My Journey in Wood
Like many, my journey began with necessity. Family needs drove those first projects—a playhouse here, a finished family room there. Gradually, the work evolved from basic carpentry to furniture making: a bookcase for my daughter, jewelry boxes that became hope chests, then cribs as life continued its cycle.
Everything changed in 2004 when I attended the Sycamore Institute for a week-long course in constructing a continuous arm Windsor chair. That week introduced me to something I'd never experienced before—the "feel" of things.
Building cabinets and flat-work had always been about precision: straight cuts, exact measurements, perfect angles. The Windsor chair was different. It was built by hand and measured by eye. The size was right when it looked right. The seat was right when it felt right. The height was right when it sat right.
During that course, I rediscovered the lathe—a tool I hadn't touched since junior high. It rekindled something deep within me. The ability to use hands and eyes to form an object that exists only in my mind felt miraculous. The song of wood curls peeling off a green log became music that demanded an encore. The path from "How do I create what I see in my mind?" to a growing awareness of shape, color, and form became utterly consuming.
I was clearly on a road of artistic discovery, and while I couldn't see where it would lead, I knew it would be an incredibly rewarding journey.
Like all meaningful journeys, mine had unexpected turns. In 2007, I participated in my first art show. Over the following three years, I was accepted into twenty juried art shows throughout the Midwest, with my work finding homes in galleries across central Illinois. My skills were growing, and my artistic sensibilities continued to sharpen.
Then the road turned again. In 2010, we left Illinois for the coast of North Carolina.
The move required a two-year hiatus while we settled and built a new studio. When I finally resumed my work, I discovered the art world had shifted. Wood art was no longer just about embracing the natural beauty of the material—wood had become a canvas for artistic expression. The challenge now was to think of myself as an artist working in wood, rather than simply a wood turner.
This evolution was recognized in November 2013 and again in 2017, when I was awarded North Carolina Regional Artist Grants to support this transition and continued growth.
My skills as an artist in wood continued to evolve, and I began traveling farther afield for juried art shows. Simultaneously, a parallel path emerged—what started as sharing knowledge through demonstrations at my local woodturning club grew into teaching at clubs within driving distance. By the time COVID arrived, I had begun flying rather than driving to demonstrations, expanding my reach across the country.
COVID brought a screeching halt to art shows and in-person demonstrations, forcing a sudden and dramatic curve in my path. I focused my energies on teaching myself an entirely new world—demonstrating via Zoom. New terminology, new hardware, and completely new ways of thinking all had to be mastered. The challenge was immense, but I succeeded in learning this new realm of woodturning demonstration, broadcasting directly from my shop. The result was a flood of engagements with woodturning clubs across North America, reaching audiences I never could have connected with through traditional travel.
Some may have a straight path on their woodturning journey, but mine seems destined for major jogs in the road. In 2023, we decided we needed to move again—clearly, I needed a larger shop! Our new home and my expanded workshop were completed in 2024. Now I had room for a dedicated broadcast studio as well as space for the tools I seem to continue accumulating. Of course, this required learning yet another new skill set: video cameras, microphones, lighting, and camera positioning all had to be mastered.
Mastering these presentation techniques with video cameras has led to creating videos for YouTube. Now it seems like I spend more time teaching others through the ether than actually creating new pieces on the lathe—an ironic twist for someone whose journey began with the simple desire to shape wood with my own hands.
The path of artistic discovery never truly ends—it simply reveals new vistas and possibilities. Each piece teaches me something new about the material, the craft, and myself. Teaching and demonstrating have added another dimension to this journey, allowing me to share the passion that first ignited at that lathe so many years ago. Through video cameras and YouTube, that passion now reaches woodturners I may never meet in person, yet who share the same wonder I felt when those first wood curls began to sing.
Where this winding road will ultimately lead, I cannot say, but I remain excited to discover what lies around the next unexpected turn.