The Necessity of Bad Carpentry
Last weekend, I decided to build some shelves into one of my closets. The decision was entirely functional. I was finally ready to jump into a light “refresh” of my home office. Patch some holes in the walls, repaint, build a new desk and shelves, etc. I started the project by moving my books, pottery, decor, and existing desk and shelves into my living room for a while. I quickly grew sick of tripping over my chop saw and moving my airconditioners from place to place as I needed to make space for other random stuff. I needed a place to put away the heavy, unstackable crap randomly lying around my house.
I had some scrap chipboard and two-by-fours left over from the shelves I removed, so I thought I would just slap together some temporary shelving in one of my closets. It was a sound plan.
I started with the best intentions and my mantra that perfect is the enemy of done. Like most makers, I’d like my cuts to be relatively straight. I take the time to countersink my screws, and I find flush, square joints as satisfying as the next person. I measured the height, width, and depth of the closet’s interior. I sketched some simple plans on my computer and set up a workspace on my outdoor patio. I cut the pieces according to plan and partially assembled them into panels with shelf supports before bringing them upstairs to the closet.
The first panel didn’t fit. Damn it. I checked the cuts and angles of the panel, and they were fine. So I checked the dimensions of the closet again. Not the same as what I measured the first time. I checked again, but this time in different spots. The closet wasn’t square. I hadn’t taken enough care with my measurements. My panels weren’t going to fit. Damn it.
I started to lose patience. I brought the pieces back down to the patio and took them apart. I didn’t want to start over with new materials, so I measured and recut each piece to install one at a time into the closet.
I grew frustrated with my makeshift workbench of sawhorses and two-by-fours. It was the first 90-degree day of the year, and sweat kept stinging my eyes. What was supposed to be a morning project stretched toward dinner time. If I stopped before finishing, I’d have to disassemble the workbench and move all my lumber and tools into the living room until the next day. The next day! No way. I stuck with it and finished, but I lost all the joy, excitement, and pride I’d started with.
The final product isn’t pretty, but it’s functional. I’m pleased to have someplace to stash my air conditioners and tools out of the way. My projects generally don’t go so far off the rails, but I didn’t want to invest too much time in a temporary solution.
In last week’s post, I extolled the virtues of a well-crafted object that lasts long enough for a person to establish a history of use with it. But my current tale of bad carpentry would seem to contradict that idea. It does. I have no excuses, and I’m not one bit embarrassed. Before anything else, I want to point out the most essential part of the whole story…
I made something.
Sure, the shelves look bad, and the pieces don’t fit well together. But they’re sturdy, and they do just what I need them to do.
I know the kind of maker I want to be—a little pride, patience, creativity, joy, and function. But I fell short that day. And that’s okay. Deciding what I want to be is only the first step. That’s where the story starts, but merely making the decision doesn’t actually change much. I can only be different by doing differently. If I want to be a certain type of maker, I must learn that disposition and develop the strength and habits it requires. Learning requires mistakes. Strength requires failures. Habits require time and patience. It’s not something you just decide.
