A Case for Atavism

An atavist is a term sometimes used to refer to someone who endeavours to reintroduce methods and ideas as they were used in the past. One individual who illustrates atavism in a very interesting and positive way is PeterFollansbe (http://pfollansbee.wordpress.com/ ). Since picking up the interest during in the 1970's, Peter has focused on researching, practicing and teaching how to work with wood strictly with hand tools, using methods as were in common use during the 1600's.

Peter and others like him have put to rest the old saw about "skills lost forever"; and have demonstrated that makers of the past were not only very productive, efficient, but predated many of the routines of standardization and preassembly that are widely used in shops today. (Read some of the comments on his site about speed and productivity in carving).

Though it may seem odd that I would be finding so much in common with Peter when he exclusively works with his hands, rejecting any power tool shortcuts, when I "can't work" without the latest cordless tools, I find much of interest in how he approaches and connects with wood, making, and tools. Like all tradespeople, I depend on my hands for the work I do. Like Peter we rely on complex routines and subroutines deep in the subconscious combine to enable smooth action as work is being performed.

Several things come to mind while considering Peter's work. First, similar to a farmer close to the earth while ploughing his field with horses, his choice of methods affords him a connectedness; with tools and with material. Peter begins a project with a solid block of wood, using a wide bladed "hatchet" to split and plane the wood to produce a board (instead of simply cutting one readily available to length.

From the moment he makes his first cut into the wooden block based on the direction of grain he maintains full control of how the surface of the wood will appear when finished. For example, while he could have begun by simply ordering quarter-sawn lumber, with the first slice of the block with the razor-sharp axe edge, he has deftly guided the process with an intimacy of mind, hands, material and tools. This happened in a way that would appear to an observer to be effortless, but is actually a symphony that can summed up by what we call craft. Another term that is ideally illustrated here is "intelligent making", a term I've borrowed and used often. Further, true craft mastery doesn't consist of continuously reducing and eliminating tasks. As an example, I could begin making a pine table by purchasing a pre-laminated block of pine.

Peter's choice of the seventeenth century is significant because that period preceded the effects of technological advancement on tools and methods. One Bible commentator suggested the image of Jesus of Nazareth heading out to the countryside to select a wood source from which to hew a yoke he was fashioning for a customer. As recent as the early part of the last century, one could travel the Middle East and find farming and other professions being done exactly as centuries before.

Mastery does involve continuous regard for tradition and content with a focus on right and appropriate methods and devices. One should if possible exceed the efforts of previous masters. In Peter's case, perfection involves more perfect replication of old methods, not replacement of them as we might today.

Again, should we all become atavists? Certainly not. I don't want my mechanic hand-filing from blocks of metal the parts he needs to repair my truck. But there is, however, much in Peter's work to illustrate what we all experience to a lesser degree; the connectedness of hand, mind and tools, regardless of whether they are powered by battery or human effort.