I first met Amanda Russell (@sawdustwoman) when teaching at The Austin School of Furniture and Design in 2019. She was my shop assistant, and did a great job. She was my assistant again this year and did another outstanding job prepping materials, setting up machines, and putting up with me. She also introduced me to Electric Jellyfish IPA from Pinthouse Pizza. Thanks for that! When she’s not working at the school, she’s helping Philip Morley keep his act together, and does amazing work for him. Her skill level is truly impressive given that she started woodworking about 5 years ago!

What got you started in woodworking?
My grandfather and Dad are both self-taught woodworkers. Growing up, I was able to observe both of them work in their home shops, which instilled a love for creativity and working with my hands. I never thought to try woodworking for myself until I was in my early twenties, my first project was woodturning a muddler (I was bartending at the time), and was immediately hooked. After attempting to teach myself, I realized a classroom environment the best and most efficient way for me to learn, so I moved to Austin to take woodworking courses at community college. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made.

What are the 3 most important things you’ve learned in woodworking?
Don’t let one mistake dictate the rest of your day, don’t let the potential of failing hold you back, and grain direction can make or break an otherwise really beautiful piece. 

Why woodworking? What does it give you that other activities and crafts don’t?
As someone who loves many creative processes, woodworking was a craft that fulfilled the structure and critical thinking I also enjoy. 

​What’s something that everyone should know?
Embracing who you are is a huge part of whatever you do. As a woman in a male-dominated field, I spent a lot of time and the early part of my career making myself small and wanting people to only see me for my abilities. Ultimately, I realized this not only held me back, but potentially hindered much needed progress within this craft. It is a continuous work in progress, but has made me much more confident in my work,  and also perceptibly changed interactions in my work and day-to-day life.

​I'm glad that you decided not to make yourself small anymore. How'd you do that?
Making myself seen and heard came in the form of taking risks with design and the process, putting my "mark" on things when I knew things could be improved or changed. At the time this shift happened, I was l asked "Do you see yourself as a threat, being a woman in a man's shop?" It was then I realized some percieved me simply working hard and getting ahead as an intrusion, when others were rewarded for that behaviour. I can't tell you how many times I've been told "It is so cool you woodwork, because you're a woman" I accepted and knew my role was to break through that bias, walk in a shop and work despite being questioned. Sharing my journey openly, so current women in the field are encouraged and women entering this craft aren't discouraged by that bias. Leading by example, but also addressing the issue openly. My business name, Sawdust Woman, actually came from consciously taking on this role. I had another woman tell me it made her feel like a superhero, and that's exactly what I had hoped for. 

Why do you make the specific things that you make?
Learning new skills dictates a lot of my work. My most recent project was a chessboard created with parquetry from shop made veneer, two new techniques I had never attempted by myself before.

Who has had the greatest impact on your woodworking?
Philip Morley. He’s an incredible craftsman, designer, and instructor, who I’m very fortunate to call a mentor. Getting to witness even some of his process on design and execution is one of the most crucial things I’ve had to help my journey (Sometimes, I go home with headaches trying to wrap my brain around how he came up with a jig. Haha) From woodworking to teaching, He has made a huge impact in what I do.

Have you incorporated lessons learned in other parts of your life into your woodworking?
Absolutely. Woodworking requires understanding that you can do everything just right: selection, acclimating, milling, and sometimes it just won’t work. Sometimes you put hours into something, almost get to the finish line, just to realize you need to start all over or change your approach completely. Patience, adaptability, and determination.

What’s the one thing you’d teach another woodworker to help them improve their skills, understanding or design?
I was taught recently to “Draw and design first, then worry about joinery later". I would get so hung up on the process that I was limiting design to very restricted parameters, and just frustrating myself.

I've made a lot kumiko panels in the last year, and folks seem to like them quite a bit. I'm thankful for that. I'm also glad that other woodworkers are interested in making kumiko, too. I thought it would be helpful to answer the questions that I am asked most often, and have them available here on my website. So, here goes.
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• Is there a book or article I can read to help me get started? I believe that the best introduction to kumiko is Mike Pekovich's article in Fine Woodworking #259. Not only does Mike explain the process very clearly, there are great drawings, and his jigs for paring the infill pieces are the bomb, because they have stops to control how long the infill pieces are. You could then get Des King's books on kumiko. They are very good, too, but his techniques are grounded in hand tools, and I believe you'll have more success as a beginner using Mike's process. However, King's books are a great resource for other patterns, and the techniques for making them. I also enjoyed reading Toshio Odate's book on shoji.
• What tools do I need? There are two answers to this question. First, the bullshit answer: a backsaw of some sort, and a chisel. Now, these are tools I use the most when making kumiko, but the truth is that before I get to the saw and chisel, I've used my jointer, bandsaw, planer, and tablesaw. So, the second and more truthful answer is "pretty much the same tools you need to do any woodworking." You'll also need some guide blocks so that you can pare the angles onto the ends of the infill pieces. There are other ways to do this (specialized planes, for example), but for most folks a chisel and guide blocks make the most sense because you aren't making enough to justify the expense of specialized planes, or the hassle of making jigs for a tablesaw to cut them (if such creatures are even feasible).
• What species of wood do you use? I always use basswood, because basswood has very small pores, almost no visible grain lines, and is generally consistent in color (a lovely pale cream). Also, basswood is soft, so it compresses easily and this allows you to get a tight fit with less fuss compared to hard woods like maple. Moreover, it pares extremely well. It has just enough meat to it that it doesn't crumble and tear like white pine can, but it's soft enough that you don't need Popeye's forearms to work it over the course of several hours.
• Where do you get your kumiko stock? I make it. I buy rough-sawn basswood and go from there. There is a lot of milling involved. Get ready. If you're planer produces any snipe at all, make sure to cut it off. All of the stock you use to make the frame and infill pattern should be the exact same height. Areas affected by snipe will be shorter, and it's not worth the time and effort it takes to bring the taller stuff down to the shorter stuff.
• Have you ever used contrasting species in the same panel? No, and neither should you. And for the love of all things subtle and elegant, don't mix maple and purple heart. I'm being a bit dramatic, except about maple and purpleheart. I know that someone else can use multiple species in the same panel and it looks wonderful (like those huge panels that are like paintings, or a land or seascape). It's just not what I do. 
• How many hours does it take to make a panel? Depends on the size and shape of the frame. Square frames are made quickly. Hexagonal frames take longer. The asa-no-ha pattern in a square frame takes longer to make than the asa-no-ha pattern in a hexagonal frame. Also, the more infill there is, the longer it takes. All good things take time, so relax and enjoy the ride. And if you plan to sell kumiko panels, make sure you charge enough to cover your expenses, time, expertise, creativity, and profit.
• You must have a lot of patience. That's not a question, but yes, I do have a lot of patience.
• Will you post a video of how you use the chisel guides? I'll gladly make a video, edit it, and post it to Instagram for all the world to see when you send me suitable payment. I'm kidding--sorta. I do plan to make a video about kumiko, as well as videos about other woodworking techniques, and post them to YouTube, but that won't be until after I get my shop completely set up.

I've made a fair number of kumiko panels now. I am not an expert by any means, but I have a solid understanding of the fundamentals of the art. Here's something that I've figured out. The technical challenge kumiko presents, at least the patterns you're most likely to start with, is not that great. The frame parts can be made quickly at the tablesaw with a finger joint jig. The pieces for the infill pattern are not tough to make either. A set of guides ensures that you pare the correct angles on the pieces' ends. But this doesn't mean that you can be thoughtless when making kumiko. In fact, you must be insanely focused, because the simplicity of what you are doing can lull you into sloppy work. The challenge of kumiko isn't a matter of skill or technique, but of precision, and that just doesn't happen when you're giving your work all the care of a goth teenager doling out frozen yogurt for a summer job.

Certainly, there are things you can do in terms of technique to improve precision, but I've found that even the best technique falls short if you are not patient, and do not give your work attention. In this way, making kumiko is no different than making furniture (and so many other meaningful activities we undertake in life).

What does it mean to be patient? I think it's allowing the work that you are doing to dictate the pace at which you do it. There's a cadence, a rhythm to all the work we do in the shop. To be patient with your work you must consider each individual task and distill it, so that you see it's essential components, so that you understand where you can work quickly, and where you must slow down. You can cut tails very quickly, for example. Get that backsaw humming and knock them out. However, when it comes time to transfer the tails to the pin board (only savages cut pins first), you must slow down, get the boards aligned properly, hold the pencil or knife just right, and make a careful stroke. So, patience is always moving at the correct speed for the work you're doing.

Attention is just as important, and it's not just a matter of being focused on the work at hand. You also must have a clear mind. If you're thinking about how your mother-in-law always smells like cabbage, your thoughts and the actions that flow from them will be muddled. When you are paring angles on the infill pieces of the asa-no-ha pattern, there should be nothing in your mind, but your hand and how it holds the chisel, how it pushes the chisel through the small part beneath your fingers, the resistance the wood gives or doesn't give, the sound made as its slices through the wood, etc. That level of attention enables you notice the smallest hiccup in the process, to notice minute blips that affect the precision of your work.

So, the big question is how do you go about acquiring patience and attention? Attention is probably easier to develop. When you go into the shop, don't start working right away. Put away the tools you left out last time. Sharpen a plane blade. Clean up your bench. Sweep the floor. Give your mind time to leave the world outside your shop. Patience comes through work. To truly understand a task like cutting dovetails or making tiny little boxes, you must cut dovetails and make tiny little boxes. And then do it some more, and, then, do it some more again. There is no shortcut here.There are no tricks. Perhaps that sounds daunting, but look at this way. You get to spend more time in the shop making furniture, boxes, spoons, bowls, or whatever. That's a good thing. The world's a better place when folks are using their heads and hands to make useful things.

Random thoughts:

1. One of my best decisions during the last year: Buying a pair of prescription glasses with green frames. Liberating and fun.
2. Another great decision: buying a bottle of Aberlour 16 on a whim. Also good: it was significantly less expensive than it typically goes for.
3. You're saying definitely maybe. I'm saying probably no. Courtney Barnett rocks.

I made one of these boxes during my 52 boxes project. It was box 11, which was based on some boxes that I had made before I started my year of box builds. And those original boxes where inspired by the round barn at Hancock Shaker Village. Like the barn, the boxes have three levels, the pull being the analogue of the cupola. But they're not a strict interpretation of the barn. The lid sits in a rabbet rather than overhanging the sides to mimic the eaves. And the pull shape is quite a bit different from the straight sides of the cupola. The box is a stylized and modern interpretation of the barn. I don't know if the barn is painted with milk paint (I once asked, but can't remember the answer), but the fact that it is painted is why I used milk paint on my boxes.

The Shaker inspiration aside, it's a simple design, but there is something about it that's also rather elegant. I think the elegance comes from the the slightly tapered diameter. The boxes are just a hair bigger at the bottom than at the top. It gives them a touch of lightness. The lines are very clean, too, which helps. The pull is a shape that I've been making for years. It varies a bit each time I make it, as you can see in the photos, but at its heart is a curve that I make by testing to see when the pull fits comfortably between my thumb and pointer finger. I like how using the human body as a guide for a pull's comfort, a chairs height, etc. results in beautiful work.

There are three different sizes of the box, the largest being about 3 in. diameter. The smallest box is perfect for holding a ring. I use one the size of the largest to hold spare change on my dresser. As for the woods and colors, there are two woods (cherry and walnut) and three colors (Federal blue, Marigold yellow, and a green that I make by mixing the other two colors). There is diversity in the boxes, but also they are nicely tied together by the limited wood and paint choices. I like the walnut box with Marigold lid box the best.

OK, that's it.

I started to make this box at the beginning of September, when I was teaching a class on kumiko at Peters Valley School of Craft. It was just something to work on at night, after the class was over. It's 2 in. tall, 3 in. wide, and 8 in. long. The sides are 1/4 in. thick. The liner inside is about 1/8 in. thick. That's a bit irrelevant, though, right? This box is all about the kumiko panel in the lid.

I don't think this is a real kumiko pattern, but it is based on one. Each of the rectangle patterns is one half of a square asa-no-ha, or hemp leaf, pattern. I like it because rectangles work better than squares with the shape of my boxes. The kumiko pieces are just 1/16 in. thick. That's very thin and a bit tricky to work, but it's proportionally right for the size of the box. It took me a while to settle on a fabric to put beneath the kumiko, but I think I got it right in the end. The challenge is to find a pattern that's small enough to repeat within the panel, but also not so busy that it's distracts from the kumiko pattern. I tried many floral prints, but none were quite right. This abstract patter does the trick, and the blue is a great background color for the creamy pale color of the basswood.

Why two little leaf patterns instead of one? Partly because the math just doesn't work for one. The height of the individual leaf patterns is one half the length. To get a single long pattern into the lid, the box would need to be wider. However, the box's proportions would then be all wack. And nobody wants wack proportions--me least of all. More importantly, there is something nice about the pattern repeating. I'm not sure what it is that's nice about it, but it looks right to my eye. A single pattern would not be as pleasing.

Here's something that I've learned about kumiko: I like making it. I love the precision of it, but what I really like is sitting at my bench, cutting angles onto the ends of the tiny pattern pieces, and getting them all to fit together, with naught but friction holding them in place. It takes focus, the type of focus that liberates you from all your other concerns. There is a rhythm to the process that is almost hypnotic, and you certainly loose yourself in it. The chisel becomes an extension of your hand. What you think, it does. And what it does, you feel. There are times that I feel every fiber as it is cut by the chisel. There is a powerful control in this feeling. There is also a deeper connection to the wood in it. When it is all going just right, a clarity comes to my mind, one in which I understand what I am doing at an intuitive level, and I can make the small adjustments that are sometimes needed without thinking about them, and without trial and error. I make the change and it's spot on. This, I know, is bordering on the rapturous, but this is not what I intend. If I were to describe in philosophical terms, I'd say that its a state in which one's epistemtic, emotional, and tactile connection to the world align, and the boarders between them begin to disappear. There is almost a change in one's ontological status. (Hmmm. Maybe I've had too much rum tonight.)

Here's a few random thoughts:

1. This is some pretty nice cherry. Great color, tight grain.
2. Look at the tiny little pin knots at the corner. Perfect.
3. The edge of the bottom is painted with a green milk paint that I mixed up. It looks good.
4. I love a sharp chisel.

I was teaching at Peters Valley Craft Center in early summer 2015, and was asked to participate in an upcoming gallery show that would feature work inspired by Peters Valley. I asked if I could take a big, weathered chunk of oak that had been sitting of the wood shop's front porch for years. I think it had been used as door stop. My plan was to make a box from it. Unfortunately, when I cut into it, I discovered that it was still too wet to use. So, I just cut it into about 6 perfectly quartersawn boards and stickered them in my shop. One year later, the boards were dry and I set about to make something from them. Based on the size of the boards (5 in. wide, about 5/8 in. thick, and over 30 in. long), I figured I could make a small wall cabinet with a few drawers and a door.

This cabinet strikes out in a new direction for me, and I took it primarily because of the wood I was using. Oak, with its bigger pores, has a much rougher texture than cherry (the species I use most often). It's a texture that's not well-suited to the minimalist, clean, and modern aesthetic I've developed. So, I incorporated a few details that I stole from Mike Pekovich (who primarily works with quartersawn white oak). I inset the door and drawers, and used two vertical dividers to break up the lower door panel. I also used butt hinges instead of knife hinges. The hinges are mortised into a hinge strip, a brilliant and necessary detail that allows the inset door to swing fully open on butt hinges. I don't know if I can explain why these small changes make the cabinet better suited for oak, but they do. Still, they don't override my own aesthetic. It looks like a cabinet that I made, instead of one that Mike made. This is because of my sense of proportion, which is different from his, my penchant for having two rows of drawers with the top row being dividing unevenly, my love for flush dovetail joinery, and my stripped down take on kumiko. Of course, the fact that I used this style of pull doesn't hurt to mark the cabinet as mine. In the end, I think I ended up with a cabinet that is clearly mine, but tailored for the wood species used.

OK, a few words about this red oak: It is amazing. It starts with the cut of the grain, quartersawn. There are no ugly cathedrals. It's nice to be your own sawyer. Perhaps there's a sawmill in my future. I think it also helps that this is Northern red oak, as opposed to Southern red oak. The Southern one is that nasty super red stuff used to make a lot of manufactured furniture. Oak from up North is brown, but still has a red cast. It's a lovely color. Finally, there is some nice variation in the color. Take a look at the side that's facing the camera. Notice that it's darker at the front and then transitions to a creamy brown. I like this.

I guess the most interesting thing about this cabinet is the door, which is nice, because that's what I intended. When designing the door, I knew that I wanted a kumiko panel up to and a solid wood panel beneath it. I sketched out some ideas, fooling around with their sizes in relation to one another. Having the kumiko panel smaller looked the best, and I chose to divide the door into thirds, with the bottom panel and middle rail taking up about two-thirds of the door. The kumiko panel isn't a traditional design. Why? Because I have some kind of clinical obsession with using rectangles and squares to create patterns. The kumiko is basswood set on top of a plywood panel that's covered with Chiyogami paper. The inside of the door has a similar kumiko over the same paper. I'll still use fabric, but I'll also begin to use Chiyogami and other Japanese paper more often. As I was looking for paper to use in this cabinet, I waded through dozens and dozens of internet pages. The hardest thing to judge was the size designs printed on the papers. As with grain and fabric prints, the paper needed to have print that was proportionally right for the door and cabinet. I think I did alright.

The two vertical dividers were an addition to the door after I assembled it dry. The panel just looked blah and too big. The dividers work, because they echo the kumiko pieces above them and also because they break the panel into smaller panels. This is where design really happens: In the small details. I wish I had foreseen that a single panel would look horsey, but at least I caught it in time.

One last thing before I get back to the first day of the college football season. (Hey, I grew up in the South.) Here's how I arrived at this kumiko pattern. I like kumiko, but I don't like it when the kumiko is the thing on display. I like to use it to create a pattern and give emphasis to the color, fabric, or paper behind the kumiko. So, I designed the kumiko to have big open spaces in the middle. This puts the cool Chiyogami paper on display, framing it. 

At any rate, on to some random thoughts.

1. One of the primary reasons I prefer riftsawn to quartersawn lumber, regardless of species, is that the edge grain of quartersawn boards is flat sawn. Looks nasty. The edges of a riftsawn board are also riftsawn. Lovely.
2. The interior is basswood. I like the inside of a cabinet to be bright, and a light-color wood creates brightness. It makes it easier to see whatever you keep inside. It's also a nice surprise when the door is opened. You know me, I love to play with color.
3. Something you can't see: The back is plywood covered in shopsawn basswood veneers. It's 1/8 in. proud of the cabinet's back edge, so that the cabinet sits off the wall. This creates a nice shadow line. I also painted the back's edge with green milk paint.
4. September Gurls. Stroke it Noel. Thirteen. Love me some Big Star. Thanks to my friend Aaron DMC for putting me onto them back in college.
5. One more, for a dude in Jersey: Hey glad girls, only wanna get you high. And they're alright. (GBV does Big Star.)

Box 52. Done. And that's all I have to say about that.

Kidding. I always have plenty to say. This is another stacking box, like box 49, but I changed the shape from rectangle to square, taking box 48 as my starting point (I really like box 48). I think box 49 is too tall, so this time I made the sides 1 1/4 in. tall instead of 1 1/2 in. I know it's impossible to tell from these photos, but the lower height is an improvement. I also like the square format for the boxes. (I'm actually excited about designing more square boxes in the future. I can't believe I never tried a square box until No. 48.) The biggest benefit of the square is that I had more latitude in dividing the boxes into compartments. For the top box, I used the same arrangement as I did for box 49. For the middle box, I added a compartment. For the bottom box, I added another compartment, but not another lid. A square compartment in the middle of a box with others wrapping around it: I've had this arrangement in mind for years. I finally said fuck it and gave it a try. It wasn't as hard to do as I feared. I did not use a lid for it because I wanted a pop of color in the middle and I thought the fabric would be cooler than a painted lid.

Here's something I don't like: Dumb figure holes on the two lower boxes. They suck. As I was working on this box and running through all the different ways I could make a pull for them, I was getting bummed out because I thought that I just wasn't able to design a good pull for them. The problem is that the bottom of the box above sits on the lid of the box below, so the pulls on the box bellow must be flush with the lid. That's a tough constraint to work with. However, I realized that the problem wasn't really a design problem. It's an engineering problem. I needed to change how the upper box sat on the lower box. I've figured that out now, and the next time I build a box like this (soon, I think), I'll be able to have pulls that are at least a bit proud of the lid. Then, I'll be able to design a lovely pull for the lower two boxes. So, some progress was made.

I think that's all I have to say, so let's here are the customary random thoughts.

1. The inside edge of the finger holes are painted with green milk paint. The underside of the bottoms on the top two boxes are also painted with green milk paint.
2. I am happy to be done with the 52 boxes, but I'm also bummed. I loved being in a constant state of design and build. I need some time to reflect on what I learned, but I do plan to write at least one blog about the project as a whole.
3. I have many more box designs that I wasn't able to make. I'll be making them.
4. Choo choo everybody! (That's for you, LH and BE.)