Jan/121
For months, I’ve been lathey
silver maple with natural edge, 8 1/2" x 4", 2012 (unfinished)
On this side of the bowl you can see the bark inclusion that penetrates the piece. It creates a great cloud/wave form in the transition from heartwood to sapwood.
ink bowl, sycamore with spalting, 4" x 1", 2011
black oak root, 4" x 2 1/2", 2011
ink bowl, ornamental cherry, 3 1/2" x 3 1/2", 2012
It’s hard to believe that it has been four months since my last post. I’ll blame it on a very busy fall semester, but my teaching responsibilities were only part of the equation– I also purchased a lathe, and have been working furiously to learn the art and craft of turning bowls. I never had much interest in the strict symmetries that lathes produce, but a friend introduced me to the possibilities of green-wood turning and I’ve been at it ever since. As the wood dries it distorts in various ways depending on the species of wood, orientation of the grain, shape, thickness, and the balance of sap and heart woods. It is complicated enough to keep things interesting, and introduces a welcome element of surprise. Turning is a great way to make use of woods otherwise destined for the landfill or the fire pit. The “undesirable” aspects of the wood are often the very things that set them apart as turnings. In the silver maple bowl, above, it is the bark inclusion that caused such wild grain, and it is notable that the visual interest increases even as the “usefulness” of the bowl decreases. The last bowl pictured came from an ornamental cherry tree that had been cut down after being hit by a car. This bowl was taken from a section where as many as seven branches were converging, causing a wild swirl of tensions that create lumps and distortions throughout the piece. I’m not sure if this species will gain more pink color as it ages or not.
Many of these bowls go from the shop to the studio, where they hold ink and water while I am making paintings. When put to work like this, the bowls take on a patina of use which amounts to a type of finish work. It is a wonderful moment where the tools of making are themselves transformed, by their use, into the very form of their purpose. Much of my recent thought has revolved around the roles of craft, beauty, and usefulness in my own work, and this process makes manifest every aspect of that thought. The bowl, and the craft by which the bowl is both made and transformed, function at first as a supplement to the painting. But the opportunity for autonomy or repurposing is strong enough to allow a shift from “supplement” to “complement”, and it is these complimentary works which are holding so much of my attention.
Sep/110
Milligan House Exhibition
hairband bouquet on the new table, watercolor, gouache, shellac, and oil on paper laid on panel, 2011
This Friday, September 23, you’re invited to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Old Orchard church with an exhibition of art work at the Milligan House from 6-9 p.m. I’m showing my most recent painting, pictured above, along with another painting from 2008. This most recent painting features a piece from my collection of “interesting objects” made by my daughter Florence. The almost-frontal view is familiar in my work, a circumstance where the illusion and reality of the painting threaten to snap together into the monotony of the painting as an object in the room. I try to preserve, instead, a shallow space like a pool of pictorial space in which depiction can both sink and float.
Aug/110
Variety Show
Re-installing the central dining room fixture-- the only time you'll actually see the fluted glass interior.
Installed, showing two of the four peripheral globes.
One of the great things about summer is that I can pursue a wider variety of projects than the school year allows. Five years ago I removed the central light fixture from our dining room while redoing the ceiling. This summer I finally got around to rewiring the fixture and replacing the sockets, as the insulation had degraded a bit since 1905. The fixture is an incredible piece of craftsmanship, composed of eleven different pieces of bronze and two pieces of glass. I had to make a template to locate the four corner loops, which actually only bears weight when the brass socket assembly is removed. This is the finest fixture in the house, and I trust that it will now be in good service for another hundred years.
The workmanship on that metal reminded me of a painting that I made for a friend last year, the image of which I am just now posting. It is a “portrait” of his gorgeous old Model 1860 Henry Rifle (.44 caliber rim fire, this one manufactured in 1862). It features a receiver engraved with “running deer pattern number one” by Samuel Hoggson, a factory engraver for Henry Repeating Rifles. But of course I was just as attracted to the figured walnut stock. 
Detail of the engraving.
The painting was an interesting challenge, as I wanted to have the rifle convincingly immersed in a landscape that I fabricated from a few photographs and my own memory of life in the Southwest. I was able to paint the rifle from observation, but used an Italian replica for most of the work because it made me nervous having the original laying around in the studio. I enjoy having plenty of room for imagination, innovation, and problem-solving in paintings. I made the rustic frame by request, and was happy with the way that the silvery, weathered surface of the white oak offset the image.
Which brings us back to wood. This summer I was able to retrieve this old church pew, which after some repair and refinishing has become the favored place to drop whatever you are carrying when you come in our front door. Although I haven’t yet been able to confirm it, I believe that the pew is made of American Chestnut. It is always a pleasure to breathe a bit more life into beautiful and useful things, but that would be even more significant “win” to me if this were in fact a remnant of the pre-blight riches that once dominated our eastern forests. I used my home-made black walnut stain to color the piece, sealed it with a thin coat of shellac, and then applied three coats of wipe-on polyurethane.
An old pew, repaired and refinished.
Jun/110
refreshed
Red oak base moldings, reclaimed/belt sanded/planed
I’ve been busy in the studio since school ended, with new sets of oil and ink paintings underway. The wood shop has been getting plenty of use as well. I was fortunate to reclaim several truck loads of red oak base moldings which were otherwise destined for the landfill. There are plenty of nails to remove but the wood cleans up well, as you can see in the photo above. Because the oak is red and flat sawn, there is not much to compel a full clean-up. Instead, the wood tends to hold more life in the median state– refreshed without being made new, cleaned up without being stripped of its history. During this process I happened to be reading Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, and came across the following resonant passage:
The spring flood brings us more than high adventure; it brings likewise an unpredictable miscellany of floatable objects pilfered from upriver farms. An old board stranded on our meadow has, to us, twice the value of the same piece new from the lumberyard. Each old board has its own individual history, always unknown, but always to some degree guessable from the kind of wood, its dimensions, its nails, screws, or paint, its finish or the lack of it, its wear or decay. One can even guess, from the abrasion of its edges and ends on sandbars, how many floods have carried it in years past.
Our lumber pile, recruited entirely from the river, is thus not only a collection of personalities, but an anthology of human strivings in upriver farms and forests. The autobiography of an old board is a kind of literature not yet taught on campuses, but any riverbank farm is a library where he who hammers or saws may read at will. Come high water, there is always an accession of new books.