I didn't chose to make this box. I made it because a jeweler I met really liked my smallest round boxes and thought they'd be a great way for someone to present the engagement and wedding rings she makes. Within a week of her and I discussing the possibility, she sold one to a client. So, I had to make one. I'm happy I did. I didn't have any of the round boxes on hand, and, to be honest, I couldn't remember the exact dimensions of the smallest ones (the walnut with marigold yellow lid box in the photo at right). I found a reference to dimensions in a tweet from ages ago, so I went with those. (Originally, I wrote that it was in a blog, but I was wrong about that.)

Well, as it turns out (and this doesn't surprise me) I wasn't exactly precise with those dimensions in the blog. When I'm asked for dimensions, I typically round up or down, or just give something in the ballpark. Why? Well, I'm a bit protective of my eye for proportion. I put a lot of thought into the proportions of a box and I'd rather not just give that away so that there can be untold numbers of exact copies floating around. (If I publish something in the magazine, then there are precisely correct dimensions.) I suppose some might not like this dissimulation, but design in the hardest part of making furniture—and it's the most personal. At any rate, that's a long way of saying that this week's box was bit of an accident, because I really did set out to make another box identical in proportions to the walnut and marigold box. But I tricked myself and made a different box altogether. Oh well. I'm happy the proportions work, because it means that if someone else used them, then they got a nice box, too.

This new round box, which is cherry and has a blue lid, is smaller in diameter and just a touch taller. I also made the lid thinner. And from the picture of the two side by side, you can see that the pulls are also different. I thought the walnut and marigold version was small, but this one is very delicate. I love it. Now I have four different sizes of the box. Actually, I've made one bigger than the blue body with cherry lid box in the photo above, but I made it only once. It's nice, but requires too much work to make (glueing up blanks, hollowing out tons of wood, etc.).

Here's a nice point about turning a box like this. Notice that the sides are not perfectly vertical. The box is actually slight smaller in diameter at the top than at the bottom. The even roll in slightly at the top lip. If the sides were perfectly vertical, the box would have the illusion of being slightly wider at the top. Tapering the diameter ever so slightly makes it appear straight. It also makes it seem more delicate. And delicate is a good thing on little boxes.

The pull is a variation on a shape I use for every pull that I make, no matter what it's for. I love the shape. That asymmetric curve is lovely. Want to know how I came to it? It's the perfect shape to fit between my thumb and forefinger when I grasp a pull with them. The first time I turned the pull I kept working that arc until it was nice and comfy between my fingers. That's how I'd grasp a pull. If you grasp one differently, then you'd end up with a different shape to satisfy what's comfortable for that grip. This is a great lesson in how function and use determines form. If you do it right, then the form will be graceful.

Finally, one of the great charms of milk paint is how variable it's color can be. This little batch I mixed up is much paler than other batches I've mixed. Look at the deep blue of the box body in the photo above. That's a lot richer blue than the lid of box 11. Still, both colors are great. Milk paint almost always look great. 

My goodness, did that run on (and is perhaps a bit disjointed). Let's get to it. Random thoughts.

1. Mike Pekovich bought the walnut and marigold box and he keeps it in his office, so I was able to grab it for a quick photo. I believe that my moment of arrival as a furniture maker was the moment Mike asked to buy the box. If he liked it enough to want to own it, then it's got to be good. It was a huge boost to my confidence. I had meant to measure Mike's box before I left work for the weekend during which I made this one, but forgot to, so that's how I ended up using dimensions from an old tweet.
   
2. You can read about the origin of these round boxes over at finewoodworking.com.
3. The body of this box is made from 12/4 cherry that I bought off a former Fine Woodworking editor (he left long before I came on the scene, even before Mike P. started almost 20 years ago), who was leaving Newtown, CT (where FWW is located) for the mountain west. I got quite a bit of it, and it's all wonderfully beautiful.  I also bought my lathe from him. Thanks, Charlie! You made this box possible. And here's the lesson: Never pass up the opportunity to buy a beautiful piece or stack of wood. Never.
   
4. I've very happy that this box will be used to hold an engagement ring. That's why I added the fabric cushion to the inside. That burst of color when you open the box makes the interior less dark. It's welcoming. But let's be real. The person who receives the box is justifiably going to be far more taken by the ring it holds. I thought about tying the box's purpose to Biblo, Frodo, and the one ring, but even I have a sentimental side. May the happy couple be as blessed as King Elessar Telcontar and Arwen.

This is a little box—just 5 in. long and 1 3/4 in. wide—but it's big in terms of developing my design aesthetic. The body of the box is fairly standard for me. The lid is a whole other story. The pull, I'm sure, is the most obvious change for me. I've always done very simple pulls for boxes like this. Just a thin piece of wood glued to the top. This box is sporting a cherry pull elevated on little feet or stands that are painted with marigold yellow milk paint.

I like this box. It's sitting here with me at the desk, and it's more charming in person that it is in these photos. And it's convinced me to explore pull styles for my boxes. I have several designs in mind. The really challenge is making them, because they're so small.

A less obvious deviation from my established design aesthetic is the cocobolo lid. First, I've only used cocobolo for something other than a pull once before. (I used it for the center drawer front on a bow front cabinet I made for Fine Woodworking that was featured on the cover.) Exotics, I think, are too strong and dominate to be used for anything other than an accent. But this lid is causing me to rethink the role they can play in my furniture. When I was making this box, I really wasn't thinking cocobolo for the lid, but I stumbled across this piece in my box of cocobolo and ebony. It has strong, straight grain that's scaled perfectly for this box's proportions. And it had one face that was still rough from bandsawing (click on the picture above to see this in better detail). I though the rough surface would look cool, so I left it. I stole this idea from a box that Mike Pekovich made a few years ago. I'm certain to use it again.

This pull is an exercise in details. So, too, is the inside of the box. There's a wonderful little pitch pocket in the corner of the bottom that is visible when you take the top off. It creates just enough irregularity and breaks up the clean, straight grain of the cherry in a very nice way. When I'm picking wood to make a box, I'm always looking for straight grain with little spots of pitch, or curl, or a pin knot. Clean with some character. That's the ideal wood for me. Also, always pay attention to the details. Thoughtful, good design begins with the overarching themes, but ends with the details. If you forget them, then you haven't finished the design job. (That's how I think about it at any rate.)

On to the random thoughts.

1. To finish the lid, I just used some steel wool on the bandsawn face. I wanted to burnish, but not soften, the machine marks. Even a fine sandpaper would have rounded the ridges over too much. I finished it with shellac.
2. The little feet for the pull are sandwiches made from three layers of wood. The middle layer is actually cut from the same piece that the pull was cut from, guaranteeing that the "slot" for the pull would be exactly the right width. This also means I didn't have to cut it. The two outside pieces are about 1/16 in. thick. I painted the feet before gluing the pull into them.
3. Here's how I attached the pull. I drilled holes in the bottom of the feet and matching holes in the lid. I clipped small stainless steel brads and glued them into into the holes in the lid. I then glued the feet the the brads. I was worried that the irregular surface of the lid would prove to be a poor surface for gluing. The steel tenons (and that's what they really are) should do the job.
4. I should have mad the pull from the same board that the sides came from. The variation in color between the two annoys me, but there's a good chance that as the two age and darken you won't be able to tell. I'll know in a year.
5. Finally: Double Digits! One more than Frodo can count on his hands.

This box might look like others that I have made (walnut and marigold yellow together), but there is a huge difference between it and everything else I've made. This is my first bandsawn box. In the past, I've made it clear that I really do not like them (listen to our discussion with David Picciuto, the Drunken Woodworker). Here's why. The vast majority of the bandsawn boxes that I've seen are ugly. Very ugly. The reason why they are ugly is simple. The folks who make them focus on the fact that they're making a box with a bandsaw, so they throw in all kinds of wacky curves, goofy shapes, and drawers within drawers. The box is meant to display the fact that it was made with a bandsaw. Who cares how something was made other than the person who made it? (I know other woodworkers do. We care too much about that sometimes.) Personally, I want the people who see my boxes not to even think about how I made it. I want them to say, "That's beautiful." So, I tried to make a beautiful bandsawn box. Perhaps I succeeded. Perhaps I didn't. I'll definitely try again.

OK, I'm getting off the soapbox before I go too far. I made this box while at Peters Valley School of Craft teaching a woodworking course. (By the way, Peters Valley is a wonderful place to take a class.) I actually made two of this box. The first one was sold in the weekly auction held to benefit the school. The only difference between that box (right) and this one is that I painted the ends of the lid, too. I like both of the boxes, but I think the original (no paint on lid) is a bit more elegant. However, I do like that the lid on this version overhangs the box body more. I intentionally made the lid on the first one smaller, but the overhang got so small that it no longer looks intentional. Design should always be intentional—and look that way.

This box was a good learning experience. I've definitely thought of ways to improve the craftsmanship on my next bandsawn boxes. One of the things I figured out after making the first version of the box, but before starting the second one, is that you get tighter glue lines if you do not sand the bandsawn surfaces after cutting them. Look at the picture below that shows the inside of the box. Those are machine marks left by the bandsaw. That could be a very cool surface texture on the inside. The next time I make a bandsawn box, I'll work on controlling the appearance of the machine marks. For example, for a fairly nuanced surface, I could use a variable pitch blade, like the 3-4 variable TPI resaw blades on the market. These blades are also very thin, and that would help with the glueline.

There's not much else to say, but if you have questions, please ask. I'll answer as best I can. Now for some random thoughts.

1. To create a shadow line around the bottom, I routed a very small (1/16 in. by 1/16 in.) rabbet around the perimeter. This is a small box (it's made from a piece of 8/4 air-dried walnut turned on edge), so that was an exciting process. Smart setup of the router table made it safe, but it was still exhilarating.
2. I used blue painters tape to mask off the sides. This made crisp lines at the corner possible, but it also meant that the paint built up a small lip at the corners. I sanded those away with some 320-grit sandpaper before I shellacked the walnut.
3. The lid's overhang is a natural consequence of the bandsawing process. The lid was cut from the body before the sides were cut free. Cutting the sides free removed material, making the box body narrowing than the lid. This is cool, I think. I exploited the technique for the purpose of design. (It was unexpected, but as soon as I recognized what had happened, I knew how I could use it.)
4. I'm still a bit skeptical of bandsawn boxes. I think it's possible to make gorgeous boxes using the technique. Just look at what Michael Cullen has done (the black box at the top of this page is a bandsawn box, I believe. And he has an article coming out in FWW that shows more beautiful bandsawn boxes). So, perhaps I'll come around. It's fast, that's for sure. I cut out and glued together these boxes in about 15 minutes. Perhaps after I've refined my approach to them I'll embrace the technique more heartily.

These two boxes are identical to the first two I made (one of them is just below, on the left), except in the woods and paint colors. When I made those two boxes, I knew that I would come back to the design, because I like it so much and I wanted to experiment with other species for the boxes and different milk paints for the lids. I might return to this design later, too. I already have a few ideas about how to change it up a bit (and, in fact, I've already turned one of those ideas into a reality—it's box 14. Yes, I am working ahead of what I am putting up on the blog.) And I don't think this violates the spirit of my 52 boxes challenge as I laid them out. Actually, it's explicitly in keeping with it.

In this new pair, one of the boxes is made from rift sawn ash, has a pumpkin lid, and the lift is made from the wortled heart wood of a quizzical pear tree. The other is quartersawn maple with a Lexington green lid. Its lift is apple. Of the two, I think I like the maple one better. The grain is so tight, and there's a bit of chatoyance to it. The green is also a great match for the maple and apple. But the ash has an earthy undertone that goes quite well with the pumpkin milk paint. The darker grain lines are a nice match with the milk paint, too. It's hard. I like it, too. I suppose it's like choosing between your kids—on one day you (might) like one more than the other, but you never stop loving either.

There is one way (other than wood species and paint colors) that boxes 7 and 8 are different than boxes 1 and 2. Where the bottoms of the first two were natural wood on both faces, I painted the top face of the bottoms for these two new boxes (taking a cue from box 5). The color is custom, comprised of mostly snow white with a touch of marigold yellow. I like it. Once again, I got that cool crackle effect. My colleague at Fine Woodworking, Dillon Ryan, has surmised that it is caused by the plywood swelling due to the water in the milk paint. When the plywood dries and shrinks, you get the crackle. I think this makes sense, because the top veneer of the plywood is so thin. With solid wood the crackle doesn't happen because it doesn't expand and shrink in the same way.

I made these two boxes the same week that I made box 6. In fact, I made all three at the same time. After you have a design figured out, it's not hard to knock out a couple of boxes using it. I find this encouraging. Perhaps one day I can make and sell boxes for a profit.

Hmm. I think it's time for some random reflections.

1. I've done four takes on this design. These new ones are the Merry and Pippin of the gang. The first two were the Samwise and Frodo. I think the walnut and marigold yellow box is my favorite. It's the Samwise Gamgee, who is the true hero and purest of heart (and who has a sister named Marigold—this is significant). I know that I've got a Bandobras Took in me. And a Rosie Cotton. No literary sundering breaks my heart more than when Rosie dies and Sam goes into the West.
2. When I used Lexington green for box 4, I cut it with some snow white (that sounds illegal). This time I used it full strength. I'm glad I did. The darker green works better with the maple. The lighter shade works better with white oak.
3. Ash is one of my favorite woods, at least when it's quarter- or riftsawn. Back South, all the ash I used was a beautiful creamy white with a hint of butter. Since I've been in Connecticut, I've bought locally grown and air-dried-by-me ash. I like the more earthy color it has. There's more to work with. Look at the nice brown streaks at the corner. It allowed me to pull in the darker color of the pull. I love it. It's the kind of little detail that I geek out one when it comes to wood. Give me some funky little quirk and I'll build something around it.

I've made many boxes like this one before. It's actually my second go at a box I made many years ago (see the box at right). I made that box in one night, using a Phi ruler to determine the box's height, width, and length. I like the width and length, but think it's too tall. I always wanted to go back and make it again, but shorter. That's what box 6 is. I should admit that I'm not positive that the two boxes have the same width and height. The only record I could find of the original box's dimensions was an approximation, so I guessed as best I could. (I gave the box to a family friend not long after I made it, so can't measure it.) I like the proportions of the new box much better.

The first box was made from English elm. So is this one. The difference in color between the two is amazing. I really like the color of the first box, but that board is long gone. I also like the English elm I used for this box, especially the random spots of wild grain, but it's not quite as nice. The top of the first box is solid wood. I think it's flame birch. (It came from a very old, but decrepit, table, so I don't know for sure.) The top of this one is plywood banded in cocobolo and then veneered with English brown oak. The lifts are cocobolo. The three woods complement each other very well, I think. And the darker oak works here because the box sides are a light brown. It would not have worked with the elm I used to make the previous box.

Box 6 wasn't hard to make, but it was tedious. Both the lids and the bottom involved veneering plywood. The banding on the top is mitered at the corners and getting those miters tight and clean was a slow, shaving at a time process. The bottom involved some tedious labor, too. First I veneered the bottom face. I then did the end banding. After that, it was the front and back. This way, when you look at the bottom from the front, you see what looks like a piece of solid wood. Last came the veneer for the top face. I wanted this to cover the banding, so that when you look at the inside of the box, you don't see any banding. (I should do a blog about box bottoms, right?.) The veneers on the lids are commercial, but think. Those on the bottom are shopsawn.

Alright, let's get to the random thoughts.

1. One of the things I look for when choosing wood for box sides is tight, straight grain. I also look for anomalies in the grain to give the sides some individuality. With cherry, it's usually bits of pitch. With this English elm its some random, isolated curl or figure that makes the grain lines wave up and down. Very cool.
2. The lifts illustrate a strong belief I have about pulls, handles, and lifts: Don't worry about getting them perfectly centered. If you look at the picture below on the left, you can see that they are a bit closer to the right side than the left side. You notice this in the end view, but not when looking from above. I can live with some imperfection in a box, as long as it's in the right place. I suspect others will disagree with me on this point. I would quote a particular line from The Holy Grail at this point (it pertains to doing something in a person's general direction), but I don't want to be rude.
3. There's no milk paint. I just wanted to give it a break for a week. Don't worry. I've already made some more boxes with milk paint.
4. I'm not sure what you'd store in this box, but I think it would do nicely as storage for some Longbottom Leaf or Old Toby. Personally, I don't partake of the stuff. I've heard it makes your feet hairy.

The idea for this box has been floating around in my head for quite some time. I had not made it yet because every time it surfaced I couldn't get the proportions right. But inspiration often comes when we are least looking for it. After I had completed box 4, I put it on the counter, knelt down in front of it to get a head on look at the front elevation, and it hit me. Those were the perfect dimensions for this box. The length and width of this box are the same as the length and height of box 4. I haven't been giving dimensions, but if you're wondering the box is 2 in. wide and 12 in. long.

When I thought of this box in the past, I never had particular species in mind for the sides and lids. As I was looking through my lumber rack and assorted piles of small pieces of lumber, I took a break to go into the house and see what the kids were doing. My daughter was in her room, which is where I saw a little wall cabinet I made several years ago (see the picture at left). It's ash and apple. The apple is gorgeous. I immediately decided to make the lids from apple. I thought about making the body from ash, but back in my shop I came across a very nice piece of quartersawn white oak that was just the right size for the sides. The earthy, multi-hued apple, I thought, would compliment the white oak's brown very well. I think the woods go very well together. Sadly, my stash of apple got a bit smaller.

I had planned to put some cocobolo lifts on the lids. But when I got to that point in the construction I just couldn't do it. No matter where I placed the lifts, they obscured the apple's beautiful grain and colors. The box body was already finished, but that didn't deter me. At the drill press, I used a Forstner bit to create the finger openings. I actually used two different bits. The opening in the middle is larger than the ones on the sides. I plan to reuse this technique (I might even remake this box in different woods), and I'll put a finger opening on both the front and back for each compartment. You can open the compartments just fine as it is, but it will be easier if you can pinch the lid between two fingers.

I don't remember when I decided to paint the top face of the box bottom. In the past, I've made fabric cushions for the insides of boxes, and I always choose a fabric that popped. (Take a look these boxes to see what I mean). That lead to the milk paint, I guess. I just like the surprise of opening an all wood box and seeing a bright splash of color. The marigold yellow milk paint looks great, I think. I like how it crackled of it's own accord.

OK, time for some random thoughts:

1. This is an awesome piece of apple. Look at those colors. It's amazing that it had a small "defect" in just the right place so that I could get one in each lid. When viewed from the top, the lids look like little framed paintings. The box is subdued enough to let the lids stand out in all their beauty. (Apple could be the prettiest wood there is. Madrone is a close second.)
2. Drilling those finger openings was scary. I thought they'd look good and work, but I wasn't sure. I was wavering, but reminded myself that part of the reason I'm doing this 52 box thing is to take risks. I'm glad I did it.
3. Marigold yellow milk paint! You never fail me.
4. Look at that white oak. Not only does it have some very cool ray fleck, but the grain has some funky glittery streaks. If I didn't know better, I'd think it came from Fangorn or Lothlorien. Hell, what do I know, perhaps it did. Let me know if you see any Ents or Gil-galad headed my way.

What a difference one week makes. Unlike box 3, which I still have a hard time liking (even though some of the comments folks made have softened me on it), I like everything about this box. I know this one is fairly different from last week's box, but I see the two as directly related. When thinking about how I'd change box 3, I came up with box 4. This is especially true about the overall dimensions. Box 4 is about 3 in. narrower, but twice as long (if you are reading width across the grain and length with the grain, which is how I do it). It's also much shorter. These are the proportions I had in mind when I first came up with the concept for box 3. I don't know where or why I changed them on box 3.

I also like a particular design leap that I made with box 4: the walnut divider. I have always, without even thinking about it, made drawer dividers from the same species as the case or box. Most of the time, I think that's the right way to do it. But there is something very nice about this walnut divider paired with the white oak box. Perhaps it's the walnut stand the box sits on, or that the divider is a preview of the beautiful walnut drawers inside. (By the way, this is all air-dried and unsteamed walnut. Hence, the rich and variegated color. Steaming walnut destroys what's most beautiful about the wood. I'll never use it again, if I can at all avoid it.) I'll definitely revisit this design detail in the future, on a wall cabinet or large case piece.

The pulls are made from key rings wrapped with a very thin hemp twine. I like them very much, even if there's a bit of a hump where I tied off the twine. I used cotter pins to attach them to the drawer fronts. I blackened them with some chemical from a bottle. I have no idea what it really is, as I got it from Mike Pekovich. It's something used to darken the lead in stained glass. I think it was also used by Sauron when he was crafting the one ring to rule them all. I'm sure it's not all that bad, but I have been referring to the box as my precious. And all of my other boxes are slowly beginning to turn invisible. By the way, I've used gun bluing on metal before, and this looks much better.

The drawer boxes are walnut, mitered at the corners. I know this is a risk, but the drawers aren't going to be loaded down with gold bullion or lead. The painted fronts are white oak, which I chose because I knew the milk paint wouldn't completely cover the open grain of the oak. So, you still get a hint of the oak through the paint. I looks nice. I cut the Lexington green paint with a bit of snow white to lighten the color a small amount. Also, the drawers are inset about 1/16 in., to create some depth and to disguise the box's seasonal movement.

Random thoughts:

1. Quartersawn white oak is really starting to grow on me. I love it's color when finished with shellac or Waterlox. It especially looks great with walnut.
2. The base is a mitered frame screwed to the box. To accommodate seasonal movement, the pieces on the sides are cut a bit short (you can't see this unless you really look, because the darkness of the gap blends well with the darkness of the walnut).
3. Wrapping the twine around the key rings wasn't hard to do when holding the ring and twine in my hands. However, I wrapped the ring several times each in an effort to get the best wrap I could. After the first attempt, I held the rings with my fly tying vise. This made it much easier to get a tight wrap.

This box is a bit funky because the drawer opens from both ends. It's made from a wonderful, 10 in. wide piece of vertical grain Douglas fir. Given how tight the grain is, I'm guessing it's old growth. I found the piece in a small lumberyard near my house. (Boards like it are why I drop into lumberyards on a whim and look around for hours.) Vertical grain Douglas fir is one of my favorite woods. It has a very modern feel to it.

I love the concept for this box: a drawer that slides out at both ends. I also like the feet, and that the box has a modern feel to it. That could be all that I like. The snow white milk paint turned out to have much less variation in color than other colors of milk paint that I've worked with, so it doesn't read as painted wood. I'm also bummed that I didn't get the box's proportions right. It should be shorter and wider. Finally, I should have gone with miters instead of dovetails. The box is too small for dovetails. They just crowd up the place, and interrupt the flow of the fir's grain. But that's the way it goes sometimes. I'll definitely revisit this idea after I've had time to think about it more, do more sketches, and play with the dimensions some.

Of course, I'm happy to answer any questions you have about the box.

It took me two weeks to make this box, because I was shooting a video for Fine Woodworking at the same time. But, I'm still on schedule. It's been three weeks and I've made three boxes.

Yesterday, I mentioned that I had made six boxes using the same core set of design details. You can see all six in the gallery below. To my eye the boxes are all clearly related, but also distinct from one another. I suppose one could argue that the two turned boxes (painted body v. painted lid) are too similar to be called distinct. But for me, the little walnut round box with the yellow lid is a substantial step up in elegance. It feels like a different creature. (I also believe it's the best thing I've made.) Here's what's common to them.

The sides are raised 1/8 in. off the surface by a bottom that is inset from the perimeter of the box.

The top sits in a rabbet and is 1/8 in. proud of the top edge of the sides.

There are three woods in use for each box: The sides are the primary wood, the top is the secondary wood, and the lift is the tertiary wood. Paint has replaced either the primary or second wood in some. Also, the woods are always complimentary to one another, never contrasting. (I hate the notion of contrasting woods.) And the relationship between the color of the sides and the color of the lid reinforces the shape of the lid(s), allowing it to make a stronger geometric statement.

There is an emphasis and dependence on good proportion. This started with the first box. All three of its sides are related by the golden mean. This emphasis on proportion explains the clean, simple lines. When you gussy up a piece with ornamentation or complicated lines, you begin to obscure the proportions--or so I think.