When you design a piece of furniture to build, there are three well-worn paths (some might call them ruts) to follow.

The first path is to design a piece in a wholly original style. This actually happens about once or twice a century, and its rarity is why we don?t have furniture styles such as ?Early Bill,? ?Middle Chuck? or the ?Late Butch Period.? Few people alive can claim they have successfully launched a style, but don?t let that stop you from trying.

The second approach is to build replicas, either spot-on or with mild alterations, such as an additional drawer, or substituting a square ovolo moulding for a bead. This is a good way to learn the vocabulary of different styles, though it is time-consuming to learn everything by the doing. Some woodworkers (even professionals) might build only six pieces in a year.

The third approach is to design a new piece with vintage parts, like rebuilding an old car. With this approach, you expose yourself to hundreds of images of the form. You could look at tables, cabriole legs or Arts & Crafts desks, for example. Then you select your piece?s dominant element from the library ? say a leg, a door or a bonnet ? and design your piece around that. (However, you can?t easily mix parts from different genres. It might seem like a good idea to put a Honda push rod in a Chevy, until you hit that metric barrier.)

When asked the secret to good design, Steve Hamilton, a builder at Mack S. Headley & Sons (headleyandsons.com), boiled it down to two words: ?Picture books,? he said. ?Get a bunch. Look them over.?

Design on the Run
Designing a suitable early American wall cupboard for Woodworking Magazine began with a day in our collection of books and images. You don?t need to spend a lot of money to build a book collection, most of the resources you need are at the public library and on the Internet.

My first stop was Wallace Nutting?s ?A Furniture Treasury.? This book is available in many different forms, and it?s common to find copies for about $25. The book is as-advertised. It?s hundreds of pages of images of early American stuff that has been organized into categories such as ?chests? and ?Windsor chairs.?

The second source was auction catalogs from Christie?s (christies.com) and Sotheby?s (sothebys.com) auction houses. The catalogs these houses publish for their Americana auctions are outstanding. Good images. Good overall dimensions. And good history lessons as well. These catalogs can be pricey at $50 or more, but you can usually browse the catalogs on the Internet for free, though sometimes you have to register with the auction house (registration is free).

The third source was an old favorite of mine from my grandparents? library: ?Fine Points of Furniture: Early American? (Crown) by Albert Sack. This common book can be had for about $10 ? the new revised edition is much more expensive and rare. Sack?s book compares different kinds of pieces and ranks them as ?good,? ?better? or ?best.? This book helps hone your tastes in mouldings, proportion and turnings.

After a day of reading, I chose a fetching tombstone door from Nutting?s book and found many tall and skinny shapes for wall cupboards that looked like pieces I had seen at Winterthur, the DuPont?s Delaware estate and museum.

My design firmed up when my doctor got too busy for me one Wednesday. After showing up for my appointment, I was told there would be an hour delay. So I sat in my car and sketched about 10 wall cabinets. I didn?t worry about dimensions or joinery, just the overall look and feel of the piece. Each sketch took about five minutes and tried out variations on the door (one or two?), the drawer (one, two or none?) and the width of the stiles and rails (chunky or light?).

After those sketches, I chose the best two designs, sketched them again and showed them around to woodworkers and friends. It sounds like a lot of work, but I have found that good design is like making stir fry: You first chop vegetables and mix sauces for a long time. The active cooking time is real short ? if you?ve done your prep work.

? Christopher Schwarz

As woodworkers dive into handwork, they usually start with a block plane, then the bench planes, the saws and the joinery planes.

Joinery planes – such as plow planes, router planes, shoulder planes and rabbeting planes – are some of the easiest planes to set up and use. Their irons are straighforward to sharpen (no curves needed), and because the tool doesn’t produce a show surface, you don’t need to be a maniac about the keenness of your cutting edges.

One of the most essential joinery planes is the moving fillister. It cuts a rabbet either across the grain or with the grain. And it can make a rabbet of almost any size thanks to its adjustable fence.

Moving fillisters are different than other planes in the rabbeting family in that its fence is adjustable (planes with a fixed fence are called standing fillisters), plus it can work across the grain because it has retractable nickers (planes without the nickers are just plain old rabbet planes).

The iron Stanley No. 78 is the most common vintage version of this tool, however I’m not fond of the form. The fence wobbles because of the way it is attached to the body, so the plane does a poor job in hard woods (in my experience). Record, by the way, fixed this problem with its metal version of this plane, though it’s a tough tool to find in North America.

This really is a case where the wooden versions of a plane are superior. Wooden-stock moving fillisters are fairly common in the secondary market, though they usually require some rehabbing to be usable. So what do you do?

You could ask Clark & Williams to make you one – they showed me an excellent moving fillister they make a couple years ago. You could buy an ECE from toolsforworkingwood.com. Or you could buy a new traditional one from Philip Edwards at Philly Planes in England.

Philip’s planes are excellent. I recently reviewed his miter plane plus a plane designed for raising panels for drawer bottoms. They both work like a charm. So it’s very exciting to me (and a good sign for hand work in general) that there is a new moving fillister on the market from Philip’s shop.

We’ve ordered one for our shop here, and I will offer a full report once it arrives. Until then, however, if you need a moving fillister, I can recommend Philip’s planes highly.  

— Christopher Schwarz

P.S. Want to learn more about joinery planes? Then definitely pick up a copy of “The Wooden Plane” by John M. Whelan.

This weekend was one of those weekends when my lovely wife made it very clear that she had some things she wanted me to get done around the house. One of those tasks I had managed to put off for over a year. 

She wanted a white board put up in the kitchen so she’d have a place to write her grocery list, notes, and whatever else came to mind. Our 1960’s-vintage kitchen still has the original cabinets with the rabbeted plywood doors. But the way the cabinets were built, there’s a bumpout in one corner that is essentially the back side of a closet. Strange floor plan, I know, but this whole house is strange. Anyway, where the wall cabinets meet this bumpout, there’s an adjacent empty space on the wall that had been framed in 1×2’s. The area is about 28″ high by 14″ wide. A perfect size and location for a whiteboard, my wife so strongly hints.

So here’s the challenge:  Can I get a ¼” whiteboard panel to fit inside this framed area without having to add trim to hide any gaps? I brought in my framing square and was pleasantly surprised to find out that one corner was only out of square by about 1/8″ over the 28″ length. “Hmmm. Not bad,” I thought.  “This will be easier than I thought.”  (Usually, this thought gets me into serious trouble…but not this time.)

I cut the panel just about 1/16″ oversized on my table saw and kept trimming a little off until the panel just started to slide into the “narrow” end of the frame. Knowing that I had to take about another 1/16″ off the other end of the panel, I went back to my table saw, folded up an old business card to four thickness, and put it between my panel and the rip fence at one end. That effectively “tapered” the cut. I checked the fit of the panel and it was real close to fitting. So I brought my small block plane into the kitchen and kept shaving the edges here and there until the panel could be held in place with friction only. Of course, my ten-year old walks in while I was planing and says, “Dad, why are you doing that in the kitchen?”

After a few rounds of planing and test-fitting, I ended up not needing any glue or screws to hold the panel in place. And there was barely any noticable gap around the panel. Nothing beats a block plane for final trimming and fitting.

I was happy to get another project checked off my list and my lovely bride was happy to have a place to make a list.