I went out to Method in Linlithgow
I think of myself as a creative person. I have a degree from Edinburgh College of Art, for goodness sake. When I’m invited along to a spoon whittling workshop at Method Studios, to mark the launch of Callum Robinson’s new hardback book, Ingrained: The Making of a Craftsman, I imagine I’ll be producing an entire set of cutlery in an afternoon. At last, my latent talent will be unveiled. I’m already starting to wonder what my future shop will be called. Man on the Spoon, maybe?
Before we get into our session, we take a tour of the studio. It’s in a former sawmill, fringed by firs, in the heart of Beecraigs Country Park in Linlithgow. According to its owner and co-founder, Callum Robinson, this warehouse of space is freezing in the winter. Today, it’s roasting at their headquarters, and the doors are flung wide open. There is neatly organised equipment everywhere. Lathes and planes, sandpaper, ear protectors, a million pencils, and drawers filled with screws of every size. Robinson tells us that, when they took over the property, back in 2009, they had to completely refurbish the space, which included levelling up the floors so they weren’t listing like a ship. That process is detailed in Robinson’s book, which is a love letter to his job, his studio and equally creative family, but most of all, trees and wood, in all their tactile permutations, from oak to elm, cherry and ash. As the cover endorsement from Chris Packham says, it’s “A beautifully cut and crafted masterpiece inlaid with insight and polished with the pure joy of nature”.
What really grabs you, on reading it, is the physicality - the sore muscles, and the inevitable splinters. It’s a far cry from working in front of a computer. Ingrained reads like a novel, and has cameos from his wife - architect designer, Marisa Giannasi - and the rest of the Method crew. On my visit, Robinson’s dad, David, who is a self-taught Master Woodcarver, is working at a desk, scratching a house name - a job he’s doing for a friend - into a slice of fudge-coloured wood. He makes the most jaw-droppingly beautiful pieces. These include a table that has a topographical view of otters swimming, complete with ripples on the surface of the ‘water’, and he’s been working on a commission that celebrates a client’s travels. The Ocean Table has a narrative that involves intricate carved squid, seagulls and jellyfish. I’m so jealous of the lucky owner-to-be. I ask how much a piece like that would cost, and he estimates around £10k, then qualifies that by telling me it takes weeks to make. There is no need. It’s a piece of art. I’d pay double that. One day, my ship will come in.
In other rooms, they’re working on a commission for The Glenturret. It’s under wraps for now, but involves a collaboration with a US artist, James Turrell. They have been commissioned to make 90 of these pieces, and buyers won’t get much change back from £90k. Method have worked with other whisky labels, including Johnnie Walker and The Macallan, but also luxury brands including LVMH, Gleneagles, Burberry and Bentley. It’s wonderful that their skills are appreciated, in an age of mass production.
When it’s time for our spoon-whittling session, we’re taken out to the courtyard to sit in the sunshine. Method’s cabinetmaker Andrew Watt will be showing us what to do. This isn’t an experience that they usually offer, though they may do in the future. The other participants at the session have been invited along from bookshops - Toppings, Waterstones and independents, including Night Owl Books in East Linton. These owners and managers think Ingrained will sell well. People love to read about making and crafts. It’s a form of escapism. Watt starts us off with a piece of wood that’s been roughly hewn, by axe, into a paddle shape. Then, we sport thick gloves, though we are told that we’re not to let them lull us into a false sense of security, as the blades we’ll be using are extremely sharp. We also hang a piece of wood around our necks, like a breast plate. Essentially, this is something for you to lean the spoon against, and, I suppose, prevents you from stabbing yourself in the chest in a joinery hari-kiri moment.
We start with a hook knife, which carves the bowl of the implement. The rough spoons are made from different types of wood. I am suckered in by its colour, and end up grabbing the cherry version. Big mistake., as it’s much harder than the other varieties. I carve and hack, for well over an hour, until my lap is full of sawdust. I feel like I’ve barely made a dent. You wouldn’t even be able to scoop a tiny half mouthful of pea and ham soup with this feeble attempt. It’s strange, but I feel as if the piece of wood is fighting against me. There’s a knot, and I just can’t work around it. I can’t remember if Watt said to go against, or towards the grain. Whichever way, it doesn’t yield. The next stage involves carving the stem. It’s slightly easier, as you slice the hard edges away and make the square bits curvier. We get to the end of the two hours, and I have a sore arm and a new found respect for Method. My spoon attempt is laughable. What they do is utterly incredible. I think I’ll shelve my shop plan for now, and live vicariously by reading the book instead. Ingrained by Callum Robinson is out now, £22, Penguin
Gaby Soutar