shaking quakers

Thinking abt Nakashima, Maloof, shaker joints, FLW exuberance.  Bucky doggedness.

I hadn’t realized Mr. Maloof died this year.  May.  I once house-sat for a lady doctor who had a Maloof rocker in the front room of the cottage.  I rocked and read about Nordic myth for three nights, out in the woods on the south side of my favorite town.  Listened to night sounds.  Woke to a cardinal thumping against the north glass wall every morning.

Woodwork dipping nearer to the work of a chef than the work of an architect.  The manipulation of - in fact - a dead body for art or craft.  Serious business, cutting on lumber.  Serious business, curling out a shape in burl.

Toy cars for the kid.  The lovely weight and shape of sanded white pine.

I need to think a bit more about rocking, and about William Morris.  About what fires up the folks at The Zaehnsdorf Company.  Beauty or use, please.  Clutter and buffer.