The wood I've chosen to fabricate the back and sides of this instrument from is something of a mystery. I bought it perhaps 25 years ago, accepting without question at the time that the vendor's labelling of the wood as "Tasmanian Oak" was accurate. I don't recall whether I had immediate plans for it, but if I did, it seems I was distracted before I could convert intentions into action. It features subtle flame, which more than likely explains my purchase; there's a good chance I bought it on impulse and set it aside for a rainy day.
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| Wet with alcohol to reveal its colour. |
I'm tempted to think that many of our endemic Australian tree species were christened in the early days of colonisation by unimaginative British folk longing for the familiarity of home; there are many native species designated as ash, maple and oak, for example, although they're unrelated to their European namesakes. I'm sure our indigenous inhabitants had much more melodious names for them prior to the invasion.
In the case of the wood sold as Tasmanian Oak, it's commonly known that it could be sourced from any one of three Eucalyptus species, but this wood is distinctly different in appearance. To use a commercial fishing analogy, it could perhaps be described as "bycatch". It has the familar Tasmanian Oak aroma when worked, but overall it's much darker in colour and its tan shades vary across the quarter-sawn face; the texture is much finer than the ubiquitous hardware store variety too.
In any case, I managed to bend the ambitiously tight Venetian cutaway without mishap, using a technique demonstrated by the late Ken Parker on his YouTube channel. Briefly, it involves gluing bias-cut linen patches to what will become the outer surfaces of the tightest bends in order to support the wood fibres subject to tension as the wood is bent. To further assist in bending these tight curves, I also followed his example and thinned the sides a little more than I usually would. To make up for the thinner sides, I added a 1mm inner laminate of cherry veneer which will contribute to crack protection and add stiffness to the rims.
Carving the back plate went well enough after I'd brushed up on my gouge sharpening technique and adopted the grimly determined mindset required. As I discovered, reducing a hardwood back plate to something approaching its final dimensions using only hand tools is a test of patience and resolve. I know that the contours of top and back plates can be roughed out using routers and other power tools, but apart from establishing the outermost plate thickness, I chose to restrict myself to planes, gouges and scrapers. There's further refinement required where final thicknessing of the perimeter is concerned, but for the time being I can move on to other tasks.
More to come.
Cheers, Pete.


































