tat tvam asi

I am an auto-deduct and I prefer learning through doing (I get very drowsy very quickly in most frontal, spoken learning configurations). Before moving to Romania most of that learning took place in mindy discplines … like learning to code. In Romania that changed when making & learning moved out of the virtual world and into the physical world. In the mental world errors in learning can be tricky: I can type into a text editor code that has syntax errors – until I run it; I can create poorly designed software and not know it until people use it (or never know it because no one uses it … because it isn’t good!). In the physical world, while there are similar feedback loops, there are also more immediate and vivid feedback that is sensed in the body before it is even understood.

When I started making in the physical world, I went through quite a few phases of disillusionment. When I came to build the humanure hacienda, I knew the sequece by heart, but when it came to execute: dig 8 holes for posts … the first whole took a month because it also involved learning what makes for a good shovel and what is a good time to dig (not immediately after rain because the soil is heavy and sticky, but not when its hot and dry because it is rock solid). This kind of assumed information is rarely a part of the instructions of the actual project I am trying to build. At first, I didn’t know this. I learned it the hard way. Now I have a nose that quickly picks up the scent of assumed yet unspoken information.

Take for example this video shot by someone who was lucky enough to visit a kumiko maker in Japan:

The video starts with lovely kumiko strips already cut and ready for assembly. What you dont’ see is how those strips are milled, sized, smoothed and cut (with notches). The only hint are the machines that you can sometimes glimpse in the background. These are specialized, expensive machines that don’t exist outside of Japan. You can see some of these machines at work in this video where you can see semi-indutrial production of kumiko lamps:

So the challenge I was facing was how to produce these strips with the rough pine-ish lumber I currently have access to and without making a large investment in tools. Whenever possible I look for graduality. I wanted to see if I could make a basic pattern within the settings of my workshop … AND how I would feel while making it.

This led me into the world of jigs – basically home-made (though some are available commercially) tools that are usually designed for specific tasks. So, for example, before even thinking about strips I needed to transform a rough piece of straight-grained lumber into a precisely dimensioned (all 4 sides are at 90 degress to each other AND correctly sized)  piece. In most western “Youtube workshops” this is done quickly and easily using 3 machines: a jointer, a thicknesser and a table saw. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the details of what they are and how are they are used … what mattered to me was that I have none of these machines. I did have a table and a vise and some hand tools (with no experience on using them).

To do this basic task (preparing a piece of wood from which I would be able to TRY cutting kumiko strips) … I tried a shortcut … working by eyes. I got mediocre results. I surrendered and started to create wining sticks … which was an entire journey … and you see where I am going … loops within loops … a simple task can become an entire project. Each cycle brings me face to face with tools (and/or skills) I don’t yet have. I ended up with OK winding sticks and a whole set of jigs I would need to get started with kumiko. This is the first set of jigs:

This is not really intended to be about woodworking (there is plenty of information about most of these things available online). It is intended to be about the hidden assumptions that I’ve encountered so many times. Had I not know they were there this journey would have been very frustrating. But I knew they were there … most of them were know unknowns … some were unknown unknowns. But going into this I created a space inside of me for exploration. I got stuck a lot … and when I did, I stopped. I stepped away until I felt invited to step in again. This allowed problems to move to the back of my mind and for solutions to appear without stressing over them. I had no schedule and no expectation for outcomes. I was taking one step at a time … and when I stepped onto shaky ground I took a step back and reflected on how to make the ground more stable.

I “invented” a “ctutting jig” for cutting with a hand-saw … that worked very well … at least for a few stripes … atfer which the sawing destroyed the jig. I did not enjoy the milling. If I was to continue making kumiko I would need to figure out a way to work more effectively, to achieve better results and most important to me: to work peacefully and enjoy my time in the workshop. However, I managed to create a few usable (mediocre quality, close enough in size – see left side of image above) kumiko strips and was ready to take on a first pattern.

Most projects at Bhudeva reach beyond my horizon of perception. Their time-line is unknown, they require much physical work, much figuring out, new tools, new skills and a lot of trial and error. They also require a lot of preparation … so much so … that some “preparations” become separate projects. This often results in a long journey that requires patience … sometimes a journey so long that I feel it is better to approach it with the assumption that I may never reach the goal I am aiming for.

I did not want Kumiko to become another such project. Yes, preparations would be required, but I didn’t want them to take years. I wanted something that I could connect with in the short term. In winter, as I was reading about Kumiko, I aspired to be able to make an asa-no-ha in spring. I wanted to find the shortest path possible to do that.

The workshop is basically half of a barn. It was originally used for grain storage. When we first landed at Bhudeva it was full and inaccessible. I built a couple of saw horses, laid two 2×8 boards on top of them and got to work. Every time I wanted to work I needed to bring out all the tools and setup the saw-horses … and with every sign of rain I had to scramble to pack it all up. A year or two later (I don’t remember exactly when), we finally got the barn cleared. Moving into the barn was a major upgrade to my work conditions. I placed a few long 2×8 interlaced with bricks along one wall and had shelves … a workshop-ish!  … it was also a storage place, it had no lighting (I only worked when daylight was sufficient) and it had a dirt floor covered by linoleum sheets (that originally covered the earth “floors” in the house).

With that I’ve been working ever since. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be in, but it was key to creating almost everything else at Bhudeva. But I now wanted to make it a place I could enjoy coming to, to make Kumiko. Doing that “properly” would mean putting in a concrete floor (which would require clearing it out, which would lead to one or two other substantial projects), installing proper lighting, fixing the walls, cabinets, etc. And very quickly I would find myself in yet another journey that would span years. No, I don’t want this. Thats not quite true … I don’t want it now, but I do want this (I used to take solid flat floors for granted, their absence at Bhudeva taught me to appreciate them more).

So I asked myself what would be the bare minimum I need to make that asa-no-ha pattern? It boiled down to a table with a vise and some wood-working hand tools that would allow me to create small and precise (enough) pieces needed for Kumiko (so far I’ve been using power tools to create large objects that requires only rough precision).

And so I began to research tables and vises and hand tools. Nothing is simple, options everywhere:

• I remembered that I have in the workshop a large piece of thick veneered particle board that could serve as a table top and designed a table around that.
• I chose to go with a twin-screw vise.
• From the Kumiko books I could make a list of the hand tools I would need for making Kumiko.
• A couple of hand-planes (I settled on a versatile low-angle jack plane & a rebating block planes).
• Clamps … the vitality of clamps is hard to describe to someone who isn’t a wood-worker.
• .. and a few specific tools I would need to bring all of this together.

I compiled a specific shopping list and cross-referenced numerous online sources in Europe until I was ready to make an order. I hesitated for quite some time … for two reasons:

• I was about to spend ~1000 euros which is a big deal for me.
• I was also still considering different approaches to making some of the jigs (tools I would need to create on my own) I would need; different approaches require different tools. I was in a cycle of researching, thinking and fine-tuning my shopping list … and it was changing almost daily. It took many weeks until the list finally settled down and I had a clear plan in my mind.

Finally, when I felt the list was solid enough (stopped changing), when I was able to breathe softness into my anxiety around money and when spring was nearing (it got warm enough to actually go to the workshop) I ordered the tools I would need.

For the past few years I’ve been trying to make myself available to initiatives and projects that felt meaningful and that resonated with me. I’ve tried to merge skills from my past (software design) with my skills in the present … peaceful, gradual, sensitive unfolding!? These efforts, for the most part, have not worked out well. So I have been embracing even deeper my natural tendency to retreat. But this creates a practical challenge, especially in winter (when outdoor work is mostly put on hold): what to do with my free time?

My workshop at Bhudeva has been a place of mixed experience for me for almost 8 years. It has been an empowering place … allowing me to make so much of the physical world I inhabit. The priority has been making as much as possible with as little as possible. As a result the workshop has become a utilitarian place – a place where I go to create things I need. It has not been a place I have enjoyed being in. It is not equipped for quality work. It is equipped with minimal and efficient tools to get affordable, practical but mediocre results. I like that I can create the things that I want, but I don’t enjoy making them because quality is absent.

Almost a year ago I stumbled across a Japanese art called Kumiko in which small pieces of wood are used to create intricate patterns:

Sidenote: I have since discovered a sibling/complementary Japanese art called Hakone that explores similar patterns in which the spaces in between are also “filled”:

I decided to look into Kumiko and to revisit my relationship with the workshop. I wondered if it would be possible for me to transform the workshop from a utilitarian space into a space that can support a quality and meditative experience of making physical things in the world – things like Kumiko. I have been on this journey for a few months now … and to be honest answer is still “I don’t know”. But I did decide to explore this in action (and not just as a mental exercise).

My experience of scarcity (limited resources – materials, tools, money) acts as an inhibiting force on me. Allowing myself to pursue something that is not “really needed” has been challenging. It brings up much doubt and insecurity. I meet that by taking small gradual steps that feel accessible and safe for me. That itself, has become an interesting and engaging process. Wondering what is a good next step for me – and acting that out:

• What is next?
• Can I just go there directly or are there preparations I need to make first?
• What is good preparation and what is excessive preparation?
• How do I stay in touch with what motivates me?
• How to meet uncertainty and insecurity?
• When am I over-reaching and what is driving me to over-reach?
• What tools do I need?
• How to balance quality and price?
• How can I gift myself an experience of quality within a sense of constricting scarcity?

This journey is an interesting process of unfolding. In a way, Kumiko is going to be a setting, a back-drop for the real “play”: how do I approach this kind of exploration into what is for me unchartered territory?

To get started I watched some online videos of other Kumiko travelers. I felt attracted and confident that I want to give it a try. But the videos were not detailed enough to be instructional  – they left more questions than answers. So I did a search and discovered Desmond King who has published a series of books about Kumiko. I ordered the first two books and cuddled with them during winter. I wanted to get a sense of what I would need to make Kumiko. What I found was both informative and annoying and I’ll get into that in the next post(s).