I know for a fact that woodworkers are a philosophical bunch. Well, for academic approval, I suppose I need not look further than across the way at work: fellow Associate Editor Matt Kenney holds a degree in the subject. But in general, a group of people who spend many hours—most of them silent—in front of a work in progress, are prone to end up pondering the meaning of life along with grain direction or the Tao of perfect dovetails.

Musicians are a more mixed bunch: they are often quite extroverted and social (not to say that we woodworkers are antisocial!) but often prone to patches of melancholy or introverted reflection. This last trait, I think, is common to both crafts.

I started thinking about this while on the road touring with Sequentia, an ensemble from Europe I perform with. While in Kansas City, we were generously invited to dinner at the home of Kansas City Friends of Chamber Music president Cynthia Siebert, along with members of the KCFCM board. As I admired a truly remarkable Federal reproduction buffet in the sitting room, the host’s husband, Larry, said to me: “Do you like woodworking?” (Indeed I did.) In the conversation that ensued, I found out that he was quite the accomplished woodworker, and he found out that I worked for your favorite magazine. A clandestine visit to his shop ensued, and I admired his smart setup, a nice, compact DC system, and various works in progress. He then showed me the sheet-music cabinet he’d recently built–it graced the library with a stately Asian style, and panels of beautifully spalted maple. I really regretted not bring a camera with me, since I wanted to get a photo of the piece to put into this blog—perhaps also our readers gallery–I’ll still try to get some photos from him to post here. (It turns out he’s been a FW subscriber for years!) We ended up chatting about his process, his design, and the joys of music and of woodworking. All of a sudden, my mind traveled quickly back to another trip, in early January, to San Francisco. During a CD recording weekend there, we had dinner at the house of one of my fellow singers. In the kitchen, my eye caught the edges of a fabulous butcher block–well worn in the center, it was still at least 7 or 8 in. thick, and the outer ring of endgrain blocks had been dovetailed to the next-to-last row, on both sides as well as on the inner side. Caught again in my woodworking voyeurism, my host mentioned that she had “some folks I should talk to.” It turns out that there are dozens of woodworkers she knows, and they’d love to meet me. And then, a few days after Kansas City: Beverly Simmons and Ross Duffin, our hosts in Cleveland, mentioned an amazing workshop that makes beautiful wooden stands, www.aldenlee.com/musicstands.html. Another woodworking and music connection!

Why is it that these two circles of artists and craftspeople intersect so often? It dawned on me that we have two important things in common: web= both need to have a result for what we do, one which gives us some immediate feedback even before it is finished. When you rehearse, you might not have a finished piece to present, but you are making music nonetheless. And when you are a woodworker, you don’t arrive at a finished piece immediately—you woodwork first, then the piece comes from the work.

But at the crux of it seems to be one very important thing: whether professional or amateur, musicians and woodworkers both seem to agree that—even if their day job is in something else—were you to take away the object of their passion, and not let them woodwork or make music, then they would have a hard time carrying on. It’s a potent thing, this activity that brings us so much happiness.

Well, that’s enough from my perch on the soapbox. I’d love to hear from you about what makes you tick as a woodworker, whether full-time or not. And feel free to wax philosophical, or poetic.

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