Dedicated Tools

craftsman drill

I love my vintage Craftsman “60” one speed drill

As challenging as it can be, it’s always wise to extract as much satisfaction from the task at hand as from what the task yields. This is especially true in production woodwork, where tasks are sometimes tediously slow, repetitive and physically demanding. My approach is to have particular tools dedicated to specific processes, allowing me to build a relationship with the character of a tool and a level of expertise in knowing how best to optimize its inherent attributes. cn you give ivermectin to doigs ??? ??? ??? ?? ???? ????

I love the vintage Craftsman “60” drill I inherited from my grandfather and have relished using it since I was a kid, but with its one speed operation and 1/4” chuck, it became somewhat obsolete with the advent of cordless drills, kind of like Mike Mulligan’s steam shovel. ivermectin tapeworm curezone ?????????? I could never justify using it out of sheer nostalgia, despite its no-nonsense aluminum casing and graceful mid-century styling. Gratefully, I’ve recently discovered that coupled with a wire brush, my childhood drill is the ideal tool for removing bark and stray fibers from the ‘live edge’ of my slab constructions; the speed is just right, it has just enough power but not too much, makes a pleasant sound, and warms to the touch. Plus, I feel a connection to my grandfather and recall happy times making stuff with my dad whenever I plug it in. novomectin (ivermectin 1%) dogs dosage ????? ?????????

//

Holly Meets the Sea

holly logs

I typically paint or wax the ends of green logs/slabs to ensure a slow and even curing.

I’ve begun to harvest some of the holly trees on our property in anticipation of making small bowls, spoons, candlesticks and other tableware for our inaugural Secret Dinner scheduled for this fall. The trees were probably planted about 30 years ago as an ornamental and they’ve grown to an unmanageable height, blocking light and clogging our gutters with their spiny fallen leaves. We’ll continue to make winter wreaths from branches of the remaining variegated shrubs, but I’m eager to try my hand at turning, break in an excellent set of Sheffield chisels and learn a valuable new skill.

In Celtic folklore, the holly tree symbolizes protection, and it’s an ancient tradition to plant them close to dwellings to ward off evil spirits while providing food and shelter for seasonal bird migrations. A healing tea can be brewed from the leaves of certain holly trees, and it was believed that throwing a stick of holly towards bears, wolves and wildcats will ward them away. The tree has also been thought to protect people from threat of lightning and severe weather. I will consider these themes as I turn the wood over the summer for an autumnal feast featuring foraged foods from the sea.


Tsuru

TSURU MODEL 2

Model of Tsuru, commissioned for the new Ralph M Carr Judicial Center in Denver

We’re celebrating at the wowhaus studio after winning the public art commission for the courtyard of the new Ralph M Carr Colorado Judicial Center in Denver. We worked especially hard for this one, and the concept and presentation evolved collaboratively through a process Ene and I have honed over years of trial and error. We’re especially excited about the prospect of making another monumental sculpture to be cast in bronze and integrated into the landscape, where it will be accessible to the public and contribute to the daily lives of the people who work in the building.

tsuru model 1

Tsuru features a slightly larger than life bronze inspired by the Whooping Crane

Here is the text we wrote to accompany our presentation:

TSURU

“Conscience is the chamber of justice” – Origen

This artwork takes its inspiration from the crane, an ancient symbol of justice, peace, independence, and wisdom in many cultures. Among some Native Americans, this majestic bird was revered as an emblem of justice and intelligence.  For the Japanese, the crane (“tsuru”)  became a symbol of world peace in World War II as a Japanese girl tried to stave off leukemia caused by the bombing of Hiroshima by making 1,000 paper cranes. Sandhill cranes play a role in the local ecosystem, migrating annually through the Denver environs; many eagerly anticipate their seasonal arrival.

The crane embodies the independence and moral courage Ralph Carr brought to bear in resisting the internment of the Japanese during World War II.  The sculpture depicts a crane in flight, wings outstretched in a delicate state of balance, the stance echoing our quest for balance and equilibrium in the pursuit of justice.  Finally, the sculpture has additional symbolism: the Whooping Crane, the only other crane in North America, is an endangered species, protected by the laws of the land. In this way, the artwork embodies the vital role that the legal system plays in protecting not only our citizens but the fragile ecosystems of our earth as well.

The focal point of the courtyard will be a bronze sculpture of a Whooping Crane rising in flight. This graceful form, feathered wings outstretched to a span of 8’, will be sited on a rise of native Bluestem grasses toward the rear of the lawn, with a total height of 8’.

The sculpture will be framed by a circle of granite stone elements radiating in a 4’ wide ring around the piece.  Each of the cardinal points of the compass will be etched into the stone, orienting the viewer to their place in the landscape, just as the law orients and guides those seeking justice.  The granite used to create this feature was reclaimed from the Justice Center Building that was demolished to make way for the new building.  The artful repurposing of this material embodies an ethos of environmental responsibility; it also links the artwork aesthetically to the pavements surrounding the space, which is created from the same granite. Etched in the stone will be the phrase  “Conscience is the chamber of justice.”,  a quotation from the ancient Greek Origen.

Flanking the sculpture will be a series of four elegant sculptural granite benches, also cut from the repurposed granite, laminated to form a solid mass of stone.  Measuring  30”l x 18” h x 16” deep, these curved seating elements, which provide a place for respite and reflection,  echo the abstract form of a crane with wings outstretched.


Seeking Public Peaks

sf view1

view of San Francisco and the Bay from the Top of the Mark, looking north

When we lived in the city our lives were closely tuned to its pulses and flux. We grew and changed as a family at the pace and scale of the neighborhood, circles of friends, walks and talks, through layers still tangible and open-ended. To get perspective on urban life, we’d forfeit town for the beach, the mountains, the redwoods, a river. ivermectin paste for horses on humans Like most of our friends, we’d seek ‘peak’ experiences in Nature and return re-energized, happy in our rekindled appreciation of home.

Now that our daily lives are settled in the countryside that once was our muse, and we’re tuned to the ground and the sky, patterns of blooms, cycles of growth and migration, we travel to town to find otherness and perspective, in a funny kind of reversal. dosage for heartworm prevention with ivermectin Where our urban lives were once almost exclusively domestic, they are now public and temporal. We’re not quite tourists because it’s all so familiar, but we’re not quite flaneurs either because we’re not necessarily seeking anything exotic in that familiarity. We’re more like itinerant adventurers, looking for new Peak Experiences to contrast and contextualize the rural quietude. I guess we’re still town folk at heart. duramectin ivermectin paste for scabies

The other day, Ene and I treated our daughter to afternoon tea at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco’s Nob Hill for her sixteenth birthday. We had spent the morning walking around Union Square, sitting in neighborhood parks and cafes and generally watching the world go by at street level. Sipping tea and munching finger sandwiches in a 1920’s hotel nineteen floors above the fray while listening to piped-in period appropriate jazz made for an unforgettable shift in scale in the course of our day, which got me thinking about how the role of public places shifts in the collective imagination.

It’s easy enough to simplify the transition in the scale of public places in contemporary life as increasing in height and distance over time- from the ground to the sky, but technology has more recently inverted that trend, or made it obsolete. The Gilded Age gave rise to the Jazz Age, that spawned the Space Age, that spawned the Information Age, and people abandoned public places for the most part in preference for their own living rooms, or so the story goes. But mobile devices are making the living room obsolete and appear to be helping fuel a renaissance in public life and architecture, although people are confused about what to do with it. What’s a more apt description of the post-information era we’re entering, the Noise Age?

//

The Return of Tree Trust True

table top detail

the 30′ long table returns home, after weathering 5 years at the Sonoma County Museum

When we first moved our home and main studio to West Sonoma County five years ago, Ene and I were commissioned to participate in an exhibition called Hybrid Fields at the Sonoma County Museum, curated by our friend Patricia Watts. We had been milling several storm fallen Douglas Fir trees on our property at the time and proposed installing a 30′ long harvest table constructed of rough timbers for the exhibition, to be sited on a lawn adjacent to the museum. We called the project Tree Trust True and organized a public feast featuring local foods that all grow on trees for the exhibition’s opening. The event lasted just one afternoon and evening, but the table remained at the museum for the next five years, becoming a popular spot for lunches and impromptu gatherings, weathering like a giant piece of driftwood.

table full view

The table is constructed of stacked and pinned timbers, topped off with 6″ thick slabs

We recently decided to bring the table back home, return it to the site where the tree originally grew. With the help of our capable friends Hus, Rob and Angel, we disassembled the table, loaded the parts onto a 16′ flatbed truck and reassembled it back at the wowhaus compound, where it will serve as the primary site for an ongoing series of secret dinners we’ve been planning, featuring guest chefs and handcrafted tableware. The first of these is tentatively planned for October First, with chef Leif Hedendal at the helm.

table crew 2

Angel, Rob, Hus and Scott unload the truck


table crew

Angel, Hus, Scott and Rob assemble the table, pinning the timbers with long screws

table long shot

Installation complete, the crew takes a break to savor Ene’s homemade Pozole

ENE’S POZOLE
• Saute one chopped onion, 1/2 tsp cumin and salt and pepper to taste, in olive
oil. Add to the water in the pot, as described below:
• Place a whole chicken in a pot and add enough water to fill the pot double the
height of the chicken + 8 sprigs of fresh oregano; simmer for at least 2 hours,
preferably longer, at least until the meat falls away from the bone.  Add water
as needed along with 4 cups of canned hominy. Simmer until flavors blend.
• Clean the meat from the bones; add more fresh oregano and cumin to taste, if
desired.
• Squeeze in fresh lime to taste or serve as a garnish

Serve with the following as garnish:
• Chopped Avocado
• Fresh lime slices
• Sliced jalapeno peppers
•  Salsa
• Chips or toasted tortillas can be eaten on the side, but we like to add them to the soup as well….

Enjoy!


In Praise of Ruins

occidental yacht club

The Occidental Yacht Club in 2009, before it began to seriously buckle

Maybe the Occidental Yacht Club was not such a great idea to begin with. At six hundred feet above sea level, the town of Occidental is a dozen winding miles down to the cliffs and breaks of Sonoma’s unforgiving shores. While I have yet to hear the story of the building’s true origins, I assume an element of comedy was at play, which only adds a veil of elegance to the building’s slow decay.

We’ve been watching the old red barn collapse since we moved up the ridge five years ago, wondering whether it would be rescued or torn down. When the Occidental Farmers Market is in full swing on Friday evenings during the growing season, the collapsing building has been a kind of secret fort for town kids, a site for hide and seek, ghost stories and games of dare. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve entertained my own fantasies wondering about what happened there, what’s buried under the planks. Understandably, the building has recently been cordoned off, condemned, and is now inaccessible to anyone, which got me thinking about the significance of ruins in our daily lives.

I’ve written before about a pattern common to West Sonoma County, the tendency not to maintain old outbuildings but leave them to the elements after they become obsolete. As a native Northeasterner, where old agricultural buildings are either carefully maintained, adapted, restored or disassembled, this has been quite an adjustment, despite the romantic visual appeal of distressed barns in the hay meadow.

I’ve since come to understand that poverty connotes an ethos of conservation that is tuned to regional conditions, material resources and a philosophy of labor. For example, the farmers who built barns and outbuildings on this stretch of the West Coast a century and a half ago typically arrived here by sea, and were familiar with the coastal vernacular of New England. Yet they were availed of open land, fair weather, giant straight-grained redwood trees that far surpassed the forests of yore, and the possibility of forging a new identity. The flavor of their subsistence had more to do with self-sufficiency than community, as is reflected in the ethos of their architecture. It was easier and cheaper to build than to maintain, where the opposite was the case in New England, with dwindling resources and land, and unified expectations for social comportment.

I’ve grown accustomed to the dominant attitude of the rural West Coast, especially as it manifests itself in a preponderance of roadside ruins. I believe the tradeoff of allowing for possibility and imagination, even danger, over expectations of tidiness and order speaks for itself.

occidental yacht2

a recent view of the roof collapsing