Dust jacket "Men who know and love wood are never in a hurry with it, preferring to engage themselves in that rich slow magic that wood works on the human psyche. This is no ordinary woodworking book, and James Krenov is no ordinary cabinetmaker. A glance at his work - illustrated here with over 150 beautiful color and black-and-white photographs - will show why his artisanry is probably the finest in the world today. Although James Krenov's work is in museum collections on both sides of the Atlantic and in Japan, and although he is a successful and inspiring teacher, his is a deeper, low-tone experience that is rare in our make-it-big times. A Cabinetmaker's Notebook contains reflections on his life and work as a cabinetmaker - not just the how but the why of a way of living and working with wood. Craftsmen in every medium will be inspired by this account of familiar and ever recurring problems - getting started, finding one's true self in the work, developing habits that increase the joys and lessen the difficulties of a complex craft, and the crucial task of resisting the pressure to do less than one's best. Cabinetmakers, amateur or otherwise, will be interested in the discussion of wood Mr Krenov uses (air-dried and flitch-cut), tools (he makes his own), as well as the individual pieces illustrated. All those interested in encouraging fine crafts - educators and museum people - and the public who will receive the work of the craftsman and cabinetmaker will find here a new awareness of wood, one of the richest of materials available to the craftsman...."
A thoroughly enjoyable, pleasant, yet thought provoking book that both resonated with me as a woodworker, and simultaneously reminded me how much of an inauthentic, insufficiently devoted, hobby woodworker I am (as so many seem when compared to James Krenov). I learned the most from, and most appreciated, the detail on Krenov's working process: how he looks at and selects wood, how he designs from wood itself and not from drawings, how he has survived in the profession while maintaining standards (like so many craftsmen I know, there is a wife to make a more "reliable" living, which Krenov freely admits), and why craftsmanship is so important in the context of a throwaway, disposable-item culture.
My love of woodworking attracted me to James Krenov’s book, but my appreciation for his philosophy and the appeal of his clear simple English draws me back again and again. Perhaps had I read it when I was 22 years old, I would have pursued a different career; perhaps not. It’s hard to tell someone something when they are 22. For years, I made semi-annual trips to a large shopping mall (of all things) in Minneapolis where I maintained some computer control equipment. I found this book in the engineers’ lunchroom and I always read it with my sandwich. Eventually, after several years of these trips, an engineer told me to take the book because no one else read it.
Krenov is a cabinetmaker of international repute, and his work is exhibited in museums in Sweden, Norway, and Japan. He lived in Sweden, instead of the United States in which he was raised because “Expression in wood…is a bit heavy-handed there; oversimplified…Some artists in wood order their material by telephone…This is not a criticism; it is merely stating that there are different relationships with the material.” If you are an aspiring woodworker looking for technical tips on making a sophisticated jewelry box of exotic woods using complex dovetail joints, then keep on looking—this isn’t it. Oh, the museum-quality box is there, right enough, but Krenov is writing about the attitude that makes the creation of these masterpieces possible…and the attitude that makes their purchase and ownership worthwhile. His work tends to emphasize an understated elegance rather than a gaudy display of showy hardwoods. Lemonwood, pearwood, Swedish maple and ash, Oregon pine, doussie, and various walnuts feature in his work.
If you paint with a brush, it is fine art; if you use an air-brush it is a craft. So says the U.S. Treasury, which will tax the two assets in different ways. A woodworker, using band saw, plane, spoke shave, chisel and knife, is a craftsman while Michelangelo, carving marble with chisel and drill, is an artist. An arbitrary line is being drawn here. Krenov is an artist of some sort, and his single-minded focus on his craft in all its aspects is well worth one’s time to contemplate.
He works alone making a few pieces each year. “…I have to discipline myself to do this…work, which involves hard labor and concentration of another sort, often forgotten, because this kind of wood crafting is a combination of many things; discipline, a strong back, intuition, skilled fingers, something in the eye, and something more than professional skill—perhaps someone else can explain it better than I…My way of working is just a long series of personal discoveries. I can’t give anyone secrets…because, finally, it depends upon one’s skill and intuition…”
On fame and fortune: “I’ve never believed that a really good craftsman is intended for a tremendous public. A museum can show a thing or two to countless people, but the craftsman lives in a condition where the size of his public is almost in inverse proportion to the quality of his work.”
On quality: “A fair part of my life as a craftsman has been shadowed with doubts. Doubts as to whether I was meant to do this kind of thing. Still more doubts as to whether I could do it well enough…Finally, there was the worst doubt of all, when at times I would ask myself, ‘Whom are you fooling? What if your work is fair but not really good, not so good that any finely tuned person will simply have to respond?...Alone in the house I would panic, stare at my workbench, then go upstairs, make a cup of coffee, sit sipping it looking out at the birch trees, winter-bare and trembling. In the midst of fear an undercurrent would begin, the feeling that is so difficult to define. Down in my workshop again, the sum total of values once given to me said, ‘This isn’t bad.’”
On age: “Once I used to get wood from far places and take for granted that two, three, or four years would pass before it would be ready to use. Now, four years is a long time…now my excitement is shaded by apprehension, almost regret. A half a year to get here, three years to dry…and time is passing. I am sad, not at the thought of getting old, but because I might miss so much lovely wood…I don’t love working—it is working well that I love. Hence the soberness: I don’t want to go on being a cabinetmaker after I start to make excuses, to say, ‘We-ell, you know, it isn’t bad, but if you had come to me three or four years ago I’d have done a better job. But of course, I am sixty-two, and considering, it’s not bad...’ I won’t allow myself that: I’ll quit when it’s not going just as I know it should.”
This not a how to book, this book is the story of James Krenov. A glimpse into his life and experiences that shaped him and his woodworking. If you know who James Krenov is, then you the subtlety and simple lines of his work. A simplicity that takes a master craftsman to make. This book begins to share his philosophy that influenced his work, work that is treasured by those who own it and those who have seen it.
I’ve been reading a lot about James Krenov for a couple of years and finally got around to picking up some of his books. My god what I’ve been missing. I’ve read 3 of his writings so far and will eventually find the whole set.
what a gifted artist/woodworker. The different approaches of curved doors and supports, minimal hinges, and the painstaking approach to the beautiful use of wood. A master indeed. Inspiring for the rest of us.
One of the classics, more about a approach to woodworking and examples of fine work, and how he changes details of the work based on his feeling at the time, the grain and other characteristics of the wood, etc. Not a detailed here's how to build these ten items.
it's a bit preachy and a little angry at the world. krenov believes that we are living temporary lives, and that fine furniture will add a permanence we've been missing.