My roommate Henry is a maker. He is an oil painter and although he dabbles in other creative mediums he has committed most of his hobby time to his development as a painter. From my first time meeting him (his interview to move in), I've admired his passion and commitment to a very inaccessible and in some ways dying trade.
Since he moved in a year ago, we've watched his commitment to work pay off, seeing vast improvements in his speed and quality of work. At only 22 years old, he doesn't often think too closely about his future, yet I've heard him say on numerous occasions "I don't know how I could do anything else but paint".
The work pictured above he completed recently, and I think it is easily his best work.
Whenever he excitedly shows us his work for feedback, no matter how impressed and proud I am, the first thoughts in my skull are built of insecurity and jealously.
How has he built the routine? What are his secrets? How does he still paint after long and tiring days? Why can't I do that? What is wrong with me? Fuck Him.
The typical excuses I use to avoid comparison with someone else's work don't even apply here as he also has ADHD and does full time work. Hell, he even works longer hours. He has committed himself to a historical craft in isolation, without a community or mentor to help, just like me and yet he paints when I hide from my 'real' projects.
I have been unable to work on a 'real' furniture project for a couple of months now. As it always has, this self imposed barrier I've made is eating me alive.
Several weeks ago, partially to motivate me, partially to piss me off, Henry said he wanted to build a chair... with my tools...
He also dabbles in furniture (mostly modifying / repairing existing pieces), but he works by the cuff, with few tools or understanding. He takes silly risks that do not pay off and ruin pieces. Hes a big fan of stripping screws and taking large and transformative cuts without much thought. He works like a painter when he creates furniture and it infuriates me. I've shared many heated words with him when he will not take my advice only to promptly break or ruin a piece carelessly.
I always hate watching him use my tools, he is careless and has injured many already. He does not respect them, nor apply the patience required to use them, further burdening my limited hobby time.
Mostly because I didn't know how to stop myself, I began showing him how he could build a stool. Yesterday was only the 3rd session and going into it he had already glued up his seat material and mostly finished shaping the legs. This left a session of mostly drilling mortices and cutting tenons to go.
My roll during this shop time together has been that of a shop teacher, upon reaching the new steps, I'd take him through a 'demo', by drilling a test mortice or beginning a tenon, showing him how he may achieve accurate work, what he is aiming for, how to keep his hands steady, how this new tool works and tips for success.
Yesterday he got to the glueup, so we stuck in and wedged the tenons. We stood back, admiring his nearly a stool, and I couldn't believe he'd done it.
Objectively I was an amazing teacher. In the little time Astral was in the shop watching us work, she saw me save the entire project on several occasions. I must repeat he can not woodwork and yet he can now cut tenons and shape legs with hand tools among other steps and will shortly have a stool to show for it.
So if I'm so fucking good at chairmaking, why can't I just walk into my shop and pickup my tools?
I literally sobbed in my shop while I watched all my beautiful tools sprawled before Henry, mid project as good tools should be, each with a story and love I poured into learning to use them. I want to feel them warm in my sore hands. I want to feel the shavings beneath my feet, shavings I earned. How do I get there?
My stool project has stayed stalled, I can't bring myself to pickup a tool and commit. What am I afraid of? Failure? Failure is already before me with inaction. My mind whirs with possible solutions.
Do I do too much? Do I ask too much of myself? Am I trying to do too much? To write, to woodwork, to bind, to repair, to work on bikes for others? I am prioritising every project not my stool to avoid it, I've even made up countless projects that I 'need' to get done before I can begin anything else. Why can't I just work? How does Henry apply so much focus? How does he do what I do not or can not?
Partially, he built with the mentor I so deeply crave, someone with more experience by his side, screaming before critical mistakes and guiding when he faced obstacles. He did not have to acquire or sharpen tools or build a whole bench or even know what the next step is because I will guide him once he reaches it. I still grieve the loss of the woodworking Grandfather, shop teacher or Parent I never had.
I have come so far without anyone. I have a whole tool chest filled with found and (now) sharp tools, I built a whole fucking workbench from recycled timber. Hell, I can guide someone with no real woodworking experience to build a stool entirely on their own, with my tools. Henry is rough and mechanically incompetent and yet the stool will hold, it will exist by his hands (and my guide). I can't believe what I've done, what I've achieved, I am becoming woodworker I always wanted to be.
Yet I continue to struggle to my work. I will find the way through, but for now I am going to wallow. I will stay jealous and insecure until I can solve my problem.
Reluctantly, I am proud of all his done good work. However, while we cleaned up glue from his mortices, he steps back and asks:
So what design should I build next?
Fuck him.
I wrote this post about two weeks ago to try to process my feelings. He has since damaged two more of my tools during his unsupervised shop time and has subsequently been banned from opening my toolchest unsupervised. Whilst all I want is to support others to create, I think he was merely playing, not working. He was taking actions under instruction, without the intention to learn.
The offer stands for him to take my guidance to acquire his own tools, but until he takes me up on that, he can return to stripping screws in his bedroom unsupervised.
Let the kid woodwork