A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook
I was inspired to find this book after having read James Krenov’s biography, Leave Fingerprints, as it was refenced quite a few times. This work by Krenov himself was arguably what gained him the notoriety he achieved later in life and likely made the Krenov School of Woodworking as desirable of an institution as it now is to attend. I was NOT disappointed. In fact, I was so ‘not disappointed’ that I got through it pretty quickly because it was hard to put down at points.
Unlike many of the woodworking books that will come up in an Amazon search, or on the small shelf of books in the category at your local Barnes and Noble, A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook is not a how-to book, or a series of plans for you to work from. Instead, it acts as a journey through the mind of one of the modern greats in our trade. While Krenov really never achieved great wealth like his peers of the same caliber, it was clear in Leave Fingerprints that this was self-inflicted. He certainly could have charged the sort of commissions that Sam Maloof and others were asking and likely could have sold as many pieces, however it becomes clear within the pages of A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook that this was never his aspiration.
If, during your time in the workshop, you have ever felt a deeper connection to the heritage of woodwork, or the natural materials that you mold and shape into something useful and beautiful, you will certainly find kinship with Krenov through his views. He goes into great deal about wood selection; how he allows the pieces to speak to him. He would sometimes purchase a piece of lumber and keep it in his shop for years, occasionally looking at it and feeling it until the end product would reveal itself to him. To the casual hobbyist, outsider, or mass producer this might seem ludicrous with a hint of insanity, but to those who have ever bought a piece of wood because of some unique figure or grain pattern, or picked up some lumber they didn’t need because it had a story behind it; these are the people that will understand this passion, even if they don’t take it quite as far as the author did.
In my brief study of antique and period furniture I have come to learn a valuable lesson about spending time on the surfaces and details that matter but saving time on surfaces that don’t. For example, a tabletop is the main thing of a table but the underside of the tabletop just has to be good enough (to an extent). One of Krenov’s points, in a strong departure from this thinking, is that every possible surface, every detail, must be meticulously worked and refined. One example he discusses is a drawer. Many people will focus on the drawer front, while expending minimal effort on the bottom and back. He argues that by finishing the lesser surfaces with equal care as the show surfaces, the owner of the piece will always find new parts of the piece to admire and fall in love with.
He also discusses how his work should be something in someone’s home that both serves its purpose and provides the owner with simple joy in walking by, looking at, and interacting with. I think we should all strive for that level of appreciation in our work and I hope that each of us has achieved that, or will in the future.
Krenov, James. A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook. Litton Educational Publishing Inc., New York, NY. 1976.
