Assembling the Stool

Life is incredibly hard; the extent of which is laughable.

I had a moment recently when I was standing in my parent’s kitchen crying. I have literally not done that since high school 17 years ago.

I had a bad week. Raising teenagers is really tough sometimes. The amount of stress surrounding that mysterious journey cannot be understood or described; only felt. My dog died around that same time. It was not a good week. I cried.

While crying, I found myself thinking, “I am never going to want to go back into the shop. Furniture is fucking dumb.” I was all stuck in my feelings, and even found that trying to write felt unclear.

I pulled back from the project of which I have described in my previous articles and sank into the electricity of feelings. My stomach hurt, my hands felt tingly, I was waking up early and felt no fatigue. Anxiety and grief do not sit graciously on me.

The stool project that I have been working was intended to be my quickest turn-over. Carve the parts, assemble to joints, and rub some oil on it. Here I am a full month later still working on the damn thing.

Red oak has proven to be slow going. Everything needs to be babied to avoid tear-out. The work of hogging away material goes particularly slow because the grain is far from straight and so hard that it only comes away with finesse. When I look at the work of some of the professionals around me, I feel like an outsider. Imposter syndrome is latent and ever present.

Nonetheless the project continued this past week. I took off my black clothes. Let the flowers blow away, and even had a good laugh with my stupid 15-year-old about some garbage TV they were binging. Joy awakens like sunrise after a heavy rain.

I found myself, drawknife in hand shaping rungs to support the legs and drilling mortises so that I can dial in the main joinery. I even did some math. Smile on face.

I still have some hours left on this project, but all the parts are roughed out and I have finished the tenon shape on one of the four legs. (I do this by hand, not using a lathe. True boggers fashion.)

The work is a relief after so many days of feeling disconnected with my body. It felt good to be back on my shave horse. It felt good to drift off into the flow of working. Imposter syndrome is dumb. I want to be good at this. I am not as good as I will be. I am much better than I once was.

I have my first farmer’s market sort of thing at the local Museum next month. If you’re around and want to touch my stuff, come on by. I will have a set of 3 legged stools to sell. I’ll bring my shave-horse and a few tools.

Art Under the Oak at the Imperial Calcasieu Museum.

Feelings can be super shitty sometimes. They are also sacred and beautiful. I am. You are too.

Thanks for reading.

In the next post, we will finish the stool.