Visits with Theo Hios, A Reflection

 It is my conviction that the conflicts of science and metaphysics can best be resolved through art. Art is not the domain of the elite, although some try to make it so. It is in reality the life’s breath of mankind. It is mankind's building of a culture.

                                        George Constant

In my life I have had the good fortune and privilege of having known a handful or so of authentic human beings. What do I mean by “authentic human being?” It is more than a good person, of which there are many, but rather someone who has found themselves in a profound way, whose life is a reflection of, even synonymous with, who they are. I mean a person who has no need for arrogance or egotism or dissimulation, who is utterly present and in whose presence one feels warmth and solidity and calm. I mean a person whose mouth is not gushing an endless train of sentences but rather someone who listens and sees, someone whose company you seek out. One such authentic person was, as might be expected, a spiritual teacher. One was, as maybe not expected, an auto-mechanic. One was a world-renowned pacifist, one an academic and one an artist.

Theo Hios was the artist. I suppose I could say I have known Theo almost since my arrival in this world as he was my godfather. Theo was a New York City artist of some note, most of his career spent in the city, save for summers spent at his “beach” studio in Hampton Bays, Long Island, not to mention a significant stint as a marine in the Pacific Theater during World War II, even then sketching, photographing and teaching art to his fellow soldiers. This reflection, however, is not intended as an accounting of Theo's quite fascinating life, but rather just about the visits with Theo Hios.

During my college years in Manhattan it was easy to visit Theo and his wife Catherine, Cathy to us, but latter years spent in the Midwest and West made the visit to the Hios brownstone on the upper West Side of Manhattan more of an annual pilgrimage, which continued for a period of thirty years.

Climbing the stairs to their second story apartment was like entering a museum, every wall and shelf festooned with tastefully arranged artworks, mainly by Theo himself, but also sculptures and paintings by Cathy's world-famous brother Michael Lekakis as well as her equally noted artist brother-in-law George Constant. Also, about were works by Cathy Hios herself, an accomplished ceramicist whose workshop was housed in the 1900 brownstone's basement. Bookshelves were filled with not only the classics of Western Civilization but also a remarkable collection of large format art volumes featuring artists of all styles and periods. Here was a place where art thrived, catching your every glance, providing beauty and calm, seemingly on another planet from the noise and bustle of Amsterdam Avenue. It was as if Western art and culture were distilled into an essential oil and left infusing the very air 24 hours every day.

Accompanying our own family, kids always included, would often be my mother who in an earlier period of her life danced with Cathy in the Maria Theresa and Heliconiades Group, Maria Theresa being one of the Isadorables, the proteges of perhaps the most important pioneer of modern dance, Isadora Duncan. The requisite coffee made, we would sit down for a fare of nuts, olives, cheeses and fresh bakery bread. The emphasis was on conversation, not cooking. My earliest journal note about a conversation with Theo has him telling me, “We are all in the arts for the ego trip.” Despite this view we almost never heard about Theo's shows, openings, awards...no me, me, me. Instead, Cathy and Theo were inquirers, ever asking questions about our children, our everyday lives, our camping trips. I also noted on more than one visit that my mother and Cathy's reminiscing would dominate the conversation. They loved this yearly time together, so precious was it, and not easily accomplished without our help. Theo would rarely interject but just sit quietly with a hint of a grin on his face. To all appearances he was an essentially happy man despite having experienced some of the very worst atrocities of World War II.

Theo had found his calling, but then his calling kept calling as he explored new media and styles of art. He approached each new period of his artwork with the enthusiasm of a teenager in love and the innocence of a child. Every new place or travel served as a spring for a new flow of creativity. As I said at the beginning of this reflection, he was a person whose life's work was synonymous with whom they were. I could not imagine Theo without his studio, and, indeed, he died within two years of selling the brownstone and moving to a nearby apartment, one without any studio space. As he struggled with an illness, Cathy told me that he had lost the will to live, that without his art nothing seemed to have too much meaning to him.

And then there was the studio. As the hours of our visit accumulated the moment came when Theo invited us to follow him up one more flight to his studio, encompassing the entire third floor of the brownstone. The space had perfect north-facing windows, unshadowed by taller buildings. It was filled with easels, work tables and works in progress. Toward the rear were huge racks of canvases and chests with wide drawers for works on paper. A moment came, one we were familiar with, when Theo began rummaging through the drawers removing one piece then another, sometimes two or three, sometimes five or six: oil paintings, drawings, acrylics, watercolors, silkscreens. These were generous gifts to us as well as designated to other family members. He would roll them carefully in neutral PH slip sheets and then seal them with the tiniest possible pieces of masking tape, as he was a man to waste neither words nor tape.

Hios at The University of Arizona Museum of Art 2024

I will end on a more personal note because Theo never failed during the course of our visits to ask me about my own work. In the early days that might refer to my self-image as a fledgling writer, but for most years it referred to my furniture making. I can say of these chats that there is nothing more likely to put artistic tension into the soul of a would-be artist than the interest of a genuine artist. Maybe there was a way to be an artistic furniture-maker? Theo had some well-meaning suggestions such as painting Western motifs on my pieces using a set of exactly eight standard acrylic colors in order to develop a “signature,” with motifs by which I would be recognized. Alas, I never took up that idea as I could only picture the familiar painted chairs and tables of Mexican restaurants. Another time he recommended that I must put something of myself into each piece, something to represent my curiosity about the world and wood, finishing this discussion by suggesting a study of Antoni Guadí, sculptor, architect and furniture designer. He certainly was trying to be helpful, but in the end the design and cost constraints of commissions generally superseded creativity, not that furniture making itself is particularly well suited as a fine art.

Even if Theo did not succeed in making a fine artist out of me, the visits with Theo and Catherine were genuine refreshment to spirit and soul. I would always leave feeling very good, but there was more. Theo showed me that a life can be spent in no better way than pursuing one's passion, one's calling. He was living proof. But barring any sense of a deep calling, as was my own case, the next best life is spent doing what one enjoys and living a lifestyle of one's choosing, even at the cost of monetary gain. Theo built his own spaces, he created his own art, and he lived a life he loved. In quite a few ways I can say his footsteps were ones I chose to follow. I still to this day remain thankful for our friendship.

After-note:

In 1979 Theo's work took a dramatic change with the inclusion of images and motifs from travels among some of the greatest of the Western National Parks. I had the privilege of hosting the Hios's in Flagstaff and taking them to the Grand Canyon where we witnessed an unusual layer of stratus completely filling the canyon from rim to rim, the landscape within completely hidden under a white carpet, but then slowly reappearing temple by temple. In my several hundred days hiking and rafting the Grand Canyon I never witnessed this again. Theo would be quite pleased to know that today, here in the West, several of his works are in the permanent collection of The University of Arizona Museum of Art.

Half Dome, Yosemite

 

Handmade...What's It to You? A Reflection

For me the world is weird because it is stupendous, awesome, mysterious,

unfathomable...     Don Juan in Journey to Ixtlan

My hands make things. I could no more help this as a child than I can today as an elder. The objects made are meaningful both to me and their recipients, but “handmade,” what is it to you? Try this little experiment at home: go into each room and look about you. How quickly can you identify the handmade objects? The art works hanging on the walls or sculptures on a shelf are, of course, obvious candidates, but it's pretty easy, isn't it, to pick out all the objects that are handmade? Why is this so?

A primary reason is that we can often associate the handmade object with a particular person or a moment in our personal history. The coffee mug in our hand was purchased from Jason at his local pottery studio, or the rocking horse in the corner was made by grandpa for your child. That very child made the ceramic ashtray on your side table. A successful bartering moment abroad left you with the basket gracing your wall. In the window hangs a hand-blown glass piece by your friend George. If you are acquainted with the maker, their image and personality are inextricably interwoven with the object, but even if you buy from a perfect stranger on Etsy, a connection is felt. Thus, personal memory, whether an association with the maker or the purchase event, is an all-important factor in pointing out and valuing handmade objects. Do note, however, that such factors are not intrinsic qualities of the object itself. Let's call these “objects with stories.”

Another characteristic of handmade objects about your home has more of an ethical element because they represent mindful spending and a concern for your community. For instance, you know this purchase has supported a local craftsperson and indirectly the local economy. You know that this purchase utilizes sustainable and ecological materials, practices that help the environment. You know that with this purchase you have, in a small way, celebrated the maker's creativity, their community and the preservation of their craft or tradition. You can pat yourself on the back as a responsible consumer with concern for your community and physical world. This may not be a conscious element in your enjoyment of such things, but it is in the background. So, let's call these handmade things “objects with ethics.” Again, do note that these are not intrinsic qualities of the object itself, but ones that you and society assign to it.

Let's refine the experiment now by eliminating connections, stories and ethics and invite a stranger into your home to go about the rooms with the goal of finding the handmade objects.

What criteria would they use? Well, they would begin with an enormous data bank of what mass-manufactured goods look like from countless hours spent shopping in stores and online. Thus certain objects would not look familiar, would not register in the data bank, or they might find imperfections, lack of symmetry, crudeness or obvious signs of handcrafting. The object might just be clearly unique, a true one-of-a-kind. Alternatively, the object might be an example of a certain cultural tradition or ethnic heritage, such as a Native American basket, recognized as typically handcrafted though not entirely immune from factory duplication. The stranger might actually do a half-decent job of finding the handmade in this manner. Let's call these objects “special,” though finally we have a quality that is intrinsic. 

 

Let's modify the experiment now and pick up one of your favorite handmade pieces. Spend some time with the object. Hold it, handle it, give it some time in your hands, perhaps close your eyes. Is there anything else you sense? Can you pick up on any subtle quality, one for which we do not have a proper term in English?

Here I call upon my years of studying physics with an especial interest in the philosophical writings of the greatest 20^th century physicists. Most of these scientists were surprisingly humble and realized that there is much more to the universe, to mind and matter, than we know or can quantify. They knew our understanding of our world is rudimentary and imperfect. The Nobel Prize winner and great scientist Erwin Shrödinger believed that the mind could influence the external world and vice versa. For instance, a chapter heading in one of his essays is: “Reasons for Abandoning the Dualism of Thought and Existence, or Mind and Matter.” And so, let me posit the idea, which cannot be disproven, that the craftsperson has imparted something of their mind or call it love or call it spirit or call it being or call it power to this seemingly inanimate object.

In the Mideast perhaps we do find a word that touches on this phenomenon, the word baraka, which refers to a blessing or grace flowing through God into a worthy creation, be it a place, a person or a physical object. You may be familiar with this word through the name of a recent President. Nonetheless, it is not my intent to engage in a metaphysical discourse, which stops right here. I merely, and very briefly, would like to suggest that handmade objects possess intangible attributes which, perhaps more than the other factors mentioned, make us unknowingly value them.

Like myself, my father loved to work with his hands and make things. He always had one project or another going on in our basement workshop. I kept very few things of his, but I began, with the writing of this reflection, to look about for what I had saved. Almost everything was handmade! The photos in this post are all his handicrafts, a wire take-apart puzzle, a “bear” knife with my initials on the rivets, and a spinning wooden ice cream spoon to rotate in your cup of pencils as one heads out to work and as one returns. Let's hope your work lets you leave the spoon always turned to a smile.

Etsy Shop

 

Queen Loft Bed in Five Easy Pieces

●Simplicity

In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit to not counting the 1x6 slats that support the queen size mattress in the count of 5 pieces for this recent commission. Otherwise, we have a one-piece foot board assembly with permanently attached ladder, a headboard assembly tall enough to allow sitting up in bed (for some), two 2x6 rails which drop into the foot and headboards on heavy duty bed rail fasteners and one lengthwise safety rail that also provides rigidity:

Assembly time is super quick, about 15 minutes. Add to that any needed shimming to level the legs and placing a couple of 1/4” lag bolts anywhere through the loft into wall studs. The concept in this design is to put all the assembly labor in the shop rather than at the site, thus no collection of boards, no bags of hardware, no hours of assembly time. If portability is of any concern or one enjoys working in the shop this design accommodates it nicely. Having spent two hours of my life in toto trying to distribute mattress slats evenly on a bed frame I decided to make this simple too by gluing spacers on top of the ledgers:

●Headroom

An unfortunate drawback in most loft designs is requiring adults to crouch when entering the space beneath. In order to allow most women and quite a few men to walk freely under my design I enlisted the help of staff member Derrick in my SketchUp first draft to establish the 5'9” clearance I was seeking:

Given the typical 8' ceiling height this is about the absolute maximum loft headroom after taking into account the mattress thickness and seated height for a child or short person on the mattress. Tall folks would need to read propped on their elbow. Note: the lower and upper clearances in this particular design were perfect for the granddaughter who commissioned it but may not be suitable in other circumstances.

●Safety

I found it disturbingly odd that both the commercial loft units I looked at as well as a DIY set of plans from Home Depot had no railings above the mattress level. This design does provide a 1x4 railing several inches above the mattress on all sides. This not only adds rigidity but prevents the inadvertent active sleeper roll out. The railings in the head and foot boards are fully mortised pine 1x4's, a pair for the headboard end. The 1x1 ledgers are glued, nailed and screwed into the rails. The first step of the ladder is 14 ½” from the floor, but all other steps including the upper cross beam and the safety rail are exactly 12” apart which will not disturb the proprioception of foot positioning without looking. The ladder is permanently attached for further safety.

●Joinery & Dimensions

The 2x6 foot board and headboard rails are attached to the L posts at each butt joint with four 7/16” dowels. Better have a helper when doing this glue-up! I used a standard four-hole Dowl-It jig for this purpose by removing all the bushings, leaving four 7/16” ID holes. Care was taken not to ruin the internal threads of the jig with the 7/16” brad point bit, and they came through just fine. The basic assembly is based on four fully mortised bed rail fasteners, though the Woodcraft set I used was not the best. The countersinks in the steel plate had to be increased to recess hardened 2½” #8 screws. The screw heads must not protrude above the plates. Also, the mortises were deepened about .02” greater than the plate thickness (see photo below) to ensure the fasteners would draw up tightly when dropped into place. I cut the mortises into the rail ends using a tenoning jig on a table saw which made this step quick and easy. Luckily a high shop ceiling allowed this since the 69 1/2" rail stands vertically on the saw.

Overall dimensions are 89” high at the top of the foot board post, 94” high at the top of the headboard post, 80” long and 58” wide. Less the thickness of the 2x6's this yields a well for a queen size mattress that has interior dimension of 77” long and 55” wide. This allows a space of 1"-2" around the mattress to facilitate making the bed. The tapering on the bottoms of the legs is not decorative! Obviously, the foot board and headboard assemblies cannot go through a door frame upright but can be moved about easily on their sides. The taper is just what is needed to allow the taller headboard assembly to move around the corner of two 3' wide hallways which meet at right angles to one another. That about the smallest turning situation you would have in a typical home.

●Reuse and Cat Use

In keeping with a basic principle of Flying Circus Studios all the redwood used in the loft was salvaged from a dismantled deck. The great problem with this reuse was the many layers of deck oil that had hardened after several decades of Flagstaff weathering. This required multiple shallow passes through a planer destroying two sets of planer blades in the process. I made no attempt to fill the blackened screw holes which add an element of curiosity and visual interest. The wood itself was amazingly free of cracking and splitting, though, of course, boards were culled and cut with this aspect in mind. Even the cutoffs were utilized to make in-drawer knife blocks for my Etsy shop.

The cat of the house immediately found this new treehouse of great interest and actually scaled one of the posts vertically to reach the plush mattress above. This left numerous scratches up and down the post (repaired but visible just above nose). Now a series of steps has been arranged to allow said kitty to reach the mattress by jumping instead of clawing. 

Unquestionably this new loft bed is the best seat in the house. Its owner thinks so too. 

 

Furniture Making: Art or Craft? A Reflection

 

When is the last time you sat down for a good cup of coffee at a Shakespearean love sonnet or hung your coat on Dante's Inferno? When is the last time you put your clean socks in a Steve Martin movie or slid your dishes into a Greek tragedy? When is the last time you stored your books in a Beethoven symphony or reached to silence your alarm on the Song of Solomon? When is the last time you relaxed to watch TV on the History of the World by H.G.Wells, or played poker on a ballet, or put your feet up on a good model of the universe? 

No, not recently. These nine absurd suggestions encompass the nine Greek Muses of the arts and are meant to point out a chasm. In order, they are Erato, Muse of lyric and love poetry; Calliope, Muse of heroic or epic poetry; Thalia, Muse of comedy; Melpomene, Muse of tragedy; Euterpe, Muse of music; Polyhymnia, Muse of sacred poetry; Clio, the Muse of history; Terpsichore, the Muse of dance and finally something that we typically don't, but probably should, consider an art: Urania, Muse of astronomy. The list juxtaposes these arts to nine common articles of furniture, all of which I have made numerous times, not infrequently with the image of myself as an artist. Yes, it's nice, thinking a of oneself as an artist, a certain elevation and sophistication of life ensues, but in truth a wide chasm separates furniture making and artistic creation.

In a nod to my Greek heritage, I think the original Muses still provide a decent measure of what constitutes art. I distill the matter into a simple question: “Is it useful?” The word furnish itself means to supply with what is useful or necessary, to fit out, provide, equip. Furniture existed in ancient Greece, even in ancient Egypt, and yet the Greeks assigned no Muse to its creation. In my opinion if an object is useful, no matter how intricately decorated, no matter what the skill level required, no matter how beautiful, it is craft, of the finest order perhaps, but still craft. These Muses inspired works with no utilitarian purpose or use. My creations as a furniture-maker were quite the opposite.

Back in the day I was often a participant, organizer and/or juror of a show held at the Coconino Center for the Arts in Flagstaff, Arizona with the simple and unpretentious title of “Useful Objects.” It was later renamed as a list of materials, but its purpose was to showcase the local area's best weavers, blacksmiths, potters, beadmakers, carvers, quilters, metalworkers, woodworkers, jewelry makers, etc. Now all these crafts are similar to furniture making insofar as the use or purpose, even if that be personal adornment, is the essential defining element. Rarely a piece, say wood marquetry or fabric, would have no other destiny than to be hung on a wall much as a Salvador Dali print would be. The arts of painting, photography, sculpture, drawing and printmaking were not part of this show. It was a craft show.

To help further clarify my distinction between art and craft I introduce the concept of the “blank canvas,” which I use as shorthand for other blanks, whether they be blank paper, unexposed film, block of marble, music staff paper, digital void, etc. I never entered my shop, no not once, though I guess I could have, to face a "blank canvas." I always knew exactly the purpose to which my piece would be put, though there might a thousand ways to approach it. The essential element was use or purpose, which predetermined most of what followed. I could have proceeded to make, for instance, a table six feet tall, but then it would have been sculpture, heh? A jeweler, likewise, does not make an earring with no means of attachment. A potter does not make a plate with mountainous terrain on it.

I could not help but inquire of my friendly AI companion what it had to say on the distinction between art and craft, and it turns out it concurs with the Greeks. Here you go:

Art is an expression and application of imagination and creative skill. It is a form of communication that is intended to evoke an emotional response from the viewer. The purpose of creating a work of art is to make something that can be appreciated for its aesthetic beauty. The creative visual arts are traditionally painting, sculpture, photography, or drawing. The performing arts include theater, dance, music, opera, musical theater, magic, puppetry, comedy, circus and improvisation. (Filmmaking was treated separately from performing arts.)

Craft, on the other hand, involves the creation of functional or decorative items, often requiring a specific set of skills and following a predetermined plan or pattern. Crafts can include weaving, carving, pottery, embroidery, macrame, beading, sewing, quilting, and many other forms. The purpose of creating a craft is to make something that is useful or decorative. Crafts may sometimes be called decorative arts.

There is great joy to the craftsperson in creating a piece of fine workmanship. Theirs is a life of considerable pleasure, fascination and absorption. Nonetheless, I daresay nearly every craftsperson has entertained the question as to whether or not they were an "artist." I for one, after many years of thinking myself an artist, now make a clear distinction between the creative process involved in art and the creative process involved in craft, which is so front weighted by utility and function. Alas, I would like too, but I cannot say furniture making is one of the arts, and neither do the ancient Greeks nor Microsoft.

Maker's Time, A Reflection

I am thinking it's time for this blog to take a new direction. In the past the emphasis has been on particular works and woodworking tips...what and how. Needless to say, the sole proprietor woodworker's life is all-consuming. There are customers to meet, plans to draw, materials to buy, catalogs to savor, parts lists to compile, schedules to extend, tools to accumulate, new jigs to clutter space, blogs to write, maintenance to defer, shop to clean, wood to cut, rout and sand, components to assemble, completed works to finish and deliveries to make. Some family time and sleep are then well in order, but reflection would be a luxury. Nonetheless, given the subject of this blog is my career as a woodworker, it seems appropriate to do some reflecting on this life now that the shutters are largely drawn. That brings me to the primary ingredient of my work, the irascible and evanescent element of time.

Yes, my only plea to the clock was to slow down. Having done various rote jobs in my life, though fortunately never for very long, I knew well the meaning of watching the clock. Yet how opposite to watching the clock were the hours spent in the shop, avoiding any flirtatious, even fearful glances in the direction of the clock, whose hands seemed visibly to rotate. As the workday began to draw to a close, in the late afternoon, the hands experienced even further acceleration. The speed of time's movement at times slipped into a transcendence of time. I feel very lucky, indeed, to have, not always, but often, enjoyed this state of absorption, enhanced not only by the manual nature of the work, but also by the lack of an overseer. Also, the opportunity of losing a finger at any moment enhances attention nicely. Much of my working life passed this way.

I once spent a lovely summer living alone in a brown log cabin not far from the shore of Lake Superior. It was situated on a grassy knoll just above a small stream sprinkled with small boulders and falls, rapid flowing. A talkative stream it was, and at times I would swear to hear the conversations of passerby. It must have been spring-fed as it never wavered in its flow, hour to hour, week to week, rain or sun, all summer long.

Current psychology has a term, quite applicable to this stream, a term I rather like, “flow state.” This describes well the absorption I could feel in the shop. Some of the characteristics of this flow state tally with my own experience: complete concentration along with an absence of rumination, performing well-rehearsed tasks with effortlessness, the challenge of the work closing in on, though not exceeding, my skill level, pleasure and reward in seeing my goals accomplished...that pile of rough boards at the day's start transforming into a useful, perhaps even beautiful, object. And, not the least, the fleeting transcendence of time.

I have often thought of the following passage, one of my favorites, in reference to my woodworking life, a passage from Henry David Thoreau's Walden which describes perhaps the ultimate flow state, an artist who passes beyond Time:

There was an artist in the city of Kuoroo who was disposed to strive after perfection. One day it came into his mind to make a staff, Having considered that in an imperfect work time is an ingredient, but into a perfect work time does not enter, he said to himself, It shall be perfect in all respects, though I should do nothing else in my life. He proceeded instantly into the forest for wood, being resolved that it should not be made out of imperfect material; and as he searched for it and rejected stick after stick, his friends gradually deserted him, for they grew old in their works and died, but he grew not older by a moment. His singleness of purpose and resolution, and his elevated piety, endowed him, without his knowledge, with perennial youth. As he made no compromise with Time, Time kept out of his way, and only sighed at a distance as he could not overcome him. Before he found a stick in all respects suitable the city of Kuoroo was a hoary ruin, and he sat on one of its mounds to peel the stick. Before he had given it the proper shape the dynasty of the Candahars was at an end, and with the point of stick he wrote the name of the last of that race in the sand, and then resumed his work. By the time he had smoothed and polished the staff Kalpa was no longer the pole star, and ere he had put on the ferule and the head adorned with precious stones, Brahma had awoke and slumbered many times. But why do I stay to mention these things? When the finishing stroke was put to his work, it suddenly expanded before the eyes of the astonished artist into the fairest of all the creations of Brahma. He had made a new system in making a staff, a world with full and fair proportions; in which, though the old cities and dynasties had passed away, fairer and more glorious ones had taken their places. And now he saw by the heap of shavings still fresh at his feet, that, for him and his work, the former lapse of time had been an illusion, and no more time had passed than is required for a single scintillation from the brain of Brahma to fall on and inflame the tinder of a mortal brain. The material was pure and his art was pure; how could the result be other than wonderful.

 

M.V. HYAK Complete

Tom Schell's exceptional model of the Washington State ferry M.V. Hyak is complete, but this is not new news:

It has been convenient these last few years to be able to blame various personal and business failings on COVID, but, alas, I cannot use that excuse to justify the three years, two month's hiatus between my first M.V. Hyak blog post and this second one. The delay is curiously a result of the precision craftsmanship of the ferry's builder, Thomas R. Schell. When he handed over the completed model to me for photography I planned to show each deck. I did not realize, however, that in removing the sun deck I had inadvertently taken the restaurant deck with it, so perfectly were they joined, yet with no mechanical attachment. Thus, I missed it entirely in the photo shoot and proceeded straight to the passenger deck. Since this photo shoot immediately preceded my moving away from our mutual hometown of Tucson, only recently has it been possible to rectify the error. The lack of any other blog entries whatsoever is another matter altogether.

Considering that Tom Schell's entire model is designed and constructed “from scratch,” the tight fit of each of the decks is quite amazing. Due to the lightness of the thin bass wood used throughout, even the slightest distortion of a single deck would result in defective mating with gaps amidship or fore and aft. For instance, the passenger deck had a slight upward bow at its ends when finally complete. Tom placed small thin lead weights on either end until it settled upon the car deck below, and then he glued these to the underside of the passenger deck resulting in its perfect mating. Likely, removing these today would make no difference. To ensure that a light breeze would not send decks sailing, we added some hidden weight to the topmost deck, the sun deck. I bored out the bottom of the two stacks in order to insert lead split shot. Do review the previous post for Tom's own description of his work and other deck photos. So, without further ado here is the missing restaurant deck:

Three closer views of the restaurant deck, pleasantly, a light passenger load:

The passenger deck below:

Moving above to the sun deck, Tom built removable roofs over each of the two wheelhouses where we find the pilot and his tools of navigation:

Some notes:

● All windows in the vessel are actually glazed. Tom describes his method in his notes in the Nov. 30, 2020, Hyak post, i.e. sandwiching clear plastic between two pieces of 1/32” thick bass wood. Note that all walls had to be shaped to match the contours of the hull. Well, OK, you may say it's not rocket science, but I beg to differ, as that was, in fact, Tom's career path.

● Hollow punches were used to cut round objects from thin bass wood such as the stools found in the dining area.

● This model is constructed entirely in the traditional handmade manner with no CNC machinery or laser printers employed.

● The perimeter dado in the solid walnut base, made by yours truly, (see the restaurant deck photo above) receives the custom-made plastic dust cover which protects the model. Tom was most kind to include a brass plaque on the base attributing my contributions.

● I asked Tom recently how he counted 5 decks as I only counted 4. He pointed out that the car deck is actually composed of two levels with ramps leading up to a “mezzanine.” Here you can barely see the cars tucked underneath this second deck, again more authenticity:

I conclude with a note on global warming and ferries. The Washington State Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal in Seattle, for instance, is being rebuilt to accommodate higher tides. Here is view down the car deck of a B.C. Ferry on a recent trip after which we passengers had to exit via the car ramp due to the tide being too high to use the normal passenger ramps: