Before I ever used a lathe, during the travel days of my youth,   I visited a maker of musical instruments named Joo Saz in the old city of Srinagar, in Kashmir.   His workshop, located on the second floor of a rickety looking brick and wood building, contained lots of stuff: lumber, blocks of wood, more lumber, hand tools, piles of shavings, no electricity, limited light through two windows, piles of baskets containing who-knows-what, coils of wire, jars and vessels filled with unknown substances,  and a small area of floor space where he and his father sat and worked.   The latter carved blocks of mulberry wood into hollowed bodies for sarangis, a sort of indian violin.  He worked only by feel, since he was blind.   A few partially finished instruments leaned casually against the clutter.   I found it very hard to believe that anything of quality, anything functional or beautiful could arise from this chaos.   However, it did, and I eventually purchased an instrument which I still have today.
       Now, in my own workshop, I realize that an un-knowing visitor (not a craftsperson or artist) might well draw the same conclusion upon seeing the cramped and random looking array of lumber, blocks of wood, small tools, containers of who-knows-what, clamps, piles of shavings, dust, and a few partially finished turnings sitting here or there.

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​I share this studio building with my wife Lynn Yarrington, a multi-talented award winning weaver, designer and maker of a full line of women's outerwear. You can see her work here.
      We both walk across this deck from our home many times a day, through sunshine and moonlight, rain, sleet, deep snow, balmy days and frigid nights.

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​     I love to make things,  and I love my studio, because that's where it happens!