Matt Kenney is a professional woodworker and editor at Fine Woodworking Magazine, writing frequently about tools, techniques, and box making. His education is in philosophy, and I wondered how that affects his woodworking. In answer, it doesn’t directly: “Philosophy doesn’t necessarily influence my woodworking, but because of my background in philosophy I am better able to understand why woodworking is so important to me. I am better able to appreciate why craft is a valuable human endeavor.” He is able to convey these thoughts very well in writing as well. Despite not proofreading his responses to my questions, he wrote quite eloquently about his journey as a woodworker and his philosophy and process. Matt’s full responses are at the bottom of the post.
Becoming a Woodworker
Kenney started working with wood as a kid, taking inspiration from his father, a contractor, and building things such as “tree forts, skateboard ramps, and probably a bunch of things too dangerous to admit.” He survived to graduate high school and went on to study philosophy in college and graduate school. In the course of pursuing his doctorate, he married and started to build a few projects for his home, including a gardening tool box and crib with basic tools. Once again, he was “hooked” on woodworking. At this point, Kenney had become a professor. By chance, the father of one of his students was a furniture maker. As the student put it, “My dad is a professional furniture maker but thinks he’s a philosopher,” and Kenney was the inverse. He went to meet and learn from that furniture maker, and a few years later went to work at Fine Woodworking as an editor. In each of these three stages of development as a woodworker, he was influenced by a different person who each played a very important role in helping Kenney to reach the level at which he works today. In his younger years, his dad taught him to be interested in building things and to work with tools. As an adult, his student’s father showed him the fundamentals of building quality furniture. And now at Fine Woodworking, Mike Pekovich (see next week) is his design mentor.
On Style and Design
The style by which Kenney is most influenced is that of the Shakers, whose “mastery of proportion and color, and how they used doors and drawers to create beautiful arrangement of shapes in their furniture” is very appealing to him. This influence is evident in most of his designs, but I asked Matt if he believes that he has developed his own style. “I think I have. My guess is that my boxes are fairly distinct from what others are doing. I strive to make boxes (and furniture) that are subtle and quietly beautiful. I focus on proportion and using the parts of a box to create a pattern. And I like using color (milk paint or fabric) to emphasize this pattern. But I don’t know. This is probably a question better answered by someone else, who can look at my work and compare it the work of others from the outside. It’s hard to see your own nose.” I have to say that I agree, he has developed his own style.
The descriptive phrase that comes to mind when I look at his work is “quietly sophisticated and playful.” Most of his pieces look rather simple: visually they are quiet, with lots of domestic straight grained wood. The milk paint used sparingly in many of his pieces is part of what sets his style apart from that of the Shakers. The simple appearance of Kenney’s work conceals the skill and precision that he puts into building each piece, as well as his meticulous design process. He spends time iterating through a series of ever-more specific sketches and plans before working with the wood. He wants to be sure that there are no unforeseen difficulties as he builds a piece. Doing design this way makes it most likely that he will have a good result. He makes sure that beauty is the focus of his designs, but a piece can’t be beautiful unless it is also useful: “So, I strive to make useful beauty, beautiful utility. I want the utility and beauty of my furniture to dance effortlessly together.”
Design is like any other skill in that it takes practice to become accomplished at it. For this reason, Kenney took on what he called the “52 Boxes Project,” setting out to build one new box each week for a year. Over the course of the project he was not only reminded of the importance of practicing design but of other lessons on life and woodworking both: “simplicity is always better than complexity,” discipline is essential to success, and trusting a passion leads to good outcomes.
The cover story of one of the first issues of Fine Woodworking Magazine that I read was about making boxes without hinges, and it was written by Kenney. He designed the box in the lower left of the cover. When I look back on that article in comparison to the very first boxes of the 52 Boxes Project (more than three years later), it is stunning to see the difference in Kenney’s style, initially rather generic, which further develops into something particularly distinct by the end of the year. Always technically sound and useful, his box making, in my opinion, is now genuinely beautiful.
In Closing, about Philosophy
I can’t say it better than this: “There is a voice inside each of us. Listen to yours. Discover what it has to say about beauty. Take this knowledge and use it to create furniture that you love. Let your passion for the craft guide you in the shop. And if someone gets in the way, tell them to go kiss a goat.”
Matt’s responses are posted in full below.
How did you get started in woodworking?
I’ve been making things from wood my entire life, and I owe this my dad. He was a contractor, so from an early age I saw that it’s possible to make something useful if you have some tools, some knowledge, and some wood. As a kid, I would help my dad with DIY home construction stuff around the house: making boardwalks (I grew up in Florida), a shed in the backyard, etc. With my brother and friends in the neighborhood, I built tree forts, skateboard ramps, and probably a bunch of things too dangerous to admit. Fast forward to my second year of marriage. I was two years into a Ph. D. program, and my wife and I were living a frugal life. She liked to garden, and I decided to make here a box to keep her gardening tools and supplies in. I had no idea how to do it, but I bought a few chisels, a toolbox saw, a coping saw, and some 1×12 pine. I worked away in the attic above our duplex and managed to get the box done. I was hooked. I made some more small things, still not knowing anything about furniture making, and getting tools. I started to read books on woodworking and searching the internet (back in 2000, there was far less than what’s available today). After several years and a few larger pieces, I undertook my most ambitious piece: a crib for my soon-to-be-born daughter. I made it on a small balcony, with a router, a benchtop tablesaw and little else. Fast forward a few years. I’ve completed my degree and I’m teaching. A student was in her second class with me and one day after class she said, “Dr. Kenney, I’ve noticed that you talk about woodworking a lot in your examples and explanations. Is that something you like to do?” After I told her that it was, she said, “My dad is a professional furniture make but thinks he’s a philosopher. Would you like to meet him?” (I was a professional philosopher who thought he was a furniture maker.) I went to meet her dad, he took me into his shop and taught me how to make furniture Two and half years later, I was an editor at Fine Woodworking. In the last eight and half years, I’ve learned a ton and built a lot of furniture and boxes. Working at the magazine has been a wonderful education.
What is your biggest influence?
This is a tough question, because there have been many significant influences in my woodworking life: my dad, my friend Joe Mazurek (the guy in SC who taught me to make furniture), and Mike Pekovich, my colleague at Fine Woodworking. My dad gave me a passion for making, and the dexterity and mechanical intuition necessary to work well with tools. Joe taught me the fundamentals of furniture making, and asked for nothing in return. I learned a ton about technique from Mike, too, and he has been a wonderful sounding board through the years. We talk about design together, and I often run construction strategies and techniques by him. It’s a phenomenal benefit to work with someone who is as passionate about woodworking and as active in the shop as I am. It doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the best furniture makers I’ve ever met. In terms of design, it’s the Shakers. I lover their mastery of proportion and color, and how they used doors and drawers to create beautiful arrangement of shapes (I think of them as geometric patterns) in their furniture.
What is the biggest obstacle you overcame to get to where you are, woodworking or otherwise?
I don’t know. I believe it’s impossible to appreciate the true magnitude of our accomplishments. I’ve met many people who have thought it a big deal that I earned a Ph. D., or that I work at Fine Woodworking, but from my perspective, it’s just my life. I wanted to earn a Ph. D. In philosophy, so I worked hard to do it. I made choices during my life that put me in a position to be a good candidate for a job at the magazine, and when I got the job I worked hard. Perhaps I’ve just been lucky or privileged, and have not faced any true obstacles, but I doubt it. It’s more likely that I don’t realize them as obstacles because when I confronted them, I put my head down, got focused, got determined, and worked. And when I had overcome them, I pushed on. It’s a matter of perspective. From where I stand, I don’t see obstacles. I see goals and figure a way to achieve them. A person standing outside my life would be better at identifying the obstacles I’ve had to overcome, perhaps. I realize I’m not answering your question. Sorry.
Is your design process more spontaneous or meticulous?
I’m meticulous. I do a lot of quick sketches, attempting to get down as many variations on a central idea as I can. I then pick the few I like to most and sketch them more carefully. From there I pick the one I want to build, sketch it with greater precision, giving attention to proportions. Next, I make very careful and proportionally correct drawings to nail down the actual dimensions. Finally, I’ll create measured drawings. I don’t believe in happy accidents in design. I want to know precisely what I am going to make when I start. I like my design to be deliberate, and I don’t like being forced to make design choices because I’ve worked my way into a corner (this happens when you design on the fly). This gives me the best chance of creating something beautiful and fully realized.
Which is more important to you: beauty or utility?
Beauty. I want to make beautiful things. But here’s the sticky wicket: A piece of furniture isn’t truly beautiful if it is not useful. So, I strive to make useful beauty, beautiful utility. I want the utility and beauty of my furniture to dance effortlessly together.
Have you developed your own style? What makes your work your own?
I think I have. My guess is that my boxes are fairly distinct from what others are doing. I strive to make boxes (and furniture) that are subtle and quietly beautiful. I focus on proportion, and using the parts of a box to create a pattern. And I like using color (milk paint or fabric) to emphasize this pattern. But I don’t know. This is probably a question better answered by someone else, who can look at my work and compare it the work of others from the outside. It’s hard to see your own nose.
How does your training in philosophy influence your woodworking?
Lord, I don’t know. Philosophy is the exercise of critical reasoning in an unflinching search for truth about our humanity, and our place in the universe. I suppose that philosophy helped me to better understand what it means to be human, and woodworking allows me to express this understanding in a tangible way. Creativity, an appreciation for beauty, technical knowledge: these are all part of what it means to be human. And so woodworking is an expression of our humanity. Here I am again not answering your question. Philosophy doesn’t necessarily influence my woodworking, but because of my background in philosophy I am better able to understand why woodworking is so important to me. I am better able to appreciate why craft is a valuable human endeavor.
What did you take away from the 52 Boxes project? (I loved reading about that, by the way. I also enjoy making boxes, and took inspiration from the beauties you made)
Well, the answer to this question is at least one book. I’ll try to keep it short, though. The first thing: If you want to get good at design, you better practice it on a regular basis. Design something and make it. Design something else, and make it, too. Do it a third time, a fourth time, and so on. The second thing: simplicity is always better than complexity. This is true of design, technique, and construction. It’s also true of our lives. The third thing: Discipline is good. Honestly, I knew this already. If you want to achieve anything you must be disciplined and focused. Get in the shop everyday and work. The fourth thing: trust your passion. I love to make boxes. Previously, I had been a bit hesitant to embrace this, but part of why I did the 52 boxes project was because I just wanted to make what I had a passion for instead of what others considered “true” woodworking or furniture maker. I trusted myself and it turned out well. I discovered that there are others out there who liked my box making. That’s a good feeling. It’s also led to a book, a gallery exhibition, and several commissions. Do what you love and good things will follow. Unless you love something bad, like crushing goldfish under your boot. That’s evil, and you’re a jerk. Don’t do that. The fifth thing: 52 boxes take up a lot of space.
Can you sum up your philosophy about woodworking in just a few words?
There is a voice inside each of us. Listen to yours. Discover what it has to say about beauty. Take this knowledge and use it to create furniture that you love. Let your passion for the craft guide you in the shop. And if someone gets in the way, tell them to go kiss a goat.