (1805) German painted chest for a client. This chest had been painted with "milk paint" also known as casein paint, directly on the wood. Though most of the paint on the lid had worn away, there was still a 'shadow' of some of the design left behind. The key here, though, is that the paint was applied directly to the wood, as is the case with this 12th century chest, pictured below.

Lid of a large Spanish chest

The method used to paint the MAN casket, however, utilises a completely different technique. We can find a description of this method in a medieval treatise on various art techniques, which is called

Il Libro dell Arte, and was written  by Cennino Cennini in the 14th century, but encompasses many of the same techniques described by Theophilis in his late 11th century De Diversis Artibus. This method is to take glue and "prime" the panel or whatever object the artist wishes to paint on, and then to cover it with "old thin linen" according to Cennini, or with thin "animal hide" or "canvas" according to Theophilis. Once this foundation has been laid on, the craftsman then covers the object with layers of gesso until he gets a smooth even surface for painting on.

The problem with this method is that the hide glue which everything else is adhered to, is very prone to dissolving by water or prolonged moisture. If any panel is so exposed, it will ultimately ruin the entire piece as is illustrated by the altar panel pictured below. Had any more of the paint fallen off, this panel would doubtless have wound up as firewood instead of an exhibit in a museum.

Early 14th century altar front from the Bergen Museum

That furniture was painted in medieval times is not disputed by anyone that I know of, and it is not my intention to try to prove that it was. What I am trying to convey here, is the possibilities of what very plain objects might once have looked like, when new. Below is a very large armoire from a church in Halberstadt, Germany. This picture comes from The History of Furniture, by John Morley. It is a well written book, and is about the only one I know of, which points out some of the more ornate pieces of medieval furniture, and alludes to the vast range of decorative possibilities for furniture in the Middle Ages. Notice how much better the interior of the door appears than the outside, which has had more than 800 years of abuse.

Armoier in Halberstadt, Germany ca. 1200

This picture, along with the idea that objects might very well have lost all of their original decoration, gives us new information to consider when viewing another armoire, also from Germany, from the 14th century. It would be impossible to guess how this might have originally been painted, but a look at book illustration and altar pieces from the same time, might give us a clue. Notice how similar the Bergen altar panel is to contemporary manuscript illustrations. It is also worth pointing out that in the Halberstadt armoire, we see that the hinges in no way impeded the artist with his painting, he simply painted over them. Other medieval objects also bear this idea out

Armoire in the Brandenburg Cathedral, 1st half of the
14th century

Not all furniture was merely painted, however. There was a vast array of decorative techniques from which the craftsmen could chose. In the book of furniture history which I just mentioned, there is an illustration of a pair of oaken doors which came from a 12th century French armoire; this set of doors is covered in scrolling ironwork, and according to the text, was originally gilt. This is enough to blow the fuse in the notion of most people's concept of medieval furniture, such as the chest pictured below. This chest, from the Musée Carnavalet in Paris, has decorations nearly identical to the doors I just mentioned. Though it now has the rich warm glow of polished antique oak, it would not have looked that way when new, and would have been rather plain and unattractive; unless it was gilded, in which case, it would have been quite a stunning piece. 

The possibility that this chest might have originally been gilded should actually come as no surprise. There are many surviving examples of gilt chests, boxes, and other wooden objects from the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, why should there not have been, originally, such items made in the 12, 9th or 6th centuries as well? We know that gold leaf was used during those centuries, because it is preserved in book illuminations. Why should we not also assume that it could have also been used on furniture? Some furniture was covered in layers of gold foil, but there must have been slightly less expensive objects which were simply gold leafed. The fact that we have no surviving examples does not mean to say that there were none. It is also worth mentioning, that there are some ivory caskets and panels which do have traces of gold leaf on them from all periods of the Middle Ages.

Early 13th century chest from Musée Carnavalet
from the book, World Furniture

A look at the contents page of Il Libro dell Arte should give us further clues as to the vast range of decorative possibilities of medieval furniture. In Cennini's book there are descriptions of how to make "Mosaic of quill cuttings, Mosaic of crushed eggs shells, painted, Mosaic of paper or foil, Mosaic of eggshells, gilded." There are also descriptions of making figures cast of gesso to ornament chests and boxes, and how to make decorative foil appliques for panels and chests.

In Theophilus's writing, there is a most interesting description of "painting doors red". He then details how to make linseed oil, grind it with pigment, and then paint two or three coats of the colour onto the doors, letting them dry for a couple days between each coat. He goes on to finish by saying,"At last, cover them over with that gluten, which is called varnish, and is made in this manner." He proceeds to explain how to make a resin varnish, very much the same as one could find today; made from linseed oil, resin, and a mineral dryer.

One can never know for sure how the homes, castles, and palaces of the Middle Ages were decorated and furnished, but by reading, observing, and applying logic, we begin to see that people loved to ornament their possessions to the best of their financial abilities. During the medieval period, people did not have our modern sense of reserve and constraint; they did not paint all their rooms white, nor have simple angular furniture. They loved colour, rhythm, and texture, and used whatever method they could, to achieve the essence of their taste. Frankly, much of what they loved would be jarring or unsightly to our modern eyes, but to deny the existence of such ornamentation because of our societal prejudices is to rob history of its full impact and glory.  

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