Adam King Studio Fine Furniture & Antique Restoration

When my training in fine furniture construction and restoration came to a close, I was standing at the door to the school's shop trying to muster the courage and the words to say goodbye to my teacher. Here was this man who had an incredible and impressive lineage in the craft of furniture making, and has been to date one of the greatest influences on my own life, and I now have to face the reality that I may never see him again. Sensing this was warring within my mind, he shuffled over to me, shook my hand, and then suddenly put his arm around my shoulders. He then pulled me aside from the other students and proceeded with my final lesson. After several years his words still resonate clearly in my memories.

First, he let me know that the life of a craftsman is a solitary one. You spend most of your time alone in your shop. Just you, your tools, your projects, and your thoughts. If you don't like the sound of that, then the life isn't for you. You are separated from the rest of the world by those four walls called the shop. There isn't the coming and going, the hustle and bustle of customer traffic like there would be if you open a restaurant or book store. He pointed out, though, that the separation wouldn't be just physical. He said that most people would not fully understand me, my work, and my reasons for pursuing this craft. They wouldn't see the logic in spending hours, days, weeks, even months on one project putting every ounce of thought and being into a piece. The thought of doing things by hand might even confound them. He told me not to expect people to share the vision that I have, or for that matter, even try to comprehend it.

He was right. Many hours are spent in solitude in the shop. There is a bit of a feeling of separation between me and the rest of the world driving by my old factory windows. For the most part that solitude is very precious. It's a bit of an oasis away from the cares and concerns of the world. I rather enjoy it, honestly. Then there is that other solitude. As I was searching for the resources to start my business I began to realize that others certainly did not share my vision and passion. The number of confused looks on the faces of people as they wondered why someone would want to make furniture when you could just buy it at the store proved that to be true. I have found only a handful of people who understand the reasoning and philosophy behind my choosing of this life, but there are fewer still who truly see the passion and vision for what it really is. In this regard the solitude can be downright lonely.

Second, he told me to promise him that I would share with others what I learned from him. He said that teaching others would in turn teach me and make me a better craftsman. I had done some teaching while in school as part of my scholarship program. I really loved watching people make the same discoveries I did. The shear panic on their faces as they tried a risky technique for the first time, followed by utter joy when it actually worked, was enough to carry you with a smile for the remainder of the day. I did learn a lot from these students, but until recently I did not fully understand what my teacher was relating to me.

You see, I am not alone in the shop now. (At least not for three afternoons every week.) I am joined by one who seeks the same knowledge I once pursued and am spending my life pursuing now. I have taken on someone who desires to learn the craft and art of fine furniture making. So, for lack of a better term, I have an apprentice. I now have the greatest responsibility I have ever faced since opening the studio. I must guide and instruct someone as carefully and as closely as my teacher guided me. He certainly possess the desire to learn and his abilities are making themselves evident quickly. I now have someone who I am accountable to. He counts on me to be there when he arrives and have a course already plotted for him to embark on for that day. He looks to me for the answers to his questions and to not waste his time with activities that teach him nothing. Every task, every project, every move must now be calculated and weighed to see if there is a lesson to be shared and merit in its undertaking. I must keep the small flame of what appears to be a hint of passion lit and stoked. One wrong move, or apparent lack of interest on my part and that delicate flame could quickly be extinguished. He must feed off of my passion, my desire, and my vision in order for his to grow. I consider this a responsibility that I cannot take lightly, but more than that, I consider this a privilege to be his guide, his teacher, that I cannot and will not trade.

The promise is coming full circle. The student becomes the teacher, and in doing so, is remaining a student.