Parabolic Rocking

As I got to the last part of my recent chair assembly, I decided to try a hunch and redesign my rockers. The rockers on my chairs have always been simply portions of a large circle with an area at the back that has a slightly larger radius. This flatter area at the back of the rockers acts as a brake, slowing the motion and helping it reverse. I have always felt that rockers that are simply a portion of a circle can rock back too far and make me tense.

After years of "winging it", I decided to try laying out a parabola, which naturally and fluidly flattens out toward the ends. After some tinkering with the numbers, I settled on the dimensions and layout shown below.




The layout is pretty simple (and cool!). Start with a baseline that is 38 inches long. Half way across it draw a perpendicular line that is marked at 4 1/8 inches and 8 1/4 inches off the baseline. Next draw lines from the ends of the baseline to the top mark on the perpendicular. Then mark off the sides into equal increments (the more the better). Finally, connect the lowest mark on one side to the highest on the other. Proceed up and down the sides as shown. The lines will form tangents to the parabola and give a relatively smooth curve.




Here is the final rocker, in the chair. I found that by shifting the rockers forward or back, I could place the "brake" exactly where it is most comfortable. I'd be curious to know if anyone else has worked with parabolas this way, and if so, why didn't you tell me!

A Case of the Vapours

Among the aspects of chairmaking that I've been trying to address is the finish. I am generally an advocate of the painted chair. When using a variety of woods to serve a variety of functions, paint is a great way to emphasize the chair as a whole object. I have been making unpainted pieces for a while now, and learning a great deal about the differences in design and construction that follow. One of my goals, to spend more time shaving pieces and less time at the lathe, has led me to create chairs that are all oak, except for the butternut seats. The oak, besides splitting and shaving beautifully, has a feature that I am excited about, because it can straddle the line between painted and unpainted chairs. I am talking about fuming.

When exposed to an ammonia rich atmosphere, the tannins naturally found in oak darken. This darkening is a chemical process in the wood, and unlike stains, will not obscure the grain patterns. Anyone familiar with the rich dark brown of Mission style furniture will know what fumed oak has in store.

I hope to use this method to unite the silhouette of the piece while also showcasing the grain. I have made other pieces with fuming before, and enjoyed the transformative magic that happens.






Here is a cross section of a sample that I made. You can see that the color is actually in the wood.
Below is a simple setup that I am using to darken the wedges and pins to create a bit of contrast in the final piece. You can see that all you need is an airtight container and a bit of household ammonia. The idea is not to let the ammonia touch the pieces, but simply evaporate into the chamber.



Here is one of the wedges ,after about 8 hours time, placed next to a shaving made when forming the wedge. The color shift is obvious, but will grow even more so when oil is applied.




I have been having fun arranging the grain so that the rays will play a large role in the overall look of the piece. Once fumed, the rays take on a shimmering quality.

Below is Peter Mich working on his continuous arm chair last week. Peter had already made over 40 chairs. I was pleased that Peter saw the value in making a continuous arm with me, even though he had already learned to make one elsewhere. It gave us a chance to really focus on some solid technique.

Influences

Wading through the sea of influences that have an impact on my thinking and work can be both daunting and inspiring. Whenever I can't seem to drag myself out to the shop (think freezing cold dark mornings or perfect summer afternoons) I crack a book or two and look and the work of others, and I am soon pulled pack into needing to make something.
Sometimes, inspiration can come from unexpected places. Below is a picture of the last piece made my Henri Matisse. At the time that it was made, he was confined to his bed, where he cut out shapes in colored paper and had an assistant pin them to the wall to make his compositions. The stained glass window is in the Rockefeller chapel of the Union Church of Pocantico Hills. I saw this window when I was 15 years old, and I have been thinking a lot about it lately.

So what is so special about this window?



The tradition of the rose window is one of opulence and symmetry. The greats of Europe are intricate and ornate as they hold center stage in the cathedral, meant to inspire awe and hold their own in the greatest displays of architecture of their time. Matisses window plays a different kind of role. At first, when looking at it, it is a simpler version of the rose window. But on closer inspection, one sees that within the rigid framework, that no two pieces are alike. Symmetry and similarity give way to freedom, lightness and life. It may sound simple, but I spend a lot of time trying to deal with its ramifications.

I have been designing new work lately with a different set of priorities. This year, I have been trying new technologies and designs in an attempt to add my bit to the tradition of chairmaking. I have had some success at it, but the final element has been missing, fun. Not to say that I don't enjoy the work, but I have known all along that once I'd resolved some of my initial goals, that the process would have to be reapproached with the aim of bringing more joy to the making, as well as to the chairs.

I think that every craftsman is in this postion at one time or another, sure the work is beautiful, but what a pain! So with simplicity in mind, I've been reviewing my goals, and the works of many masters. I have been looking carefully at chairs of all sorts, trying to distill the elements that I admire and the ways that the process and forms coalesce. In some instances, such as Sam Maloof, I find the process torturous (way to much abrasives!) but am awed by the fluid forms and overall gesture.

So off I go to the shop, with many voices echoing in my head, until I start to work, and they quiet down, so that I can get some work done.

I'll be posting photos of the new work soon.