Back on the 2nd of August, I wrote about my plan to make a lamp from a gunstock I’d seen in an hotel (photo below) – a plan born, as these things often are, from a few pints and an inflated sense of competence.
At the time, my bright idea was to drill a hole right through the stock for the flex. When that seemed optimistic, requiring an improbably long drill bit, I refined it: cut the stock into sections, drill each one, and glue it all back together – hoping the holes would line up somewhere near the middle. The sort of plan that sounds entirely reasonable until you imagine trying to thread a cable through what’s effectively a wooden trombone.
Then, a few weeks ago, I visited my brother – an engineer by trade and temperament. He listened patiently, then said, “Why don’t you just saw it in half longitudinally and router a channel into each half?” Logical. Elegant. Devastatingly obvious.
So, after consulting ChatGPT about the best saw for the job, I bought a Japanese pull saw. I’d never used one before, and it’s an entirely different beast. A western saw pushes and chatters its way through timber; a Japanese saw pulls – clean, quiet, and precise. The blade’s so thin it looks like it should fold at the first knot, but it doesn’t. It rewards patience and punishes haste.
It did, however, take the better part of a morning to complete the cut. I began to suspect that perhaps a better – and certainly quicker – approach would be to use my bench saw. The width of the blade doesn’t really matter, provided the cut is dead centre, because the same amount of wood would be removed from each half and they’d still fit together perfectly. The challenge, of course, is alignment: the stock would need a proper jig to hold it upright and perfectly square as it passes through the rotating blade. I’ve yet to build such a contraption, but the idea has lodged itself firmly in my mind for the second gunstock.
As it was, I persevered with the pull saw, and the result was worth it. The far side of the cut came out as smooth as glass; the near side, where I started, looked like an archaeological find – but it was straight enough. My first attempt at routing the flex channel was a disaster: because of the shape and the difficulty of pinning it in place, it was like routering a squealing cat. So I came up with something better for the other half.
I soaked a length of rope in white paint, laid it in the routed groove, pressed the other half of the stock against it, and when I separated them, I had a perfect mirrored line. Using that paint trace as a guide, I took an angle grinder with a flat disc and carved out a flowing channel that followed the stock’s natural curves. It looks far more intentional – less engineering, more craftsmanship – and it’ll take a brown braided flex beautifully.
The next step is the top section, where the lamp holder will sit. It currently sports pine inserts, for some unknown reason, which have to go – too soft, too pale, and not in keeping – so I chiseled them out and have ordered some solid beech blocks. Once glued and planed flush, it’ll form a sturdy, unified block strong enough to hold a brass fitting without fear of splitting. I may even fit a threaded brass insert, just to make it bulletproof – if you’ll pardon the pun.
The base will also be beech, probably deep enough to allow the cable to turn through ninety degrees internally, though I might route a discreet channel underneath and hide it with felt. I’ll decide once I see how the line of the cable sits – aesthetics first, practicality second.
It’s remarkable how something that began as a whim in an hotel bar has turned into a slow, methodical act of engineering, or wood butchering. The “test stock” I’d written off is becoming something altogether more refined – a lamp that looks as if it grew that way, and I may end up with a matching pair. Proof, if ever it were needed, that a daft idea, a sharp saw, and a dash of obstinacy can turn out something rather good in the end.
No comments:
Post a Comment