Finding My Way in the Woodshop
You ever just stumble into something, and it suddenly feels like it’s been there your whole life waiting for you? That’s how I felt when I signed up for woodworking classes at RISD. Now, I know what you’re thinking — RISD? But I promise you, it wasn’t all fancy projects and polished designs. Nope, it was a wild ride filled with splinters, sawdust, and more than a few laughs along the way.
A Whole New Angle
So, there I was, a small-town person with a hammer and a half-baked idea about making some furniture. I’d seen those beautiful, handcrafted pieces on Instagram. You know the ones — smooth edges, rich wood grain, and an aura of effortless cool. I figured I could channel my inner carpenter, like I was about to have my own HGTV show or something. But let me tell you, reality hit harder than that first strike of the mallet against the wood.
Walking into that workshop for the first time, the smell of fresh-cut wood was intoxicating. Cedar, maple, and something aromatic I couldn’t quite place. It was like stepping into a cozy café, but instead of coffee, it was the whir of power tools and chatter about mortise joints and dovetailing. I felt an instant kinship with these materials, but man, I quickly realized they don’t care about my intentions.
The Great Dovetail Disaster
I remember the first real project: a simple end table. Armed with my plans, a block of walnut, and what I thought was a fair grasp of technique, I dove in like a kid into a swimming pool — headfirst and no life jacket. My instructor, a seasoned pro with a wild beard and an eye for detail, guided me to use a dovetail joint for the corners.
I was all in at that moment. Dovetail joints are those pretty little details that say, “Hey, look at me! I’m fancy.” Or at least, that’s what I thought. Well, let me just say, it was a disaster. Every cut I made with the hand saw felt like I was trying to slice butter with a crescent wrench. I missed the mark more than once, and by the end, my pieces looked like they were auditioning for a horror movie rather than a stylish table.
I almost gave up. I seriously considered throwing the walnut across the room and sticking to something less “fancy” — like, I don’t know, buying a cheap IKEA table and calling it a day. But there’s something about being surrounded by people who get it, who’ve faced their own failures. I stuck it out.
A Little Help Goes a Long Way
So, after a week of working and reworking, my instructor pulled me aside. I’ll never forget his words: “Woodworking ain’t about perfection; it’s about connection.” That resonated with me. It shifted my perspective. I went from focusing on cutting perfectly square joints to simply figuring out how to fit this beautiful walnut into something that resembled a table. So, I embraced the imperfections. We can be our harshest critics, can’t we?
After that, I learned to laugh it off when something didn’t go according to plan. I found myself saying, “Well, maybe this will be an art piece instead?” Which, really, is just a nice way of saying, “I messed up but I still love it.”
Saws, Sounds, and Smells
The best part of those classes wasn’t just about the woodworking. It was those wonderful mornings filled with the sounds of saws humming, drills whirring, and the occasional burst of laughter when someone’s project went rogue. I can still remember the sensation of my fingers gliding over the smooth surface of that walnut once all the sanding was done — that moment when sheer hard work transformed rough wood into something tangible.
And I can’t forget the way that glue smelled. What is it with that sweet, slightly chemical scent? It’s like perfume for woodworkers, a promise of potential. When I finally got the joints right on that end table, the satisfaction bubbled up inside me. I laughed when it actually worked. I couldn’t believe it—this messy piece of wood I had struggled with for weeks had turned into something real.
A Piece of Me
Fast forward a few months, and there it was: my table, sitting proudly in my living room. It wasn’t perfect, but it told a story — a story of trial, patience, and laughter during those late evenings when my hands were busy, but my heart was free.
So, if you’re considering diving into woodworking or any hobby that seems a bit daunting, just go for it. Trust me, you’ll have your share of mishaps and wonky joints, but that’s part of the journey. Give yourself the grace to learn, to mess up, and to find joy in the process.
Honestly, those classes at RISD taught me more than just how to use a saw or stain wood. They reminded me of the beauty in creation—messy, imperfect, and oh-so-very human. So, grab a piece of wood and a tool, and get started. You might just surprise yourself.
