Amish furniture

I had an opportunity this past weekend to wander a bit in one of my favorite types of showrooms. I found the Amish Furniture Gallery on University Boulevard in Littleton, just north of County Line Road. I’m always amazed at how deeply affected I am by the beauty of this craftsmanship. I steep myself in the rich brown tones of the wood, the slick-smooth finish of the table tops, the solid, simple lines of Shaker and Mission styles, along with soundless solid wood gliders with upholstered seats. There were a good number of more contemporary angles and undulating table sides and chair backs, too, with intricate slats, ladders, and cross pieces. And when the creators combine two richly toned types of wood, I can only sigh. Such elegant, practical works of art.

This particular store had an array of Quoitzel art glass lamps as well, and the making of glass panels has been a strong love of mine at points in the past 16 years. Yes, it’s been many moons now since I’ve found the time, but oh – what a balm it was to see so many in one place. One that particularly caught my eye was the most simply designed – it was built with thin trapezoidal pieces in various veiny shades of natural jade.

My brief wander through the store (Did I trace my steps a couple of times to try a different chair or look again at the name of a table style, pull open a drawer just to sense its smooth slide on perfectly-placed track hardware? I most certainly did!) was like a mini-vacation, inspiring, and restful. My natural assumption was that my own creative output in my current routine would be multiplied one hundredfold if I could surround myself with such creations. Yes, I’m almost certain it would.

As I walked away from the store in the cold, though, I wondered something else. Obviously, this kind of artistry calms and rejuvenates me, makes me wish I “could make something as beautiful.” Whether it be two-dimensional art, an essay, or another panel of glass work in my own basement shop. I insist that full-time “regular” work and family obligations keep me from the attempt of such things; where’s the time? However, the real barrier to my own attempts could be the fact that I believe that what I might accomplish in the time I have would most certainly be inferior to these specimens of crafted artistry. My guess is that the folks who conceive and built and finish these pieces aren't part-timers. But, is my failure to even attempt it because I believe the result can’t be exquisite?

Therein lies my dilemma. How many of us hold ourselves back from whatever would bring us a deep, satisfying joy with that kind of reasoning? I’m among them, minority or not…

I’m most grateful, though, that the artisans who spend glorious days shaping trees into hands-on works of household art have found a way to do just. The rest of us – slackers – can benefit. May these dear Amish artisans live many long and productive days and enjoy quiet evenings with their feet up and the satisfaction of a job well – marvel-ously – done.