the a rtisan f urnituremaker

A Creative Survival Guide DARRELL PEART

Fresno, California

The Artisan Furnituremarker

© copyright Darrell Peart 2023

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Cover Design: Jim Good Interior layout by Carla Green, Clarity Designworks

ISBN: 978-161035-392-2

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Introduction

My start in woodworking was by happenchance. In the summer of 1973, I had recently quit my first (sort of) woodworking job, making laminated beams. I was bored and wanted something to invigorate me.

Many of my free-spirited friends were engaged in adventures. Mike had driven from Seattle to New York, playing his guitar and singing for traveling expenses, while Curt was hitchhiking—mostly up and down the West Coast. In my mind they were living life to its fullest, having one adventure after another.

Many of my not-so-free-spirited friends (and I) had jobs that provided some of the niceties of life. There was no denying the comfort those niceties could provide. At the end of that line lured contentment. While contentment has its benefits, I did not want to be lulled into it. That was for old people (says the now-old guy who still feels the same way). Something was surely missing. I didn’t know if Mike or Curt had the answers, but at least they were out there searching. I wanted to join them!

So, I convinced Curt to take a hitchhiking trip with me from my home in Auburn, Washington to San Francisco. To make it an adventure, we would leave my Volkswagen Bug at home and take only twenty dollars with us. This puzzled Curt. I had a good-running car and money in the bank. Hitchhiking was not his preferred method of travel—he did it because it fit into his budget (more like lack of budget).

Twenty dollars—even in 1973 dollars—did not go far. A week and a half after we set out, we found ourselves stranded at a freeway entrance just north of San Francisco. We were out of money and downwind from a restaurant. For several hours no one picked us up. Eventually a young woman pulled over. She was headed back home to Seattle, just as we were. Between us, we had money for gas, but no more. So, we drove straight through, stopping only to fill the tank and empty our bladders.

It was an exceptionally long drive, and we had hours to fill with conversation. The driver told us she made a living making things and selling them at the Pike Place Market. I don’t remember what exactly she made, but I sort of recall it involved sewing. She was passionate about it—and her enthusiasm was infectious! Her excitement was not just about her specific craft—it was a way of life that revolved around creativity and making things. There was not a thing yet defined as the maker movement—that was still decades away. I believe the term used back then was those damn hippies.

I learned three things on that trip. First, I was done with hitchhiking (being stranded eight hundred miles from home had put a damper on what I had previously viewed as a romantic adventure). Second, there are people of good faith in the world willing to help each other out. Third, and most importantly, I wanted to make and sell things.

I didn’t suddenly decide to become a woodworker—instead I desired to be simply creative above all else. My previous job making laminated beams had introduced me to using power tools, and I was comfortable with a router in my hands. Because of this, woodworking seemed the obvious choice to sooth my creative fever. The word career didn’t come to mind—somehow career seemed to fall short.

In a broader sense, I was seeking the life of an artisan furnituremaker—an artisan being someone who has mastered their craft, makes a living at it, and as such contributes in a meaningful way to society. My goal has never been to find contentment. I have long since lost the urge to hitchhike, but it still feels good to shake things up now and then. Taking on a project that pushes my limits still gets me excited!

I hope some of what I have shared in this book sets you on the path to find your happiness as an artisan, whether that be as a maker of furniture or of whatever craft excites you.