I’ve come a long way.
My first ‘spoon’ sits on the windowsill in our family bathroom because no one has the heart to bin the club-like monstrosity. I’ve now realised the failure of my first attempt was rooted in my over zealousness. My inability to recognise I was using seasoned (and thus concrete-like wood) as opposed to green. I thought I was just bad at it and swiftly gave up.
But not this sunday gone- no no no. I picked up my tools again and was given a hunk of hazel wood that was green and as soft as butter to play with instead.
You’ll be glad to know that as a result I’ve had my faith in my ability to whittle restored and plan to whittle left right and centre as a consequence. I even left a pile of wood shavings around my seat on the train home from whittling with Wayne.
If you haven’t already met him on the festival circuit he works, spoon carving Wayne is a dude. I knew he was a good one as soon as he told us that trees are much more intelligent than us. They live longer and are 1000x more adaptable and resilient than us mere mortals. Because of that, his spoon style is one that honours the character of the wood, crafting alongside the trees natural curves and knots. I like that.
The whittling wizard also sung the praises of the other great consequence of spoon carving. ‘To whittle is a chance to meditate.’ Too right Wayne. My brain hushed right down while whittling, with the focus on my ‘to-do’s’ turning instead to a thankful focus on the wood and crook knife in hand. Another gentle reminder to go slow and insert rest into my day as well as that crafting is never just about the [very handsome] end product but the journey that got you there.
As with all of the best of things ey?