Gentleman woodworkers.(Book Review)

Peter the Great of Russia, Christian V and Frederick IV of Denmark and Norway, Louis XV and XVI of France, and Frederick William I, Frederick III, and Frederick IV of Prussia had at least one thing in common besides their crowns--they all turned wooden objects on their lathes. Less exalted were the humble whittlers, and in between were joiners and cabinetmakers, who were the only woodworkers paid for their efforts.

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All these people shared a tradition that endures today in the United States in the studio furniture movement, so named in a book that accompanies an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The authors have defined studio furniture makers very narrowly to exclude both the solitary amateur and the large workshop. Studio furniture makers are remarkably cerebral, linking concept, materials, and technique, and, unless self-taught, learning their trade in schools rather than as apprentices.

The exhibition, and consequently the book, covers the years between 1940 and 1990, which is slicing the pie exceedingly fine. Nonetheless, the authors do find an evolution from the reverence for wood that prevailed in the 1940s and 1950s to an emphasis on the artistic qualities of furniture in the rebellious 1960s. The 1970s was the decade of furniture making techniques, and the 1980s emphasized professionalism.

A transitional figure between the arts and crafts ethos and the early studio movement was Wharton Esherick, who was trained as a painter and turned to woodworking via wood engraving in the 1920s. He and the other two major representatives of the first generation of studio craftsmen, George Nakashima (first an architect) and Sam Maloof (first a graphic designer), were like the craftsmen in the eighteenth century who used whatever machine came to hand to speed their work without compromising their aesthetic. Esherick was quite outspoken on the subject, once saying: "This thing you call handicraft, I say, 'Stop that thing.' I use any damn machinery I can get hold of ... I'll use my teeth if I have to. There's a little of the hand, but the main thing is the heart and the head. Handcrafted! I say, 'Applesauce!' Stop it!"

Of these three lovers of wood, Nakashima had the most mystical approach. He felt that each tree had a soul, explaining that "each flitch, each board, each plank can have only one ideal use. The woodworker; applying a thousand skills, must find that ideal use and then shape the wood to realize its true potential."

During the turbulent 1960s all values and truths were questioned, and this applied to the furniture of the studio movement as well. "The 1950s emphasis may have been on making good furniture that became great art, but many in the 1960s wanted to make great art that happened to be furniture."