A Plague of Choices

(This article is part of my monthly newsletter Fabrication First. There's no reason for Patrons to subscribe to Fab First. You already get all the same content, but you get it early.)

I recently finished a two-part series on buying and restoring wooden planes. My viewers left me dozens of wonderful comments, but the most popular comment was: “Hey Rex, when are you going to try a Japanese plane?”

I’m not. Probably not ever.

I love Japanese woodworking. Westerners like me are left slack-jawed by even the simplest Japanese timber-framer. But I’m not a timber-framer. I’m also not a Sashimono cabinetmaker or builder of teahouses. I build early American and English furniture, usually in the country style, usually without machines. What place would Japanese tools have in my world? None that I can see.

I can already hear the objections. “Rex, you don’t understand. Japanese planes leave an unparalleled finish. It’s better than anything you can get with a Western plane. The shavings will be the thinnest you’ve ever seen. The surface will glisten like frost on a windowpane. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

That could be true, but it’s also irrelevant. The tools I use are already very good. Look back at my last video  and see how my affordable German jack plane left a shimmering surface on highly figured hard maple. What else could I want? How could my work possibly be improved by a different style of plane when I’m already satisfied with the ones I use? If I planed that same maple with a Japanese smoother, would it look any different? I doubt it.

A new plane is unlikely to improve my work, but it sure can mess things up. Japanese planes work on the pull-stroke, but everything on my workbench is set up for tools that you push. The bench hook, the shooting board, the planing stop; none of these will work on the pull-stroke. I can always put a piece in the vice and plane in any direction, but that’s not where I do most of my planing.  Using the Japanese plane at my current bench means (at minimum) grafting on a bunch of extra stops and peg-holes to accommodate pulling the tool. That doesn’t sound like a good use of my time.

The problem isn’t the plane. The problem is choice, the drug of modern woodwork.

Go to an online forum and tell the members you’re struggling with…anything. Right away many people will say, “I used to have that problem until I bought ____________.” And they urge you to make the same purchase. If you can’t cut a dovetail, you clearly just have the wrong saw. You need to try a few. You need to choose the one that works for you. Your saw.

This is nonsense.

Rather than slowly working your way through the choices, buy one, high quality saw and then put in the hours to learn it. If you cannot afford a quality tool, then some strategic buying is called for. A Japanese Dozuki is affordable, accurate, and cuts like a razor straight out of the package. A tool like this will get you going. But these saws—tools really intended for softwood—are also fragile. I’ve torn the teeth right off one while cutting white oak. I bought a new blade, but this bumped the price of my Dozuki from $30 to $50. A few more replacements of the unsharpenable blade and I might as well just pay $130 on a stunning Florip dovetail saw, which also cuts straight from the package and can be sharpened by the user. Stop and think: could you wait just a few more weeks, buy a really good tool and then never buy another?

Every time you buy yet another version of a tool you already own, you are wasting time. You will spend hours adapting to that tool, learning its quirks, and fitting it into your system of work. Every minute of this time could be spent making things.

I’ve been there. Part of my job is reviewing tools and I have about 15 variations on every tool you can think of. I’ve found that traditional, modestly expensive tools work great and won’t leave you wondering if you made the wrong choice. I love affordable tools, but by the time you’ve purchased three or four versions of a tool, you could’ve just bought a good tool and been done. Look at the craftspeople you admire and get what they have, or as close as you can manage. Get something that’s been road-tested by people better than you. Then go learn how to use it.

Do not open a tool catalog. Many of the “tools” you see in them are merely “fixtures” or “guides” intended to make a difficult thing easy, or at least easier. The tool companies know that we struggle to master our craft. Some of them really want to help and they design tools in that spirit. Other companies are staffed by crass opportunists who cash in on the ignorance of inexperienced furniture makers. The “choices” they offer are merely ways to squander your money while distracting you from actually making things. Every time you buy a tool and set it aside because it doesn’t fit your own wonderfully unique self-image, someone profits, but it’s not you.

Choosing woods creates a similar problem. Go to your hardwood dealer or your local Woodcraft and all the diverse species are laid out for you. Each is cut and planed into tame boards. Each is stacked in a convenient slot and lit to show its grain and color. The message is clear: wood is all about options. You were going to make a coffee table from cherry, but please. Haven’t we seen enough of those? You need the wood that will make it your coffee table. Have you ever seen one made from cocobolo or meranti? Well, there you go. Step out and be bold. Live a little!

Or don’t.

I think most woods are equally attractive if they’re finished well. I do pick wood for color, but I’m mostly thinking about the lightness or darkness needed for the final destination. Maple will brighten a dim room; walnut is more somber. Beyond that, I think about structure and workability. I don’t pick oak for its dramatic, open grain. I pick it for its toughness and dependable splitting. I love maple, but I really love soft maple because it looks like its harder cousin, but it cuts like cherry. I work faster and better when the wood cooperates.

I’m sure some people come to the craft and get intimidated by all the choices. Hand saw, panel saw, or half-back hybrid-tooth saw? The choices are bewildering.

But for plenty of people, the choices are thrilling. I’m probably one of these people. I’ll walk down the aisle of the tool-merchant, trailing my hand along the various bits of steel and brass. I’ll picture each one in my shop, in my hand. I’ll think about buying many of them and lining them up on the wall ready to make the perfect choice for each situation. I get a little intoxicated by options. But I shouldn’t.

Woodwork is a craft, not a buffet.

**A note for Patrons: Of course I own a couple of Japanese planes and you'll see them eventually, probably as part of a full Japanese tool kit. This whole project is a ways in the future and will probably not appear until next year.