A Day in the Life of a Construction Laborer

This past week I made it to my construction work-aversary. I started a year ago removing asphalt shingles from a roof and throwing them into a dumpster that I couldn’t reach the top of. Since then I’ve gotten carpal tunnel, struggled with hand stiffness in the mornings, occasional back pain and general exhaustion! But I made it and I hope there’s something to be said for activating my ability to 我慢 (gaman), or to endure with patience.

I’ve learned a ton of useful stuff - but it’s so varied it’s hard to summarize here. So instead, I just wanted to impart one of the simplest things I’ve learned about construction, which is that few days look alike. Before this job, when I was just construction-curious, I’d ask my carpenter friends, “so what is it actually like?” and “what do you actually do?” I’d get answers like “renovations,” “dusty” and “new kitchens” but I still couldn’t picture what the work was like on a day-to-day basis. 

It wasn’t until I just dived in, that I finally understood why it was so hard to summarize the work. Now that I’m the one who occasionally gets the question, “so what do you do everyday?”, I decided to document one random day this past winter and also include a few other highlights so curious people can at least get a sense of the nature of the work.

February 2020 / At a family home renovation project 

7:00 AM: I leave my house with my cooler & a B.O.S. (Build On-Site) lunch.

7:30 AM I arrive at the home.

Task #1: Tricky Cutting

I get assigned to this scene…carpentry CSI: what do YOU think needed to get done based on this photo?

Skillsaw and sawzall at the ready. Infinite ducts await.

Answer: I had to use a sawzall and circular saw to cut into the subfloor so the ducts for the heating, ventilation and air conditioning (HVAC) could be sent through the floor. I could barely access some of the spots so I had to lie down and reach to get it done.

Task #2: Squeaky Sawing

Next! I was sent to the basement with my fellow laborer and we had to move multiple heavy shelves in order to get access to the basement walls. We then cut these rigid foam boards (technically: glass-fiber-infused polyiso foam core laminated between 1.0 mil of smooth, reflective aluminum facers - ohhhh yeah talk insulation to me baby!) with bread knife-like saws. I have to say I am a sucker for the shiny silver walls once the job is done.

Task #3: Heavy Lifting

After getting out of the basement, I was assigned the lovely task of lugging, dumping and cleaning this concrete mixing bucket that was being used for a concrete countertop installation.

Task #4: Satisfying Smashing

By the end of the day it was time to smash ice in order to access a tarp that was needed to cover the garage entryway. Each hit shot ice chips everywhere so I had to put on my safety glasses. I distinctly remember picturing a politician’s face while doing this task. Helps to get paid to do some rage-relieving therapy now and again.

So that’s the snapshot! Notice there is no building or creating. I get to do that too sometimes and it’s a treat, but it’s probably only about 10% of what I’ve done so far.

These photos are from the winter so I thought I’d add a quick summer snapshot too - a day of leveling rocks for the foundation, and then covering them with expanded polystyrene (EPS) insulation boards! (link)

And what’s a blog post without a PSA!?

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Take good care everyone!

Gouges Down, Nail Gun Up

After wrapping up my time at the Center for Furniture Craftsmanship last August, I moved to western Massachusetts and got a job as a laborer at a general contractor/construction company.

I have been wanting to learn carpentry for a handful of years now, probably ever since I realized I didn’t know how to make a firewood shed, even though I could build a canoe. Revision: now that I think about it – maybe it predates me learning woodworking and goes back to my late teens. For some reason I had a deep desire to dress up as a Japanese carpenter.

Real deal Japanese construction worker, clothing. Purchased at a construction supplies store in Japan where the owner initially refused to sell me the shoes, socks and pants. My guess? 1) I didn’t seem serious 2) I’m a woman 3) a foreigner. I don’t know his thought process but I’m guessing it’s a mix of all three.

Although I have six years of woodworking experience at this point, it doesn’t translate seamlessly to construction. Picture me listening to classical music carving textures onto a cherry plate, now picture me listening to subcontractors’ heavy metal music wielding a 9-pound framing nail gun atop a 17’ ladder – the twain were never meant to meet.

Chaotic chords, steadfast studs, level level, nasty nail gun.

That said, occasionally I get tasked with a finicky detail-oriented task, and then the twain actually do meet, and they get along great. Below is the before and after of an old door I fixed up.

Despite my experience with all sorts of tools that cut and manipulate wood, I was still super nervous to work in construction. I was nervous to be the only woman and to be totally clueless. I didn’t know what level of macho I might be working with, and if I could really deal. Would they make fun of my Keen shoes? Would they tease me for getting an expensive lightweight hammer? Fumbling with ladders? Eating kimchi? (Jump forward – fortunately, no.)

I also had no idea what it would entail on a day-to-day basis. I have carpenter friends, but I never felt like I got a clear idea of what they actually did at their jobs!

I want to write about my job to keep track of the experience for myself, to help people get a sense of what construction (can) entail, and what my experience has been working in this realm. More to come.

Day 2 on the job - removing shingles and putting “ice & water” (a water & vapor barrier) on the roof. Take note: 1) Japanese tenugui on head, and 2) I can confirm, it is awkward to ask a coworker to take your picture on a jobsite (even though this was during break).

Tableware Summer Sale!

Hello all! Happy solstice from mid-coastal Maine. I’m working at the Center for Furniture Craftsmanship this summer, doing part time facilities work and part time independent work.

I wanted to share that I have a new batch of items in my online shop - many of them are from the large diameter cherry log I acquired this spring. The scale of the tree allowed me to make plates and trays that will have minimal movement overtime because they’re from quartersawn and riftsawn sections (sections where the grain is relatively perpendicular to the blank & parallel to one another and therefore less likely to warp).

I was able to make over 50 plates with it, multiple trays, and am now I’m doing a production run of baby rattles with the remaining material. It’s incredible what can be created from a single 8’ log.

8-7/8” cherry dinner plates, there are 5 pairs left!

I eat all of my meals from what I like to call a ‘plate bowl’ and I have a new pair of those for sale as well.

It’s finally sunny and hot here so I have to process my logs quickly before they crack to much or rot! I have more paper birch and cherry in store.

Thanks for reading & happy summer to you!

Processing the remainder of the 22” diameter cherry log into blanks for plates, trays, rattles and more.

A cherry wagata-bon tray. Inspired by the Japanese tray making tradition unique to Wagata, Ishikawa-ken.

Wagata-bon (我谷盆): The Life of a Japanese Folk Craft

When I walked into the classroom and counted five Japanese sharpening stones in the kitchen sink, I knew I was in the right place.

Japanese water stones for sharpening.

It was Wood Week at North House Folk School, and two Japanese woodworkers had traveled all the way to northern Minnesota to share their knowledge. I drove from coastal Maine, past the finger lakes and four great lakes, to make it to this special event.

Shinichi Moriguchi, a master tray carver, and Masashi Kutsuwa, a professor and green woodworker at Gifu Academy of Forest Science and Culture, traveled together and gave presentations on Japanese tool use, woodworking and craft history.

Shinichi Moriguchi demonstrating how to use mini wedges to split the wood into tray blanks.

One of the main workshops was about Wagata-bon tray carving, and was taught by Shinichi Moriguchi and Masashi Kutsuwa. “Wagata” refers to the small village of Wagatani, in Ishikawa-ken, and “bon” means tray. It’s a small miracle that this craft tradition is still alive and well.

L>R: Eager learner Rose Holdorf, Shinichi Moriguchi, and Masashi Kutsuwa, explaining the natural dye made of steel wool, chesnut wood and water, used to stain the wagata-bons. For a quick video, go here.

Wagata-bon were originally made by wooden roof shingle makers in the small village of Wagatani. They would set aside some of their best shingle blanks, and carve them into trays during the winter, to use as a barter item for clothing and food. They were often made of chestnut wood, which splits well and has a high amount of rot-resistant tannins.

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Wagatani’s local Hachiman shrine. Note the hanging sign with gold kanji above the entrance is a wagata-bon.

A close up of the wagata-bon sign above the Hachinman shrine entrance in Wagatani.

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If you look closely, you can see the wooden shingle roofs in Yamanaka, a town 3 miles downstream of Wagatani. Taken at some point between 1920 - 1931.

Unfortunately the tradition was almost entirely lost when the town of Wagatani was flooded by the construction of a hydroelectric dam in the early 1960s. People were forced to abandon the village, and left behind some of their possessions to lighten their load. Apparently when the water flooded the village, some wagata-bon trays floated to the surface.

This was not the only evidence left behind of the tradition. After the announcement of the dam’s construction but before the town was flooded, renowned woodworker and lacquerware finisher Tatsuaki Kuroda (1904-82) wrote an article for the craft publication Mingei Techō in 1963 to highlight wagata-bons. He saw them as a prime example of Japanese mingei, or folk craft. It’s an item made for everyday use, by everyday folks, by hand and often unsigned. Kuroda was contemporaries with Yanagi Soetsu (1889 – 1961), who is the founder of the Japanese mingei movement, and author of The Unknown Craftsman, an influential work on the philosophy of Japanese folk craft. Kuroda’s article helped to raise awareness about this almost extinct tradition.

A few examples of wagata-bon. Source: Bulletin of The Ishikawa-ken History Museum (2005).

Our teacher at North House, Moriguchi, actually heard about wagata-bons through a connection he had to Tatsuaki Kuroda. Moriguchi studied art and design at an art university, and afterwards studied fine furniture making and lacquer finishing from Kenkichi Kuroda, the son of Tatsuaki Kuroda. Moriguchi first heard about the trays from Kenkichi’s wife, who mentioned that his work resembled wagata-bon. After learning about these trays, Moriguchi ‘swerved’ (shout out to Michelle Obama’s Becoming), and decided to move away from fine furniture making and instead dedicate himself to traditional wagata-bon tray carving.

Moriguchi’s wagata-bons - most are finished with a chestnut and steel wool stain and then smoked.

Moriguchi is not only a committed craftsperson but also a committed teacher. Traditionally in Japan crafts are passed from master to apprentice, through a grueling apprenticeship which can last many years and involve almost no direct instruction. However Moriguchi eagerly shares his knowledge and encourages people to develop their own style. He even rents an abandoned building near the former village of Wagatani, and teaches free workshops to local people. He also travels throughout Japan to teach, and this was his first time teaching wagata-bon carving in the U.S. It was amazing that our paths were able to cross in northern Minnesota and I intend to teach this skill to others as well so it can continue to live on.

Lifelong learners (& teachers) Rose Holdorf & Liesl Chatman carving away.

Students’ wagata-bons at the end of the workshop.

Making my second wagata-bon in the workshop. Silver maple. Mora caring knife fan T-shirt and Japanese tenugui (bandana) from Otsuchi, Iwate-ken.

Thank you to Masashi Kutsuwa for sharing great resources on this topic!

Cultivating a Positive Platitude

I just wrapped up my 6-week fellowship at the Center for Furniture Craftsmanship (CFC) in Rockport, Maine, and am now headed west for a month of studying and teaching in Minnesota (you can check out my classes here).

I went to CFC with hopes of using new material (ie not 8” diameter birch, am I right?!), and luckily was able to get a hold of a large diameter cherry log. As I mentioned earlier, I turned a series of plate sets on the lathe, but I also did a handful of hand-carved serving platters.

Prior to this fellowship in Maine, I had only carved dough bowls, or half-log bowls, so I wanted to carve new forms and make something that people might be more accustomed to using in their home.

While carving the platters with an axe and adze was a familiar process, roughing out the long and wide blanks presented more of a challenge. First I split the log with wedges and a sledge hammer (and lots of sighing). Then I layout my lines on each end of the log and ripped it with a chainsaw. Given that the teeth were for cross-cutting and I hadn’t done this before, it wasn’t the smoothest operation. I did my best to have positive “platitude” (def: one’s attitude about platters) and see the butchered boards of wood as a testament to how much I was learning - not just as wasted material and time. Fortunately a good friend noticed this and is sending me a chain for ripping in the future! It was the first time I really wished I had access to a sawmill.

Here are some process images:

Below are platters both in progress and completed. Cherrywood is a joy to carve, especially while it’s still green (which means that’s still contains a lot of moisture).

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I really enjoyed exploring making plates in production and taking the slower route of hand-carving platters. Throughout the fellowship I was able to receive feedback on all of my designs from the fabulous other fellows and instructors on campus. It was a fruitful experience and an affirmation that creating things in community can really enrich the product and personal experience.

Here is almost everything I made from one generous cherry log: a cutting board, spatula, four platters, and 50+ plates. I still have additional blanks waiting to take shape.

Last but not least: Thank you this cherry log and thank you to my mentors! Last year I saw the photo on the right of artist Helga Winter and told a friend - “I want to be like her when I grow up!” Joyful and wielding a chainsaw. My friend replied “I think you are well on your way.” Here is a fan photo I took before processing those logs! So grateful to have gotten to study with her and to have her as a possibility model.

Upcoming courses in Minnesota that have space!

Tool Sharpening: Women’s Woodshop, Minneapolis, MN (link)

Thursday, March 14, 2019 | 5:30 PM  8:00 PM

Spring Break Camp for Kids: North House Folk School, Grand Marais, MN (link)

Mon, Mar 25, - Thu, Mar 28, 2019 | 9 AM - 4:00 PM

Plates & Platters: My Fellowship in Maine

Over the past month, I’ve been participating in a fellowship at the Center for Furniture Craftsmanship in Rockport, Maine. I was here last March as well, and it’s a treat returning to a familiar place. The school’s main programs are longer-term woodworking intensives in furniture making & woodturning, but they also have an awesome fellowship program for professional woodworkers who are at various stages in their careers, to develop their designs and produce new work. I’m here for a six week stint, but some people stay up to six months. There is a fully equipped woodworking shop, lumber onsite, and a log merchant nearby who helps me with my greenwoodworking needs.

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The pencil points to where my workbench is - smack dab in the middle of the Fellowship Building.

Currently there is more white snow than green grass.

One of my main goals in coming back to the school was to make plates from large diameter trees - specifically cherry because I like incorporating the contrast of the white sapwood and pink heartwood.

This is how I layout plates that I turn on the lathe. I needed to get a large diameter log so that I could get quartersawn blanks and blanks with relatively parallel grain. This is in order to minimize warping as they dry.

The first week I got here, the resourceful and knowledge-full Mason McBrien took me to the log merchant in Windsor, ME and we selected two large diameter logs for me to work with, and an additional log for the students in the woodturning intensive. It was amazing to learn that the crane was manufactured in Two Harbors, Minnesota! A town a few hours from Grand Marais, MN, where I was living for the past year and a half.

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This was my first time doing a production run of woodenware and below are the results. I created 7” and 8-7/8” diameter plates. They work really nicely together. I’m selling them as pairs, because by seeing two plates side by side, you can appreciate the design of the sapwood and heartwood better. They’re for sale on my website until the end of this week (2/22), and then I’ll sell them through stores. Next up, I’ll be working on hand carved platters - more photos and stories to come!

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Pile of completed plates!

Finished plate & apple for scale.

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A stack of cherry plates with the sapwood lined up.

Culminating Residency Show Part II: Artist Talk & Dance Performance

In addition to sharing photos from my residency show, I also wanted to allow folks to virtually attend the opening reception. Below are videos of my artist talk (10 min) and dance performance (4 min) so you can get a sense of the full experience!

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Artist talk - illustrating the size of a large bread box?

And in case 10 minutes is too long, here’s a summary of my talk:

I decided to study woodworking about six years ago, because I wanted to be able to empower young people with these skills. Although I started with the goal of being an educator, not an artist, I’m grateful I’ve been able to develop my own artistic voice through my residency in the Artisan Development Program at North House Folk School.

One of the factors that helped me develop my own style was a great mentorship with woodworker, sculptor and educator, Beth Ireland. She encourages people to think about all of the things that make them who they are - their interests, personal experiences, family, etc - and to try incorporating multiple elements of themselves into their art. As I experimented with different designs and ideas over the past year and a half, I could see how my upbringing in Japan, my time spent in Scandinavian, and my love of the woods and dance all came into play.

That advice, alongside seeing a carving performance by Swedish woodworker, Jögge Sundqvist, inspired me to do a dance and carving performance as part of the opening reception. Below are images from the performance and a video. I hope you enjoy it.

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Dancing & carving with friends Ben Byron & Mike Loeffler.

My Culminating Residency Show

After a year and a half of creating, traveling and connecting, I am wrapping up my precious time here as a resident artisan at North House Folk School. My culminating residency show, “Chasing the Curve,” opened this past Friday, November 30th. It was a great moment to reflect on my experience and to look back at where it all started.

Since North House is remote, I wanted to do my best to connect folks with images and text of the show so you can get a sense of what I’ve been up to and the impact of the program.

Below, and in the next few blog posts, I’ll be sharing information from the show as well as my axe carving dance performance.

If you’re interested in purchasing any of the pieces, they are available at my website.

Thanks for reading and for your support!

Below are the photos & text that are in the show:

Carving an oak frame for a clinker style boat in Tromsø, Norway.

Chasing the Curve

Welcome to the first Artisan Development Program culminating residency show! As a resident artisan, I spent the past year and a half studying one-on-one with craftspeople, participating in courses at North House Folk School, experimenting with new projects, teaching carving and woodturning to others and traveling to Scandinavia for two months to observe and take in even more woodworking styles and traditions.

I am inspired by the curved forms of Scandinavian and Japanese wooden crafts, in particular the boat and bowl. After studying how to carve bowls with the Swedish master woodworker Beth Moen, I realized I was hooked on chasing the curves of these boat-like bowls.

I love the curved profiles of vessels, the unpredictable warping of wood and the innate elegance of branches.

On these walls and hanging from the ceiling, are pieces that embody my time spent here as a student, teacher and traveler.

My Story

I was born in rural fishing village in northeastern Japan. My middle name comes from the local 雷電 (raiden) shrine, which is dedicated to the god of thunder and lightning.

Ever since I was young, my grandma Kate and I would make sculptures and projects together. I have an early memory of using a jigsaw to make a wooden crib for my dolls and by the time I was eight she put an oxyacetylene torch in my hand. I credit her for lighting the creative spark within me.  

When I first started woodworking as an adult, my intent was to learn enough so that I could empower young people with these skills. Little did I know that this journey would also include opportunities for me to develop my own artistic voice and to connect with an inspiring and ever-growing community of artists, art-lovers, craftspeople and dear friends.  

Thank you to the staff, volunteers and instructors at North House for creating and sustaining this unique community and for making programs like this residency possible.

Mentorship

Beth Ireland was my main mentor throughout my residency. We regularly checked in over the phone and I studied with her at the Center for Furniture Craftsmanship in Rockport, Maine for one month. She also came to Grand Marais this fall and taught courses and helped me map out my final show.

Although she worked as an architectural wood turner for the majority of her career, she also has an MFA in sculpture and is a passionate educator. She not only shared endless woodworking techniques, she also encouraged me to develop my artistic voice and to take risks creatively and professionally. 

In addition to working with Beth, I was able to study one-on-one with other master craftspeople for shorter periods of time. The knowledge, time and friendship they shared enriched my life and creative practice.

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Work on Display

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Aspen Dough Bowl

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Scandinavian Altar for the Home & Japanese Tori Gate

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Wild Stools

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Stools & A Chair

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Hanging Burl, Stools & Chair

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Alaskan Burl & Black Branch

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Mobile Home

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Assorted Dough Bowls & Bandsaw Box

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Assorted Bowls, Vessels & Containers

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Two Dough Bowls & Cherry Plates

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Photos & a special postcard from my travels

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The axe used for my dance performance

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Panorama of the gallery space.

No Shortage of Ships in Stockholm

I arrived in Stockholm after a seven-hour train ride from Oslo, Norway, that took me across parched and flat farmlands. At Stockholm central, I sprinted to the closest kardemummabullar seller (cardamom roll) that I could find. Once satiated with this sweet and spice-filled delight, I navigated the mass transit system to the island of Skeppsholmen, my home for the night. I stayed in a repurposed wooden ship in a room with five roommates and two tiny portholes.

The dreamy kardemummabullar.

That afternoon I visited the Swedish crafts store, Slöjd Detaljer, and admired their selection of high quality goods. Knives, leather, gold leaf, Japanese saws, yarn, and the latest tool sharpening system made by the Swedish company Tormek.

High quality selection of tools at the arts and crafts store.

Funky gold leaf project on display at Slöjd Detaljer.

I hadn’t treated myself to a restaurant in a month of travels, so decided to put my highly advanced Swedish language skills to use and find me some köttbullar (meatballs). I read reviews on Yelp of the best meatballs, (probably according to American visitors) and found a place close to my hostel.

When I walked in, the historic wooden interior, stained glass ceiling and wine glass-holding clientele suggested that my sweatpant culottes and bulging day backpack were a little out of place. The waitress came to my table and said in English, “Let me guess, you want the meatballs?” to which I proudly and slowly replied, “No. Jag vill skulle köttbullar och potatismos.” (No. I would like meatballs and mashed potatoes.”) Fortunately she smiled and complimented my pronunciation of “köttbullar” which is surprisingly “shet-boolar” (Tack to my language teacher, Rose Arrowsmith DeCoux.)

While devouring the classic Norwegian novel, Hunger, by Knut Hamsun (1890), I ate the salty gravy-covered meatballs, mashed potatis and tart lingonberry jam.

#potatis #köttbullar

I watched a dramatic sunset through the porthole that night and slept well on the lightly rocking ship.

The next morning I put my tourist game face on, woke up early, and hopped on a ferry to Scandinavia’s most popular museum, the Vasa Museum, which is home to a monumental 17th century warship.

I decided to release my pent up energy by dancing to the museum, in the style of early ipod advertisements – white earbuds and a tiny screen in my hands.

What I looked like dancing in Stockholm.

Because it was so early, few folks were around so I let loose and imagined I was my dance hero Anne Marsen from the amazing Girl Talk music video “All Aboard.”

My dancepiration & doppleganger, Anne Marsen.

Once I got in to the museum, I was in instant awe of the ship’s jaw-dropping scale.

The bow of Vasa. It felt impossible to take a single photo of the entire ship.

I consider it the ultimate bestest museum of hubris. It is home to a 226’ long wooden warship that was sunk by a sudden breeze, 25 minutes into its maiden voyage in 1628. The design was top heavy due to its two decks holding 64 cannons and a narrow beam (width) at 38’. But like so many things in life, something that initially was, “oh no, that’s bad...” became, “oh no, that’s good!”

Because it sank so quickly, it was in relatively shallow water and was able to be excavated and restored starting in the 1960s. It’s the largest intact shipwreck in the world and the most visited museum in Scandinavia. It’s also a really inspiring and didactic museum model with thorough displays, conservationists you can talk to and an amazing building design with artificial masts on the top of the roof.

Onsite conversational conservationists.

I particularly enjoyed seeing the ornate figure carvings, with Roman emperors, the king’s son, an enormous lion and much more. 

The ornate stern of the ship. Description from the exhibit: "The national coat of arms, Sweden's symbol. The lions have featured since the 13th century. The three crowns symbolize the Three Holy Kings. The central shield bears the arms of the Vasa family, a sheaf of corn, ("vase" in old Swedish). The crown emphasizes the royal status of the dynasty."

Description from the exhibit: "Two griffins - Charles IX's heraldic animals - hold the royal crown above the young Gustavus Adolphus' head. As a boy he was already his father's chosen successor."

An approximation of what some of the ship's carvings would have looked like with their original colors.

An exterior room connected to the captain's quarters.

Close up of carved figures from the roof of the exterior room.

Lion at the bow of the ship.

After viewing the ship, I hopped on a ship, and went back to my ship.

Dancers' Stone

Dancers' Stone – my new special spot in Norway.

I stumbled upon this noteworthy rock while driving through Telemark’s countryside. I was on my way to Rauland Academy, a traditional crafts school, and decided I needed to take a break in the woods. I had been traveling for three weeks straight, and was almost never alone during that time. Many people generously hosted me at their homes and I was on public transit quite a bit. So on my trip to Telemark, I rented a car so I could have some independence and solo time. 

View from the drive through Telemark.

On the windy road that passed mountains and rivers, I noticed a sign that had the icon of a hiker. I passed it and then realized that that hiker needed to be me. I did a u-turn and followed the sign onto a dirt road, past wetlands, farm houses, and up and up and up. The road was called “Fjellvei”  or mountain road, so I suspected it would at least lead to a view of sorts.

I had to drive a ways up this road past cabins and homes, but finally the scenery changed. The landscape was filled with glowing green lichen, moss and my new favorite tree, fjellbjörk, or mountain birch. I found the launch point of the hike, and made my way up the trail. Expressive fjellbjörk lined the path.

Curvy fjellbjörk.

One looked like it was welcoming me amidst a dance twist. I remember thinking to myself, “am I about to meet my spiritual guide or something on this hike? What is this place!?”

Dancing fjellbjörk

Have no fear, travel magic is here. I kept climbing up the mountain, not another (human) soul in sight, and suddenly got to what I’ll call an alpine meadow. There was an opening of the trees and only grasses blowing in the wind. Très belle! Or should I say, Tre belle! ("Tre" means "tree" in Norwegian.) Hee hee - gotta love multilingual puns that have a highly limited audience!

Alpine meadow on the hike.

It was 6 at night, but the sun was filling the scenery with a kind of white brilliant light I’ve only seen in the Scandinavian summer.

After climbing past the meadow, I came upon a wooden sign wedged between two fjellbjörk branches. 

Sign at Dancers' Stone.

It read:

THE DANCERS' STONE

IN FORMER DAYS OLD AND YOUNG PEOPLE GATHERED HERE TO DANCE AND AMUSE THEMSELVES. A LOT OF FAMOUS RIDDLERS HAVE PLYED HERE.

DANSARSTEINEN

GAMLE DAGAR SAMLAST UNGE OG GAMLE PÅ DENNE STEINEN TIL DANS LEIK OG MORO. ...YLLARGUTEN-JON KJOS OG ANDRE KJENDE...PELEMENN HAR SPELA HER.

That dancing fjellbjörk I saw earlier on the trail must have been a part of this tradition as well. I spoke with folks later on in my trip who knew people who played filddle on this rock and danced as a celebration of midsommar, or summer solstice. 

Being the only person on the mountain, I blasted Kiesza’s “Hideaway” and put my own twist on this timeless tradition.

Dancer on Dancers' Stone.

Dancers' Stone in the distance.

Running Errands with Erlend Part II: Trondheim to Askvoll

This is the second part of my story of meeting and traveling with the Trondheim-based sculptor, Erlend Leirdal. (Check out Part I here.) Erlend works primarily with wood, and I got connected to him through the resourceful Facebook group, Critical Craft Forum. I had been on the lookout for woodworkers and woodartists in Norway, and am grateful that someone suggested I reach out to him.

Soon after contacting him, he invited me to his home and then on an 18-hour road trip to pick up a used lathe. As a solo female traveler, I had some hesitation, but based on the recommendation and photos of him wearing a suit and holding chickens, I decided to accept the invitation. I’m glad I did because Erlend became a great new friend.

After a wonderful first night of good conversation over baked Norwegian cod, vegetables, potatoes and wine, I went to sleep in their finished basement where his partner Lotte had kindly covered the windows so I could sleep through the light of the evening.

The next morning we started packing food, camping equipment and two travel mugs of coffee. We had a nice big breakfast and there didn’t seem to be any rush. Around 10 AM, Lotte said, “Wow, if I were you I would have left by now,” and I remember thinking – hmm, I wonder how this is going to pan out. I still couldn’t believe we were driving 9 hours to get a lathe, and figured it had to be shorter than that.

We left about an hour later after packing all of the food into a beautiful handmade wooden latched box and packing up his red truck with the gear – including a lavvu, which is a tent based on a mobile dwelling of the indigenous people of northern Scandinavia, the Sami. These were traditionally used so that they could follow their grazing reindeer herds.

Erlend's handmade traditional bentwood box container that he made in his twenties. 

There were so many dramatic landscape chapters along the drive. We drove through narrow farming valleys, were people had lived and farmed for hundreds of years, with full-scribe log cabins and birch bark roofs dotting the entire landscape, all the way up steep hills and down to the edges of rivers. 

Small farms dotting the landscape.

Within a few hours of Trondheim, we climbed in elevation and the trees got smaller and we could see snow-capped glaciers in the distance.

Land of the musk ox - Dovrefjell–Sunndalsfjella National Park. 

We passed one of Norway’s main sources of schist, in Otta, and could see where bulldozers were removing future tiles from the mountainside. In this region, many of the old buildings have slate (technically schist) shingles covered in lichen and moss. Some are a golden brown from the iron content in the slate, and others remain a shimmering gray. My favorite style was with schist shingles that had been left in irregular shapes.

An example of my favorite type of schist shingles with irregular shapes. Photo taken from a later date in the trip at Heddal Stave Church. 

In Dovre, we visited the Hjerleid School & Crafts Center, which is known for its woodworking program, including Viking-style carving, acanthus carving, Scandinavian-style full-scribe log cabin building, timber framing and more. When we arrived we met up with a former workshop assistant of his who was working on a commission of an enormous wooden hand. 

Hardcore handwork at the Hjerleid School & Crafts Center. 

A few hours later we got to visit the town of Lom’s wooden stave church. It was built in the 12th century, and modified in the 1600s. I was struck by the use natural curves in tree trunks and roots for the arches in the ceiling. The ceiling looked like the ribs inside of a Viking ship. Outside Erlend talked about how the wooden siding was intentionally overlapped in order to protect the building from the dominant direction of high winds.

Wild roof line. Lom Stave Church. 

Beautiful curved arches made from the knees of trees. 

The ship-like ceiling of the church. 

After taking in the sites of this church, we found a nearby pizza joint and had dinner. At this point it was about 7 at night and we had just passed the halfway point of our 9-hour-plus journey.

As we continued driving southwest, we started to climb again uphill, towards Jostedalsbreen National Park, home to Europe’s largest glacier. The road followed a rapid-filled white and blue river. Suddenly we were surrounded by gnarly, twisted pine trees that Erlend described as “troll-like.” He said they were reminiscent of the Norwegian painter Lars Hertervig’s work. It was great getting to read the landscape through his cultural perspective.

Lars Hertervig, Old Pines, 1865

Soon the trees disappeared and snow-capped mountains returned. We saw a dramatic mountain in the distance, and suddenly our road went straight into the face of it; into the tunnel called Oppljostunellen.

Approaching Oppljosegga mountain. 

The tunnels in this region of Norway are numerous and can be quite narrow. A few of them did not have an inner constructed wall, just blasted shards of rock and steaming condensation as the cool air from the outside hit the warm air from the depths of the mountain. We entered one tunnel behind a semi-truck, and when it slowed down mid-tunnel, we realized it was trying to pass by another semi-truck with just a few feet between them and jagged walls on either side.

Ahh - real life claustrophobia test. Two semi-trucks slowly passing one another, our dashboard in the foreground. 

When we finally emerged from all of the tunnels, we were officially in fjord country. The scenery was an almost constant “mind explosion” as Erlend put it, with waterfalls dropping off the sides of cliffs, small farms plopped on mountain sides, sheep, goats and cows grazing on brilliant green escarpments and snow covering the tops of barren mountain faces.

Fjord country summer time mountain farms, or seter, which were built in clusters. Typically women would live their in the summer and tend to their herds of sheep and cows. For a thorough explanation of seters versus cottages, check out this 1983 New York Times op-ed: link

But what is a fjord? This is a fjord! Ocean water that runs miles inland and becomes brackish when mixed with freshwater. Or to be more exact: "a long, narrow, deep inlet of the sea between high cliffs, as in Norway, typically formed by submergence of a glaciated valley." (Dictionary.com)

We ran out of water hours before our destination, and there weren’t any stores open at 11 PM (even though the sunlight made me think everything should be open). Fortunately Erlend pulled over next to a ‘sky waterfall,’ which fell dramatically over a 1,600 foot sheer cliff, and we brought our water bottles down to the pond that the waterfall fed. We filled them up and drank the water straight. I was a little wary, especially given how many birds seemed to fancy this pond, but the sky waterfall was a good sign and our GTs (gastrointestinal tracts) survived intact.

We drove into the night, but it never got dark. Once we finally got close to the coast, we kept thinking every small town was our final destination, and we’d cheer, “Askvoll!” only to realize google maps was struggling to accurately estimate our rural Norwegian windy-road-laden journey.

Finally we arrived in Askvoll at 1 AM to what looked like dusk, and we set up the lavvu in a public park in the center of town.

Lavvu set up next to the jungle gym. 

I had caught a cold during the drive and the hard ground and cold ocean air didn’t help much. I blew my nose through the night and woke with a fever but managed. We picked up the lathe late that afternoon with only a few bumps (we had to wait 8 hours in Askvoll for the seller to return home and the lathe fell over once while moving it with a forklift). But once it was loaded and strapped down to the truck bed, we hit the road and headed northeast, back to Trondheim.

Running Errands with Erlend: Trondheim, Norway & A Family Legacy of Art

I have to backtrack a few weeks to highlight one of my first adventures in Norway. During my research for this trip, I reached out to lots of different crafts people and resources to find woodworkers and woodartists in Norway and Sweden. Thanks to the input from members of the facebook group, Critical Craft Forum, I got connected to a renowned wood sculptor, Erlend Leirdal, who is based in Trondheim, Norway.

I wrote him asking if I could visit his workshop and learn about his work, and he generously invited me to stay at his home and sent a list of museums and sites I would have to check out. Then a few weeks later, his plans changed, and he had to drive to the west coast to pick up a used lathe – did I want to join?

Initially I thought – yes! And then I google-mapped the route and realized, oh… It’s 9 hours one way, 18 hours total, and that’s without stopping. Hmm…

Fortunately friends and my instinct said go for it.

I went to Trondheim a day before the roadtrip departure date, and he showed me a little bit of the city. Upon picking me up from the Trondheim train station, we went straight to his workshop. It’s on the top floor of a German WWII-era building. It’s eye-opening to think about how he moves his large scale wooden materials and sculptures up and down from the ground to the fourth floor. There is a crane but I didn’t get to see it in action. The challenge of moving his materials and projects seemed like a testament to his determination to create.

From Erlend's workshop you can see a much larger German WWII relic – a submarine bunker with 10’-thick concrete walls and an 11’-thick ceiling. Germany occupied Norway from 1940 - 45 and used Trondheim as a naval base.

The building that house's Erlend's workshop. His red pickup truck and some wood materials on the ground. Scraps for firewood at the top of the spiral staircase. 

The view from his workshop of the massive WWII-era German submarine bunker. The submarines would enter at the water-level openings.

Inside Erlend's workshop - a well-used bandsaw from the late 1890s, made in Norway. 

Erlend is originally from Trondheim, and was raised by a sculptor and a ceramicist. He worked in construction in the past, but transitioned to being a fulltime artist since then and makes a variety of artwork, including large-scale private and public art often out of Norwegian pine and large-diameter oak.

"Amulet," 2010. From one piece of oak. Location: Gauldal Skole-og Kultursenter

"Amulet" and Erlend. 

"The sea is very big my son," approximately  3 x 1.5 meters. At the gallery Dropsfabrikken. Mountain birch. 2013. 

Close up of the joinery used to connect these curvy pieces of mountain birch.

His father’s sculptures still dot the city, including one of unique prominence on the iconic gothic Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim. It is the northernmost medieval cathedral in the world and is the burial site for St. Olav, a king who was posthumously canonized as the patron saint of Norway. The church was first completed in 1300, and prominent Norwegian artists rebuilt the figures of the western wall in the 20th century.

The western wall of Nidaros Cathedral, Trondheim. The St. Michael sculpture made by his father is on the top left turret.

In 1969 Erlend's father, Kristofer Leirdal, was commissioned to make a St. Michael sculpture for the cathedral. He decided to make St. Michael resemble Bob Dylan, as a critique of the U.S.'s involvement in the Vietnam War and an American bishop who was said to have blessed napalm, bombs and aircrafts at an airbase before they were sent to Vietnam. (I believe this might be referring to Cardinal Francis Spellman, but I could not confirm this after doing a cursory search online.) Leirdal did not publicly acknowledge this until 2001, when he was 85 years old. This act of resistance was moving to learn about, especially given the current tumultuous and highly politicized state of the U.S. It’s powerful to think about how long that sculpture will remain on such a symbolic building.

St. Michael as Bob Dylan, spearing a dragon, 1969. Photo of a postcard I purchased at the cathedral.

After seeing Erlend's workshop, hearing family stories and diving into the politics of Norway, we went grocery shopping and returned to his home where he and his partner made a delicious meal of cod, potatoes and vegetables. That night we started talking about the logistics of the roadtrip, but didn't start packing until the next morning.

I will have to pause here and write the roadtrip story another time. Being in Trondheim and learning about the city from Erlend and his family was such a rich experience – I hope I can return there someday to learn more.

Erlend, Mikael, me, Ylva, and Lotte at their home.

Boatbuilding at 70°N

My attempt to see the midnight sun in Tromsø, Norway. I was encouraged to bike to this harbor because it was the only nearby place where you can see the open ocean to the north. 

This past week I was in Tromsø, Norway, 70°N. It’s the land of the midnight sun, as well as midnight clouds and midnight rain. Although I didn’t see the sun late at night, I did get to witness the lack of darkness. The level of light through the clouds never really changed throughout the night. 

Location of Tromsø, Norway. 

Fortunately I didn’t travel that far just to see the midnight sun. I went to Tromsø to study with and get to know boatbuilders in a traditional boatbuilding workshop. The Trondheim-based sculptor, Erlend Leirdal connected me with his friend Arne-Terje Sæther, and he was kind enough to let me join their crew for the week and even stay in his sailboat at a nearby harbor.

View from the harbor. 

The owner of the boatshop lent me a bicycle and I was able to ride to the workshop every morning and to “Norway’s best grocery store” (according to Erlend and others) in the evening for dinner.

The master boatbuilder and owner of the business, Gunnar Eldjarn, is both a researcher and professional boatbuilder. He researched and co-wrote the four-part definitive book on northern coastal Norwegian boats, Nordlandsbåten og Åfjordsbåten, with his friend Jon B. Godal. He’s had his boatshop in Tromsø since 1985, and Arne-Terje and Ola Fjelltun joined in the mid and late 1990s.

Although this was not the focus on my visit, it’s hard to start this story without highlighting their involvement in "the project of a lifetime." The three of them were all key builders in the making of the largest Viking Ship in modern times, the Draken Harald Harfagre. It was a two-year long quixotic endeavor from 2010 - 12, and was commissioned by a private individual. The 115-foot ship cost millions of dollars, with up to 16 people working on it at various points.

The story of this project is documented in Arne-Terje’s book, Dragon Harald Fairhair.

Cover of Arne-Terje's bilingual book on the topic.

I read the book at night while I was staying on his sailboat. Not only the scale of the building process struck me, but also by the challenge of material acquisition. In order to get oak that was long enough and clear of knots, they had to go to a German forest that had been managed for 400+ years. There they were able to select and fell oak trees whose trunks were straight and clear of branches for over 60 feet. Milling the boards and shipping it to Norway was a whole other ordeal.

Meanwhile they also undertook a thorough research and design process. They made three smaller boats with different hull shapes in order to test out their functionality. They were also in conversation with archaeologists from the Viking Ship Museum in Denmark who built a replica. However since there is no documentation of original Viking ship designs or intact originals, any building project relies heavily on conjecture.

When the two famous ships in the Oslo’s Viking Ship Museum, the Oseberg and Gogstad, were excavated they were completely flattened from being buried in the ground. The iconic Oseberg ship was so flat the keel (the lengthwise timber on the bottom of the ship) was higher than the rest of the structure. Although the ships are now beautifully reconstructed in the museum, to their highly trained boatbuilding eyes, the shape of the hull raises some questions of how accurate it is to the original design.

It’s not possible to make a truly authentic Viking ship, but this boatbuilding team certainly came close. They created a ship that retraced the Vikings' transatlantic voyage from Norway to the Atlantic Canadian and U.S. coast. Unfortunately for the midwestern wooden boat enthusiasts and Viking fans, the ship was kept from traveling all the way through the Great Lakes due to prohibitively expensive regulations. 

While I was visiting, they were working on a unique commission that I enthusiastically called a Viking Ship. However upon asking the seemingly philosophical question, “what is a Viking Ship?” they answered, “a ship built by a Viking, with a rudder on the side, and tall stems.” “So is this a Viking Ship?” I asked, and received the response, “we are not Vikings, and this is not a ship. It’s a boat.” So I got to participate in the building of a Viking-style boat.

A view from outside of the workshop. Steambox in the foreground.

Arne-Terje, Ola and Gunnar discussing the frame that will support the side rudder.

Gunnar graciously led me through the process of fitting one of the oak frames that helps to secure the side planks or strakes. It took me four days to complete what he can do in one, which is a testament to his patience and generosity.

Gunnar explaining how to install the frame. Photo by Arne-Terje Sæther.

They readily switched from modern to traditional tools – Makita power planers to wooden handmade planes, chainsaws to axes, bandsaws to carving knives – quickly securing what did the job best.

Once I finally finished my precious frame on day four, Gunnar said, now make 2,000 more and you’ll get it.

Using a slöyd knife to carve out a hole for the mast rigging (a large rope which supports the mast). Photo by Gunnar Eldjarn

Gunnar and Arne-Terje checking the fit of the line on the frame I carved.

We installed the frame an hour before my time was up, using pine trunnels ("treenails") and wedges. The trunnels are from the heartwood of the tree, and the wedges from the sapwood. The orientation of the grain direction was also intentional, and is a debated topic within this niche community. It was amazing to learn just this one step in the boat – because it reveals how much complex knowledge is behind every single step.     

Close up of one of the pine trunnels and discussing grain orientation. 

Painting pine tar onto the boat and frame before installation. The pine tar is made in Norway using traditional methods.  

I learned much more from these builders over the course of the week but it’s more than I could sum up in a few blog posts. We talked about the financial realities of making a living as a boatbuilder in Norway, the rich traditions of wooden boats on Norway’s coast and their central role in the cod fishing industry, the limits of historic reconstruction projects, the stories of historic artifacts that decorate the workshop, future hopes of developing a boatbuilding program at the local university, and much more.

From L to R: Me, Ola, Arne-Terje, Gunnar and a tree knee. 

Their story is so rich – here are some places to learn more:

• See the boat in progress at their facebook page: link
• Learn about other projects they’ve done at their website: www.nordlandsbaat.com 
• The story of the Dragon Harald Fairhair: link
• See a snapshot of life in Tromsø & the greater arctic from Arne-Terje's partner, Mariann Jacobsen Mathisen's instagram page: link

The view from the plane as I flew out of Tromsø on June 22. 

Sod Roofs & Hytte Hideaways

Last Sunday I returned to the open-air museum, Maihuagen, in Lillehammer, Norway and got to take in the architecture of Norwegian farmsteads from the middle ages to the 19th century. It was amazing to see how people turned trees into so many things needed for survival as well as comfort. 

Full scribe log cabins, timber-framed churches, wooden boats, wall hooks, woven baskets, horse harnesses, furniture, candle stick holders, gutters, food storage, rope and the list goes on. 

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It was my first time getting to see so many sod roofs or the more apt name, birch bark roofs. They are a rich nature-sandwich of wooden planks, birch bark, stones, dirt, moss and grasses. The birch bark is the key element because it's waterproof and the sod simply helps to weigh it down.

Close up of a medieval-era birch bark roof on a farmhouse.

Apparently birch bark roofs were very common up until the 18th century in Norway, and many still dot the countryside. The roofs have a lifespan of about 30 years and were typically a community effort to rebuild. They had many examples of old farmsteads at the museum, many of which were collected in the late 1800s and rebuilt under the leadership of a preservation-oriented dentist, Anders Sandvig.

After visiting the museum I went back to my Couchsurfing host's home on a mountain outside of the town. Once dinner was finished I thought I'd head to bed early, but instead my host's cousin suggested we go on a joyride in to see the sites of the area. So he cleared out his red Toyota work van and we hopped in. It was a treat. 

An hour into the drive his cousin asked, "would you like to see some vacation homes that are interesting? It's an extra thirty minutes." I thought we might as well skip it but I'm glad he decided to show us. He brought us to a vacation cabin, or hytte, development that has sprouted up in the past four years and filled up a mountainside outside of the city. He's a carpenter and worked on some of the houses. We had to pay a toll in order to go up the private road.

Although it felt remote and wild, like a road I might find myself on in Cook County, Minnesota, it led to a tiny village of recently built homes, all painted black with sod roofs, grass waving in the air. 

Checking out the hytte sheds.

It was a little surreal and eerie. With dark clouds in the sky and empty buildings, I couldn't help but think of Scandinavian murder mysteries. It was Sunday night so all the weekenders had already left - all you could hear were the clanging of sheep bells and the wind in the pines.

One of many new hytte developments on the mountainside.

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The sturdy Toyota work van and one of the hytte.

I knew there were still sod roofs on old farms in Norway but I didn't realize there was a total revival thanks to vacation homes. The roofs look almost identical to their medieval counterpart - but there's no birch bark involved. Instead it's a sandwich of vinyl, a dimpled plastic membrane, sod and seeds. Not as romantic or green as the traditional method but I understand the desire for a more stable option that echoes tradition. I wonder what the environmental impact is of this modern method and how it compares to the traditional approach on a mass scale.

Close up of a modern sod roof.

Upon arriving in Trondheim, a city 5 hours north of Lillehammer, I got to learn about another style of vacation hytte. I've been staying with sculptor Erlend Leirdal, and he told me his hytte also has a sod roof with a synthetic water barrier, but instead of being part of a big development, it's made of reclaimed log cabin materials and on a small remote island. He told me that there is not enough birch bark in Norway to meet the demand of the sod roofs, and if you imported birch bark it would be cost prohibitive. His modern sod roof will last 60+ years. He spends 6 weeks straight there in the summer and additional weeks throughout the year with his family. There's no electricity and they use a well for water. 

Erlend Leirdal & his family's hytte.

I would love to see more of these types of hytte popping up in my neck of the woods too. 

Wild Stools & Lots of Light

Since I arrived in Norway it's been a little non-stoppe! Which is how I enjoy traveling, but it's not the most conducive to prolific blog writing. So I will try to steppe it up.

I am staying outside of Lillehammer this evening, and it's pastoral and bucolic. Sheep and their little lambs are baaa-ing outside of my window, the sun is slowly setting (it's 10 o'clock and totally bright outside) on a far off hillside and I have a room to myself thanks to a generous member of the couchsurfing community. 

Outside of the home where I'm staying around 6 PM.

Lillehammer is a two-hour train ride north of Oslo, and is nestled in valley that is filled by a long and narrow lake, Lake Mjøsa. (*alert* lake factoid: in Norway, Mjøsa is the largest lake by surface area and the 4th deepest.)

A view of Lake Mjøsa from the train ride.

I traveled here to visit the Maihuagen Museum, an enormous open air museum with buildings that span from the 1200s to the 1990s. I didn't get a chance to explore the grounds today, but instead went indoors to their archives and to meet with someone who works at the Norwegian Handicraft Institute. I will visit the outdoor part this weekend.

I could have spent days in their woodenware and furniture archives but alas, I only had an hour and a half. So I dove into their wooden containers and bowls area, carefully, and with gloves on. There were great locking lid boxes and wonderful decorations.  Feel free to click to enlarge.

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I then sped walked over to the furniture building. Below are some of the stools that I fell in love with. Note the serpentine heads carved into multiple stools! I am curious if anyone has ideas about the potential significance of this design.

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I am inspired by the use of natural curves, branches and play. If you're curious to see more images and information on these pieces, I recommend visiting the amazing online database, "Digitalt Museum."

Now that it's 11 PM, I guess I can say the sun is officially setting, or approaching setting. It's wild to witness so much light. 

The view outside my window as I write. Happy little lambs. 11 PM.

Can you handle it? New online store & handled bowl designs

I’m excited to announce that after my yearlong apprenticeship with Jim Sannerud I’m officially ready to sell my bowls! My friend Mikey Hoy created an online store and you can check it out here.

Towards the end of my project I became interested in making handled ale bowls based off of traditional Swedish and Norwegian designs. I was particularly inspired after visiting the archives of Vesterheim, the national Norwegian-American Museum in Decorah, Iowa. Below are photos I took of some of my favorite bowls they have in storage. This winter I plan to make more handled bowls and am excited to explore new shapes and designs.

Lillehammer, Gudbrandsdalen, Norway. 1800. 4-1/2" diameter, birch.

Norway. c. 1800. 6" diameter.

This is thought to have been an individual dipper for serving ale. 4" diameter. Date unknown.

Experiments in Paint

Earlier this summer I had the opportunity to meet with the traditional craftsperson-extraordinaire, Jarrod StoneDahl, and receive feedback regarding the designs and painting techniques of my wooden bowls. He shared great insights about traditional Swedish wooden bowls and one that I’d like to share is about color.

Traditional Swedish bowls were painted with a variety of colors, but a commonly used color unique to Sweden is falun red. This iron oxide-based pigment was historically derived from various copper mines in Sweden and named after the famous mines of Falun, in Dalarna, Sweden. It’s the same striking color that decorates many Swedish cottages and barns alike.

Before meeting with Jarrod I had only used premixed milk paint on my bowls. Milk paint is an incredibly durable and non-toxic mixture of pigment, lime and the milk protein, casein. The casein makes the paint absorb into porous surfaces like wood, and the lime makes it soluble in water. It’s excellent for woodenware because it is completely food safe. One of the drawbacks however is that the lime in traditional milk paint creates a relatively opaque and dull hue, limiting most of the color pallet to pastels and inhibiting efforts to highlight the wood’s grain.

I wanted to get closer to traditional colors and create paints that were also semi-transparent. I purchased falun red pigment from Earth Pigments and experimented by creating egg tempera paint as well as boiled linseed oil paint. Although egg tempera was not typically used on bowls in Sweden, it is a traditional method used for painting wooden surfaces. Linseed oil and pigment was commonly used to treat woodenware in Sweden. I was curious to compare the two techniques. Below are the results!

#1: Egg Tempera

• 1 Egg yoke : 1 Tablespoon of water (shaken in a closed container)

• 2 Tspn falun red pigment

This mixture dried quickly and was relatively opaque.

#2: Egg Tempera – slightly diluted with water

• 1 Egg yoke : 1 Tbsp of water (shaken in a closed container)

• 2 Tspn of falun red pigment

• 1 Tbsp of water mixed in after the emulsion was made

This mixture was easier to paint onto the wood but not any more transparent.

#3: Boiled Linseed Oil – with primer

Layer 1:

• Allback boiled organic linseed oil

Layer 2:

• 2 Tbsp of Allback boiled organic linseed oil

• 1 Tspn of falun red pigment

For the first layer I painted on a primer coat of just boiled linseed oil. For the second coat, I painted on a mixture of boiled linseed oil and falun red pigment. This was one of my favorite results because it is the most transparent and the wood grain really shines through. 

#4: Boiled Linseed Oil – without primer

• 2 Tbsp of Allback boiled organic linseed oil

• 1 Tspn of falun red pigment

I painted on just one layer that was a mixture of boiled linseed oil and falun red pigment. The result is darker and slightly more opaque than the bowl with primer.

Contemplating & Carving Curves

One of the reasons I am drawn to bowl turning, spoon carving and boat building is because of the beautiful sculptural and feminine curves that are inherent in so many designs. The concave and convex lines of traditional Scandinavian wooden ale bowls are particularly appealing to me. The characteristic concave curve near the rim of the bowl serves multiple functions: it makes it easier to place one’s lips on the edge of the bowl for drinking, it minimizes spilling, and it’s simply beautiful.

I really enjoy the lines on these two bowls that I made earlier this summer. Birch, 6” diameter, 2015.

This 18th century ale bowl struck me because it not only has the concave curve at the rim, it also has multiple concave curves that are divided by lines down its convex side. Image from Norske drikkekar av tre, Universitetsforlaget, 1975.

This is my attempt to turn similar lines on an ale bowl.

Birch, 7” diameter, 2015.

Turning Scandinavian Bowls

Over the past two weeks my summer has been abuzz with spinning bowls and flying wood shavings. As part of my Minnesota State Arts Board Folk and Traditional Arts Grant, I have been doing Scandinavian wooden bowl turning demonstrations to spread the word about traditional bowl designs and their history!

Turning at North House Folk School's campus.

Although moving the majority of my workshop to a temporary location is no easy feat, it’s been well worth it. I turned for four days at North House Folk School in Grand Marais, MN, and this past weekend at the American Swedish Institute in Minneapolis during the Great Makers Exchange. While I was turning some of my favorite comments came from the youngest visitors. “I like the color of that wood,” and “Why are you doing that?” asked a 5-year old. I had never been asked that before and it got the reflective wheels in my head turning.

I turn wooden bowls because I find the process meditative. I loose track of time while all of my attention is on using the tools to create an inspiring shape. I turn Scandinavian ale bowls because the beauty of the shapes and designs tickle my brain. Not only do they serve an aesthetic function, but they also serve a social function, for their tradition lies in gathering and ceremony.

They were used at weddings, funerals and religious ceremonies. Often they would be passed around and everyone would take a sip from the communal wooden bowl.

Images of traditional Scandinavian ale bowls, from the book, Träsvarvning efter gamla förebilder, by Hans Mårtensson.

These bowls are a part of the cultural landscape of Minnesota. During the mass emigration of Norwegian and Swedish populations in the mid to late 19th century, many people brought their utensils and woodenware to the United States because they were necessary for survival. Norwegian and Swedish folk art traditions were still vibrant at the time of emigration, so those skills were brought over. Although industrialization in urban centers removed the need for wooden crafts, there was an active folk arts tradition in rural regions of Minnesota, particularly in the southeast. These crafts often became symbols of the immigrants’ identity and heritage, passed from one generation to the next. In contemporary culture, Scandinavian handmade wooden bowls are still used as a way to commemorate significant life events like birthdays and weddings.

Two of my favorite ale bowl shapes, from the book, Vackert Svarvat: skönt målat by Svening Svenningson, 2011.

While I studied for 10 months as an intern at North House Folk School, I was exposed to a contemporary wood culture. Woodworking instructors would often eat their meals from Scandinavian wooden bowls with wooden spoons, and at night share beer and stories while drinking from handmade treenware. Although I do not have Scandinavian heritage, I was drawn to this wood culture because of the sense of community and connection to place that this tradition seems to naturally inspire. I am excited to teach others about these designs and techniques, and hope that people continue to find beauty and connectedness through their everyday use.

Woodenware and traditional crafts enthusiast, Mary Anderson, with some of my birch ale bowls!

A Living Tradition

From ax to chainsaw, ryoba saw to circular saw, Murakami-san quickly switches between old and new. He doesn’t hesitate to go over a plank with an electric plane and then finish it up with a wooden kanna (Japanese plane). His pragmatism and efficiency are evidence of a living tradition: techniques that have evolved with the available technology and demands of the market.  

Murakami's Japanese handsaws and chisels.

When he first started building boats with his father over 50 years ago, he only used hand tools. However in the mid-1960s, with the introduction of electricity to his neck of the woods (Hirota-hanto), he slowly started acquiring power tools. Where they had once meticulously joined plank edges with specialized handmade ripsaws (a technique known as suriawase), they saved hours by instead using circular saws and glue. Although not as technical of a feat, it’s still watertight. Since they are making working boats for local fisherman, functionality and affordability were key determinants in their process and design.

Murakami using a chainsaw to rough out the stem. Note the footwear.

Once fiberglass boats hit the scene in the 1970s, it was particularly crucial that Murakami-san kept his boats at a competitive price. Remarkably, he currently sells his 19’ inshore boats for only $5,000, while the fiberglass equivalents go for over $7,000.

That said, design and aesthetics were not left behind at the sliding door. He uses beautiful and clever traditional joints for installing the beams tightly in place, and today carved a sculptural stem while balancing on the bow with an adze in hand. Although it is clear that he’s a little self-conscious about his non-traditional techniques, (he’ll say “you can stop taking pictures now” when he starts spreading glue or picks up a circular saw), his speed, accuracy and improvisational abilities also reveal the deep commitment and pride he has for this adaptive and rooted tradition.

Carving the stem with a chouna.