Bodging Milano and a new way of working

After designing a Windsor-type chair in 2009, I became more interested in the history of this type of chair and its construction. ‘Windsor’ denotes a chair in which the legs and the back spindles are all jointed into a solid seat, in fact the chair gains its strength from this method of construction because the ‘wet’ seat contracts as it dries out and tightens around the ‘dry’ legs and spindles.

Wishing to research this, I discovered Gudrun Leitz, greenwood chairmaker, and co-owner of Clissett Wood in Herefordshire. The wood takes its name from Philip Clissett, the Victorian country chairmaker who was discovered by Ernest Gimson of Arts & Crafts Movement fame. Clissett, who lived nearby, is reputed to have made a chair a day, and to have been a cheerful soul who whistled while he worked. During a week in the woods I learned the ancient craft of bodging as greenwood chairmaking is known, and enjoyed this so much - it seemed such a valuable experience - that I returned the following April with a group of friends from the world of contemporary furniture design. Almost before they were completed the chairs we made that second week were loaded onto a van and, at the invitation of Rory Dodd from Designersblock, were driven over to Milan, where they were exhibited at the Salone del Mobile 2010. Just one week after the final touches had been made to the woodland chairs, they arrived at Spazio Revel in Milan. Thus was Bodging Milano born.

Back home however, this sudden interest in rural crafts appeared to some people who knew me as a sideways, or possibly a retrograde move. 'You used to be all Bauhaus,' a friend told me, “but now you’re always bodging! What’s happened?” It was as if I had suddenly taken up macramé or bobbin-making or some activity alien to the modern world. Craftwork, it seems, can in some circles be seen as an undemanding leisure activity for the middle classes, either that or a hippie throwback to the pre-industrial age.
But this uninformed comment made me think about what is the use of craft in the modern world. Why work with hand tools in a cold muddy forest, when the job can be done so much more efficiently by machines in a well-equipped workshop? The answer for me lies not so much with the romantic authenticity of the craft world, as with its hands-on immediacy. Making by hand is the same as drawing by hand; every little nuance in the process is alive and is immediately felt. The element of risk is always present, as the material and the tool try an take you in one direction, and you attempt to impose your will in another with continual and infinitesimal corrections. The ad hoc nature of working outdoors reinforces this.

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Bodging Milano and a new way of working

After designing a Windsor-type chair in 2009, I became more interested in the history of this type of chair and its construction. ‘Windsor’ denotes a chair in which the legs and the back spindles are all jointed into a solid seat, in fact the chair gains its strength from this method of construction because the ‘wet’ seat contracts as it dries out and tightens around the ‘dry’ legs and spindles.

Wishing to research this, I discovered Gudrun Leitz, greenwood chairmaker, and co-owner of Clissett Wood in Herefordshire. The wood takes its name from Philip Clissett, the Victorian country chairmaker who was discovered by Ernest Gimson of Arts & Crafts Movement fame. Clissett, who lived nearby, is reputed to have made a chair a day, and to have been a cheerful soul who whistled while he worked. During a week in the woods I learned the ancient craft of bodging as greenwood chairmaking is known, and enjoyed this so much - it seemed such a valuable experience - that I returned the following April with a group of friends from the world of contemporary furniture design. Almost before they were completed the chairs we made that second week were loaded onto a van and, at the invitation of Rory Dodd from Designersblock, were driven over to Milan, where they were exhibited at the Salone del Mobile 2010. Just one week after the final touches had been made to the woodland chairs, they arrived at Spazio Revel in Milan. Thus was Bodging Milano born.

Back home however, this sudden interest in rural crafts appeared to some people who knew me as a sideways, or possibly a retrograde move. 'You used to be all Bauhaus,' a friend told me, “but now you’re always bodging! What’s happened?” It was as if I had suddenly taken up macramé or bobbin-making or some activity alien to the modern world. Craftwork, it seems, can in some circles be seen as an undemanding leisure activity for the middle classes, either that or a hippie throwback to the pre-industrial age.
But this uninformed comment made me think about what is the use of craft in the modern world. Why work with hand tools in a cold muddy forest, when the job can be done so much more efficiently by machines in a well-equipped workshop? The answer for me lies not so much with the romantic authenticity of the craft world, as with its hands-on immediacy. Making by hand is the same as drawing by hand; every little nuance in the process is alive and is immediately felt. The element of risk is always present, as the material and the tool try an take you in one direction, and you attempt to impose your will in another with continual and infinitesimal corrections. The ad hoc nature of working outdoors reinforces this.