John Lavine's Blog

Is it Art, Craft or Design? Part 2

John Lavine — Tue, 24 Jul 2012 02:48:00 GMT

In my previous blog on this topic, I related the Tale of Four Bowls…the long story of Duchamp's famous "fountain" and the journey from design to art to craft and back to design. That post ended by asking if it was all simply a matter of intention. The short answer is yes and no.

Intention counts. But it's important to get clear what we mean by intention in the first place. What I'm thinking about when I use that term relates back to the distinction I first proposed between craft and art, which was this:

Craft is a material-based, process-oriented practice that values the skillful manipulation of those materials.
Art is an idea-based practice that may or may not involve materials, skills, or process. Regardless, these are secondary to the practitioner's intention. The activity of art is essentially a critique, in dialogue with past and/or contemporary art.

One version of making something that is in some form of dialogue with other work is very familiar to all of us: we simply talk about being influenced by such and such a work or maker. But to simply pattern your work on another person's doesn't necessarily make it art (even if the original is considered art!); the "dialogue" has to have more to it than that. To better clarify this, here's another example, involving two pieces by the Romanian artist Constantin Brâncuși.

In the foreground is a wooden sculpture called Endless Column (1918). In the background, on the high pedestal, is a bronze sculpture called Bird in Space (1926). Bird in Space has an interesting story, with a cast of characters that includes our friend Duchamp. Here is an abbreviated version from Wikipedia:

In October 1926 Bird in Space, along with 19 other Brâncuși sculptures, arrived in New York harbor aboard the steamship Paris. While works of art are not subject to custom duties, the customs officials refused to believe that the tall, thin piece of polished bronze was art and so imposed the tariff for manufactured metal objects. Marcel Duchamp (who accompanied the sculptures from Europe), American photographer Edward Steichen (who had purchased Bird in Space and was to take possession of it after the exhibition), and Brâncuși were all indignant—the sculptures were set to appear at the Brummer Gallery in New York City and then the Arts Club in Chicago. Under pressure from the press and artists, U.S. Customs agreed to rethink their classification of the items, but until then released the sculptures on bond under “Kitchen Utensils and Hospital Supplies.” However, the customs appraiser eventually confirmed the initial classification of items and said that they were subject to duty. He stated that “several men, high in the art world, were asked to express their opinions for the Government. One of them told us, ‘If that's art, then I'm a bricklayer.’ Another said, ‘Dots and dashes are as artistic as Brâncuși's work.’” In general, it was their opinion that Brâncuși left too much to the imagination. The next month Steichen filed an appeal to the U.S. Customs’ decision.

Under the 1922 Tariff Act, for Bird in Space to count as duty-free it must be an original work of art, with no practical purpose, made by a professional sculptor. No one argued that the piece had a practical purpose, but whether or not the sculpture was art was hotly contested. Fueling the controversy was an earlier court ruling that established that sculptures were art only if they were carved or chiseled representations of natural objects “in their true proportions.” A series of artists and art experts testified for both the defense and the prosecution about the definition of art and who decides exactly what art is.

In November 1928 the presiding judges finally reached a decision…in favor of the artist. Their decision concluded:

“The object now under consideration…is beautiful and symmetrical in outline, and while some difficulty might be encountered in associating it with a bird, it is nevertheless pleasing to look at and highly ornamental, and as we hold under the evidence that it is the original production of a professional sculptor and is in fact a piece of sculpture and a work of art according to the authorities above referred to, we sustain the protest and find that it is entitled to free entry.”

This was the first court decision that accepted that non-representational sculpture could be considered art.

The court's reasoning aside, it is clear that Brâncuși was critiquing…was in dialogue with…the long tradition of representational sculpture. In fact, this conversation was part of a larger discourse at that time: how could the elements of visual language—line, shape, form, motion, direction, color, texture, pattern, proportion, etc etc—convey meaning or express feelings without recourse to pictorial or figurative representation? Not only did this involve the whole art and design world, which was significantly more integrated at that time; it connected to larger social, political, economic and intellectual issues of the day—everything from industrial production to Freud's theory of dreams. It was a heady time. In fact, you could say that Abstraction was on the wing, and Modernism was about to take flight. And it was very much Brâncuși's intention to engage this in his work.

Okay. Now take a look at these two works by Mark Sfirri, a contemporary turner/ furnituremaker:

I think you could safely say that this work has been influenced by Brâncuși's sculpture. Whether this was consciously, or not, I couldn't say for sure, not having discussed it with the Sfirri. Regardless, there are some very interesting correspondences between the two in their use of form, gesture, and other visual elements, and you could readily discuss Sfirri's work in the context of abstract art. Did Sfirri intend his work to be discussed in this context? I don't know; I actually haven't ever seen it discussed that way, which is too bad. What I have seen is a very different discussion of his work. Sfirri is highly accomplished and imaginative in his use of a technique called multi-axis turning. This is succinctly explained in the following diagrammed sequence:

Two things are immediately obvious. First, the drawings identify this as a candlestick, an object with a specific function. And second, the drawings illustrate a concern with a skillful process-oriented manipulation of materials. Put them together and what have you got? We are squarely in the context of craft.

Now the interesting…and, I would say, unfortunate…thing about this diagram is that it appears in an important survey book—Woodturning in North America Since 1930—that was written in conjunction with a major exhibition of the same name that was organized back in 2001 to celebrate the coming of age of "lathe art." And yet, the preoccupation with technique is so pervasive throughout the book/catalogue that it constantly undermines the aspirations of the authors and exhibition organizers to claim a place for this work in the art world.

So now, in addition to Intention, we have the issue of Context.

There's still more to say about Technique, but that will have to wait until next time. To be continued…

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Designing and Building a Wood Sculpture Stand, Part 3: Making the template

John Lavine — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 06:01:00 GMT

Now that I had my thick-walled hollow wooden form built, I had to draw the curved outline of the finished shape onto two adjoining faces of the form. The process is very straightforward.

The traditional, age-old method for scaling up a drawing was to first draw a grid of squares on top of the scaled drawing, then take a sheet of paper or other surface large enough to accommodate a full-sized drawing and lay out a larger grid of squares. In my example, I would begin with my 1/4-scale drawing and superimpose on it a grid of 1/4" x 1/4" squares. I would then take a sheet of paper (or plywood for that matter) at least 16" x 32" and lay out a grid of 1" x 1" squares on it. I would then meticulously replicate the content of each square in the 1/4-scale drawing in the corresponding square of the full-size drawing. After I had transferred all the lines, I would then fair my curves and I was good to go. A pretty tedious process!

Alternatively, it was my practice for many years, if I needed a scaled-up drawing, to take it to a blueprint shop and pay them a nominal fee to make a full-size drawing—there was a place conveniently located in my town, less than a mile from my house. But that business is long gone, made obsolete by digital technology. So when I needed to enlarge my scaled drawing, I made a scan of my drawing and took the digital file to a Digital Imaging service that had a large-format inkjet printer. They simply enlarged the digital image to output at the required dimensions and printed:

I carefully cut the outline of the base with a pair of scissors and glued it onto a piece of 1/2" MDF. I then took this to the bandsaw and cut out my shape. A small amount of touch-up work on a disc sander and I had my template. Rather, I should say I had my first template, because I was a bit too aggressive at the disc sander on one side and the result was not symmetrical. This was easy to verify by laying the template on another surface, drawing the outline in pencil, then flipping the template over and drawing it again. I could easily see where i had gotten a few flat spots, and I could also see that in general the curve on one side was a bit more pleasing. So I did it again, ripping the first template right down the middle (made safe and easy by using one of the bandsawn off-cuts to give me a straight edge) and using the "better" half for laying out both sides of a new template, this time from 1/4" plywood. Second time was a charm.

Now I had a template for drawing the curves on the actual form:

Next stop, the bandsaw. And…my next learning experience! To be continued.

Designing and Building a Wood Sculpture Stand, Part 2: Constructing the Form

John Lavine — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 23:33:00 GMT

As I mentioned in my last blog, making the 1/4-scale model for my wooden sculpture stand was very straightforward. In general, one of the values of building an accurate model, other than enabling you to see the project in three dimensions instead of two, is that you can get an indication of the steps involved in the actual construction of your project. This is definitely the case with a full-scale mock-up. With a scale model, however, it's really important to stay aware of the fact that some critical operations may be affected when moving up to full size. This was precisely what I encountered with my project.

I had built my model out of some 5/4 Douglas fir that was at hand in my shop, cutting four rectangular blanks with 45° bevels on the long sides, and simply glued the four pieces together, after which I transferred the 2-D pattern onto two adjoining faces and cut out the shape at the bandsaw. From my drawing, you can see that at its widest, the finished shape is 14-3/4".

At its narrowest (where the base meets the top), it is 9". That means that my curve needs to go through a thickness of almost 3" on each side. I also wanted to maintain a minimum thickness of 1" in the walls of the base. To do that I would need to start off with sides that are roughly 4" thick. It also means that a 45° bevel cut would be going through over 5-1/2" of material! Not something I could manage on my 10" tablesaw. And that doesn't even consider the enormous amount of 8/4 mahogany (and dollars!) it would take to make up that blank.

At this point I started looking at other options. One idea, suggested by a couple of friends, was to create a framework over which I would put two laminations of 1/4" bending plywood, followed by a skin of veneer in my material of choice—mahogany. The construction would look something like this:

While this approach had things to recommend it, particularly its economy of materials, I was concerned about how to manage those four long curved edges—even if I could make the skeletal framework, I worried about making those seams where sheets of bending ply come together on a compound curve look crisp and clean. So I rejected that method.

A second alternative—the one I eventually decided on—was suggested by another friend who pointed out that if I ultimately laid a finish veneer on the surface, then I could build up the form in an inexpensive solid wood (hollow center with thick walls, as originally imagined when I made my scale model), but I wouldn't have to deal with cutting those thick beveled edges. I would still have to saw the curves through 15" of material, but I had access to a few different bandsaws with that capacity. I also felt more comfortable cleaning up those curved edges in solid wood rather than bending plywood. I decided to go for that approach.

So I bought 50 BF of 8/4 poplar, milled and glued up my various planks, and proceeded to build up my form with a succession of glue-ups:

My first glue-up was the bottom and two sides, followed by gluing on the other two sides.

I then added another pair to achieve final thickness on two sides. You can never have enough clamps!

Last, the final thickness was added to the other two sides. After each glue-up I did a small amount of scraping and hand planing to remove glue squeeze-out and flatten the faces. A total of four glue-ups in all, and my form was now ready. Next step: Making a full-size template for the curves. Coming soon in my next post.

Designing and Building a Wood Sculpture Stand. Part 1: The Design Challenge

John Lavine — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 21:21:00 GMT

Recently I was commissioned to build a wooden stand to display a piece of sculpture. The sculpture, which my client had purchased at a benefit auction, is rather cool and unconventional.The artist's name is Long-Bin Chen and the piece is titled "World Buddha Head Project."
It is made from recycled phone books that have been glued together and then carved. It looks like this:

The piece stands about 36" tall on a plywood base (very tacky, considering the workmanship of the sculpture itself) roughly 9" x 11". My client wanted to see the top of the piece at eye level, which meant a base about 32" tall and wide enough to accommodate the 9x11 base of the sculpture.
When I asked him if he had anything in mind, he showed me a small occasional table in his living room with a shape he really liked. Made of solid wood, it had four curved sides that gave the piece something of a belly; it reminded me of a squat toadstool. I took some measurements and made a quick sketch:

We talked some more about wood selection and then I left, promising to bring him some ideas the following week.

Back home, I pondered the possibilities and came to a few decisions. First, my wood choice would be subdued: no flamboyant grain pattern, no strong color. I didn't want the stand in any way to compete with the sculpture itself.
I thought a vertical grain would be best, and in the end I chose quartered mahogany. To harmonize with the tone of the "face" of the sculpture, I decided to bleach and then stain the wood to a driftwood grey.

As for the overall shape, I started playing around with the idea presented by my client's little table. I have to confess that much too often, when I design for a client, I am influenced by what I've built before and what I know how to build. This time I decided to let my sketching take the lead, and my first concern would be to get a pleasing shape. I would worry about how to build it later. After a few freehand drawings I arrived at a variation on that table that I thought could work as a stand. At that point, I pulled out my set of French curves and refined the lines, combining different arcs from several curves to get the shape I wanted. To insure that both sides of the elevation stayed symmetrical, I carefully marked off segments on the curves and made sure I used exactly the same sections on both sides.

Putting dimensions to it, I came up with a working drawing:

It's been my experience that clients often have a hard time visualizing a drawing, especially a simple elevation such as this, as a three-dimensional object. My drawing skills are not sufficient to render it in a way that would do it justice, and I don't use any computer-assisted programs to produce drawings either. What I rely on most often is a scale model. They are fun to make and have a powerful impact on a client.

My drawing had been done at quarter scale (1/4"=1"), so I decided to build my model the same. In my shop I pulled out some 8/4 vertical grain Douglas fir that I had handy, milled and cut four sides, put 45° bevels on the long edges, and glued them together to make a hollow rectangular form. While the glue dried, I made a couple of copies of the drawing and cut the outline with a scissors. After the glue-up was dry and cleaned up, I applied the drawing to two adjoining faces, went to the bandsaw, and cut out the first profile. I then taped my pieces back together, rotated the piece 90° so that the other profile was facing up, and again cut the outline. I now had the basic shape, which I then finessed with a small bit of sanding. The top was quickly cut from thinner stock and glued on. A few coats of shellac and I was done:

I brought it to the client and he liked it. Now all I had to do was give him a price, repeat the model-making steps full-scale in mahogany, do a bit of finish work and I was done. Yeah, right.
My problems began as soon as I began to consider what building full-scale really entailed.
But that is the topic for Part 2, coming soon.

Design in Wood: The Winners, part 2

John Lavine — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 22:13:00 GMT

Selecting "Best of Show" awards at the San Diego "Design in Wood" exhibition on behalf of Woodwork and American Woodwork was a challenge. As I described in my last blog, the process for choosing the winner in the Furniture category was made somewhat easier because at least all the contenders were furniture…and there were only four (already selected as "First" in their category—Contemporary, Traditional, Art, or Marquetry—by other judges) to choose from. When it came to the "Not Furniture" category, there were twenty pieces, and they were really different from each other! Here's a taste of what I had to consider:

Nathan Anderson's "Acoustic Guitar"

Joe Satake's "Pintail" woodcarving

Mike Jackofsky's set of three "Hollow Form" woodturnings

Joe Bompensiero's scale model of the "S/V San Salvador"

William M. Churchill Jr.'s "Impala Crossing" woodcarving

Jeff Herring's "The Overland Trail" intarsia

Frank Andrew's hollow form woodturning "Ready for Liftoff"

Richard Henderson's "Scrap or 2", a full-size functioning sea kayak

You get the idea…and these were just a third of what I had to choose from. How to decide? In the Furniture award, my process was to compare similar things and find differences…small points at which one piece would ascend or descend compared to the others. In the Non Furniture award, my process was to look at dissimilar things and try to find something that would distinguish one above all the rest. But looking at some of the more common standards, such as degree of difficulty or quality of execution, were not by themselves going to produce a winner…there were just too many well-made objects for that. In the end, the quality that I went looking for was Elegance. I know, and I am the first to admit it—that's a somewhat elusive and pretty subjective quality. And truth be told, another juror might very well have chosen differently than me. However, I had no doubts about the piece I chose. It was extremely challenging to do, impeccably made, and the elegance of its pattern and design…to my eye…rose above everything else in the show.

Here it is, my pick for "Best of Show" in the Non Furniture category:

Patrice Lejeune's "Treasure Box", a creation using the "Painting in Wood" style of marquetry that dates back to 17th-century France.

Design in Wood: The Winners, part 1

John Lavine — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 23:24:00 GMT

When I traveled to San Diego earlier this month, I had a few tasks. Some of them involved articles for upcoming issues of American Woodworker and Woodwork magazine, but my main mission was to select two pieces from the Design in Wood exhibition for "Best of Show" awards sponsored by AW and Woodwork. The "Best of Show" awards actually started out as a single award, which was a really difficult decision given the "apples and oranges" nature of the entries. There were, after all, 24 different categories ranging from furniture to turning, carving to instrument-making, marquetry to model-making. Last year the number of awards was expanded to two—Furniture and Not Furniture—which was better, but still left a lot of wildly different objects to choose from in the Not Furniture field.

First, the Furniture. There were really only four candidates, since another aspect of the awards process is that the "Best of" winners are chosen from the group of First Place selections—made by other jurors—in each of the 24 categories, and only four of those categories are furniture related: Contemporary Furniture, Traditional Furniture, Art Furniture, and Marquetry/Veneering on Furniture. Those four First Place selections were:

Contemporary: Michael Singer's "Corner Jewelry Cabinet"

Traditional: Bill Bradford's "Biedermeier Commode"

Art: Paul Henry's "Gueridon 'Lila'"

Veneering/Marquetry: Craig Thibodeau's "Oak Leaves & Acorns Cabinet"

Each of the four had much to commend, but here is how I chose.

Michael Singer's corner cabinet had a beautifully executed façade of book-matched veneer and a stately presentation. On the inside was a large array of small drawers, designed (as you might guess by the title) for lots of jewelry storage. The challenge of such a large array of drawers is that everything is simultaneously highlighted—each softened edge of every drawer, all the gaps around each drawer, all are visible at once and are "read" at once. It's tough to pull off because it is so visually graphic—get it right and the whole really "pops", but if there's lots of variation in line then the whole is really diminished. The inside of this cabinet didn't carry through the quality of the exterior.

The cabinets of Craig Thibodeau are quickly recognizable by their combination of graceful lines and engaging and elegant marquetry designs on their face. This fact is both a strength (identifiable "signature" work) and a potential liability, since each one he makes begs comparison with all the others. This piece is lovely, but I didn't feel the marquetry had either the elegance or the liveliness of some of his other efforts that had won awards in previous years. And importantly, there were stronger examples of marquetry in this show as well.

Paul Henry's gueridon (which, by the way, is a small, usually ornately carved and embellished, stand or table) was technically difficult and exceptionally well-crafted. The application of the myrtlewood burl veneer is flawless. And I found the upper part of the legs, where they join and then lift away from the body, really appealing as a form. But I felt that the effect was lost at the extremities, both at the rim and by the time the legs touched the floor, and I was left with a feeling that the piece, for all its excellence, lacked the follow-through to give it a really strong presence.

Bill Bradford's commode is not a reproduction of a traditional piece but rather in the spirit of Biedermeier, which borrowed such things as light-colored, highly figured woods (in his interpretation, spalted maple) and ebonized fluted columns from Regency furniture and applied them to fairly restrained casework. This piece manages to hold all that and the thuya burl veneer in balance, all with crisp detail. The tapered feet retain enough weight to give it a commanding stance. There are hidden panels behind the columns as well. Altogether, it had the presence I was looking for and a sustained level of execution throughout. I gave it the award.

Next up, all the rest…the Not Furniture award.

Is it Art, Craft or Design?

John Lavine — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 21:37:00 GMT

   Last weekend I was in San Jose, California for the American Association of Woodturners's annual symposium. This was an enormous sprawling event, involving three days of demonstrations, talks, exhibitions, meetings and general socializing among members of the turning community. There was a large trade show of vendors set up there as well, hawking everything from wood to lathes to books and supplies.
   Unfortunately, I missed most of that. The main thing that brought me to the symposium was an invitation to participate in a panel discussion one afternoon. Our panel was organized and moderated by John Kelsey, and included two turners (Merryll Saylan and Frank E. Cummings), the curator for the Museum of Craft and Design (Brett Levine), and myself. The title of our discussion was "What Constitutes Wood Art?"
   This is a perennial topic, at least among those of us in the craft community…my strong belief is that little or no thought is given to the art/craft question by those in the art world. But among crafters the art/craft question never seems to get resolved. Part of the reason for this is simply that not everyone agrees about what the two terms signify. Some use them interchangeably. Others use them arbitrarily. Still others would like to lay claim to some work as art when it really isn't.
   As a starting point, I would like to offer up some general distinctions between the two, as follows:

Craft is a material-based, process-oriented practice that values the skillful manipulation of those materials.
Art is an idea-based practice that may or may not involve materials, skills, or process. Regardless, these are secondary to the practitioner's intention. The activity of art is essentially a critique, in dialogue with past and/or contemporary art.

Having said that, I'll be the first to acknowledge that these distinctions can be maddeningly arbitrary. For example, this object of everyday use, from Africa, is clearly Craft:

But what happens to its status when a collector buys it and then donates it to an art museum?

As another example, here are two items from the world of Design:

Charles and Ray Eames' "LCW (Lounge Chair Wood)"

Harry Bertoia's "Diamond Chair"

Both are examples of well-designed manufactured objects that embody excellence of form and material use.
But now consider this:

It is by Ellsworth Kelly, an artist who is best know for his abstract paintings. Called "Curve XXI", it is the same signature fan shape as his paintings…except that the material is plain birch. Says a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: "The wood grain is almost a found drawing in these pieces, a magical form of calligraphy." Says Kelly: "When you do something to it [e.g.,stain or varnish], that's furniture."
All this work—Eames, Bertoia, Kelly—dates from the same period in the 1950s, and shares the same aesthetic. Yet two of them are Design and the third is considered Art.

In all these instances, intention (either the maker's or a curator's) seems to be key to how the work is regarded. I have one more example that is even more pointed.

Let's call it A Tale of Four "Bowls".

Bowl #1. This is a standard Bedfordshire model porcelain urinal from the J. L. Mott Iron Works in New York City. It was manufactured in the early 20th Century.

Bowl #2. One day in 1917, Marcel Duchamps, the French Dada artist who had arrived in the U.S. a little under two years earlier, walked into the Mott Iron Works and bought one of the urinals. He brought it to his New York studio, reoriented it to a position 90° from its normal position of use and wrote on it "R. Mutt 1917"—a pseudonym "signature." Calling the piece "Fountain," he entered it in an exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists. After much debate by the board members of the Society, it was essentially rejected and hidden from view during the show.
But that wasn't the end of it. Championed by a group of Duchamps' friends, including the photographer, gallery owner, and publisher Alfred Stieglitz, a picture of the piece was subsequently published in a magazine, together with an editorial detailing its rejection from the show and the following statement: "Whether Mr. Mutt made the fountain with his own hands or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view—created a new thought for that object."

Bowl #3. The original piece disappeared shortly afterward; it was probably thrown away. But its infamy lived on, and in 1950 Duchamp authorized the reproduction of his original "Fountain" for an exhibition in New York. The replica, including the black painted signature of R. Mutt, was based on the photograph by Alfred Stieglitz. Ten more copies were subsequently made and ended up in a number of important museums around the world.

Bowl #4. Not too long ago, this image was posted on a design student's blog. It is an example of a three-dimensional model made using rapid prototyping techniques, and was generated from the original Stieglitz photograph.

So what have we got? Bowl #1 is clearly from the world of Industrial Design. Bowl #2 is now acknowledged as one of the most important artworks of the 20th century. Bowl #3, the replica, is definitely a crafted object. And Bowl #4, an exercise in production design, brings us full circle.

Art, craft, and design. Same object, different intentions. Is that all there is to it? Well, no, there is still much more to discuss. To Be Continued…

Design in Wood Sneak Peak

John Lavine — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 20:34:00 GMT

I traveled to San Diego, California this past weekend to take an early look at the annual Design in Wood show, and—standing in for editor-in-chief Randy Johnson—to select two "Best of Show" awards that are sponsored each year by American Woodworker.
For those of you who are not familiar with Design in Wood (DIW), it is an annual competitive exhibition held in conjunction with the San Diego County Fair at the Del Mar Fairgrounds on the north side of San Diego. It began 31 years ago with a modest selection from 35 members of the newly-formed San Diego Fine Woodworkers Association. It is now one of the largest competitive woodworking exhibitions in the country. This year more than 350 works in 24 different categories—furniture, turning, carving, scrollsaw work, musical instruments, intarsia, modelmaking, etc.—were juried into the show.

All the work had arrived but was not set up in its final display when I visited the show—DIW doesn't officially open until June 8. But I've included a number of snapshots I took to give you an idea of the scope and variety of work.

All the big categories were further divided. For example, furniture was organized as traditional, contemporary, art, etc.

Here's a sampling of that work.

Another feature of DIW is a reproduction of a 19th-century Cabinet Shop, filled with antique tools from the collection of Bob Stevenson. (Bob, by the way, has been in charge of the show since the mid-90s.) Traditional hand-tool woodworking is demonstrated in the shop during the hours of the show, and there is an annual effort by volunteers from the Woodworkers Association to build 50 small oak children's chairs during the duration of the show that will be donated to various schools, day care centers, and so on.

The show runs from June 8 until July 4, so if you are planning (or perhaps now considering) a trip to San Diego, check it out.
And for all who won't get a chance to see the show in person, I will be writing a fuller article on the Design in Wood show (including pictures of many of the winners) for an upcoming issue of American Woodworker.