Three mistakes that I have made five times each, and every time I make them I
am surprised.
Mistake one: the wood that looked fine
You bring wood home, it is planed and square and beautiful. Three days later
it twists, because the moisture in the air changed and the inside of the wood
moved differently than the outside.
The lesson: Acclimate the wood. Let it sit in the space where it will live
for a week. Buy more than you think you need so the twisted piece can be
discarded and the lesson is paid for in wood, not in the thing you are making.
I still buy wood the day before I start the project. Every single time.
Mistake two: the joint that fit in the morning
You cut a tenon, you dry-fit it, it is perfect. You apply glue, you clamp it,
and you cannot close the clamp because the wood swelled from the moisture in
the glue.
The lesson: Fit the joint as tight as it will go when it is dry, then ease
it 0.5 millimetre, because glue brings moisture and moisture brings expansion.
I still clamp things until they scream. Still.
Mistake three: the finish that looked beautiful and then did not
You sand to 220, apply three coats of oil, it looks stunning. Six weeks later
there is a white ring where a water glass sat because the oil is not a
barrier, it is a penetrant, and water finds its way.
The lesson: Oil is beautiful when you make it. Varnish lasts. Lacquer lasts
longer. Water-based poly is the one nobody likes and the one that often wins.
I still oil tables. I have a wet ring on every table I have made.
Why I keep making them
A pattern is a thing, invisible until it breaks. The pattern I feel is wood
moves, glue swells, surface penetrates. The pattern I intellectually
know is the same one. They are not connected until the thing I made fails and
suddenly I remember.
Understanding and doing are not the same thing, and making them connect takes
more repetition than anyone admits.