Precision is a virtue in making things. Obsession is a vice. The line between
them is thin and nobody can find it for you.
The joint that took six tries
A mortise and tenon is tight when it slides in snugly and stops. My first
attempt was too loose. The second was too tight. The third was close. The
fourth was closer. The fifth was as close as a hand saw and chisels can cut
it.
The sixth try, I was chasing a tolerance of 0.2 millimetres, which is 1/5000 of
an inch, and my hand tools do not work at that scale.
I made the joint. It works perfectly. The wood sat for two weeks after and
swelled 0.3 millimetres anyway.
The line that matters
Precision up to the point of function is necessary. Precision beyond that is
photography, not making.
A table that wobbles is not done. A table that is precisely level but takes
eight hours instead of two is done, in the sense that you have paid too much
for the outcome.
What I ask now
“Will this joint hold?” not “Is this joint perfect?” If the answer to the
first is yes, the answer to the second does not matter.
The workshop evolution
Year one: Everything took forever because I was chasing perfect.
Year three: Everything was fast and I was making garbage.
Year five: I was making good things at a sustainable pace.
The difference was learning that a mortise at 12.5 millimetres holds as well
as a mortise at 12.52, and that the time difference means another project gets
made.
The finish that changed everything
Years of precise sanding, 120 to 150 to 180 to 220, eight hours. Then a maker
I respected showed me 80 to 150 to 180, three hours, and the finish was
better because the wood was fresher and the light was more alive and the
person sanding had not lost patience halfway through.
The thing you finish is better than the thing you perfect.