This beautiful volume from Richard Raffan is dedicated to the art of creating aesthetic forms in your turned bowls.
More about design than about technique, the book displays a wide
range of bowls -- by a host of experienced turners -- with analysis
that will help you create more artful bowls with a sense of balance and
proportion. As you flip through the pages, you'll discover how the
subtle form and shape of a well-turned bowl is one that's also a
delight to hold and use.
About the Author
Richard Raffan is a internationally respected woodturning artisan and
teacher. Collectors prize Raffan's gallery-quality production pieces,
and he is the author of Turning Wood, Turning Boxes, and The Complete Illustrated Guide to Turning. Raffan lives in Holder, Australia.
Table of Contents
Wood
What to Look For and Where to Find It
Blanks
From Log to Lathe
Form
The Good, the Bad, and the Sublime
Walls, Rims & Bases
Bowls that Feel as Good as They Look
Green-Turned Bowls
Working with Warp
Surface Decoration
Detailing, Coloring, Burning, Sandblasting
Decorative Reshaping
Carved, Pierced, Hacked, Hewed, and Joined
Further Reading
Photo Credits
Index
IntroductionMy dictionaries define a bowl
generally as a nearly hemispherical
vessel, whose width is greater than
its height, used to contain liquids or foods.
This implies forms that are open rather than
enclosed, so, for this book, I've broadened my
terms of reference to include enclosed forms
that are similarly wider than their height, but
with a rim diameter as small as one third the
diameter of the bowl.
It is clear, browsing woodturning Web sites
and exhibitions, that bowls continue to be a
favorite project for turners of all skill levels,
still outnumbering hollow forms and vessels as
well as spindle work. I believe this is because
an open bowl is an ideal form for displaying
spectacular grain and because bowl turners
like making shavings. It is easy to create
a bowl that, by virtue of its rich color and/
or wild grain patterns or thinness, will draw
gasps of admiration. Any beginner can achieve
this within an hour or two, given a flashy bit
of wood, a range of abrasives, and some finish
to gloss-up the wood and bring out the
color. What is not so easy is creating a bowl
that feels nicely balanced in your hands when
you pick it up, and that would still look good
if painted black. The bright colors of freshly
cut and finished wood soon begin to fade and
mellow, ending up dark or golden brown.
Consequently, it pays to attend to the form
and the tactile qualities of a bowl because,
eventually, that's all you've got.
Despite the obvious care and attention that
has gone into creating most of the bowls I see
in craft shows and galleries, the majority remain
somewhat cumbersome, even clunky, to
the eye as well as the hand, even when turned
thin. So often it's a case of so near yet so far,
when a small adjustment to the profile or inner
curve would have yielded an infinitely better
form. Having said that, it is a fact that most of
the bowls I look at now are light-years ahead of
what was on show at woodturning symposiums
in the early 1980s when the few good bowls
stood out from a morass that were mediocre
to bad. Then, critiques comparing good, bad,
and downright ugly versions of the same basic
shape, often from the same turner, were a key
symposium activity that set people thinking
about design. Constructive comments helped
turners become more aware of what goes into
creating a well-proportioned bowl and what
constitutes a flowing curve or a good finish.
The turned bowls we see today are the result of
those sessions. Concurrently, improved chucks
and techniques and a considerable amount of
supporting literature, videos, DVDs, and now
the Internet, have enabled turners to implement
their designs with greater confidence,
allowing them to concentrate more on what
they are turning, rather than how.
Often we find it difficult to quantify why
one bowl seems better than another, and the
main purpose of this book is to provide points
for consideration. Is it the difference between
a curve that flows and one that doesn't? Or is it
the visual impact of the size of a base? It helps
to compare similar or nearly identical bowls,
identifying exactly why one looks and feels
better than another.
When assessing bowls with groups of students,
I like to select three that are similar,
preferably by the same person (to eliminate
bruised egos). It is immaterial how good or bad
the bowls are. All I need is to pick one as a
benchmark; then I can point out all the negative
features of the lesser of the three, and why
one is better than the other. I take the view
that there is always room for improvement in
everything, even though that might be barely
perceptible.
If you are serious about creating better
bowls, turn a number of similar bowls using
bland wood, then select the best and use that as
the model for another set. Every now and again,
cut a few in half to ascertain more thoroughly
where the differences lie, and what makes the
ones you prefer better than the others.
If a bowl is to survive, it has to be of a quality
that will encourage its current owner to keep
it safe. The form has to be good. In general, ill-conceived
objects do not survive generations
except as curios, whereas anything well designed
stands a better chance. Many medieval
bowls handed down to us are patched or sewn
together; you don't bother doing that unless
the object is special. There would have been
plenty of less attractive but equally functional
bowls available to replace those damaged.
The critiques of the mid-1980s were so
successful that by 1990 it was difficult to find
a bad bowl at an event like the annual Utah
Symposium Instant Gallery. However, in recent
years, after making a few dozen bowls,
turners are often keen to "move beyond the
round and brown," without having created
a really satisfactory bowl. The pressure is on
to enhance and embellish bowls. So now we
have a lot of round and brown bowls with
paint, feathers, beads, burn marks, and just
about anything that can be attached to wood
or penetrate it. Often carving distorts the form
so much that any association with a lathe all
but vanishes. Much of this is work striving to
be Art with a capital A, but being different
doesn't automatically qualify something as
art. Your bowl might be unique, being stained
with the blood of virgin roosters (for depth
of color) and adorned with the milk teeth of
Pomeranian dwarves set in a frieze of 24-carat
gold. It might be extremely well made of
expensive materials, and although of hideous
design, might still appeal to those impressed
by novelty, kitsch, or extravagance. It may
make your work collectible, but being different
is rarely a passport to good design. No matter
what you do to a bowl by way of embellishment,
the basic form will always manifest itself
through the frippery.