David Biggs on his love affair with wood
IHAVE always been in love with wood. I have spent many happy hours making things in my workshop, always using wood. Oh, I have also worked with fibreglass and metal, and even paper pulp and moulded cement, but when I feel inspired to make something I always return to my favourite material – wood. My long love affair with wood has produced several small-boats, a house full of furniture, turned salad bowls, window frames, carvings and cupboards.
Each one of them has been unique because no two pieces of wood are exactly alike and every wooden plank, beam and board has a story to tell.
When I moved to Bloemfontein with my young family many years ago and bought my first house I knew instantly which one I would choose. It had beautiful wooden ceilings and I said yes without hesitation. I wanted it.
There was a mantelpiece made of stone and I bashed it off with great difficulty and replaced it with a proper wooden one.
I have a friend who is a Luthier and makes exquisite cellos and violins. Every time I visit her house I am drawn to her workshop to stare in awe at her latest creation. Every instrument is different because every piece of wood is different. Have you ever wondered why most of the timeless music we listen to is made using wood?
Orchestras have more wooden instruments than all the others combined – violins, violas, cellos, double basses, oboes, clarinets, all wood and each one unique. I suppose you could make violins out of plastic or fibreglass (somebody probably has) but would they sing as sweetly? Of course not. There are many companies offering plastic and metal doors and windows to replace the old wooded ones in your home.
Their salesmen talk of weather resistance and permanent colour and resistance to warping and all kinds of other benefits of metal and plastic, but in the end they will always be substitutes for the real thing. Some of the doors on the family farmhouse where I grew up are well over a century old, with worn edges and countless layers of paint, scuffed and mended but full of charm.
A wealthy city visitor recently saw one of them and gushed: “I simply MUST have that door. How much will you accept for it? I don’t care what it costs.”
My brother was unimpressed, and said, “It has no price. It’s not for sale.” Of course it wasn’t.
Wood is a living part of your life’s story. It grows with you and absorbs your moods and soaks up every chapter of your life. Steel and plastic, yes. Take the money. There’s plenty more where that came from. Wood is part of you. Would you sell a leg?
Last Laugh
As the golfer duffed yet another shot, sending a shower of grass and earth flying across the fairway he turned apologetically to his caddie and said: “I’m afraid I’m not playing my usual game today.”
“Really, sir?” said the caddie. “What game do you usually play?”