I used to think that I am a woodworker because I make things, usually furniture, out of wood. I have since changed my goal in woodworking: I make sawdust and shavings, and, hopefully, a decent piece of furniture comes from that process. Because I enjoy making things out of wood, my goal is to make sawdust and shavings. If I’ve made a nice pile of sawdust and shavings, then I’ve had a good time in my shop. I work with wood for the creative joy that comes out of planning a project, measuring, shaping, cutting, and joining. Each step in the creative process has a joy of its own that does not rely on a specific outcome—even if it is wonderful to make a finished piece of furniture at the end. I certainly intend my cutting, chopping, and planing to produce a dining room table, but I am trying to enjoy each step of the process along the way. We feel the pressure in so many aspects of life to produce results and measurable outcomes. This accounts for part of the appeal of AI—a newfound efficiency to accomplish more things on tighter timelines with less effort. AI saves us from a lot of the sawdust and shavings, so to speak, in certain professions. For those programming line after line of code, AI can be a friend. For thoughtful writers seeking to explore and understand, it is an affliction of commonplaces and summaries that say nothing. Even in woodworking, we have our machines that speed up the making of sawdust and shavings—or whatever you call the little bits of wood that my benchtop planer spits out. A little boost of efficiency can be a good thing, especially if you’d rather not spend your life hand planning rough cut slabs from the mill. Yet, each step of the creative process has joy to offer if we slow down. I’m currently cutting support braces and wooden “buttons” to fasten the table, and it’s very satisfying to cut each one and then chisel the uneven bits down to the marked line. They’ll soon be fastened underneath the table, rarely seen by anyone. I could certainly whip them out on my tablesaw in no time, but it’s much more fun to make sawdust and shavings by cutting and refining each 1.5” block. I turned to woodworking as an restorative hobby, if not escape, from the chaos of our times. Unfortunately, we can easily make our restorative practices into little prisons of their own by setting up unrealistic expectations for ourselves or reaching for goals that no sane person should set. At best, I am an inexperienced novice compared to the people who made furniture as their livelihood or as a way to furnish entire homes 100-200 years ago. When I compare myself to the skill of past craftsmen, I have no business building a Shaker dining room table that these masters perfected after decades of experience among masters with decades of their own experience. Of course I’d like to build a dining room table that looks close to what these masters built, but for right now, I’m happy to make sawdust and shavings. If I’ve only found 30 minutes of quiet reflection while giving my full attention to my saw blade or plane iron, then my time has been well spent in a retreat from the madness of our times. I will dream, design, cut, chop, and shave the wood I have with the hope of making something more than a bin of sawdust and shavings. But if they’re all I have for now, my time is still well spent. Thanks for dropping by, Ed You're currently a free subscriber to Ed Cyzewski :: Author // Contemplative // Maker. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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Tuesday, 24 March 2026
I Make Sawdust and Shavings
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