Keep craft alive. But keep it Real!!!

 

Keep Craft Alive — But Keep It Real

I fully support keeping the craft alive. I believe in it wholeheartedly. The rewards are real — the satisfaction, the skill, the pride. But let’s be honest: it’s not always worth it financially. That depends on the trade you choose, where you live, and the type of work you’re aiming to do.

I can only speak from my own journey.

I studied furniture making at the Furniture Institute of Massachusetts under Master Phil Lowe. If you don’t know Phil, Google him — watch his YouTube videos. You’ll learn more in one clip than most schools can teach in a semester. I still watch them, and they always spark something in me.

At school, I learned to draw — both scale and full-size, all by hand. I also studied architecture in college, which introduced me to CAD. While I enjoy both methods, hand drawing will always be king in my eyes.

Beyond drawing, I learned to sharpen and use hand tools for joinery and restoration. That foundation taught me to understand the why behind the how. Master the hand tools before jumping to power tools — because then you know the true limits and advantages of each.

The journey was powerful. I made some great furniture. Looking back, maybe it wasn’t museum-worthy, but it sold — and that meant something. Though, I definitely sold it too cheap.

That’s the reality: most people don’t want to pay what it truly costs to make furniture. We live in a throwaway culture. I made a living doing repairs — because as Phil once said, you’ll never run out of work if you repair. He was right.

But even that’s changed. The antiques dried up. People now bring you mass-produced furniture that’s barely worth gluing back together — unless it holds sentimental value. And while repairs were once valued, the emotional connection is often the only thing keeping the work alive.

That shift pushed me into other work: cabinetry, millwork, wood finishing, carpentry — you name it. What I noticed is that people are willing to spend on their homes far more than on furniture. But even then, it doesn’t mean you’re rolling in money. I’m not asking to get rich — I just don’t want to stress every time the car breaks down or the boiler goes.

So yes, keep the craft alive — but also get educated. Go to school, take business classes, learn construction management, accounting, whatever. I didn’t say get a degree — I said get educated. Because without that foundation, it’s hard to sustain a business long-term.

Running a shop isn’t easy. When you’re young, you’re hungry and willing. But as you get older — with family, kids, responsibilities — the numbers have to make sense. Sometimes, working for someone else is the smarter choice. But finding the right company and team takes time, effort, and reflection. It’s not impossible — but it requires maturity and realistic expectations.

So yes — keep your options open. Keep learning. Keep growing. And be honest with yourself: do you have the grit, discipline, and clarity to make it in this field?

Whatever path you take — all the best.

New me vs old me!

 

There comes a day when you no longer feel the need to prove yourself to anyone—not because you’ve given up, but because you’ve outgrown the need.

You grow tired.

Tired of explaining.

Tired of justifying.

Tired of shrinking yourself just to fit into spaces you’ve outgrown.

You stop waiting—for messages that never come, for apologies that never arrive, for people who never learned how to love.

The truth is simple:

Not everyone will understand you.

Not everyone will stay.

Not everyone will treat you the way you deserve.

But that’s okay.

Because there comes a moment when you choose peace over proving.

Silence over reaction.

Grace over chaos.

You stop stepping into storms that were never yours to calm.

Sometimes, the most mature response is silence.

The strongest move is walking away.

And the greatest act of self-love is refusing to put yourself last.

That’s not selfishness—it’s healing.

It’s choosing yourself with courage.

It’s rebuilding your soul without waiting for permission.

And when you do that, something shifts.

Life starts to realign.

Because the right people won’t need explanations.

They’ll see you.

They’ll feel you.

They’ll respect you—without you ever having to ask.

What am I doing!

 

My life and identity were wrapped up in this craft. But lately I’ve been asking myself—why did I choose this path? What was I chasing? What made me different? What did I actually bring to the table? And more importantly… what did I miss out on?

Was I a great husband? A good partner? Or was I letting my stress become theirs?

I chose this craft because we grew up poor. The housing we had was okay—nothing fancy—but it was the best my parents could manage. Still, I wanted more for us. Each move we made, the housing got better. But we were also that family with plastic on the couches. Things were simpler then, and now looking back, I see just how incredible my parents were. They worked hard and gave my brother and me more than enough.

Fast forward to running a business—where sleepless nights and anxiety became routine. Knowing my numbers only made it worse. I saw the truth: things weren’t going well. Hiring help? Usually a waste. They couldn’t keep up or folded under pressure. And many quickly realized that restoration work was far harder than it looked—I just made it seem easy. I guess that means there’s real skill in what I do.

Getting work was never the problem. Getting paid was. Too many “Richards” out there—and let’s just say they lived up to their nickname, if you catch my drift.

Eventually I started to see that a lot of “successful” businesses weren’t that successful at all. And I had to ask—why keep pushing, why stay burned out, just to fall out of love with the very thing I gave my life to?

That’s when it hit me—my life, my partner, and my time are more important than reopening a shop and living buried under tools and bills.

My craft doesn’t define me. Legacy? That’s BS—Phil Lowe told me that himself just days before he passed.

Because no matter how many hundreds of clients you treat like gold, it only takes one cactus to paint you as a hack.

Today, business ownership feels overrated. I’d rather work as an employee, come home to my shop, and make beautiful things for my family—to enjoy them, use them, and live with them every day.

And that, my friends, is exactly what I’m doing.

Cheers.

I can’t afford my own work!!!!

 

The whole “I can’t afford my own work” line is nonsense. The truth is, you can afford it—you’re just choosing not to.

Take a hard look in the mirror and decide: you have the time and ability to get it done. Is it hard? Absolutely. Is it cheap? Not at all. But is it possible? Yes.

You need to pause and prioritize yourself and your family. If you have the funds to hire someone—great, go for it. If not, then roll up your sleeves and do it yourself.

Your dreams and goals aren’t gone—they’re just delayed. You haven’t failed.

Know your lane!

 Know Your Lane

Picking a lane and sticking to it can feel a lot like merging onto the highway for the first time—it’s awkward, slow, and uncertain. You start in the slow lane, ease into the middle, and eventually find your way to the fast lane.

As your skills and confidence grow, so does the scope of the work you take on.

But there’s a tipping point. Taking on too much across too many trades can swallow you whole. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by tools, supplies, and half-finished projects—starting to look more like a hoarder than a craftsman.

That was me. Not quite Sanford & Son, but the volume alone could be overwhelming.

Today, the mentality is to “stay in your lane” and become a master of one craft. The problem is, then you’re constantly hustling to find that exact type of work.

Or—like I did—you become a one-stop shop:

Furniture making to furniture repair.

Cabinets and built-ins to custom moulding and millwork.

Fabrication to installation.

Raw wood prep to final finish.

Then carpentry: framing, finish work, doors, windows, flooring, cabinets, demo, repeat.

My mindset was always: Why wait for someone else when you can just do it yourself?

There’s a saying: “Jack of all trades, master of none,” but the full version goes: “Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.”

Looking back, I’m grateful I took on all that work. That range of experience let me remodel my home, build my shop, and take on projects with real confidence.

Still, my best advice? Pick a lane.

Master it.

Buy only the tools you really need.

Then grow intentionally from there.

Happy building.

I lost my way!

 

I’ve lost my way…. Years ago. Somewhere along the line, I started chasing money instead of doing what I truly love. At my core, I’m a historic furniture maker and millwork specialist. My inspiration has always come from the past—I borrow details, rework them, and make them my own. These elements never go out of style. They may feel modern to some, but that’s only because timeless design always feels right. And if someone disagrees, it often means their eye hasn’t been trained or they don’t fully grasp the language of classicism. Even modern tastes are grounded in traditional lines, whether people realize it or not.

I love  my time working as a site superintendent, but there’s an undeniable void. I feel like I have more to give—like something is missing. The creative drive that once flowed through me feels buried. There’s something sacred about making things with your hands, especially when you’ve spent a lifetime honing the craft. It’s a shame to let those skills sit idle.

The truth is, staying in the trades isn’t the hard part—making enough money to do the work I care about is. What I really want is to create small runs of custom millwork, build period-inspired furniture, and repair high-quality pieces that deserve to be preserved. But I can’t do it at a loss. I’m not the guy you call for a quick fix or a bargain. You come to me for quality, for care, for preservation.

At this point in my life, I choose to live—not to be a slave to my work. My void is now my hobby. So each morning Monday thru Friday I wake up excited to drive to the site and see what the day brings. But I am also excited about locking the site and not having to worry about work. There is something special about this feeling- and it’s hard for some to understand, but boy does it feels so good. 

Cheers! 

Apprentice, teaching, running a business.

 Historically, apprenticeships lasted anywhere from 5 to 7 years before someone could call themselves a “carpenter” or “furniture maker.” And honestly, I believe that should still be the standard today.

When I attended the Furniture Institute of Massachusetts, the two years I spent there gave me a solid foundation—an understanding of hand tools, power tools, and how to approach the work. But did that mean I was ready to build a bombe chest or install an entire room of wainscoting? Absolutely not.

Applying what you learn in school takes years. Real-life experience is what shapes a craftsperson. Growth continues long after the classroom.

That’s why I would never take a class from someone who just graduated. It’s not about whether they’re capable—they simply haven’t had the time to try enough methods or face enough challenges to teach effectively. I’ve taken courses like that and walked away wishing I’d asked for a refund.

After graduating, I spent years assisting in 10–15 courses a year, taking notes not just on the craft, but on how to teach. Because being a skilled craftsperson doesn’t automatically make someone a good teacher. Sure, some folks teach to supplement their income, and yes, we need more teachers to pass along knowledge—but the truth is, not everyone is meant to teach.

If you need proof, just scroll through YouTube. There are plenty of videos that just aren’t worth your time.

And that’s okay. It’s okay if it takes 5 to 7 years to really feel confident in your craft. It’s okay to keep your passion as a hobby or side hustle. Never stop learning. Never stop reading. Never give up.

This is the reality many of us face. As a site superintendent, my passion for woodworking isn’t as visible as it once was. That’s hard to accept. But losing money because people don’t pay is even harder. If you want to make furniture, cabinets, or millwork for a living, you also need to go to business school. There’s too much on the line. The truth is—it’s far easier to work with your hands than it is to run a business.