My current project is a cherry, Shaker-style writing desk with a leather top. It's substantial in size (28x48) and challenging. All three drawers are made with hand-cut dovetails, front and rear. Legs are tapered. The frame-and-panel top uses mortise and tenon joinery.
Like all my projects, including the planter I made a while ago (see photo above), this one was begun with two goals in mind. The first is to make something I can be proud of. The second is to challenge myself. Even though this is the third writing desk I've made in the past year, it is unlike the others in small, but important ways. For example, one desk has a glued-up, solid wood top. The other has a mitered frame top. This one differs from both of those because it uses the kind of frame-and-panel construction not usually associated with desk tops.
Because I share a shop with several people, I often find myself responding to questions and flattering comments. Most suggest I have some unusual talent or ability to do quality work others can't aspire to.
Nobody believes me, but I tell all of these commentators that there's no magic to the work I do. Nor does the work require any unusual level of skill on my part. What I have -- because I've cultivated it -- is self-discipline. Knowing that I'm not a gifted or intuitive woodworker, I work slowly and thoughtfully. I do the little things that others rarely take the time for. I sharpen my tools (from pencils to chisels) regularly, and make sure my measuring and marking are as close to perfectly accurate as possible. I make templates and story sticks and spacer blocks to ensure that no guesswork enters into my construction. I keep notes as I work, recording machine settings and other data that will help ensure that I set up machines exactly the same way every time I use them. I use featherboards each time I make a cut at a table saw to ensure that my workpiece doesn't move in a way I don't want it to. I pre-finish my pieces before I glue them up because they look better when I do.
This kind of care requires an enormous amount of time. I never let myself hurry to complete a piece. (Been there, done that!) The care I take also requires that I take a long view. I see my work itself as pleasurable. The joy is in the making. Completing a piece is fulfilling, but no more so than doing an excellent job on each component. The English writer, John Ruskin, said it well (quoted by Jim Tolpin in Woodworking Wit and Wisdom): "the highest reward for a man's toil is not what he gets for it, but what he becomes by it."
