Chickens not almonds

Last July I was introduced to whittling - a craft which I was somewhat apprehensive of. Especially as it involved using an electric saw to cut out the basic shape. I came away with a stick of lime wood. It was put on the kitchen side, gathered dust, was moved around quite a lot over the months and never got used. Because I don't have an electric saw and although Brian next door gave me a little coping saw, my history of hand cutting wood is not one upon which I wish to dwell. 

However, when I was back in the Cotswolds, running my last workshop, I stayed with some old and dear friends, one of whom is an antiques restorer. And he has tools. And a big electric cutting saw thing. I had brought my stick with me, in the hopes that he would help me cut some whittling shapes out.

And bless him, he did. We went to his workshop, which is just a little paradise. 

Full of jobs in progress and treasures he has collected over the years. 

Not to mention an immaculately tidy workbench. I do like a good work bench.  

As it happened, I didn't have to get to grips with the large band saw, for which I was grateful. 

He kindly cut out all my little chickens for me. Yes, they are all the same shape; my theory is, that if I practise on the same thing a few times, I may eventually learn something. And yes, to answer another question, they ARE chickens. Really. 

I have finally started one off, with the nice and ever so ouch-sharp Swedish whittling knife which Joe bought me for my last birthday. I can't say as my skills have matured since my last attempt, but let's celebrate the lows with the highs. 

If I sound a little defensive about them being chickens, it may be because 'someone' (Joe) said they look like almonds. Or livers. I think they are patently chickens. Because look;

Many fat chickens do look somewhat almond shaped, do they not?

Well I think so anyway. I'm sure once I've got the eyes on, it will (sort of) resemble one of these. Or maybe not. Wood carving is not something which comes naturally to me, and yet I feel strangely drawn to persevere with it. Because I love using tools and more importantly, I won't be beat. 

Whittling not Wooling

The day after my last needle felting workshop, I was invited to a workshop of another kind. My bete noir: wood. I have never been good with wood. I have no feeling for it, no magic in my fingers. But Ian the Toymaker was going to initiate me into the gentle art of whittling. I wished him luck.

 

We had limited time, so I was to start a little bird project, from an original design by a Czech puppet maker, Martin Lhotak. A little bird wired to a peg. It's the simplest of moving toys. How hard could it be? We started off with a block of lime wood and I drew out my design, with a little advice from Ian.

The next stage was to cut the lumps out, on a saw. I think it's a band saw, though I'm not very good with electrical stuff. Actually, I have a healthy respect (fear) of any moving sharp things, so Ian started me off, showing me how to gently guide the wood through the blade.

I managed to get the rest of it done on my own, with much deep breathing and concentration.

Then the next stage - the whittling. another sharp blade. A Swedish whittling knife. Again, I'm a bit lethal with sharp objects. Except felting needles, I'm ok with them.

This is Ian showing me how to polish the blade - you don't sharpen it, but it does need polishing, which helps shine up the wood as you work.

And off I went. Totally out of my comfort zone, feeling a little like many of my students must feel when they are picking up their first needle felting project.

The workshop is a wonderful treasure house.

 

Intriguing drawers and boxes full of useful things. Rather like my own studio, but less haberdashery.

And works in progress, displaying clever automata mechanisms which make things move. 

After less than an hour - and having been taught the correct way to hold the knife and carve - I had, to my amazement, managed to create a crude bird. Admittedly with some help from Ian. And even more miraculously, I had not cut myself.

I swapped a needle felting kit with Ian for a lump of lime wood, determined to go home and try some more whittling. It's a bit like needle felting; addictive once you get going.

So later, with my special new birthday whittling knife from Joe, I finished my wonky bird. He remains pegless, and resembles a shark without fins. I poked some bead eyes in him, so that he could see. I no longer fear wood. But I am much better with wool.

Ian was a fabulous teacher and often holds workshops with similar projects - the results of which can be found on his website, here.