Another Long Absence

I became interested in starting up my toy business after my near death experience with a brain tumor and its subsequent surgical removal.  This sounds very dramatic, and it was!  How close to death I really was is a matter for debate, but I was close enough.

During my recovery I pledged that in the time I had left, I would return to creativity after a decades long absence.  I bought the web address Geppettosworkbench.com, I cobbled together a website, and I started the blog.  As I began to feel better during the year-long recovery, regular life began to seep in through the foundation of my new resolve and I became once again distracted by the requirements of daily life.

Once in awhile I would poke my head up from the sand, visit my website, and write another blog post promising to get back to it.  So far I haven't.  Perhaps I never will.  But I hope I will.

Now that I've moved into my new living situation (see my previous post), I will start building things again.  First I'll build a tool-chest for the set of tools I will keep at my apartment.  Then I'll build some furniture for the apartment.  Then some Christmas presents for the Grandchildren.  I will chronicle these builds.  I'm sure not a single person will be interested in these things.  But no matter.  I will keep this as a journal nonetheless.  Mostly so I can practice doing so, in case at some point I have something worth sharing one day.

So a couple of years have gone by since I started this blog.  Though I write daily I am just not really in the habit of sharing what I write.  But since I am posting this to my blog, I have decided to talk a bit about what is going on with me.

When I started the website and the blog, I was trying to goad myself into action creatively.  I am an artist, I've always been an artist.  As a child I always expected I would make my living as an artist.  Once I left school I decided that since my needs for food, shelter, and the comforts of life were constant and immediate, and the financial rewards of painting pictures were not, then I would have to have a "job" and relegate my painting to an avocation.  I figured I could do this, because my desire to paint was strong.  Eventually I figured that I would begin to earn money selling paintings.

I was also interested in a lot of other creative endeavors, theatre, woodworking, puppetry, music, and the list goes on.  Often my interest in these things (woodworking) was entirely artistic, designing beautiful furniture, for instance.  But just as often there was a practical point to it as well, I needed a set of shelves and rather than buy one, I would make it.  This type of creativity scratched the itch somewhat and the results were more quantifiable, in terms of the value of the produced objects to my life.

Eventually I turned, out of necessity, to home renovation because it allowed me to transform my living situation into something better.  I started to undertake big long term projects.  Much of my free time was spent doing things which were not very "creative" at all, plumbing and wiring, for instance.  But I was developing and using skills that would serve me well over the years.  But as I ventured deeper and deeper into home renovation, I was getting farther and farther away from Art.

Decades went by.  Periodically I would be moved to paint and make wooden things out of necessity or just to flex my creative muscles, but "real life" would interfere and eventually I'd put these endeavors back on the back burners.  But in the past five years a number of things have happened to me that bear on my desire to make things.

The first thing that happened is that after feeling poorly for awhile, I went to the Doctor, and after a long battery of tests, discovered that I had a brain tumor.  It was on my pituitary gland, it was congenital (meaning I'd had it since birth), it was benign, not cancer, but was growing enough that it was beginning to press on my optic nerves.  If it weren't removed, I would surely lose my eyesight.  So I agreed to have brain surgery to remove the tumor. 

The surgery was ultimately successful.  It is a long, painful, and involved story, that I won't tell here.  Suffice it to say there were several complications with the surgery and the recovery.  As a result I wound up in the hospital for nearly a month, and it took me the best part of a year to fully recover.  That was in 2015.

The other thing that happened recently is that I left a long standing relationship.  This relationship came with a house that I've been chained to for nearly 20 years.  Renovating this house became pretty much the sole focus of my life for the past two decades.  Leaving both the relationship and the house has freed me to pursue other endeavors.  The transition has been difficult and painful, but once things are a bit more settled, I will have more time for creating things with my hands.

So these are a lot of words to say stay tuned because good things are coming.

Woodpeckers at rest tend to stay at rest...and Procrastination

2017 Update

So nearly a year has gone by with no change at all to my website.  The Website at this point is a placeholder.  I knew it when I made it and that is still the case today.

However, I am making some progress toward the making and selling of toys.  I became frustrated with not finding the time or the energy to start on any of the dozens of ideas that I had years ago so I chose one, an articulated woodpecker toy to begin designing and producing.  It is a small, carved Downey Woodpecker which is perched on the side of a tree.  There is a button on the top of the tree, which when pressed will cause the bird to peck the tree. 

I made the prototype decades ago, and it has sat on various desks and shelves for all this time, waiting for me to make something more of it.  Back when I first made it I just whittled a generic bird shape.  It didn't look at all like a Woodpecker.  The "Woodpecker" wasn't perched on a tree, just a rectangular block of wood that housed the simple mechanism that caused the pecking action. 

To make it a product back 35 years ago, I needed to do several things, I needed the bird to look like a Woodpecker, I needed to design the action to fit into a tree-shaped block and I needed to redesign the action to utilize a return spring to allow a more rapid and satisfactory pecking action.

Back then this presented several problems.  In order to find out what a Woodpecker looked like, I needed to either go to a library or to a museum to look at taxidermy models and sketch.  I had no idea where to find springs that were the right size and weight.  The internet was years away and I was ignorant of suppliers that would sell me what I wanted.  Obstacles.

With diligence and hard work I could have overcome these obstacles, but to do that I would have had to walk out the door to an uncertain future.  This pathway would take me past the refrigerator, where we kept the beer, and I am easily distracted.

But now I can see a picture (or a thousand pictures) of Woodpeckers with a few clicks on the phone.  I have spent the intervening decades designing mechanical assemblies and I know where to buy anything I might need, and I am currently out of beer. 

So things are now actually happening!  I will post more about this soon!

David Carroll
1/26/2017

On the perils of making things.

My earliest memories as a child involve drawing things and building things.  My drawings were not so much Artwork as they were concept sketches as part of a design process.  The ones that I remember involved taking balsa-wood gliders from the dime store, taping a balloon to the underside of the fuselage and using this as a propulsion engine.  The system was weaponized by taping a needle to the nose of the plane.  I'm not certain what need I had for a weaponized balsa-wood glider, but necessity is not always, or exclusively, the mother of invention- sometimes invention is born simply from the availability of the materials and the imagination.

I did spend a great deal of time, as I recall, drawing and redrawing these inventions to make them look good.  I had an eye for proportion, and pleasing shapes.  However, if I drew something that seemed mechanically or structurally improbable, though beautiful, I was unsatisfied.  Later when I learned of the great tug of war involving form versus function, I was already well acquainted with it, as I had wrestled with it since coming into consciousness.

Designing on paper was most often the way I began a project, but not always.  If I found an object that gave me an idea, making use of whatever it might be, then building extemporaneously was the most expeditious way to the goal.  I remember once as a child, probably eight or nine years old, walking by the unused chicken coop in the back yard, past an open shed where lumber and other wooden odds 'n ends were piled.  Sticking out from the pile was an old, grayed, decorative post that looked like it could be the bowsprit of a pirate ship.  I was not allowed to play in the wood pile, it was home to rats, ferrel cats, and the occasional skunk.  Moreover, the wood was dirty, rotten in places, and full of nails.  But the bowsprit-piece looked like you could just pull on it and it would come out.  I gave it a tug.

Soon it was extricated and dragged into the center of the back yard.  Since no harm befell me while removing it, I concluded that the rule itself, like so many others, was arbitrary and without merit.  I was encouraged by this, and soon a great deal of additional lumber from the shed was stacked and propped up haphazardly like a log-house, or a house of cards.  My aim was to make a scaled down, but still large pirate ship.  The ground itself was the gun-deck and there were gun ports and rails.  It was such fun, imagining I was a pirate, sailing up and down the coast.  It all went very smoothly until I decided my ship really needed a mast.  I looked at some of the poles I had at hand.  I was able to drill these into the turf by twisting them around so they would stand- sort of.  They were all too small, so back to the shed I went and dug through it until I found a large cedar pole.  It was immense!  It seemed to me to be a hundred feet tall. (It was likely only ten feet tall but I was a small child).

It was quite heavy, and I struggled mightily to prop it up, several times I lost my grip on it and it fell with a crash.  But eventually I lifted it up like the flag at Iwo Jima.  Then I had to figure a way to keep it standing.  I tried to twist it into the ground the way I often did with small sticks, but could not drill trough the turf with such a large pole.  I took the other sticks and leaned them against it teepee-style, which held it up, but it wasn't correct, masts were single poles, not teepees.  I dashed inside to find a picture of a sailing ship as reference.  My Mother was asleep on the couch, my Grandmother was dozing in an armchair.  My Sisters were gone too, likely down the street playing with the neighbor's girls.  I considered waking the grownups to show them my ship, but decided to wait until the mast was up.  I looked in the bookshelf to find a book with pictures of ships, to see how the mast was held in place.

Ropes! ropes are the answer, all the pictures in my Golden Treasury of American History showed the masts guyed with ropes to the gunwales, to each other, and to the bowsprit.  All I had to do was take down all of the rarely used clothesline from the pulley on the back porch, cut it into serviceable lengths and tie it to the top of the mast and then to someplace on the rest of the structure- it hardly mattered where, I figured, because there were lots of ropes in the pictures, and I'd be sailing the Spanish Main in no time!

Sharp knives, suitable for cutting rope, were kept in the kitchen drawer, and easily procured, but were technically off-limits.  However, as all of the officiating adults were napping post-Sunday Dinner, the required equipment could be quietly obtained and if returned clean and unobserved, then permission to use them seemed to me to be an unnecessary formality.  I supposed that they might wonder how I cut the rope and be concerned, but by this time I had already broken a lot of rules and would likely be in trouble on multiple counts so it really didn't pay to worry on any particular one.  Plus, when they saw the magnificence of the finished ship, all would be forgiven.

Soon enough I had liberated the clothesline from its mundane existence to be repurposed on the high seas of my imagination.  It seemed like plenty enough rope.  I divided it into four even-ish pieces, now I just needed to tie the mast from the top to four points around the rails, nice and secure.

The first problem was to get up to the top of the mast and tie on the ropes.  The mast was still standing against the shorter poles, tee-pee style.  I considered dropping it to the ground and tying the ropes on in safety and comfort, but recalling the Herculean effort it took to get it raised in the first place, I discarded that idea immediately.  No, I would leave the mast in-situ, tie it all off and then remove the supports.

I needed to get the step ladder from the garage to reach the top of the mast.  It was heavy, and yet rickety, and I needed to stand on the next to highest step to reach near the top of the mast-pole.  But I gathered my courage and climbed to the top.  I managed to tie a tight-enough knot with the first rope, so it wouldn't slip unacceptably far down the mast.  The three other ropes were easier since their looped ends could rest upon the first knot and therefore wouldn't have to be too tight.

At this age, my knot tying skills were in still in their infancy.  The only knot I knew was a sort of a square knot; like tying your shoes, minus the loops.  I had been taught to tie a proper square knot, but had trouble remembering the sequence.   Even today I have to silently say to myself, "right-over-left, left-over-right," in order to tie one successfully.  But I did my best, and once a knot was tied, I would give it a tug to be certain it would hold.  Some did, some didn't, so I tried again.

It turns out that what had at first seemed like plenty of rope, was in fact barely enough.  The knots had used more of the rope than I had anticipated and I wasn't able to tie the running end as far along the rails as I would have liked, considering that I needed to knot them there too.  But I did my best and tied them to the rails.  It was hard to get them tight, partly because of my poor knotsmanship, but mostly because the smooth 2 x 4 rails allowed the whole thing to slip.  I wondered if I could slide the loop back enough to take up the slack and then drive a nail into the rail to fix it's position.

Hammers were in the cellar, no problem there, but nails were likely still kept in Grandpa's shop behind the garage.  Sadly, he had passed away a couple of years earlier and the shop was now locked.  Fortunately most of the lumber stored in the shed bristled with nails, and after a few minutes with the claw hammer I got enough mismatched, bent, and rusty nails for the job.  The 2x4s, used for the rails, had hardened, warped and dried in storage, making them ideal for ship's rails, but making it hard to start and drive a nail.  I had to bash with the hammer two-handed, and many of my hits missed their mark, causing the nail to bend.  Fortunately this bend very nicely held the rope in place almost like a staple.  It was a discovery I have used many times since.  After considerable effort, I got the ropes passably tight and secure, and it was time to remove the supports from the mast and set sail.  I timidly kicked the supports out from the mast, prepared to run away in all directions at once, like Rocinante.  But the mast held, tentatively, but held nonetheless.

Then, as now, I like to stop frequently during projects and admire my work.  I surveyed the craft from different angles checking the lines.  From some viewpoints it really did look like a pirate ship!  I was giddy with excitement.  I hopped aboard.  I saw the kitchen knife, still on the ground, I had neglected to return it, but this was fortunate since a true pirate would need a cutlass, so I tucked it into my belt.  I played for what seemed like hours.  There was a freshening breeze as afternoon slowly turned to dusk.  I walked along the rails, checking my knots and making adjustments here and there, as I imagined real sailors had oft to do. 

I became aware of movement inside the house, maybe Mom or Grandma had awoken from their naps, or maybe my Sisters had come home.  I couldn't tell.  I stared through the window in the back porch door to see.  I wondered, with growing concern, how I would slip the knife into kitchen unobserved now.  Then the world turned black.

My next blurry and painful memory was of my Mother pleading with me to wake up.  I was lying on the ground with the huge cedar pole mast next to me.  It had fallen, and struck me in the back of the head.  I don't know how long I was unconscious, but it was nearly dark now.  My Mother wept a bit in relief, helped me to my feet and walked me inside.  She got me a cold compress which hurt as it was applied to the growing lump on my head.  I kept feeling it to see how big it would get, and determined, to my disappointment, that the lumps that Daffy-Duck and Yosemite-Sam got from Bugs-Bunny were gross exaggerations.

Soon the soothing, conciliatory tone from my Mother began to turn accusatory, "What were you thinking?" "You might have been killed!" and "Who is going to clean up that huge mess in the backyard?" were the major themes, as I recall.  There was no mention of the missing kitchen knife, the obvious trips to the off-limits woodshed and the garage for supplies and tools, not even the cut up clothesline was brought up.  Any of these infractions would, under normal circumstances, be grounds for punishment.  But apparently a near-death experience trumps a list of minor infractions.  Good to know.

I wasn't badly hurt.  I probably wasn't out for very long.  Likely my Mother heard the mast fall down and came running.  I do not recall getting in much trouble, I don't even remember putting all the wood back in the shed, though I must've done it.  What I mostly remember was the joy of making that ship and being carried away in my imagination.  That feeling, the joy of making, has never really left me.  I've become far more careful about structure and safety when I make large, potentially dangerous things, but that comes naturally as one ages, I think, and is a gift given by mishap, and living to understand mistakes and learn from them. 

Geppetto's Workbench

When I was just out of college I settled down and began to look for a career.  I had a job, one that I liked very much, in fact, but I felt like I needed a "career job."  But what?  What career?  I had trained as an Actor, I was skilled at theatrical design.  I was Artistic, and creative, and I enjoyed working with my hands, particularly woodworking.

The store where I worked, A.J. Hastings, Inc. in downtown Amherst, Massachusetts, was really a perfect place for me.  It was a busy downtown newsdealer and stationer,  they sold newspapers and magazines, cards and stationery, college supplies of all types serving the 5 Colleges nearby, as well as sporting goods and toys.  I worked there throughout most of the latter half of the 1980s.  

Among my responsibilities there, I managed the sporting goods and toy department.  I kept track of inventory and merchandising, kept the area clean and stocked, and when the toy salesmen came to visit, I would listen to their sales pitches and purchase new items for the store to sell.  This was a favorite part of my job.  I really enjoyed the toys in particular.  We purchased the sporting equipment and toys wholesale from Cariddi Sales, out of North Adams, Massachusetts.  They sold sporting goods, camping and fishing gear, and toys, specializing in classic toys as much as the new electronic toys that would soon overwhelm the market.  These classic toys were what I liked the best, Slinkys, Silly-Putty, Jacks, and Red Rubber Balls, etc., etc.- timeless toys powered by the hands, and the imagination, rather than batteries.

About this time, I got the idea to make toys myself.  I lived in an apartment with my new wife.  The apartment was small, but did have a little corner of the living-room devoted to my "studio" with a small woodworking bench and my easel.  I still had sometimes-access to the campus wood shop at Hampshire College, where I made several baby rattles on their lathe, which I presented to friends and coworkers, who were expecting children.  One Christmas I designed tops and made some for every one of my nieces and nephews.  The following Christmas I got the idea to make some of these tops to sell at Hasting's Store.

The Cariddi Salesman was named Tom, we called him Tom Cariddi, (it may have been his name, but I don't think so).  I discussed the toy business during his visits, and showed him the tops that I had made.  He was impressed and asked me if I could make him a hundred of them so he could peddle them around and see if they sold.  I said, "Sure!" without even a moment's thought.  We agreed on a price and I was in the toy business.

Making a hundred tops, was really not too difficult, they were made from a commercial available wooden toy wheel, with a pointed wooden dowel glued in and painted simply, letting plenty of the wood show.  I bought the wheels from a local craft supplier, who unfortunately, didn't stock enough.  I called around and found a commercial supplier who would sell me as many as I wanted, cheaply, but the minimum order was 250 pieces.  I ordered them, and paid extra for express shipping.  The dowels came from the nearby lumberyard.

Once the materials were in hand I spent a busy, but fun and exhilarating weekend, cutting the dowels to length, pointing them in a fixture that I designed (like a big pencil sharpener), assembling and painting them.  The hardest thing was to find places in the little apartment to let them all dry.  But I did, and the tops were done in time to be delivered at the appointed time.

Tom picked up the tops and was again impressed.  To my delight, the tops that Hastings agreed to carry were a hit with customers sold out quickly.  Within a week, Tom called me and said that he sold all that he had and was sure he could sell three hundred more!  But since it was now getting close to Christmas, he would need them in a hurry.  I said he could have another 150 (all the wheels I had left) in a couple of days, but the rest would take at least two weeks.  He agreed and I began full-scale production.

The next two weeks was a blur.  The store was busy, my wife and I were hectic with the usual holiday craziness and every spare moment I had that fall was spent working on tops.  This time it wasn't so much fun, compressed by time, as I was.  But as I worked on finishing hundreds of tops, "Geppetto's Workbench" was taking shape in my mind.  There was a definite market for handmade wooden toys, at least locally, that much was clear.  If I could design different classic toys, and make them myself, I could sell them through Cariddi, as well as at the store and at craft fairs, and put my creative abilities to good use.

After the holidays were past, full of dreams and a bit of success, I started designing and prototyping feverishly.  There was a big Children's craft fair in Amherst each Summer called the "Teddy Bear Rally."  Impulsively, I signed up for a booth, certainly I would be able to get everything done between January and mid June.  I made up a half-dozen or more toy designs, tops, buzz-saws, building-blocks (in the shape of buildings, each with a carved letter on them), jumping-jacks in the shape of teddy bears and several others.

As time went on it became clear to me that to be ready for the Rally meant I would have to work at the same feverish pace as I had that fall with the tops.  I couldn't keep up the pace.  The reality soon became evident, I needed a shop, some equipment, some working capital and way more time than my life and current obligations afforded me.  Reluctantly, I canceled the booth at the Teddy Bear Rally.  There was no realistic way for me to be ready in time.

That spring we bought a house, started having children, financial troubles, and eventually we divorced.  To make ends meet, I got a "Career Job," and moved back to Connecticut.  Geppetto's Workbench foundered and closed.

I've moved around a lot since then, each time carefully moving all of the Geppetto's Workbench prototypes and what little stock I made.  Periodically, I would think to myself that someday in the future will be the right time to return to it.  Maybe when I retire...