January is prototype month in my small carving shop.
Once you paid your money for a ten by ten booth, it was gone unless the producer canceled the show.
The little sloop is close to a disastrous jibe, and in the tempest, it is sailing in it will probably lead to a knockdown - the sort of scenario that haunts every sailor's dreams.
A shop with all the tools neatly racked, and no chips are like a clean desk—a sign of a sick mind.
Because of the good and bad of the design, it's a piece I love and hate.
The problem with long periods of no practice is that you think you are doing great, but then realize that your technique has atrophied.
Seeing may be believing, but feel will give you a less biased second opinion.
My mentors were just that, mentors. Several couldn't afford the expense that having an actual apprentice would cost; others were not interested. But then by the 1960s, the old apprenticeship programs in crafts like carving were gone.
No matter what I did, something was wrong with the grapevine I was carving. My mentor Warburton took one look and snickered. I decided that as a sign that it was terrible, quite terrible.
There is a parable in the boat building Trades, it also applies to maritime carving: Want to know how to make a small fortune in the trade? Start with a large one—best of luck.