Skip to main content

The Big Game Hunter's Small Bed

By




 

During the time I was struggling with tennis elbows, I haven’t done any woodworking. 

 

It’s been a while now that I’ve been able to work again, but my focus has changed. Now I’m focusing  more on combining Matilda’s ceramics and my woodworking, my own art pieces and bespoke furniture. I’m not taking on new commissions or outside work. And on a practical level, most of my time after recovering from my injuries, has been spent working on the chapel.

 

Against that backdrop, restoring some furniture that have been brought to me at the onset of my elbow troubles, is a swan song of sorts. And I’m glad these pieces in particular are part of that song.

 

The 130 year old toddler bed especially, is quite interesting. It has served a grandfather, father and a number of brothers of the current generation during their early years.

 

It was made in the 1890’s by a cousin of the great grandmother, who was pregnant at the time.. This cousin was a  big game hunter, who had just returned from a hunting expedition. He made the bed and shortly afterwards left on the next trip. It’s uncertain whether he has made other furniture in later years.

 

The bed itself is a strange combination of good craftsmanship and bad design. It’s almost too  delicate for a toddler bed. The main weakness is the way the beautifully turned legs were attached to the bed. It was destined to fail. I was therefore surprised when it was brought to me with only one leg missing. It must have happened with the previous generation, because the current owner remembers him and his brothers sleeping on this bed that was propped up at the one corner with a stack of bricks.

 

I’ve turned a new leg, went over all the joints and strengthened all the legs with gussets at the points of attachment. Then I applied oil all over.

 

I’ve always found the restoration process so intriguing, even mysterious. Here I’m reaching over a piece of furniture, more than a century old, shaking the hand of an eccentric craftsman. A man shooting big guns and making a delicate bed for children. 

 

We never know how we leave a legacy in the things we make.




Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Whistle while you work

By
Drawing by Ron Leishman When last did you whistle while working? When last did you hear someone else whistle while working? Somehow it bothers me that whistling has become an almost absent element in our work. The sound of a person whistling a tune while busy somewhere in the house or out in the workshop conveys something of an underlying happiness, satisfaction and contentment. An enjoyment of the work itself. The tune need not be flawless. Applying more air than sound won’t lead to disqualification, as long as the intention is there. Whistling can even be replaced by singing in all that I’ve said up to now. The same principles apply. The absence of any of these two activities bothers me because it says something about us doing the work and the type of work that we do. Can it be that our type of labour in this 21 st century is not conducive to either whistling or singing? What type of work is that then – draining, stressful, pressured? Or are our conclusions ...
8 comments
Read more

A likely Hero: Jara Cimrman

By
As Matilda has already indicated, one of the most difficult things to do after you’ve visited a country is to return and convey something of what you’ve experienced. How do you show a city’s many faces, introduce its inhabitants? How do you tell of the effects a history has on people and of a stance towards life that can actually not be translated into words? In the case of Prague, it is very helpful to have someone like Jara Cimrman. ~ ~ v ~ ~ Petrin Hill, on the left bank of the river Vltava running through Prague, is in many ways a site worth visiting. Climbing the 299 steps of the Petrin Tower, inspired by the Eiffel Tower, gives you one of the most beautiful views of the city. But by going down into its basement, you enter into the psyche of the Czech people. Here, quite unobtrusively, is the museum for the “ Genius, who has not become famous ”. Matilda and I almost stumbled onto it by chance and as we went through the exhibition, our amazement over this brilliant ...
Post a Comment
Read more

You never can tell

By
This morning I was out in the vegetable garden looking for signs of sprouting cabbage and spinach that we had sown a week ago. Among the weeds, I did find the tiny seedlings pushing through bravely, but I had a surprise coming. The young Zulu gardener drew my attention to an abundance of ready food growing in the ruins of the tiny stone cottage only meters away: Umbido, a type of wild spinach, and a staple food in the rural areas. I grew up with much the same in the northern parts of the country, but called Marogo in the Sotho language.  Enter my new helper and friend, Winnie Nkosi. She lives on the edge of the Zaaihoekdam in a traditional mud house with no electricity. Twice a week she walks the four odd kilometres to help me with all things domestic. She has also taken it upon herself to teach me the Zulu language and culture with optimistic determination. The planned lunch menu was immediately ditched in favour of a lesson in local cooking and Winnie showed me the differenc...
Post a Comment
Read more