I started teaching chairmaking one year ago, fresh off a week assisting Christopher Schwarz’s Chairmaker’s Toolbox class. I had just a few chairs under my belt and probably wasn’t quite ready to teach anyone else how to make them, but I had a willing co-teacher and enough reckless abandon to try. We set off on a 10-week adventure, building chairs in three-hour chunks on Monday nights.
After a few weeks, one of the students came in and said, “I’ve been reading the book after class – you sound exactly like Chris!”
He wasn’t wrong. I am a self-taught woodworker; the closest thing I had to a woodworking education was “The Stick Chair Book,” the LAP blog, and two weeks at the Willard Street shop. I pored over my notes before every class. It made perfect sense that I was teaching in Chris’s voice. Each week felt like a final exam that I was cramming for, hoping we could make it through the evening with everyone’s parts intact.
I had to cram because I wasn’t fluent in chairmaking yet – I knew the steps but I didn’t really speak the language. I studied and memorized so I could remember how to do something and confidently answer student questions about “what if?” or “why?”– even if those answers weren’t based in personal experience. In other words: I faked it ’til I made it. And we ended up with a batch of decent chairs.
On the last day of the CMT class in 2025, Chris invited me back to co-teach the next one. I wasn’t ready when he asked me but I had a whole year to get there.
Fluency only comes with time on the tools and hours at the bench. I committed myself to making more chairs, from “The Stick Chair Book” and of my own design. I was determined to fix my mistakes (of which there were many: cracked arms, failed finishes, spelched mortises … the list goes on!) so that I could fix student mistakes. I challenged myself to build without referencing notes, relying instead on instinct and memory. It worked. Once I absorbed the processes, teaching became less like reading off a script. It morphed into something more creative, more fun. The act of teaching became a constant soothing affirmation: You know what you are doing. You Are A Chairmaker.
When I walked into the LAP shop two weeks ago, though, I was hit with a whole new set of doubts. I knew I could build a chair and teach a class, but what would it be like teaching in front of the person who taught me? Would the students ask me any questions or would they just want to talk to Chris? How embarrassing is it going to be when he hears me rip off one of his jokes? Am I just a bad bootleg?
Turns out I didn’t have anything to worry about. I surprised myself: I had built the muscle memory; developed my own questionable jokes (ask me about Tenon Town!); and developed the confidence to teach in my own way, injected with my personality and my experience. I didn’t feel like a mimic anymore; I felt like a part of a craft tradition.
And the student feedback this time?
“You and Chris are so different – you make a great pair.”
Great to read. Thanks so much.
Congratulations! Hope you’re contiue to improve. Would love to hear about “Tenon Town”.
This is great. I love seeing people teach the classic skills.
Just writing to say how much I appreciate this. I started co-teaching chair classes last year, and I know just what you mean when you talk about cramming before each class and feeling like you’re “reading off a script.” I’m still working on getting off-book, but it’s coming along. When it goes well, the teaching really is an affirmation, like “Hey, look, we all made chairs! We must kinda know what we’re doing!”
Thanks for sharing 🙂