Establishing a Style

First Steps

Style is a form of personal expression. It reflects your outlook on the world and the way you see things. It is not something that should be induced—it should occur naturally.

A style lends continuity to your pieces. It consists of a group of recognizable themes that connect a body of work. In establishing yourself as an artisan furnituremaker, a style provides you with an identifiable look that distinguishes you from the competition. It offers potential clients a measure of confidence in your design skills—confidence that what you design for them will have a similar appearance to those items in your portfolio.

It takes time and repetition to establish a style. Your style can start out as a simple design element or theme that gets repeated in another piece. In the act of repetition, those elements often get modified or revised but still emanate from the same source. Over time, you’ll add other themes and elements to the mix. Eventually these things become assimilated and are like grooves in your mind that you naturally fall into when you sit down to design. Upon reaching this point, your personal style is born.

With time, as your understanding of design develops, you can revise and change your style. You can even reformulate it completely. Think of the dramatic changes in style that Pablo Picasso went through. Gustav Stickley started out with pieces like his Poppy Table (image 6-1) and eventually found his way to designs that were quite different, such as the sideboards discussed earlier in this book, on pages 42–44.

Design DNA offers a framework in which to filter the details of a design to provide continuity. Keep in mind that continuity should not be limited to one piece but carry through all the pieces within a style. So, imagine the source that is pulling the strings to be the same throughout the style.

If you are honest about creating a style, you will need to commit to work and more work (remember the Ira Glass quote). You cannot simply decide, “Today I will create a style.” You can, however, lay the groundwork for doing so.

Emulating those who came before you is a good place to start. Working “in the style of” provides you experience—and, hopefully, understanding—of how a style works. Be aware of the designs of people you admire. (But be especially cognizant of copyright infringement. It is bad karma to copy furniture of a living maker without their permission.) Try to understand the designs as best you can and break them down. Most importantly, though, be aware of any aesthetic tangents you take and, if possible, expand upon them. The tangents might be merely detours, but they might be an off-ramp to your own style.

The learning process does not usually follow a straight line. It meanders and is fraught with missteps and deceptive lures. This is normal. Experience involves time and repetition and detours, and, in that respect, it is not unlike any other skill the artisan furnituremaker needs to master. In the beginning you will be prone to these detours. They are an inevitable part of the learning process. The way to address them is to work your way through them.

Missteps are common, and you often don’t even realize that you have made a mistake. There is so much you will not be aware of as a novice. Mistakes are not a negative thing, though—they can be emphatically positive. Every mistake can put you a step closer to where you want to be, so embrace your mistakes, learn from them, and advance.

Most importantly, you must be critical of your own work. Even if others are singing your praises, don’t be lulled into complacency. It is essential to be totally independent and honest. The trick is to listen to that small inkling of a voice in the back of your head that says something is awry. As a beginner, you will have a vision in your head that is a bit out of focus. It is fleeting and assuredly will not stand still for a zoom-in view. This can lead to blunders and bad decisions. Being caught up in the moment of creative excitement, you may often be oblivious to the flaws of new work. It is necessary to go back every so often with a critical eye and revisit what you have done. With the passage of time, your vision will have more clarity, and you will more easily perceive those road hazards and wrong turns.

Expose Yourself!

Repeated exposure to good works is extremely beneficial in establishing a style. I am again wading into very subjective material with the term good works—good taste is necessary to determine good works, and we can debate that subject endlessly.

Visual references in museums and books are good starters. I would suggest seeking out those works that inspire you. But don’t completely close the door on stuff you are not initially attracted to. Sometimes the very things that seem unappealing at first are the things that, in the end, really set you on fire!

Take advantage of any opportunity to personally view works that inspire you. Furniture was made to be lived with. Unlike a painting on a wall, a piece of furniture can be seen from an infinite number of angles and lighting conditions. As the design is seen from different viewpoints, shadows come alive and die, perspective and depth are in continual change, details come and go, and various aspects take on differing relationships to one another.

Many times, my understanding of a design has changed dramatically after a live viewing. A good example is Greene and Greene’s Blacker Living Room Armchair, which I discussed earlier in this book (see page 58). I have loved this design from the first time I saw it pictured in Randell L. Makinson’s book Greene & Greene: Furniture and Related Designs. While the image in Makinson’s book was most likely the best single view available to the photographer, it could not convey all the details fully.

Upon viewing the actual armchair for the first time, I was taken aback by how small it was. I had expected something larger in scale. I was also surprised by all its angles, mainly those of the legs, that changed form as I walked around the piece. But most of all I was astounded at the delicacy and depth of the crest rail. The images available to me did not truly communicate some of the most important details of the design.

If it is permissible when viewing a piece of furniture, take photos. Lots of photos! Take shots from different angles and close-up shots of details. These can prove to be invaluable reference material as well as something to meditate upon later.

How you study good works—both in books and in person—is important. Breaking down a piece of furniture and taking it apart to determine what makes it tick aesthetically can certainly be beneficial. But I would advise against making your research a hunt for rules; this feeds the intellect and not your intuition. It would be better to just take a piece in without conscious thought. How does it hit you in the gut? How does it feel? Spend some time to soak it in—not intellectually but emotionally.

Natural Style

Nature presents us with probably the most diverse and abundant source of shapes and patterns to meditate upon. Charles and Henry Greene collected photos of trees and such that held their interest. Much of their inlay work depicting branches and vines can be seen as coming directly from these images. Their mastery of context and visual weight leads me to believe they were making additional connections to their surroundings as well.

Take a walk in nature wherever you live. Our personal environments are all rich with examples waiting to become inspiration.

Last week we had a storm here in Seattle. The next morning, pine needles in the driveway were arranged in a curious pattern that caught my eye. I promptly took a photo before the wind came and rearranged the needles. I have no way of knowing if this will ever bear fruit as inspiration, but that image has been planted in my mind and may someday bubble back up.

Trends

Now that I’ve suggested some ways to go about establishing a style, let me offer some warnings. In pointing out some of the more common perils, I am wading into territory that is highly subjective. You need to do the hard work and find out where your sensibilities lie. My intent here is to jump-start that conversation in your head. I will point out some of the things I see as problematic to styles. Don’t simply take my word for it—think about these things for yourself. But most of all be aware that the learning process is loaded with detours and missteps; keep a critical eye open.

Trends are not necessarily bad things. Just about every design idea trended at one time. At the beginning of forming their practices, most artisan furnituremakers latch on to one trend or another. Often this is just a starting point, and later they take a tangent or an offramp to their unique style.

Looking back a few decades, it’s easy to pick out designs that did not pass the test of time. What seemed new and exciting back then can now appear frivolous or even cartoonish. At the beginning of my career, furniture with thick goopy finishes and grotesque details was trending. The finish was usually proceeded by scorching the wood with a blowtorch then following up with a wire brush. My neighbors coveted this stuff and put their collection proudly on display. Waterbed stores were a thing back then and were a primary purveyor of this trend. Not much of this has survived, and I would imagine a lot of it ended up in the landfill. But you can step back in time with a simple web search. Although I hesitate to admit it, I started my career making small pieces with the burned and brushed finish.

Today’s equivalent of that old trend is the epoxy river table. These tables often rely upon a heavy dose of glitzy color juxtaposed with wild grain. Sadly, with a little thought, these could be done with restraint and good taste—but few are. Years from now, you’ll likely look back with amusement at this trend.

But the inverse can be true as well. You can also look back with amazement at pieces that were produced ahead of their time. These pieces can be considered trendsetters in a good way. Their artisans had original ideas and led the way in creating a positive trend or even a movement.

In Fine Woodworking Design Book Two, published in 1979, is a coffee table by Chuck Masters of San Diego. This piece was ahead of its time in using a concept like that of the epoxy river tables. While Masters draws attention to the split with an “imposed warp,” he does so while working with the grain. Compare this with the garish contrast of the river tables. The faces of the legs of the Masters table are convex and play off the curved upturn at the split. If only those building epoxy river tables would study this piece.

So, what trends are you to follow? It is easy to get caught up in the latest craze, in something that will rocket you to success. It often appears that others, who have latched onto the latest trend, are having a great ride and all is good. But trendy is not necessarily a reliable gauge of good. When considering an approach, ask yourself, is there something here that truly inspires you? A design feature could be well respected and still not ignite a fire under you. If you choose to follow a trend, it needs not only to be in good taste, but also to motivate you. It needs to hit you on an emotional—not just an intellectual—level. In the long run, you need to do work that ignites your imagination. The path forward is not something you should have to push yourself to do. Rather, your work should be the fuel that supercharges you.

Following a trend boils down to two questions. Does the trend excite you? Is it in good taste?

In the beginning of your journey as an artisan furnituremaker, your good taste may be nothing more than an inkling. Learn to listen to it. Good taste is sometimes acquired along the way. It is important to be critical and willing to make a U-turn if need be.

The alternative to a useful trend is a cheap thrill. Cheap thrills are ways to acquire quick attention to furniture. For the most part they bypass the hard work of design. They are flashy and hijack the eye. They are unsophisticated and lack refinement. They disrupt the order of things by shouting so loudly for attention that they drown out the other elements of the design. Remember our discussion on design being not democratic but a top-down affair? Cheap thrills disrupt the hierarchical order. I like to call them wowie zowies, a term that musician Frank Zappa popularized in the 1960s. Their purpose is to wow us with zingers! My coffee table in the following discussion is a good example of a cheap thrill. In this case it’s a series of cheap thrills competing with one another.

Just to be clear, the shock value of a design idea is not the issue here. The issue is using shock value as a shortcut for good design. The painting The Scream by Edvard Munch is truly shocking, but there is thought behind it. Shock value in design, of course, is a very subjective topic.

Restyling a Misstep

The small coffee table shown here (image 6-3) is mine from many years ago. With some reluctance, I am using it as an example to illustrate my point about cheap thrills. I would rather highlight the best of what I have done rather than the worst. But the design serves to demonstrate that we can all learn from our missteps.

Back when I made this table, I was operating under the misconception that a successful design could simply be the product of including as much attention-grabbing stuff as possible. If a little was good, then more would be even better!

Multiple elements of this design compete for attention. The legs and aprons are highly figured maple, which serves to electrify them. They are like a flashing neon sign screaming,

“Look at me!” The purpleheart top starkly contrasts the maple, and while it does not have the shock value of the leg structure, it too draws attention. The through tenons are exaggerated to the point of being almost cartoonish. They protrude far too much and are wedged with contrasting purpleheart. They too forcefully demand more than their share of the limelight. The design is essentially multiple megaphones blasting on high. It’s a three-way tug-of-war with no clear winner. Instead of a hierarchical order, there is anarchy and confusion. The eye is overstimulated with no direct path to follow.

In retrospect, there are changes that could make this piece work. If I were to design it today, I would probably shy away from such a stark contrast as figured maple versus purpleheart. But, for the sake of argument, let’s stick with the materials and make them work. The combination is rather vivacious, but it is not necessarily a bad thing.

First there are a couple of things that are simply bad judgment on my part that need to be addressed. (They only marginally relate to the topic at hand.) I would reduce the thickness of the top. As it is, it’s too chunky and clumsy. It appears to be more than an inch thick. I would start by drawing it at 7/8 inch and adjust this to my liking.

Next, I would work on the other two dimensions of the top—length and width—and the resulting overhang. These relate to the length of the through tenons, which protrude nearly to the edge of the top. This is an awkward arrangement. The tenons are in effect challenging the top for authority. The top is the focal point of the design and should clearly be so. So, before adjusting the overhang of the top, I would pull the tenons back so they protrude about 1/8 inch and certainly not more than 1/4 inch. The purpleheart wedge can stay, but as a much thinner line.

Now back to the top. As in all coffee tables, its length is greater than its width, which means the length is the dominant dimension and as such it warrants prominence. I do not use a formula for the relationship of the top versus the base. It’s a matter of what feels right. I let my intuition make the call. To unambiguously establish the top as the focal point, the overhang needs to be increased more in length than in width. It becomes a bit of trial and error to nail down the final size of the top. I might start by adding a half inch additional overhang to each short side and extend the length an extra inch on either long end. This would be just the starting point; I would refine this to my judgment.

The legs and aprons are blatantly embroiled in chaos—not just in relation to the top, but also in their struggle for dominance between each other. The flamboyant figure of the maple creates this conflict. First, let’s look at the legs. The figure plays out prominently across the thickness of the leg and in so doing becomes an impediment to the eye. The eye desires to comprehend the leg as its outline suggests—much longer than it is thicker. However, the figure, being at a right angle to the length, supports the exact opposite. To highlight the leg’s dominant length, the grain should generally flow in that same direction. My personal preference is for somewhat straight grain on all four sides, running the entire length of the leg. To find a piece of wood that allows this, look at the end of a board for grain at a 45-degree angle. The same correction can be applied to the rails. If the visible grain runs predominantly with the length (rather than the width, as in my table), it will not create conflict.

A little (much tamer than in this photo) figure could be introduced to either the legs or the rails of the restyled table, but not to both. The general direction of the figure, though, must still flow with the long dimension and not against it. Keep in mind that a flamboyant element, if well thought out, can be a vital part of an exceptional design. But more is not a shortcut to better. Give careful thought to what’s going on and prioritize the use of elements that grab for attention.

Overstating a Design Feature

A common trap you can fall into when developing your personal style is elevating some specific feature that is newly discovered and oh so exciting! In your zeal, you may highlight it to the point where it overstates its importance. Looking back at the coffee table, the exaggerated through tenons are one such example. At that time I made this, exposed joinery was a detail that caught my attention. There were examples available that used restraint and forethought, but in my exuberance I chose to exaggerate it to the point of being outlandish.

This overstating of the new reminds me of a chapter in my pursuit of audio nirvana when I was much younger. I wanted the biggest baddest stereo possible, and each time I bought a new unit I rushed back home to my apartment to hook it up. I was so excited! I turned the stereo up—usually playing Led Zeppelin but sometimes Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Marche Slave—so even my more remote neighbors could savor the moment. The thrill of the new unit was fleeting, though. Eventually the novelty of the latest gear dissipated, and reality set in. My vision of bliss by way of the latest hi-fi fad was not obtained. My life was much as it was before.

There is a lesson to be learned here, and it holds true with the pursuit of both audio nirvana and a new design element. Once newness wears off, things fall into perspective. You realize that you have elevated the importance of this thing that was new and exciting, and your enthusiasm was not shared by everyone.

Striking Out

Let me admit to one of my style prejudices here. It involves the word striking. Striking can describe anything, usually a single element, that stands in stark contrast to its surrounding elements. It can be grain as well as a contrast in color or tone. Striking is not necessarily a bad thing, but I usually cringe upon hearing the word. All too often, striking seems to be synonymous with garish.

If careful thought is given to it, contrast can be a net positive. But often it is disruptive and counterproductive. The eye is drawn to the contrast rather than the overall design. The contrast then becomes the design by default and inhibits the eye from taking in the entire piece in an orderly manner. Nuance suffocates for lack of its small, but rightful, share of attention.

To illustrate my point, I’ve edited an image of my Fremont Chest of Drawers (image 6-4). I’ve included an unaltered image (image 6-5) for comparison. As you can see, the end panel structure in the doctored image stands out in high contrast. It’s difficult not to notice the highlighted elements, and in this way the natural flow of the design is disrupted.

When working with highly contrasting colors or grain, you must ask the question, “How much of a distraction is it?” Is it the first thing the eye is drawn to? If so, does it act as an obstacle? Does it keep the eye focused on the flashy thing rather than on other elements of the design?

There is a place for contrast. If done with sensitivity and forethought, it can momentarily catch the eye but allow it to move on as well. It can highlight a point of interest without hijacking a design. But when done for the sole purpose of attracting undue attention, contrast corrupts a design. It becomes a bright light that blinds us to all else. It is a cheap thrill!

The artisan furnituremaker James Krenov used grain and contrast with unsurpassed sensitivity (image 6-6). I would highly recommend studying his work. For a deeper discussion on the use of grain, read Krenov’s The Fine Art of Cabinetmaking (1977).

Outrageous Statements and Cheap Thrills

Design is not unlike life; it exists with infinite shades of gray and contradictions. As much as I am repulsed by some pieces meant to shock, I am delighted by others that push the boundaries. But where should the line be drawn? If I were to draw the line myself, I would be constantly redrawing it. My initial reaction to a work often does not hold fast, which causes me to frequently change my mind about it. For example, I was not impressed upon my first exposure to the work of Greene and Greene. But eventually I became a fullfledged Greene and Greene fanatic, and they have proven to be major influences on me. Your personal likes and dislikes will always be with you. And they are a good thing when you are involved in creative endeavors. They feed and shape your intuition. Without them you would not have a point of view to push you to design and to help in establishing a style.

But your point of view should not be rigid. If you build a wall around input and refuse to consider new ideas, you do damage to yourself. You will eventually lose the ability to be inspired by whatever comes your way. That does not mean you should do away with strong opinions. They guide you; they are essential. It is an inescapable contradiction that you should both embrace strong opinions yet be open to changing them at any time. Such is art!

Anything that wildly tests the bounds of what you find to be usual or expected can be construed as an outrageous statement—an element that is unexpectedly plopped in an otherwise conforming design, or anything that is bizarre or outlandish that intends to shock in one way or another. Outrageous statements are not meant to conform; they are meant to rebel! Rebellion can take many forms, though, ranging from anarchy to organized, thoughtful resistance.

There are designs that intend to shock alone. They have nothing else going on but the desire to be scandalous. They have no nuance or order. Outrageous designs can be attempts to substitute shock value for talent and skill.

My opinions regarding designs that are meant to provoke and scandalize are both mixed and strong, ranging from admiration to disgust. I doubt if I will ever embrace that design using a broomstick for a chair back anytime soon. But give it some time, and who knows? Just to be clear, though—while I am often turned off by some attention-grabbing designs, I firmly believe all creative ideas should be given exposure, even those I vehemently disagree with.

Making an outrageous statement or delving into the fanciful with sensitivity takes a lot of experience. It can be done, and many fine examples exist. My advice to novice furnituremakers it to tread ever so lightly here. Don’t be lured by the prospect of easy recognition and forgo the hard work of design by trying to be more outrageous than the next person. This can turn into a race to the bottom. And in the end what seemed like a shortcut can become a dead end—although potentially a helpful learning experience.

There is a part of me that is rebellious and likes to take a poke at the status quo. But there is another part that recognizes that without some order, all that is left is chaos. Rebellion is healthy but not to the point of destroying all that exists. This expresses my current relationship to outrageous designs. You can see this at work in my attempts to rebel within my clinker gate featured earlier in this book. This piece was ever so difficult for me to design. There is both order and rebellion in it. Finding a balance between the two that felt right to me was not easy. That balance is something you must work out for yourself. It is best done with the benefit of experience.

While I am open to considering outrageous statements in design, I am much less tolerant of cheap thrills. There is a simple question that can identify a cheap thrill: does an aspect of the piece overpower the design and grab all the attention? If you cannot take your eye off it long enough to take in the finer points of the design, the answer is probably yes.

Cheap thrills lure you with the promise of easy recognition—a shortcut to establishing a successful style. When you are trying to earn a living from your work, their temptation is especially strong. The desire and need for success by the way of recognition can be overwhelming for the beginning artisan. It can mean survival.

Most of us, including myself, have fallen prey to the temptations of producing cheap thrills at one time or another. Like any misstep, this has value as a learning experience. But don’t let cheap thrills become your identity. Furnituremakers who are successful in the long term establish styles that reflect their personal taste, ability, and sense of order rather than works that simply grab attention.

Successful Rebellion

I have railed against potential perils in establishing your style as an artisan furnituremaker, but I feel I should offer an example of things done right as well. Here I would like to highlight the work of another furnituremaker, Seth Rolland, who has designed and built several pieces I truly admire.

Seth’s Eddy Coffee Table (image 6-7) is a masterful design, one that represents his design language well. It features an element that grabs your attention, but not in a violent way—it invites the eye to explore. It does not rebel for the sake of rebellion. It does rebel, however, and presents us with the unexpected. (His website describes his works as “unexpected, harmonious, and playful.”) Seth has given us a sort of gentle rebellion that is thoughtful and full of nuance. He offers a slight alternative to reality but does not seek to destroy reality in the process.

The stone is what initially grabs your attention. It is the central player here and imposes its shape upon the other elements. It is highly unusual and something you would never expect. Its smooth shape and texture are pleasing, though, and it does not seek to shock you to the point of excluding everything else.

With the title word eddy in mind, I see the woodgrain as water flowing in a stream and the stone as a force that interrupts and interacts with that flow. At the place where the stone emerges through the top (flowing water), there is impact. The stone’s mass and weight work to pull the flow downward.

The stone is precisely poised within the design but not symmetrically so. An engineer could assuredly quantify the workings of the cantilevered top—but you don’t need that confirmation. You instinctively perceive the natural balance that is at work.

Here are Seth’s thoughts on his intent for the Eddy Coffee Table:

It is about balance amid motion and the relationship between what is above the surface of a river and what is below. Japanese rock gardens were also part of the inspiration for the top view. I had initially planned on very plain, straight-grained wood for the top to reflect the sand of the garden. However, when I learned that the raked sand represents water, I looked for a board whose grain reflects the turbulence created by a rock in a river. The carving below the surface…continues this theme.

Seth considers how this piece fits into his larger body of work:

What’s challenging as a designer is knowing each piece needs to stand on its own merits, without context. The viewer may see this piece first, and not know it is part of a series, where some of these ideas evolved step by step. Balance has been a big theme in this series. In fact, it was the desire to create greater cantilevers than were possible in my wood furniture that led me to adding stones. I like materials to express their inherent properties and didn’t want to just add stone as a design feature without it having a reason to be there. In this case the stone’s weight clearly is necessary to balance the cantilever, and this cooperation between the elements unites the design.

Of course, Seth’s intent for this piece—and for all the work that establishes his style— may not match your reading. Perception is an individual thing. While you may prefer that the original intent of your design is understood as you conceived it, that may not always be the case. Others may view your work in a positive way but not in the way that you do.