But is it Art?

I’ve turned dozens of bowls like the one pictured below. It’s thrilling work. You begin with an ugly chunk of castoff wood. Often it’s a crotch or some gnarly lump of tree root. Slowly, the bowl emerges as you peel away the outer layers and hollow the middle. You make the wall as delicate as you can and maybe even leave bark around the rim, a dramatic reminder of the living tree. If you’re lucky, the result is an exciting hollow form with lively grain and a subtle, pleasing curve.

But, a lot of the process is just…luck.

Even accomplished turners can’t pretend to be fully in control. I’m competent at the lathe, but I don’t know what’s hiding inside that piece of firewood. I don’t know what the grain is going to do. I often don’t even have a finished product in mind when I start. I just get going and see what happens.

Over the last 30 years, wood turning has moved away from furniture spindles (which are largely out of fashion) and into large bowls and adventurous hollow forms. Turners have moved into the world of fine art and even displayed their work at galleries. As the work became more abstract, turners developed a little motto:

“If it won’t hold soup, it’s art.”

It’s funny the first time you hear it, but I think this mantra hides the uncomfortable truth in artistic wood turning. We used to make something useful and now we largely don’t. It used to be the chair bodger in the woods turned out legs and spindles by the thousands and did his part in making fine seating affordable. Even further in the past, the turner might have specialized in “treen,” useful items like cups and bowls. In medieval Europe, nearly everyone ate and drank from wooden vessels and there was a brisk industry in cranking out simple, low-cost woodenware. Affordable glass and porcelain largely killed this industry, and for good reason. I’ve tried drinking from a wooden cup. I can’t recommend it.

The last “useful” project is the salad bowl. Many folks still enjoy a rustic wooden bowl heaped with greens. They like the way it looks at their dinner party. I’ve also turned a few wooden platters and given them as gifts. People usually like them, but I don’t know how much. I give most of my turnings away as gifts and my friends are polite, so they seem like they’re happy to receive a wooden bowl. I can’t say for sure.

A local kitchen store used to sell my bowls. Well, they sold my bowl. I had a selection on display for over a year and only a single item sold. The rest gathered dust and when the store closed, the owners gave them back to me. These were some of my earliest work, and I’d probably do better at selling bowls if I tried again, but I’m not sure there’s much point. There just isn’t a huge market for woodenware. Of course, abstract and experimental turnings can find a home in someone’s house as pure art, but I think that market is a little bit narrow, too.

When most of us do artistic work at the lathe, we’re kind of along for the ride. The wood either does something interesting or it doesn’t. Skill matters a lot, but lots of tuners get their best results through volume. They turn a lot of pieces and only show the good ones.

It’s sad to admit, but the explosion in large bowl turning isn’t driven by consumer demand. It’s driven by the pleasure of the turner. The fact is, we make bowls because we like it. These turnings are demanding and give us a constant sense of discovery as that graceful form slowly comes peeking out from the spinning wood. Once you’ve done it, you might get hooked and just keep doing it, even if no one wants the things you’re turning. I’ve thrown away some decent bowls because we had nowhere to put them and no friends to give them to.

This article might come off a little pessimistic, but I don’t mean it that way. I think we should keep making bowls and other objects that won’t even hold soup. It’s better for you than staring at a screen. It gets you off the couch. I still turn bowls, but fewer than I used to. When I do a bowl now, it’s usually to get a break from some demanding furniture project or the stresses of running a business. I don’t worry about whether it’s useful or whether it’s art. I turn because it’s fun.

That’s enough.