Yeah, But it's a Dry Heat

I am not a scientist. I think that the scientific method is one of the great achievements of mankind, but, I would never claim that I'd worked it thoroughly enough to deserve the designation. But I do want to know more about what I do, so the experiments march on.

Lately I've been thinking about bending. Perhaps it was having to bend some walnut after a recent bad experience that got the juices flowing. I read literature that remarked on the moisture content of steam as it related to wood bending and the concept that steam piped into a box might be lacking moisture. Of course, heat is the primary element in bending wood, but moisture is the conductor. As I understand the concept, the moisture can drop out of suspension in the steam en route to the box and what ends up making it into the box could be heat, but not as wet as it could be.

So to see if my steam needed wetting or if there was any difference in my bends, I attached a reservoir below my steamer that the hose from the steamer runs to so that the heat must pass through water as it enters the box, ensuring that the moisture content was at it's highest.

When I start up the steamer, the steam boils the water in the jar. So far, the results have been positive enough to warrant further testing.

Here are two bends. The same wood, air dried walnut, steamed for the same amount of time, 90 minutes. The piece that bent didn't raise a single fiber even though the fibers ran out the side more dramatically than the failed bend. And yes, the only difference was that one was steamed with the reservoir and one without. Of course, the successful bend was with the reservoir, and as far as free bending walnut, it's the tightest bend that I've done.

I've done other samples and gotten similar results. One factor that interests me is how this effects long steam times. Imagine that the steam isn't adding enough moisture, this may never be an issue with green wood or short steam times, but for working air dried or even kiln dried, this could make a difference.

Like I said, I'm no scientist, and I'd love to here from you about your ideas or experience. I am planning some tests with kiln dried white oak that I'll post soon.

I was Wrong!

No, this isn't about shavehorses, let's be serious.
As I have been working on the manuscript for the book, I've been coming across all sorts of interesting things. I finally have the perfect excuse to jump down the rabbit hole on lots of topics and follow some long held assumptions to their logical end.
As I have been working through the sharpening details, I've found that I've been doing something wrong, or at least didn't know the right way, for years.

I've used diamond stones, paddles and hones for a long time. They are durable, cut fast and stay nice and flat. But I've never trusted them to finish the job, that is, remove the burr and leave a sharp edge.
What I recently learned is that I've been using them wrong.
Unlike waterstones, which have particles that break down in use and then serve to polish the edge to a higher degree, diamonds are more like sandpaper. Like sandpaper, diamonds can only take so much pressure before you are simply wasting pressure and scratching the surface up with the trapped shavings (called swarf).  I found out long ago that a light touch is the key to sanding, letting the tiny edges take the cut that they were meant to and clearing the swarf often. Since I've applied the same idea to diamonds, my results are far beyond my expectations.

I don't know what it is about diamonds that made me want to bear down on them, perhaps it was the knowledge that they are so hard, or perhaps I just miss seeing the clear black marks that the steel makes on my waterstones that let's me know that they are working. Whatever it is, it took a leap of faith to use them lightly. As Greg Pennington says, use them like you are sharpening a feather.

I've been sharpening my drawknives with a new technique (teaser) that uses diamonds and the results are much improved. I still finish with a few strokes of the strop, but the burr is basically already gone.
See, admitting you are wrong isn't so hard...

I was RIGHT

No this is not about shavehorses, that's too silly to even argue.
I had Ken St. Onge from Fine Woodworking in the shop the other day shooting photos for the second installment of turning articles that we are doing. I'm happy to say that they've added a third.

Some of you may have noticed that I am decidedly left handed, which for most activities isn't so difficult to translate for instruction, but Ken was convinced that for the publication, we should shoot me turning right handed.

Now I've heard it said that if you are first learning to turn that you should practice with both hands, and it sounds great, after all, you are awkward no matter what you do, so that would be the time to become ambi capable.
I didn't.

Granted, for lots of the turning, such as the first ten beads, I simply knocked em out lefty, but for the photos, I had to turn right handed, in slow motion, stopping about four times per detail for pictures.

A while back, I read an interesting experiment that focused on "The Curse of Knowledge". This is when you forget, or can't imagine that someone can't understand or perform something that you know. In the experiment, one person tapped a tabletop with the rhythm of a song that was in their head and the other person had to guess the song. Almost no one guessed the song, to the amazement of the tapper, who assumed it was obvious.

When teaching, I always try to keep this in mind, hoping that I can both empathize with the student not knowing and going through the stress of learning and also to help come up with the best way to bring them along in understanding and doing. While turning right handed, I was thrown from a place of comfortable knowledge, back into white knuckle terror.

As I rolled a bead with the skew, stopping for photos, I tried to take my own advice and apply the motion that I've described to students so many times. To my amazement, it worked. Not the prettiest beads, but there were no major catastrophes.

So, when you see the photos, or watch the videos that Ken shot (at the end of the day!) take a closer look, and know that I've had a refresher course in what it is to learn to turn. Maybe they can photoshop some blood back into my fingers.