Winning the Argument with a Mallee Burr

The Mallee Burr I want to tell you about has been hanging around the workshop for a few years, heavy and thoroughly unbothered by any plans I had for it. Burr is like that. All the swirling grain that makes it so lovely to look at comes from the same knots and twists that make it hard going under the gouge.

I chose the deepest part of the burr for the ring faceplate, the idea being to steal as much depth as I could for the bowl. It also meant the whole thing sat noticeably off centre, which made for a lively start. There is a particular moment, when a big lump of timber is going round off centre and the lathe is rocking gently on its feet, where you remember exactly why the face shield exists. I kept the speed low, partly for my own sake and partly to spare the bearings the wobble, and worked the outside with a freshly sharpened bowl gouge. Two of them, in fact, ground the same, so I could keep going without stopping to sharpen halfway through.

When it came to the bottom I cut a dovetail recess rather than a tenon. I could not honestly tell you why. A recess felt right on the day, so a recess it was. That is the truthful answer to a great many of the small decisions in this trade, and I gave up pretending otherwise some time ago.

The top of the burr had a few reminders of its former life, in the shape of some deep chainsaw marks. I could have cut them away, or scraped them, or sanded the top flat and lost a good part of the piece in the process. Instead I got the Arbortech out and carved a run of gentle waves across the surface. It is one of those choices that sounds reckless and turns out to be the making of a piece. When the light runs across those waves at the end, they do something no flat surface ever could.

Then, and I know this will raise a few eyebrows, I reached for the airbrush. A little earth colour, laid on as a soft gradient down into the bowl and around the edges. The burr had so much red in it that the eye did not quite know where to settle, and a touch of colour gave it somewhere to go. I understand the purists who would rather I left well alone. I simply think the piece is better for it.

A couple of coats of Danish Oil, brushed into all the little hollows, then left overnight and given a couple more. I turned this during the hottest week of June, which for once worked entirely in my favour. The oil dried quickly and evenly and the whole thing came up beautifully.

Finished, it is a fair size, somewhere around 40 to 50cm long and 30cm wide, with real weight to it. It is made to sit as a centrepiece on a table, and it has now found its way to a gallery in Farnham, over in Surrey, where it is up for sale.

If you have ever looked at a rough, awkward piece of burr and wondered whether it was worth the fight, this one might just convince you that it is.