The Ship's Carpenter

Flying Circus Studios was in business for more than 35 years in Flagstaff, and with this move to Tucson I am sure that there are those who feel disappointed, perhaps even betrayed, that I have jumped ship.  And I am afraid that that is true, for though I did do fine woodworking in Flagstaff I was perhaps not so much a fine woodworker as I was a ship's carpenter, and, at that, for dozens of vessels over those years.

A ship’s carpenter should be able to, and did, make any piece of furniture or furnishing for stateroom or cabin, sometimes even the cabin itself.  His work largely derives from needs and is directed by query.  Besides the furnishings, a ship’s carpenter might be called upon to connect decks with stairs, be they spiral or straight, or construct the deck itself, or replace a porthole.  He might even be found wielding a paint bucket in hold or on hull.  A ship’s carpenter might find himself more often renovating the galley than displaying his artistry on the gallery.  There is also nothing he might not be called upon to fix, from the finest captain’s chair to a problem head. 

Truth be told the captain came to depend on the carpenter, and they built up a relationship over the years, and then again became good and fast friends.  This aspect does not end when the high desert separates.   I think of you and your vessels more often than you know. 

It is said that Shackleton’s carpenter could look at a space, go back to the shop, cut the piece, and it would fit perfectly.  This ship carpenter, however, could use a tape measure and still find the piece exactly one inch too short.  Nonetheless the analogy is growing on me, feeling almost comfortable; yes, a career of relationships rather than objects.  I have, I think, misunderstood the true nature of my portfolio.