Wood, working.

Where we learn some new skills.

A few weeks ago, I finished up a little project that made me really happy. It was this little skull here, on a little stand, made of wood. Several kinds of wood, actually. There’s cherry, which is the main part of the skull. The teeth are ash. The eyes are maple, the round cheeks are walnut, and the little cube stand is made of oak with walnut and ash circular decoration. There’s a hidden pin about four inches long that pokes out of the stand, goes through the lower jaw, and up into the center of the main part of the skull that holds it all together.

The wooden pieces of the figurine were cut with various saws and chisels and some esoteric drill bits meant for making holes and other bits that make the plugs that fit into those holes. The pieces are glued together, filed and sanded, and the whole thing is then finished with oil to protect it and give it a smooth finish that is, in this case, sort of velvety to the touch. None of this, just a few years ago, I had any idea how to do, or even what any of it meant.

I’m really quite delighted with how this skull turned out. Sacha loves it too, and she put it on the mantel above our fake fireplace in the dining room. I often pick it up and hold it, and kind of play with it¹, spinning it on its central pin, and I think about where it comes from and, more interesting to me but significantly more vague, where it might lead.

---

---

Where it comes from.

It began, as most good things do, with a bicycle ride. This particular bicycle ride was different from every other bicycle ride I’ve ever ridden in that on this ride, I fell of the bicycle, breaking my left ankle. This was December, 2020, and, in addition to already being distanced, socially, like most of the rest of the world in December 2020, I was now immobile. For two months, maybe more, I was not going to be able to go for the long bike rides and trail-runs that were keeping me somewhat sane eight months into these uncertain times.

Publishing had already ground to a halt and my deadlines had vanished, so I’d been spending my indoors-time drawing things that were just fun to draw. This happened to include a lot of fish. Not just fish, but weird little fish, with personalities and silly grins.

While working on this particular drawing, a week or so after breaking my ankle, I had the very sudden and inescapable urge to have and to hold these fish. I wanted to make these fish out of wood.

These sort of inspirations happen often, where I just want to see whatever I’m imagining at that moment in real life. And as a professional maker-of-things, they are often the sources of actual work, like stories and books and stickers. Sometimes these urges and ideas are maybe a little bit out there, and when they are, they’re usually tempered by what we refer to as real life: the limitations of time and resources inherent in our day-to-day, as well as other limitations imposed by merely going out for a walk and realizing that this inspiration might not really be a good idea for any number of reasons. In this case, for example, the reason might have been because I doesn’t actually know how to make a fish out of wood. In fact, I’d never made anything out of wood, and I had not the first clue how to do such a thing². But with these limitations time and self-reflection removed by a world-wide pandemic and a broken ankle, respectively, making a fish out of wood is what happened. Making fish (and other things) from wood became my sourdough starter, my binge-watching Netflix. It became my pandemic hobby.

improvement is evident

By late March 2021, three months after breaking the ankle, I was back to walking, running, riding bikes. But by then I’d also gone down a very deep rabbit hole of wood and knives and various other cutting tools, and I’d completed four wooden fish, a skull, and some sort of sculpture that involved a fish but also a foot. I was thinking of new things. I carved birds, with the same tools, I made a series of wood-cut relief prints, I learned about various stains and paints and finishes which led to customizing and repainting ukuleles and electric guitars, and more practically, I took a picture-frame building class at a local wood-shop. This led to table-saws and drill presses and sanding machines. My art studio has began to share space with what is, essentially, a woodworking shop. But art supplies are art supplies, right?

I like carving³ these fish and birds, and making frames. But more recently the things in my head, the things I want to make, aren’t really that. Working on the guitars and seeing what others were doing with wood had led me to approach this work differently. I found a connection with my collages, and the way collages make me think about color and composition and space differently from drawing. And wood different woods had their own colors, and textures. If you work with wood at all, you’re yawning right now. This is a basic Woodshop 101 thing, but it was revelatory to me. I found other craftspeople using wood in the way I was starting to see. I was devising ways of making things and solving problems I hadn’t even encountered yet. One day, on the way out of the wood shop, I found a large piece of scrap from a cutting board class, and in this piece of wood I saw a fish. Two fish in fact.

.

These were gifts for my sisters for this past Christmas, and while working on them I was, in my head, already creating the next thing, which was this bird, for my brother’s birthday.

Each of these got me a little closer to what I had in mind. Mistakes were made. Lessons was learned. As I was finishing my brother’s bird, I started thinking about this skull collage I’d made in 2022.

And I wondered whether I could make something pretty close to it. A week later, I had my answer.⁴

begun on a Tuesday, done on Friday

Where it might lead.

Robots, insects, sea creatures, birds. Monsters, of course. My sketchbooks are full of little drawings that could be source material for this. But the process takes time. I finished that skull on January 31, and being behind on some books, I haven’t touched a chisel or turned on the saw in a month.

When are you gonna quit your day job?

I am a quick learner, but I am also an ambitious dilettante⁵. Over my 56 years I have explored many ways of making and doing many different things. Some stuck, some didn’t⁶. Right now, I am often daydreaming about interesting things to make, and I am often watching YouTube and Skillshare videos figuring out how to make them. I’ve signed up for a jewelry-making class this May, where I hope to find some connection between these wooden objects and metal bits to attach to them — soldered metal insect wings, enameled robot eyes. Maybe moving parts? I’ve diagrammed how to make a skull with a hinged jaw. All of this is exciting to me, but will it last?

I don’t know. Stay tuned and watch this space.

1. Something you can’t really do with a drawing on an iPad. There is a physical aspect to this thing that is different from drawing pictures, even with actual art supplies.

2. It might be important, however, to mention that my grandfather was a cabinet-builder and carpenter, and there is something nostalgic about the smell of wood and oils and whatnot. When grandpa died, my brother got his tools and equipment and for years has been making harps and bookshelves and even a small drawing table that I use all the time. So, maybe this can all be explained by latent genes. Maybe not.

3. Some call it “whittling” which seems sort of akin to calling someone’s illustrations “doodles,” though I could be wrong.

4. To be honest, I thought I’d get closer. Some planning errors led to my having to simplify the cheeks. But again, learn, try again.

5. dilettante: noun - a person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge. I looked it up.

6. Ask me sometime about the year in which I was a very good accordion player.