Put Me in Coach

and more flat spindle talk

* Check the class schedule, there are openings in upcoming classes with Tim Manney, Peter Follansbee and Andy Glenn*

I don’t know where it started, but I’ve always been of the notion that I should figure things out on my own. I’m guessing it has something to do with being a latchkey kid in the late 70’s and early 80’s. If I could go back and change one thing about my career, and life in general, it would have been to seek out more instruction, guidance, help…whatever you call it, to get where I wanted to go. I do believe that my self reliance has helped make me productive in the workshop, but I’m sure a better balance could have been struck. I suppose this might also have something to do with my passion for teaching. It’s probably what I am most proud of and find the most fulfilling of all my activities.

For the last 4 or 5 months, I’ve been under the tutelage of a coach. Not a woodworker, just an artist who is incredibly attuned to delving into the human experience of making things. We don’t look at my work, we just talk. I know for a fact that younger me would have waved off this idea. I remember first hearing about “Life Coaching” and thinking it sounded like a pyramid scheme. But I can honestly say that this experience has been hugely transformative. I’ve been in therapy before, which I also found very helpful, but I must say, there is something about talking to someone who understands the compulsion to make things and the myriad of revealing and complicated feelings that go along with it. The things we make are a reflection of ourselves, our goals, interests and abilities. But how we relate to what we make and present it to the world also reflects our self image, our biases, mental blocks, fears, needs and intentions. Like it or not, we are all making self portrait Rorschach ink blots.

Think of the moment when you screw up. We’ve all been there for the flush of feeling that comes from seeing a beautiful thing blemished by our human imperfection. In that instant, how if feels, and how we handle it is a window into who we are. The excitement at the beginning of a project, when it’s still perfect in our mind, must give way to the reality of being brought to life. Being a teacher for so long has given me a front row seat to hundreds of different making experiences. From the full body clench to the loosey goosey, I’ve seen it all.

If I was to have one goal in mind for my creative process, it would be to be able to travel that path with ease and grace. I’m not always there. though I can perform just about any of the tasks in my craft that way. For me, it’s as the parts come together into a chair that I start to face my own demons. This is where I get a form of stage fright. It was easier in the early days, when no one was watching, but in later years, as my chairs became more refined, I became better known, and my prices rose, it become tougher to understand the what my work was supposed to look like. Last week, Clark Kellog was in my class, and he told me about a small Krenov cabinet owned by a friend. Every summer, the top pops open, all the drawers sieze. He said there is a fair amount of grain tear out here and there. I find it liberating to hear stories like this. I never want to be careless, but we don’t get to choose to be human, we just are. Maybe I should pitch an article to Fine Woodworking, “Famous Grain Tearout and Gapped Joints”.

As for where to turn for a coach, I don’t have any resources to offer you (I don’t want to flood my coach’s in box) but if you do have any, I’d love to hear about them in the comments. I am going to be seeking out a business coach and other resources to help me in areas where I find myself stunted or struggling (I’m looking at you fashion)

Back to the making. The rocking chair class I just taught marked the final journey of the flat spindles I’ve been discussing in recent posts.