Artist
The Past
One of my few retreat photos.
I had just moved into a new rental - a beautiful 100-year-old house in a suburb of Los Angeles - which had an outdoor area covered by a tin roof and built of cinder blocks. Being Southern California, it was also mostly protected from rain. I could see throwing an overused, velvet green couch in there and finally starting a wood shop.
As appealing as the idea of finally having a place to make shavings was, I knew I wanted to be there because of the house's floors: a dark but honeyed wood in long, thin strips. We were fairly confident it came with the house. You sprang a little bit when you walked, and it creaked in low tones. The finish was bumpy in high-traffic areas for a little bit of comfortable, massage like traction. It felt weathered in just all the right ways. That wood, and all the right circumstances, were fertile ground for beginning wood-turning in earnest.
Really loved walking barefoot in that house.
The Lathe
I use a Jet 1014 - a popular mini model. The "10" indicates the swing over the bed (the maximum diameter of the workpiece that can be mounted on the lathe) in inches, and "14" refers to the distance between centers (the throw), which is the maximum length of the workpiece that can be mounted between the headstock and tailstock, in inches. Jet labels their lathes in this manner so you can tell the sizing quickly, which I really appreciate.
I came into possession of this one from a connection at a turning meeting, where a pen grandpa referred me to the recent widow of one of his long-time buddies. She was cleaning out her dead husband's items and put the lathe on Craigslist for way less than retail value, but for some reason it wasn't moving. It should've gone fast in a market like Los Angeles, but because she lived over an hour away in Santa Clarita: it well outside the distance people are willing to drive to make that kind of money.
She showed me pens she had found that he made, and asked me to take as much of his shop as I could. I did just that, scarcely believing my good fortune, and compensated her fairly for what it was all worth. I know that she felt relief it was all gone - because she stated this while helping me load the lathe into my car - but her affect was one of numbness and disconnect.
I think about her often when I wonder what losing a spouse feels like.
The first picture I took of my lathe set-up. You can see in the reflection the flower-shaped cinder blocks.