How to make something worth a memory
Three things about life I learnt whilst building a humble workbench.
Working for so much of my week in front of a screen, I’ve felt the pull more and more to make physical objects; useful things. The process of bringing something from imagination into a tangible, solid form is an empowering experience. It becomes proof of my existence; beyond the pixels of my workday.
Possessing very little in the way of tools, knowledge and experience in carpentry, I looked around for local woodworking courses, or workshop spaces and came up with nothing. After months of thinking and talking about it, I decided that I should stop talking and thinking, and instead just use my garage as a workshop to learn in. But first I needed the most important of tools: a sturdy workbench.
A friend of mine generously asked if I wanted to borrow his tools whilst he was away. It so happened that I had a rare free weekend, and so I set about designing and building my first project. In the process I learnt a lot, not just about woodwork, but also about how to start something new.
1. Perfect is a distraction.
I’d looked around for the perfect plans, toyed with idea of different construction methods and features, all of which served nothing but procrastination.
In the end I decided action was a more useful virtue than perfection, and upon finding a beat up old school workbench top for sale, set about designing my own.
In reality, at this stage I have no idea what will be truly useful to me beyond four legs and a solid top. This is true of so many projects. You don’t know what the end will look like until you start.
2. You have the time. Take it.
The process of building could have take me just one afternoon. After all, it would never be perfect, why should I waste time? I could have just screwed together the frame and it would have stood, serving the same purpose. However, what attracts me to the idea of woodwork, or indeed any craft, is not just the finished product but the beauty of the process.
Instead of a rushed afternoon, I took a full weekend. With my garage door open, I talked to neighbours as they came and went. The children playing in the street would come and watch for a while, checking the progress. The scene does’t sound like something from this century.
I relished the slowness of the process. Measuring twice (and then again) and cutting once. Setting each corner, recessing each screw, planing each edge. The level of care I applied was not required by the object or design, but rather it was for myself.
3. Play the part.
I enjoyed playing the part of a craftsman, and in the theatre of it, came a little closer to becoming one. Often we think that we must wait to become an artist, a writer, or a ‘proper’ musician. The truth is, we become one the moment we being exploring our craft.
Maintaining the obsession, wonder, and hope of beginning whilst our experience shouts to us that we are not yet a master is a difficult task.
Embracing the acting, and ‘performing’ the part allows us to maintain our enthusiasm through the challenges.
I won’t linger on how I sawed three bits of wood to the wrong length even after measuring twice, or how my inexperience with the glue engulfed the first leg I built. Instead I’ll be proud of the (nearly) straight, machined edges of the finished legs, the clever corner joints (which I found on Pinterest) and the overwhelming satisfaction of using a tool and object of my own design.
From the moment the saw first cut into the rich red of the old worktop, the smell of sawdust brought me back to my grandfather’s workshop. He died nearly 20 years ago when I was still a child, but in the action of making something, I realised I was living out his memory.
Both my grandfathers were practical men, and resourceful too. They used what was around them to create useful things, and both would get carried away by the process. I will never forget the day that a giant rabbit run appeared in our garden. My grandfather must have removed the roof of his shed to get it out after building it too big to move out through the door. Such was his enthusiasm.
My workbench now stands as a foundation for everything I build hereafter. It is beautiful to me, not just in it’s design, but also in its story. That memory of the making will be carried on through everything that is created upon it.
What will you make? What memories will you create?
Making things is hard. That’s why I’m writing a practical guide to overcoming the obstacles that stand between you and your life’s work.
Coming early 2017. Subscribe to the mailing list to be notified when it’s available
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