Journeyman's Journal

One of the reasons this subject causes so much confusion is because there are actually two different questions being asked. One is, what produces the strongest bond? The other is, what is the most practical way to apply glue in the workshop? They are not always the same question.

For modern PVA wood glues, such as white and yellow woodworking glues, manufacturers generally recommend applying a thin, even coat to one mating surface. Once the joint is assembled and clamped, the pressure spreads the glue across both surfaces, producing a continuous glue line.

This method uses less glue, creates less squeeze out and is quicker, while producing a bond that is every bit as strong as coating both surfaces when the joint fits properly.

Applying PVA to both surfaces is not wrong. It simply uses more glue, increases squeeze out and rarely produces a stronger joint. In some cases, it can even leave a thicker glue line than necessary.

Hot hide glue is a different story. Historically, many cabinetmakers brushed glue onto both mating surfaces, although it was by no means an absolute rule. Hide glue has a much shorter open time than modern PVA and begins to gel quickly as it cools. Coating both surfaces helped ensure complete wetting of the joint before assembly.

Historical woodworking texts vary in their instructions, with some simply advising that the joint be coated generously before bringing the parts together. The important thing was achieving complete coverage before the glue gelled.

This is why you will hear experienced woodworkers give different answers. The disagreement is not because one person understands glue and the other does not. The difference comes from their experience, the adhesives they have used and the reasoning behind their approach.

Paul Sellers, who has spent decades teaching traditional hand tool woodworking, recommends applying modern PVA glue to one surface only. His reasoning is simple. A properly fitted joint does not need excessive glue, and when the parts are brought together under clamp pressure, the glue spreads across both surfaces and creates the bond.

Applying glue to one surface reduces waste, creates less squeeze out, is cleaner and is quicker. His approach is based on the understanding that the strength of a glue joint comes from good fitting surfaces and a thin glue line, not from applying more adhesive.

On the other hand, Marc Spagnuolo from The Wood Whisperer prefers applying glue to both mating surfaces and considers it a best practice in many situations.

His reasoning is that coating both surfaces guarantees complete wetting before assembly. Timber is porous, and by applying glue to both faces, there is less reliance on the glue transferring from one surface to the other. For him, the small amount of extra glue used is a worthwhile trade off for ensuring complete coverage.

Both approaches have merit. Neither woodworker is simply spreading glue without thought. Both methods come from years of experience and an understanding of how joints behave.

There are, however, a few situations where applying glue to both surfaces makes good sense. Very porous end grain is one example. End grain behaves like a bundle of drinking straws and can absorb glue surprisingly quickly. Some woodworkers apply a light sizing coat first, allow it to soak in for a few minutes and then apply fresh glue before assembly. This helps prevent the wood from starving the joint of adhesive.

Large or complex glue ups can also benefit from coating both surfaces, particularly if assembly takes longer than normal or there are many parts to position before clamping.

Over the years, mostly from watching YouTube as I work alone, I’ve seen some woodworkers take pride in applying far more glue than necessary. Their justification is that they don’t want to starve the joint and that glue is cheap. They would rather have glue dripping everywhere than a small, consistent bead of squeeze out. Unfortunately, this demonstrates a misunderstanding of how modern PVA glue works and teaches beginners that more glue somehow means a stronger joint.

It doesn’t. A glue joint does not become stronger because you use more glue. It becomes stronger because there is a thin, continuous film of adhesive between two well fitted surfaces. Excess glue simply squeezes out around the edges, making more mess, requiring more clean up and wasting glue. In some cases, too much glue can even make it harder for the joint to close completely.

You want enough glue to completely wet the mating surfaces, but not so much that it pools or runs. When clamped correctly, you should see a small, consistent bead of squeeze out along the joint. That tells you the joint has adequate glue coverage without excessive waste.

So what about my own approach? For many years I worked with hot hide glue, where applying glue to both mating surfaces was common practice. Hide glue behaves differently from modern PVA. It has a shorter working time and begins to gel quickly, so complete coverage before assembly was extremely important.

When I changed to white glue about two years ago, I carried that habit with me. Recently, while edge gluing boards, I applied a thin coat of glue to both mating surfaces without even thinking about it.

Technically, for PVA, applying glue to one surface is generally the accepted method. However, because I applied a thin, even coat rather than flooding the joint with excess glue, the joint will be perfectly sound.

Why did I apply glue to both mating surfaces today? The answer is quite simple. After years of working with hide glue, muscle memory kicked in and I repeated an age old habit without giving it much thought. It is a habit I will eventually change, but in my defence, because I only applied a thin coat to both surfaces, the job’s a good’un.

This is perhaps the most important lesson. Good woodworking is not about blindly following a rule. It is about understanding why the rule exists.

One woodworker may apply glue to one surface because they understand modern PVA and want speed and efficiency. Another may apply glue to both surfaces because they value guaranteed coverage. Both can produce excellent results.

The mistake is not choosing one method over the other. The mistake is applying glue without understanding what you are trying to achieve.

A good strop is one of the simplest and most useful tools a woodworker can make. A strop is simply a flat piece of wood with leather attached to the surface. Its purpose is not to replace sharpening stones, but to refine the edge after sharpening. A properly prepared strop removes the final traces of the burr and polishes the edge, leaving a razor sharp cutting tool ready for use.

The leather used for a strop is one of the most important factors in its performance. The best leather is firm, stable and has a consistent surface that will not allow the cutting edge to sink into it. A good strop can be made from the flesh side of quality vegetable tanned cowhide, where the fibres are dense and even. This surface holds honing compounds well and provides a controlled abrasive action.

Horse butt leather is considered by many to be one of the finest choices because it comes from a dense, strong area of the hide. It has a tight fibre structure and resists stretching, making it excellent for fine sharpening work.

Avoid soft upholstery leather or thin stretchy leather because it can deform under pressure and encourage rounding of the edge. A firm piece of leather around 3 millimetres thick, attached securely to a rigid wooden base, is all that is required to make a high quality workshop strop. The ideal wood for a strop is something stable, flat and resistant to movement. Traditionally, hardwoods such as beech, maple, or other close grained timbers are excellent choices because they are dense and remain flat over time. A strop does not need to be made from an expensive exotic timber. The most important factor is not the species of wood, but the stability and thickness of the board. A thick piece of wood provides a solid foundation for the leather. A strop made from thin material can flex, and this can introduce unwanted rounding of the cutting edge. A thicker base keeps the leather supported and allows the blade to remain consistent during stropping.

There is a common belief that a strop must be made from hardwood, but this is not true. Pine can make an excellent strop if it is prepared correctly. The key is thickness. A piece of pine over 1 inch thick will provide plenty of support and will not flex under normal hand pressure. Pine is also easy to obtain and simple to work with using hand tools.

The surface should be flattened carefully before attaching the leather. A soft timber like pine only becomes a problem when the board is too thin or uneven. The leather follows the surface underneath it, so a poorly prepared base will affect the final result regardless of the timber used. For a workshop strop, a straight piece of pine, properly flattened and over an inch thick, will perform just as well as many more expensive alternatives. The leather should be flat, clean and free from excessive stretch. Both smooth grain leather and suede can be used. The suede side is often preferred when using honing compounds because it holds the abrasive material well. The smooth side can be used for final polishing with a very fine abrasive or even without compound. The leather does not need to be thick. A quality piece of leather around 3 millimetres thick is more than adequate.

There are several ways to attach leather to the wooden base. Contact cement is one of the most common choices because it creates a strong bond and keeps the leather firmly attached. It is quick and practical for a workshop strop.

PVA woodworking glue can also work well. Apply a thin, even layer, place the leather carefully, and clamp it flat until fully cured. Allowing it to dry overnight gives the best results.

Traditional woodworkers may prefer hide glue, which is also suitable and keeps with historical methods. However, modern adhesives are usually more convenient for a tool that may eventually need its leather replaced.

Do not use double sided tape. Depending on the thickness of the leather, the tape can create an uneven surface.

The most important thing is not the type of glue but the preparation. Too much glue can create uneven areas beneath the leather, so a thin, consistent layer is best. Once the leather is attached, the edges can be trimmed neatly with a sharp knife. The surface can then be charged with honing compound if desired. A strop should be used with light pressure. Heavy pressure can compress the leather and round over the edge. The blade should be drawn away from the cutting edge, keeping the bevel flat against the surface. On the back of the blade, keep it completely flat and use the strop to remove the remaining wire edge. This process is sometimes called chasing the burr.

A well made strop does not need to be complicated. A flat board, a piece of leather and a suitable adhesive are all that is required.

The beauty of making your own strop is that it can be built from materials already found in the workshop. The leather on the other hand, depending on size and quality, can be quite expensive. So my suggestion would be to visit upholstery shops and see if they are willing to sell you an off cut or two.

Few workshop tools are as simple as a leather strop, yet few are surrounded by as much misunderstanding. Some woodworkers swear by them, while others avoid them altogether. Some claim a strop “aligns the edge,” while others argue it merely rounds over a flat bevel.

Like many traditional tools, the truth lies somewhere between the extremes. A leather strop is neither a miracle tool nor a useless accessory. Used correctly, it is a refinement tool. It removes the last traces of a burr, polishes the very apex of the cutting edge and leaves a tool feeling smoother and more refined in use. Used carelessly, particularly with excessive pressure, it can gradually round over the edge you worked so hard to create.

Understanding the strop begins with the history of edged tools themselves.

Unlike the Bailey plane, the leather strop cannot be credited to a single inventor. It appears to have developed naturally wherever craftsmen worked with sharp edges.

Leather has been used for thousands of years for countless purposes because of its durability and flexibility. Although there is no archaeological evidence proving that prehistoric craftsmen deliberately stropped stone tools, leather was widely available and would have been familiar to early tool users. Those same qualities that made it useful for clothing, containers and equipment also made it well suited to refining cutting edges.

By the Roman period, whetstones were well established for sharpening iron tools and weapons. Surviving Roman writings discuss sharpening stones, but they do not provide clear evidence of dedicated leather strops. If leather was used for refining edges, it may simply have been considered an ordinary workshop practice rather than something requiring detailed explanation.

By the Middle Ages, stropping had become strongly associated with barbers, surgeons and cutlers. Straight razors required an extremely refined edge, and leather proved ideal for removing the final traces of a burr and producing a highly polished cutting edge.

Woodworkers likely adopted similar practices. Joiners, cabinetmakers, turners and other craftsmen depended on sharp edged tools that benefited from regular maintenance. However, surviving woodworking manuals mention sharpening stones far more often than they mention stropping, suggesting that stropping was probably a practical workshop habit rather than a formally documented procedure. The repeated use of the word probably is deliberate because the historical evidence is limited.

During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, leather strops became increasingly common. Cabinetmakers and joiners used leather attached to wooden boards, while barbers often preferred hanging strops. Polishing compounds such as jeweller’s rouge were introduced to increase the polishing ability of the leather and produce an even finer edge.

The nineteenth century saw the mass production of strops. Manufacturers offered hanging strops, paddle strops, bench strops and combination strops with leather and canvas surfaces. Advertising often claimed that strops would renew, refresh or align an edge, marketing that continues to influence how people describe them today.

Modern craftsmen have expanded the idea further. Leather has been joined by materials such as MDF, hardwood, denim and cardboard, often charged with modern abrasives such as diamond paste or the familiar green polishing compound, commonly called green rouge. Some craftsmen even use the palm of their hand as a strop. I know I still do on occasion. Whatever method is used, the principle remains the same. A strop is a finishing tool, not a replacement for proper sharpening.

To understand what a strop does, we first need to understand what happens during sharpening.

Even after working through progressively finer stones, a cutting edge is rarely perfect. Under magnification several features may still be present. There may be a microscopic burr, a thin flap of steel created as the abrasive removes material at the edge. Although extremely small, it can affect cutting performance. The very apex of the edge also contains microscopic scratches left by the abrasive. Even the finest stones leave a surface pattern, although those marks may be almost invisible. Finally, the steel at the very tip has experienced considerable stress during sharpening. The last few microns of steel are the most delicate part of the tool.

A leather strop works almost exclusively on this tiny region.

When charged with an abrasive compound, a strop removes the remaining burr, reduces microscopic irregularities and polishes the apex of the edge. The result is not a dramatic change in the bevel geometry but a refinement of the final cutting surface.

This explains why a properly sharpened plane iron can feel noticeably sharper after just a few light strokes on a strop. The edge has become cleaner and more consistent, allowing it to pass through the wood with less resistance.

Woodworkers who polish beyond the finest bench stones, whether with sub micron abrasives or leather strops, are not correcting a defective edge. They are simply refining the microscopic scratches left by the stone in an effort to maximise keenness and prolong the life of the apex before it begins to wear.

One of the most misunderstood descriptions of stropping is the phrase “aligning the edge.”

If a cutting edge has rolled during use, the steel has undergone plastic deformation. A strop cannot restore the original strength of that steel. At best, it may temporarily improve how the edge feels, but it has not repaired the damage.

A more accurate explanation is that stropping removes weak material at the apex, reduces microscopic irregularities and refines the cutting edge.

If an edge has genuinely rolled, chipped or become damaged, the only correct solution is to return to the sharpening stones and remove enough material to reach sound steel once again. A strop is the final stage of sharpening. It is not a substitute for sharpening. This is where many woodworkers become confused.

A plane iron can be carefully sharpened on a fine stone, followed by just a few light strokes on a strop, and immediately feel noticeably better. It may slice more easily, glide through the wood with less resistance and appear sharper in simple cutting tests.

The reason is that cutting performance depends heavily on the condition of the very apex of the edge. A freshly sharpened edge may still contain tiny remnants of burr material, microscopic irregularities, a slightly uneven apex and a thin layer of weakened steel created during sharpening. A strop refines this final region. The abrasive removes and polishes the weakest material at the apex, leaving a cleaner, more uniform cutting edge that feels noticeably keener. However, that does not necessarily mean the edge is stronger.

A heavily stropped edge may feel exceptionally sharp because the apex has been highly refined. Yet excessive pressure can also round the edge slightly and remove support behind the cutting edge. The result may be an edge that feels incredibly keen but loses that initial performance more quickly.

Edge Rounded

This is the difference between initial keenness and long term durability. One edge may feel sharper immediately but lose that sensation sooner. Another may feel slightly less impressive at first, yet maintain its cutting performance for considerably longer.

A carefully finished stone edge may feel slightly less razor-like, but it retains a crisp, well supported apex that generally lasts longer in use. An aggressively stropped edge may feel extraordinarily sharp at first, yet lose that refined feeling sooner. Neither edge is necessarily sharper than the other. The difference lies in how the final few microns of steel have been prepared.

Excessive stropping removes support behind the cutting edge because the flexible leather compresses and conforms around the apex, abrading the steel at the very tip and effectively steepening the final cutting angle.

Mechanically, the process is straightforward. Unlike a rigid sharpening stone, leather compresses under pressure. As the blade is drawn across the surface, the leather rises around the edge, allowing the abrasive to contact not only the bevel but also the very apex. Repeated stropping gradually produces a slight convex shape at the tip of the bevel. As this happens, steel is removed from the area immediately behind the cutting edge, reducing the amount of material supporting the apex.

The result is a microscopically thin cutting edge with less structural support. In light work it can feel exceptionally keen, but when driven into hard timber or subjected to impact, the unsupported apex is more likely to roll, chip or collapse. The edge may excel in a paper slicing test while proving less durable in demanding woodworking.

For this reason, a strop works best when mounted on a hard, flat backing, such as leather glued to a wooden block, and used with the lightest possible pressure. The goal is simply to remove the remaining burr and polish the apex without allowing the leather to deform around the edge.

no rounding

The ideal sharpening method ultimately depends on the tool and the work it performs. Carving tools generally benefit from regular stropping because they are used with light cutting forces where maximum keenness is often more important than durability. Paring chisels can also benefit from occasional stropping because they are designed for controlled slicing cuts.

Chopping chisels and heavy bench chisels, however, are subjected to repeated impact. For these tools, a strong, well supported apex is often more valuable than pursuing the highest possible polish.

Plane irons occupy a similar position. Many experienced woodworkers prefer finishing on a very fine stone with little or no stropping because the edge is expected to work continuously against the timber. A crisp, durable apex often proves more valuable than the additional refinement produced by excessive stropping.

A leather strop is neither magic nor unnecessary. It is simply a finishing tool.

Used correctly, it removes the last traces of a burr, polishes the cutting edge and produces a noticeable improvement in how a tool feels and performs. Used incorrectly, it can gradually reduce the strength of the very edge it is intended to refine.

The best results come from understanding exactly what the strop is doing. It is refining the final few microns of an already sharp edge. Those few microscopic microns may seem insignificant, but they are exactly where every cut begins.

I know this is a lot to take in, so I’m going to explain it one more time in plain English.

The reason I’m spending so much time on this is that there is so much rubbish written about stropping. People copy one another without understanding what is actually happening at the cutting edge. Then someone turns it into a YouTube video or a blog article, and before long everyone is repeating the same misinformation as though it were fact.

So forget what you’ve heard for a moment and let’s look at what is actually happening. Imagine sharpening a pencil with a knife. At first, the pencil has a strong, well-supported point. The wood behind the graphite holds everything together.

Now imagine you keep shaving away the wood around the very tip while leaving the graphite sticking out further and further. The point becomes incredibly sharp, but it also becomes fragile because there isn’t enough wood supporting it.

A leather strop can do something similar to a steel edge. When you press a blade onto leather, the leather isn’t perfectly rigid. It compresses and wraps slightly around the very tip of the edge. Instead of polishing only the flat bevel, it also polishes the steel immediately behind the cutting edge. With very light pressure this isn’t a problem. It simply removes the last traces of the burr and polishes the edge. But if you press too hard or strop for too long, the leather keeps removing tiny amounts of steel from behind the edge. The edge becomes extremely thin and feels frighteningly sharp, but it also loses some of the steel that was supporting it. Like the sharpened point of a pencil with too much wood removed, it becomes more fragile. The edge can be incredibly thin, but because there’s so little material behind it, it bends or wears much more quickly.

So there is a trade-off:

a) A lightly stropped edge is polished while still retaining plenty of steel behind it, making it both sharp and durable.

b) An aggressively stropped edge may feel even sharper at first, but because some of its support has been removed, it can dull, roll or chip sooner.

That’s why many experienced woodworkers say, “Use the strop sparingly.” The goal isn’t to keep polishing forever. It’s simply to remove the burr, refine the edge and then stop before you begin weakening it.

In the next article, I’ll look at which types of leather make the best strops and what adhesive is best for attaching them to a backing. I’ve already covered the type of wood I recommend.

If you don’t have a leather strop, don’t let that stop you. The palm of your hand can work surprisingly well as a quick strop. I’ve used it for years and still do. Four or five light strokes are often enough to remove the last traces of the burr and leave the edge feeling noticeably keener.

For years I have looked at my website statistics and wondered how many of those numbers represented real people. Like many content creators, I have questioned whether the visitors were genuine readers or simply numbers generated by search engines, bots or people simply passing through. The recent poll has given me my first real glimpse behind those statistics.

The participation was very low and, at first glance, that might seem disappointing. But after reading the responses, I came away with a very different conclusion. The people who took the time to vote were not random visitors. They were genuine readers who have followed my work for years. Some told me they would rather hear my own voice than have AI narrate my articles. One reader even said they loved my work so much that they would never unsubscribe, but they would rather hear me than AI. Comments like that mean far more to me than hundreds of anonymous page views ever could.

What surprised me even more was that one of those readers had never left a comment before. That single fact speaks volumes. It confirms what I have suspected for a long time. Many people are reading, watching and following my work without ever interacting. They do not leave comments. They do not click Like. They do not send emails. They simply follow my work discreetly and move on.

As creators, we often judge the success of our work by visible engagement. We look at comments, likes, shares and subscriptions because those are the only things we can actually see. The silent majority remains invisible. This poll reminded me that the silent majority is very real. It also explains why website statistics and video views often feel disconnected from audience interaction. Thousands of people may read an article, but only a tiny fraction will ever say a word. That does not necessarily mean they did not enjoy it. It simply means they are observers rather than participants.

Would I have liked more people to vote? Absolutely. But the poll still achieved something valuable. It proved there are genuine people behind those numbers, people who have been following my work for years without ever making themselves known. Because of this, I will return to doing what I have always done. I will continue creating content in my own way, writing about the things I am passionate about and letting my work speak for itself rather than chasing engagement numbers.

So perhaps the lesson here is not that I have a small audience. Perhaps it is that I have a large audience that prefers to remain silent.

To everyone who took the time to vote, and especially to those who left thoughtful comments, thank you. Your few minutes of participation answered questions I have had for years and reminded me that even when the comments section is quiet, someone is still reading.

A quick note about the AI character used in my videos

Recently I introduced an AI generated character to present some of my videos. The scripts, ideas, research, and woodworking knowledge behind those videos are still my own and will always be my own. The character was simply a way of presenting my written work without appearing on camera.

I have received a small amount of feedback from some viewers who strongly dislike the use of an AI character and have said they will unsubscribe. I want to make it clear that I understand and respect that people have different opinions about AI.

However, I also want to point out that only a very small number of people have commented. Most readers and viewers do not leave feedback, so I honestly do not know whether the majority of people dislike this format or whether the comments I received represent only a small group of people who feel strongly about AI.

At this point, I can only make an educated guess.

What I find interesting is that the purpose of this experiment was never to replace my own knowledge or experience. The articles and videos are still created from my own decades of woodworking, research, and hands on experience. The AI character was simply a presentation tool.

I have always tried to share quality woodworking knowledge freely. I spend my own time researching, writing, photographing, and producing content because I believe traditional woodworking skills are worth preserving and sharing.

That said, I do listen to feedback. I would genuinely like to know what people think. Is the AI character distracting from the content, or is there another reason you prefer the previous style?

I cannot improve something if I do not know what people think.

Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my work, watch my videos, and support traditional woodworking.

There is something deeply satisfying about bringing an old hammer back to life. Whether it is a family heirloom, a vintage tool rescued from a market stall, or a premium modern hammer, replacing a broken handle is one of those jobs every woodworker should know how to do.

One question comes up almost every time someone fits a new handle.

Should the hammer head be glued onto the handle?

The short answer is no.

That answer surprises many people because we live in an age where adhesives seem capable of fixing almost anything. Yet the humble hammer is one of those tools whose design has changed remarkably little because the original solution worked so well.

A properly fitted hammer handle is held in place by mechanical force, not adhesive.

Most quality hammer heads have a slightly tapered eye. The replacement handle is shaped to fit that taper, and in many cases the head will slide onto the handle without much resistance before the wedge is installed. For someone replacing a handle for the first time, that can feel wrong, but it is often exactly how the joint is meant to work.

Once the head is seated against the shoulder of the handle, a wooden wedge is driven into the kerf cut in the top. As the wedge enters, it forces the wood to expand outward until it presses tightly against the inside walls of the eye. That expansion locks the head firmly in place.

The strength comes from compressed wood bearing against steel.

Not from glue.

Before any of this works properly, the handle itself has to be right. Grain direction is critical. A hammer handle should have long straight grain running from end to end with as little run out as possible. The fibres should follow the length of the handle so the wood can absorb shock without snapping. If the grain dives across the handle or runs out toward the sides, the handle becomes much more likely to fail under repeated impact.

If everything is fitted correctly, the head should become completely immovable once wedged. If it still moves, no glue will turn a poorly fitting joint into a safe one. It simply masks the problem instead of solving it.

This is why experienced toolmakers and repairers usually avoid glue in hammer handles altogether. A hammer handle is a wear part. It will eventually break again. A dry wedged joint can be replaced cleanly and quickly without fighting old adhesive or damaging the head.

Modern adhesives like wood glue, epoxy, hide glue, and fish glue all have their place in the workshop. Each is excellent in the right context. Furniture making, joinery, instrument building, and decorative work all benefit from them.

A hammer is different.

Close-up of man hammering a nail on piece of wood

It is subjected to repeated impact, vibration, and shock loading. The joint is not asked to resist a slow pull or a static load. It is asked to survive sudden force over and over again. That is exactly what the wedged mechanical system is designed for.

Epoxy can bond metal and wood very effectively, and in some non-structural or decorative contexts it can be useful. Hide glue and fish glue are remarkable traditional adhesives with centuries of use behind them. They remain valuable in restoration and fine woodworking.

But none of them replace the function of a correctly fitted wedge in a hammer handle.

Historically, this approach is not new. The idea of hafting tools is ancient, but it did not begin with wedges.

Long before metal tools existed, early humans were already attaching stone heads to wooden handles tens of thousands of years ago. In the Paleolithic period, tools were typically hafted using plant fibres, sinew, and natural resins such as birch tar. These materials acted as binders and adhesives, holding stone in place through wrapping and bonding rather than mechanical expansion.

In other words, early hafting was about binding and sticking rather than wedging.

The wedge-driven hammer handle as we recognise it today comes much later, alongside metalworking. Once tools began to be made from bronze and iron, smiths needed a reliable way to secure a metal head with an eye. The tapered eye and expanding wooden wedge became the dominant solution because it was simple, strong, and easy to repair.

That system proved so effective that it has barely changed in thousands of years.

By the time you reach historical blacksmithing traditions in Europe and beyond, the pattern is consistent. The head is fitted to the handle, the wedge is driven in, and sometimes a secondary metal wedge is added for extra expansion. The security still comes from compression of the wood inside the eye, not glue.

That is why when a modern replacement handle is fitted, it may slide into the head quite easily before wedging. That can feel wrong at first, but it is often exactly how the system is intended to work. The wedge is what creates the final tight fit.

Once assembled correctly, there should be no movement in any direction. A few light test strikes will confirm the fit before the tool is returned to use.

A hammer does not need glue when it is built correctly. It only needs a sound fit, a proper wedge, intact wood, and correct grain orientation.

The next time you fit a properly made hammer or axe, don’t use glue. Just a simple wedge in place and leave the rest to mechanics. This method has served us for thousands of years, it works perfectly, so why change it.

If anyone would like my old Lie Nielsen small hammer handle, I will gift it to you provided you pay for the shipping. All you need to do is make a new tenon for it. And remember it was through the generosity of Lie Nielsen, who offers a lifetime warranty, that made this replacement possible, otherwise it would’ve been difficult for me to source the wood needed to get my little cross pein back into action. Only through confidence in their workmanship is Lie Nielsen able to afford to offer lifetime warranties on their tools.

Here are the links to the video of this post where I slightly had to change the wordings to suit the character and if the audio on spotify:

Youtube: https://youtu.be/AxeI4axRGDs

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/30TTCKLQHz4KUtPKJyShkz?si=xfPI_JorSNK_pH9oLh7ePw

For years I believed that if you made something with enough care, honesty and skill, people would eventually flock to it. It would command a high price, your reputation as a craftsman would be highly valued. That was the old way. A craftsman would build something beautiful, show it to people, build a reputation, and over time customers would appear. Today, the internet has replaced the old workshop doorway with a maze of algorithms, advertising systems and platforms that decide who gets seen. For a small maker, that can be a hard reality to accept. Let’s face it algorithms don’t care how good you dovetails are.

I have spent years learning traditional woodworking. Hand tools, old techniques, various joinery, making things slowly and steering clear from factory production work. Working the way I do makes my work have meaning because it carries the mark of the maker who made it. But making something and selling something are two completely different skills.

Everywhere you look, there are promises that AI will solve everything. Better titles, better descriptions, better SEO, better photographs, more customers. The idea sounds simple and promising. Use AI, optimise your listings, and buyers will come. But after putting those ideas into practice, the reality is different.

AI can help you present your work better. It can help write descriptions, organise ideas, improve wording and save time. What AI cannot do is create customers out of thin air. It cannot force a marketplace to show your work. It cannot replace trust that you can only gain through years of dealing with the public. And it cannot make people suddenly want something they were never searching for. It’s like not so long ago when website developers all promised the same thing: “to make you number 1 on Google’s search engine.” That pitch was everywhere in the early 2000s and it was almost always nonsense. There is only one number 1 spot for any given search term, it changes constantly, and it is largely controlled by factors most small businesses have no power over. The people making that promise knew it was hollow. They were selling hope to people who didn’t yet understand how search worked. The AI marketing promises of today are no different. Same structure, different technology. Promise big results, collect the fee, and move on when it doesn’t deliver. The person left holding nothing is always the small operator who believed it. A perfectly written listing can still sit on Etsy, eBay, Marketplace or a Facebook shop and go completely unnoticed.

One of the biggest lessons a craftsman learns is that the people who appreciate your work are not always the people who buy it. Many of the people interested in traditional woodworking are other woodworkers. They love seeing hand cut dovetails. They enjoy learning techniques. They appreciate the process and slowing down. But many of them are not customers because they can either make it themselves or they are armchair woodworkers. They are not looking for someone to build them a wooden item. They are looking for knowledge or entertainment. That audience is valuable, but it is a different audience from the person who wants to buy a finished piece. A person who buys handmade work is often someone who admires the craft but does not have the time, tools or skills to create it themselves. They are buying the story as much as the object.

Many makers build their entire business on platforms they do not control. Facebook, Instagram, Etsy, eBay.

These platforms are powerful, but they are not yours. You can spend years building followers and still be at the mercy of a decision made by a company, an algorithm or a moderation system. That is a frightening position for a small creator. One day your work can be visible. The next day it can disappear. A following is not the same as ownership, and a follower on a platform is not the same as a paying customer.

The obvious answer is always: “Build a website.” But for many craftspeople, that is not easy. Money is not unlimited. A website costs money. Hosting, Software, Marketing all costs money. When you are trying to sell handmade work, every dollar matters. The answer is not necessarily an expensive website. The important thing is having a platform that belongs to you. Even a simple page, a basic portfolio or a small email list. Because an email address from someone who genuinely cares about your work is worth more than thousands of random followers who scroll past. It is old school, but it still works better than most of what is being sold today.

The world does not need another mass produced wooden object. Factories can make things cheaper and faster. A great example of that would be in my neck of the woods the Carrara markets. Why is it failing? Because the sellers sell imported mass produced goods that you can buy in any shop on the Gold Coast. Forty years ago sellers were selling trash and treasure, stuff they had from home and stuff they made themselves. Somewhere along the way sellers started importing goods from China. It was profitable for a while until it wasn’t. In other words, short term gain for a long term loss.

The future of handmade work may not be about chasing every platform. It may be about finding the small number of people who truly value what you do, and sadly not everyone will care. Most people are busy with their own lives and that is normal. The goal is not to reach everyone, the goal is to find the few who care. A craftsman does not need millions of people watching unless you are a content creator. What they do need is the right people watching.

The hardest part of being an independent maker today is not making the object. It is getting it seen. The internet promised to connect creators with the world, but it also created new barriers. Algorithms and platforms decide who will be seen. And Facebook advertising systems decide who will advertise with them or not. They will ban you in a heartbeat without giving you a reason for it, even if you have never advertised once. I know many people who have suffered the same fate just for merely speaking up against political figures. This is now a common worldwide problem. This is their way of silencing you. For some it has proven effective, but for others it has not. The damage caused in the process runs into the millions, and just like the imported Chinese goods, a short term gain will eventually become a long term loss.

For the small craftsman, the challenge is learning how to survive in that environment without losing the reason they started making things in the first place. Because at the end of the day, the value of handmade work was never created by an algorithm. It was created by a person.

I was looking for videos on YT on how to film woodworking videos. I’m curious how they get all those close up angle shots without themselves or their hands being in the way. As always on YT I get everything else, but what I want. Amongst all those unwanted videos I came across this one “What Woodworking Youtube Videos Sounds Like” and I tell you what, it was actually funny and made me laugh. I thought I would share this with you and hopefully will make you laugh. Lord knows how much we need a laugh in these uncertain times.

https://youtu.be/LCyzfXZ8An4?si=d8UOVIKHJtBtOa_P

There are a few well known tricks in woodworking, such as using a deliberately blunt chisel as a scraper, using a slightly dulled chisel for hinge mortises to reduce tear out, the old cabinetmaker’s trick of burnishing end grain with the back of a chisel, and various tricks popularised by people like Paul Sellers and Rex Krueger.

But the one I’m particularly thinking of is one nobody really knows who invented.

Using a chisel sharpened to a square 90 degree edge so it acts as a scraper rather than a cutting tool is an old workshop technique. It appears to have been known by toolmakers and cabinetmakers long before it became popular on YouTube. There is no documented inventor that historians attribute it to. I actually wrote about it extensively in the magazine on planemaking and demonstrated it on YouTube eight years ago before my account was hacked.

The person I learned it from, and most responsible for popularising it among modern hand tool woodworkers, is probably Bill Carter. He demonstrated grinding a chisel square and using it as a scraper, particularly for planemaking and fine fitting work. Modern references to the blunt chisel technique often trace back to him.

The idea itself is not unique to woodworking. Metalworkers have used scraping tools with blunt cutting angles for centuries to remove tiny amounts of material with great control.

At first glance it sounds ridiculous. Why would anyone intentionally ruin a perfectly good edge? The answer becomes obvious the first time you use one. A sharp chisel wants to dig. Even with careful control it can suddenly follow the grain and remove more material than intended, which can be a costly mistake. A blunt chisel behaves differently. Because it cannot slice into the wood, it removes material slowly and predictably. Instead of taking shavings, it scrapes away fine dust and tiny fragments. You can work right up to a line with a level of control that is difficult to achieve with a sharp edge.

This makes the technique especially useful for planemakers. Bill Carter used blunt chisels when fitting plane beds and mouths where removing even a fraction too much material could ruin the geometry of the tool. The technique also works well for cleaning up difficult grain, removing small high spots, and fitting parts that require absolute precision.

If you want to try it yourself, take an old chisel that is no longer your favourite. Grind the bevel away until the edge is square to the back. There is no need to hone it. Hold it almost upright and push it forward like a scraper. You’ll notice immediately that it behaves very differently from a normal chisel.

If you’re not sure what I mean, I’ll leave some video links below. Bill demonstrates his quick method of blunting the edge and raising a burr, and Richard Maguire from the English Woodworker goes into considerable detail about it, though in good jest I’d say he does somewhat overcomplicate the sharpening side of things. Richard is one of the most knowledgeable and pleasingly pedantic woodworkers I watch, and I trust that what he tells you is accurate and properly researched. That matters more than it might seem. Far too many content creators have jumped on YouTube hoping to make money without giving much thought to the misinformation they spread, particularly around history. The claim that carrots were purple and genetically modified in the 16th century to become orange springs to mind.

http://www.billcarterwoodworkingplanemaker.co.uk/select-a-technique-below/1-using-a-ground-off-chisel/

The last several months I’ve been quiet, mostly. I haven’t been posting much, not because I stopped woodworking, but because I’ve been moving a bit slower lately. My back has been giving me trouble and it has made it harder to work the way I normally do, so I’ve had to slow things down quite a bit.

But slow isn’t the same as stopped.

Even so, the passion for the craft is still there. And so is my interest in sharing what I’ve learned over the years.

I was first introduced to woodworking at the age of seven by my father. He never allowed me near machinery for safety reasons, so from the very beginning I learned to do things with my hands. I remember in primary school my teacher was having a baby girl, so I built a dolls cradle as a gift. He thanked my father for it, when it was actually me who built it.

Handwork stayed with me throughout my schooling. My shop teacher placed strong emphasis on hand tool skills, but machinery was off limits to us. So hand tools were what I had, though if I’m honest, I secretly yearned to work with machinery. Not from any real experience, just assumption. I believed it would produce truer, better quality work, and if I’m being completely honest, I thought hand tools were outdated.

That mindset carried into later life, and it shaped the decisions I made for years.

In 1998, I started a clock making business. Back then I owned almost no machinery apart from a handheld power sander, which I admittedly used a lot. As time went on and I saved more money, I started buying hand planes and more hand tools, mostly because they were the more affordable option, and throughout most of my woodworking life that’s how I worked.

My hand tools displayed proudly on the workshop wall cabinet.

Now I’ll be honest. For a long time I still had that high school mentality that machinery would make life easier. I thought once I could finally afford machines everything would suddenly improve.

So eventually I bought them. Nothing fancy because money was tight. A contractor tablesaw, a pedestal drill, a bandsaw and a few other machines. The pedestal drill barely got used because most of the time I could bore dead centre with a brace anyway. The only thing it really helped with was drilling metal. After about twelve months I realised something surprising. They made me miserable. My eyes were now open to the fact that I never actually needed them. Not for accuracy. Not for the kind of work I actually do.

The serenity I had grown so accustomed to in my workshop was gone. The footprint each machine took up was significant and my workshop became tight to move around in. I was covered in dust. My workshop was covered in dust. The thicknesser screamed so loud I had to close all the doors and windows and clamp ear muffs over my ears. I was constantly checking and rechecking whether the saw was cutting straight, and because of that my production actually slowed. In the end, I sold them.

The one machine I do regret letting go of was the bandsaw. That is a machine I genuinely think belongs in a hand tool workshop. It is practical, versatile, takes up less room, and saves an enormous amount of labour when resawing timber or ripping thick stock close to size before finishing with hand planes.

But apart from that, I realised I did not need machinery for accuracy or efficiency. I had already been doing that for years with hand tools.

It’s not that I dislike machinery, I’m just not a fan of dependence on them. For me, handwork is about attaining and then maintaining skill through continual practice and repetition. It’s also about freedom from relying on machinery to do the work for me.

There’s a deep satisfaction in standing back and knowing the work came directly from your own hands and your own effort. That matters to me. Maybe that’s also why I’ve become more thoughtful about what the word handmade actually means.

And this is where honesty comes into it for me, because it’s something I think about more than most people probably expect.

Especially today when I see so many things labelled handmade that clearly aren’t. If timber goes through a tablesaw, jointer, thicknesser, drum sander and everything else, and someone then says it’s handmade because their hands pushed the timber through the machine, personally, I struggle with that definition. To me, handmade means the skill of the hands carved that piece, turned that ornament, or cut those dovetails. Not a machine.

That’s the honesty I’m talking about.

I completely understand why businesses use machinery. If you’re producing work at volume and trying to keep up with demand, then machinery becomes necessary. But for me personally, I realised I wasn’t chasing speed. I was chasing skill. I wanted to know what my own hands were capable of.

And I think that’s why traditional apprentices were often taught by hand first. Because handwork develops skills that machines never can. Things like reading grain direction, avoiding taper while thicknessing by hand, learning how to deal with reversing grain, and understanding the difference between a planed surface, a scraped surface, and a sanded surface. These are things you only really understand by doing the work yourself.

And I think that’s what keeps me excited about going back into the workshop the next day. It’s not about sales. It’s not about filling orders. It’s the handwork itself.

Making something with my own hands, using my own skill and knowhow, and knowing at the end of it that the work came from me and not from a machine. That’s where the satisfaction is. That feeling of accomplishment.

Ripping a board by hand and not wavering in the cut. Planing it true and square. Making sure it’s parallel to the other side. Taking your time in the process and actually enjoying the moment instead of rushing through it.

It’s about being able to execute operations cleanly. If I’m ploughing a groove, for example, I make sure the blade is surgically sharp. I prepare the surface beforehand and sever the fibres first so there’s no tearout. You take the necessary steps to ensure the operation is performed properly. With hand tools, that preparation matters.

With machine work you’re often forcing timber through using brute force. You lose that connection. And maybe that’s what’s been lost in modern woodworking. The connection a craftsman once had with his materials and the tools he worked with.

With hand tools you’re involved in every stage of the process. You maintain that connection with the wood every step of the way. With a handsaw, you’re following the line, adjusting as you go, paying attention to what the saw is doing in the cut. Each tool becomes an extension of your arm. Each material you approach like an old friend, knowing what it likes and dislikes. Because of that, the relationship between the maker and the work changes entirely.

There’s a real tranquillity in it. No noise complaints from the neighbours. No rushing to get it done.

Handwork teaches you to slow down. And it teaches you one very important fundamental, how to work in harmony with the wood. That’s the beauty of hand tools. These days I work more at a hobbyist level, making the things I want to make, not because I have to, but because I enjoy the process. It’s about the journey more than the destination.

I feel that in the modern home workshop, that mindset has almost disappeared. Everything now revolves around speed. How fast something can be produced, how quickly content can be uploaded, how much can be sold. And this is where The Lost Scrolls of Handwork comes into it, but here’s a brief history first.

The Lost Scrolls of Handwork began years ago as a magazine run by Matt McGrane and myself from 2017 through to 2020. The idea behind it was to create a community based magazine where woodworkers from around the world would contribute through how-to projects, articles on various woodworking topics, and showcases of their work, much like how people contribute their time and expertise to open source projects and web browsers like Mozilla. It was a grand idea that had real potential, had people actually gotten involved. Sadly no one did, and the responsibility of running the magazine fell on the two of us to see it through.

Handwork Magazine in the workshop.

The work became exhausting. Building projects, photographing them, writing articles, editing late into the night. At some point it stopped feeling like creative work and started feeling like factory work. So we stopped and went back to our own projects.

But the idea never really left. Because The Lost Scrolls was never about nostalgia for the sake of nostalgia. It was about preserving an understanding of traditional woodworking and reminding people that handwork still has a place today.

Especially when the day is over and you finally make time for yourself. An hour or two at the bench late at night, or on the weekend, with nobody around. Just the tool, the timber, and your own two hands.

There’s a kind of tranquillity in it. And a real sense of accomplishment that comes with it.

It reminds me of something cabinetmaker and author Tony Konovaloff said to me once, and it’s stuck with me ever since.

“What I make is for others, but how I make it is for me.”

A quiet moment at the bench before the work begins.

This article is now available on:

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/47WEVj8A5O8v9ihV1YeiP2?si=z_ECSnEHQVamjVQobAJyng

Youtube: https://youtu.be/JgE-6UeX-gE

Over the last week or so I’ve had a couple of people question me over the new Lost Scrolls of Handwork logo. Some were disappointed that I used AI to create it while others immediately assumed that meant I was about to start making fully AI generated podcasts and content. So let me explain where I actually stand on all this.

Yes, I used AI to create the logo. And yes, I probably got a little carried away experimenting with it because truthfully this was the first time I’d ever seriously used AI for anything.

But let’s get one thing straight. I could redraw that logo myself without much difficulty at all. I’ve worked with graphic design software for years. Recreating it manually would not be some impossible task for me. The issue was never ability. The issue was time.

Between work, woodworking, writing, researching, designing and trying to keep all these different projects moving at once, there simply comes a point where you physically cannot do everything yourself no matter how much you want to.

So I decided to experiment with AI as a tool.

And after spending weeks learning this stuff I can honestly say this. Some of it is useful. A lot of it is overrated.

Most of these companies are trying to convince people they’re good, but in reality they’re not.. Especially when it comes to animation and lip syncing. What looks simple on the surface quickly becomes very complicated once you start trying to do it properly yourself.

I still haven’t completely figured out the lip syncing side the way I want to, although I did eventually get another character working surprisingly well after a lot of trial and error and many late nights learning all this from scratch. I’ve been getting around three hours sleep a night just trying to work through it. Right now it’s 3:30am and I’m getting up at 5:00am.

But what bothered me was seeing people immediately assume that because I used AI to create a logo, that somehow means everything I do will suddenly be fake. My track record already speaks for itself.

For 28 years, longer if you start counting from the age of 7, I’ve been building clocks, furniture, studying woodworking, writing articles, sharing knowledge and trying to preserve the craft. My gallery is full of work made with these two hands. Only one year of those 28 years I’ve use machinery, the rest of those years it was only hand tools. That should say some thing. My blog has served readers around the world for years. I also ran a magazine alongside my mate Matt McGrane who painstakingly edited my work issue after issue.

None of that came from AI. Heck AI didn’t even exist then. And none of that suddenly disappears because I experimented with a tool once.

Many of you also remember my old YouTube channel that was hacked and eventually wiped out along with years of videos and over 50,000 subscribers. Starting again from scratch after something like that is not easy, but I kept going because the purpose behind all this never changed. That purpose has always been simple.

1. To preserve the craft.

2. To pass knowledge on.

3. Not hoard it.

After giving this a lot of thought, I’ve decided the podcast idea will not be moving forward the way I originally intended.

The blog simply makes more sense for what The Lost Scrolls of Handwork actually is. That’s where the real substance has always been.

What I will continue doing however is creating narrated videos on YouTube using my own recorded voice while discussing subjects like shellac, tools, techniques and historical woodworking. The only difference is there will be a 2D character lip synced directly to my voice while images and material related to the topic are shown on screen. After all, there is no point throwing away something I’ve spent many sleepless nights learning.

I’ll still be recording the voice myself. I’ll still be editing the audio myself in Resolve. And I may still upload the audio versions to Spotify for people who enjoy listening while driving home from work or spending time in the workshop.

As for the logo itself, some of you probably noticed I already changed it back to the original one. Yes, I drew that one myself years ago in Illustrator before eventually replacing Adobe software with Inkscape. I still enjoy using open source software wherever I can and saving money in the process.

Podcast Update

I’m happy to say that I’m almost finished the first episode of the podcast.

Without question, the most difficult part of the entire process has been creating the characters for YouTube. I honestly underestimated just how much work goes into lip syncing and animation. There have been plenty of setbacks and moments of frustration along the way, but the tenacity and perseverance that hand tool woodworking teaches you kept me going.

Originally, I planned to use myself as one of the speakers. Unfortunately, the lip syncing didn’t turn out as well as I hoped. Still, I’m not giving up on it. I’ll continue experimenting and refining the process, and if it ultimately doesn’t work, I already have another character ready to step in.

Despite the challenges, I’m genuinely excited about this project. Ideas keep flooding into my head faster than I can write them down. In many ways, I feel the same excitement now that I did back when we started the magazine. There’s something deeply rewarding about creating something from the ground up and sharing it with others who appreciate the craft.

Podcasts have become incredibly popular, yet I haven’t really come across one dedicated specifically to hand tool woodworking. My hope is that this becomes a positive, informative, and enjoyable addition for those who love the craft as much as I do.

I truly hope you gain something from it, whether that’s knowledge, encouragement, inspiration, or simply enjoyment while listening.

I’d also encourage you all to subscribe on Spotify so you’ll receive notifications whenever a new episode is uploaded: Spotify Podcast Subscription

The video versions will be going onto YouTube, which is the reason I’ve been putting so much work into creating animated characters for the presentations.

As for Apple Podcasts, there currently seems to be some sort of technical issue with their links. At the moment they appear to be broken, but I’ll keep working on it until it’s sorted out.

Stay tuned. There’s much more to come.

Journeyman’s Journal has always been the ongoing record of work at the bench, notes, reflections, and lessons gathered over more than thirty years of hand tool woodworking, and still continuing.

Separate to this, Wooden Wares Handwork continues as an ongoing venture. That side of the work is focused on making, and stands on its own. It is no longer connected to the blog.

Some of you will remember The Lost Scrolls of Handwork. That name belonged to a magazine we ran alongside the work, carrying forward the same philosophy: sharing knowledge gained over time spent at the bench. The magazine eventually came to an end, but the idea behind it never disappeared.

Now, The Lost Scrolls of Handwork returns, not as a magazine, but as a broader extension of the work at the bench. It will be used as the title for future books and podcast material, while the main blog continues under Journeyman’s Journal.

The two are connected, but distinct:

• Journeyman’s Journal remains the ongoing written record of woodworking.
• The Lost Scrolls of Handwork becomes the written form for books, and the voice for the podcast.

The podcast

Alongside the written journal, I am introducing a podcast. The plan is to release episodes monthly, though it may settle into a two-month rhythm depending on time and the demands of my own work.

It will follow the same principles as everything else here: woodworking by hand, the thinking behind it, and what is learned at the bench. Available in two forms, on YouTube as video, and on Spotify as audio only, which can be listened to anywhere without needing to watch. Something you can have playing while you’re in the workshop or driving your car.

The most challenging part so far has been the realistic 3D lip-sync work. The available tools tend to be expensive, and the results only marginally better than free alternatives. That part is still being refined.

The first introduction is live

An introduction to the podcast has already been released and can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/episode/036WosfvejMFAeRH4x5Pbz?si=0bUSZZafQnWwc7T7eNCB6A

This is a continuation rather than a restart. The names may shift slightly in how they are used, but the intent remains the same: to record what is learned through time at the bench, and to pass that on in a way that stays close to the work itself.

Here is a video I just uploaded to youtube. This is a short introduction to the podcase using a realistic 3d animation. Hope you guys like it and support the channel.

I have read many books on saw sharpening and watched various videos on the subject, and most of them tend to repeat the same information. However, the Spear & Jackson handbook goes that little extra mile by elaborating on certain points. For example, when topping (jointing) the teeth, it recommends doing the work in stages: make a pass, file the teeth, then joint again, repeating the process until all the teeth are of uniform height.

Most other books simply state that the teeth should be jointed until they are all the same height. Many of us have likely done exactly that during a restoration, only to become frustrated at how long it takes to shape and sharpen the teeth afterwards. I think Spear & Jackson provided an excellent method that saves a great deal of time and frustration.

I am providing the pages that I felt would be of most interest to you, as the remainder is largely marketing material. The booklet appears to be fairly old; although I could not find a printed date, based on the art style, typography, and layout I would estimate it was produced sometime between the 1930s and 1940s.

Timothy Rousseau is a Maine-based furniture maker and woodworking instructor recognized for his finely crafted, functional furniture designs. Working from his studio in Rockport, he combines traditional craftsmanship with clean, contemporary forms and has become a leading figure in the American studio furniture movement.

I found this video interesting and thought I would share it with you. What I don’t see eye to eye on, though, is the need to shape the pins to mark out the mortise. In my view, the pins don’t need to be flat on one side, as the mortise will never be seen. It isn’t a show side like a through mortise would be.

Nonetheless, it has some nice features and good pointers that make it worth watching. If you’re new to the craft, or just want to brush up on some skills, there are plenty of other videos there to watch as well.

I also have to add that I love their setup and the open fields around them. Maine looks like a beautiful place to be.

David Boeff is not the kind of furniture maker you watch casually. His work demands attention, and so do his videos.

He does not walk you through every single step like most modern woodworking channels. You will not find long, drawn out clips of him carving an entire shell from start to finish. Instead, he explains what needs to be done, why it needs to be done, and then leaves space for you to meet him halfway. You have to listen. You have to picture it in your mind. In a strange way, that makes you more involved in the process, not less.

There is a level of knowledge behind that approach. It is not aimed at beginners, and it does not pretend to be. It assumes you already understand the basics and builds from there. That is exactly what makes it valuable. No handholding. Just clear, direct insight from someone who has spent serious time at the bench.

The truth is, there is no shortage of woodworking content out there. But most of it leans heavily on presentation rather than substance. There are plenty of people willing to teach, far fewer who actually understand the work. Boeff sits firmly in the second group. He understands the craft in a way that shows through in how he speaks, what he chooses to show, and what he does not feel the need to explain.

When he is at the bench, it is not about performance or proving anything. He picks up a tool and uses it the way it was meant to be used. Just a craftsman who understands his tools and lets them do their job. There is a kind of quiet confidence in that, the kind that only comes from years of doing the work.

There is a flow to it, something almost musical. He is not fighting the material, and he is not forcing the outcome. He is guiding it.

That is where the romance sits. He works with the material, listening to the wood as it speaks to him, working in harmony with nature rather than against it. He does not rely on brute force except when removing the bulk of the material, but even then there is control and intent. Every pass is guided by attention to the grain and every sudden shift within it. There is a confidence in that, the kind that only comes from years of doing the work.

Furniture built in the eighteenth century is made up of complex designs that draw on a wide range of woodworking techniques. These include intricate hand carved details such as shell carvings and acanthus leaf motifs, refined mouldings, sweeping curves, serpentine and bombe forms, cabriole legs, and flowing swan neck style elements often seen in period furniture. It is a language of form and proportion that relies heavily on both technical ability and an understanding of style.

An eighteenth century reproduction build therefore requires a tremendous amount of know how and skill. It demands patience, study, and a willingness to work through unfamiliar techniques. But that should not deter anyone from attempting such work. The knowledge and skill gained by taking on a project of that scale far outweighs the fear of starting it in the first place.

For modern woodworkers, especially those drawn to hand tools and historical methods, Boeff’s work offers both inspiration and a benchmark. It challenges the idea that traditional craftsmanship is outdated or impractical. Instead, it shows that there is enduring value in doing things the right way, even when that way is slower and more demanding.

This approach is not the easiest path. It requires time, discipline, and an acceptance that efficiency is not the goal. Yet it is precisely this commitment that gives his work its character. The subtle irregularities of handwork are not flaws. They are evidence of the human hand and mind at work. They give life to a piece in a way that no machine can replicate.

While I completely remove the bulk of the waste with only hand tools, it is not an efficient way to work wood, especially thicknessing a board entirely by hand. But at the end of the day, as night falls and your body aches and you look at your progress, there is a sense of achievement that is hard to describe and, for me at least, only comes from working by hand.

Spend enough time looking, and a pattern emerges. The largest channels tend to prioritise entertainment. The smaller ones are often where the deeper knowledge lives quieter, more focused, and far more useful to anyone serious about the craft.

Boeff falls into that group. There is no hype around what he does. It is just solid work, done properly. If you are interested in traditional furniture making, especially eighteenth century work, he is the kind of maker worth following. Not because he is popular, but because he knows what he is doing.