I’m afraid of trees. Put me in the middle of a concrete-and-steel jungle, and I can hunt for food in a steakhouse, find shelter in a bookstore and easily navigate my way around the rumbling streets with a handy GPS device.
Take me to the woods, though, and I’m lost. Where are the sirens? What’s that noise? Is a bear about to eat me? And all these trees! They have things living in them — just like the skyscraper condos of downtown, but at least city folk won’t poop on your head or steal your picnic lunch. Most of the time.
At any rate, I’m afraid of trees and the woods and nature — in all its unpredictable scariness.
That’s why I chose a woodworking project as my Do-It-Yourself project for Home&Garden’s series. I wanted to use a mallet and a chisel to carve away flying flakes of wood until only a candlestand remained.
And I wanted to honor my late father. He was a brilliant sculptor, molding clay into busts of historical figures. As a kid, I silently marveled at the busts of George Washington Carver and Booker T. Washington he had created while a student at Tuskegee Institute. They were so regal and detailed that I kept waiting for them to speak. Their majesty made me believe I could never be that good at sculpting, so I never pursued my dad’s passion.
But now, some 30 years later, standing over a block of wood at the Chicago Bauhaus Academy in Rogers Park, I needed all of my dad’s artistic genes just to draw a straight line.
We used simple tools — mallet, chisel, handsaw, ruler and pencil. We didn’t need no stinking power tools. Motorized utensils were for the weak! We had raw brawn and unflinching nerves. And I had an uncanny ability to mess up. Early on, we worked with softer-than-wood MDF (or medium-density fiberboard). It looks like cardboard but is almost as solid as wood. Rapping it with your knuckles made a woodlike sound, but it was more forgiving than the real thing. Working with MDF was like getting our learner’s permit before driving a chisel into real wood. But I couldn’t get it right away.
Doing himself in
Our first job was to create a mortise tray — a rectangular recess to hold a candle when our project was done. From the beginning, I was nearly done. When I used the chisel to delicately dig out a corner, I produced a ragged gouge. When I tried to sheer away an uneven lump on the bottom of the mortise, I turned the slightly uneven surface to really uneven. I resisted the urge to sigh, but I couldn’t help noticing my classmates were way ahead. But it’s not a contest against them, I reminded myself. It’s a contest against my tendency to screw things up.
After I’d hacked out a reasonably good mortise tray, it was time to make the legs of the candlestand. We were to make the letter “I” by hollowing out grooves in the short parts and chiseling out tongues in the tall part. The tongues would slip into the grooves so snugly that all three pieces would form a solid letter “I.”
Making two of these, we had the legs of the candlestand. After more measuring, sawing and chiseling, we’d lay one “I” across the other to form an “X.” On top of that “X,” we’d place our mortise tray, and we’d officially be woodworkers.
Easier said than done.
After a little fumbling and a few, “Oh, so that’s how it goes!” I’d created the beginnings of my candlestand using the medium-density fiberboard. Then my day job interrupted.
Matter of alignment
After a layoff of a few months to get through my increasing workload, I picked up the mallet and chisel again. This time, I was working with wood and, lo and behold, it was much easier now. Not because the wood was easier to work with — subconsciously I figured out that this wasn’t a contest against my tendency to screw things up after all. This was about aligning my mind and my body to the task at hand. It wasn’t about working against myself; it was about working with the wood.
The mortise tray still looked ragged, but at least it was square. The tongues fit so neatly into the grooves now. And I was no longer guilty of believing in my inability more than in my ability.
As I showed assistant instructor Shawn Devine my wooden letter I, she smiled and said, “Your dad would be proud.”
Chicago Bauhaus Academy offers community woodworking classes, with fees ranging from $328 to $525. The next session of classes begins next week.
The academy is run by Chicago Bauhaus Studios, 6525 N. Clark St., 773-338-1746. Chicago Bauhaus suffered a large loss last month with the death of award-winning master craftsman Berthold Schwaiger. Founder and president of the Bauhaus Apprenticeship Institute, he learned the craft in his native Germany, but embarrassed about his nation’s role in World War II, he eventually left.
“I wanted to become a citizen of the world,” he told me. He taught in India and other places before making America his home. Though he loved to teach, his passion was woodworking. The results of his passion are seen in museums, homes and offices across the nation.
He was inspired while a child, making wooden ornaments from a kit. When visitors to his home repeatedly congratulated him on his handiwork, he knew what we wanted to do with his life: “When I heard their oohs and ahhs, I was hooked.”
Since my short foray into the world that hooked Schwaiger, I’m much more aware of wood. In my home, the hardwood floors used to be just a place to leave a pile of dirty clothes. Now, I notice the grain, enjoying the interrupted whorl of each plank of wood. When I walk to the kitchen, I know the reason the floors are creaking is because the dry winter air robs the wood of moisture, making the wood shrink. Each creak is like a plea for a drink. I know summer’s moist air will make the wood happy and creak-free again. I’m much more aware of wood now.
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CLASS NOTES
CLASS: Basic Woodworking 101
LOCATION: Chicago Bauhaus Studios, 6525 N. Clark St.
DURATION: Nine 2 1/2-hour classes from 5 to 7:30 p.m. or 7:30 to 10 p.m. on Mondays or Wednesdays. Each class begins with a lecture of about 45 minutes, followed by hands-on learning.
DATES: Next session starts Monday (through March 5) or Wednesday (through March 7). Call 773-338-1746 to check class availability.
COST: $328; tools are provided. Requested reading, “The Complete Manual of Woodworking” by Jackson, Day and Jennings, costs about $20 and is available in larger bookstores.
WHO SHOULD TAKE THIS CLASS: Patient people. Focusing on the task in front of you — sawing a straight line, shaving an edge till it’s level — is the key to success. Thinking about what happened at work or what’s for dinner will slow you down or lead to mistakes. Working with your hands amid the aroma of freshly cut wood and the sounds of pounding hammers and whizzing saws is invigorating. Even if you aren’t a handy person, this class is for you. Instructors are patient and gentle.
WHO SHOULD NOT TAKE THIS CLASS: Messing up a couple of tongue-in-groove projects will frustrate the easily flustered. This class is about the journey as well as the destination.
OVERALL ASSESSMENT: You’re not just building a decorative candlestand; you’re learning how to overcome yourself. It’s like going to a therapist for nine weeks and walking out with a little piece of furniture you’ve made.
CONTACT: Register at www.lf.org/bhai2000 (click on “Chicago Bauhaus Academy”) or call 773-338-1746.
OTHER PLACES TO LEARN:
– J. Miller Handcrafted Furniture, 1774 W. Lunt Ave., 773-761-3311, www.furnituremaking.com (click on a picture, then click “workshops”). Learn how to make tables or chairs, or learn woodbending or other skills. Classes are $80 to $985 and start in March.
– Chicago Park District, 312-742-PLAY (312-742-7529), www.chicagoparkdistrict.com. Many park facilities throughout the city offer classes in woodcraft, though not at the artisan level at Chicago Bauhaus Studios and J. Miller Handcrafted Furniture.
— Eric Gwinn
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Diaries of our DIY daredevils
Here are other installments in our Diary of a DIY Daredevil series you can read in the coming months:
Next
Feb. 25: Will a girl who loved jigsaw puzzles be as mesmerized with mosaics when she’s grown up? Home&Garden Editor Elaine Matsushita is about to find out.
Other upcoming stories
– A pottery class dropout, Assistant Home&Garden Editor Tran Ha retakes her seat at the potter’s wheel.
Previous stories
– Reporter Karen Klages recounts her days of blood, sweat and stained glass. (See June 25 Home&Garden.)
– Garden reporter Beth Botts heads to the Chicago Botanic Garden to learn how to transform peat moss, sand and cement into a planter that echoes the rough-hewn stone watering troughs from European farms. (See July 23 Home&Garden.)
– Reporter Mary Daniels seeks out international teapot guru Fong Choo to learn how to make a pot — but comes home with a cup. (See Aug. 27 Home&Garden)
– Assistant Home&Garden editor Marjorie David learns how to spread the mud and tile a kitchen backsplash. (See Oct. 8 Home&Garden)
– Reporter Barbara Mahany attempts to master the evergreen wreath at the Chicago Botanic Garden. (See Nov. 19 Home&Garden)
Read these stories online at chicagotribune.com/diy
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egwinn@tribune.com
