Foreword S
everal years ago I wrote that turning was a magical process, in part because of the speed at which what seems a simple act— pressing the tool to the workpiece—results in shapes and forms that appear as if by a magician’s touch. Of course it is not nearly so simple. The seeming ease and flow of the turner’s hands and tools are the product of years of experience and experiment, rather like the way an accomplished athlete makes the improbable physical feat look easy, the work of a natural rather than the result of years of repetition and practice. The analogy is not mine alone, to be sure. In The Nature and Art of Workmanship (1968) British turner, artist, and teacher David Pye observed that, “There is a strong sporting element in some workmanship.” (124) Were he still alive, I’m certain that Pye would smile approvingly at Terry Martin’s work and his energetic approach to it, rich as both are in wit, play, and sport. Pye called the accomplished craftsman’s experimentation and exploration of materials “the workmanship of risk,” distinguishing it from the competent repetition of skilled hands. Pye’s observations are complemented by the more recent analysis of sociologist and historian Richard Sennett, who in The Craftsman (2009) observed that artists ranging from goldsmiths to concert violinists developed “touch,” a physical intimacy and expertise with their materials and tools. These unmeasurable qualities are fundamental in the creation of great and often startling works of art. vi
the creative woodturner
Terry Martin relishes the potential in the workmanship of risk. His work is simultaneously new and grounded in tradition. It expands what we think is possible and probable in both the turner’s methods and in what the finished product can be. He has the touch that lets him push his tools to the edge, probing not only the physical limitations of his materials but also the affective potential that all of those who work in wood—from the expert to the novice—know is there. Terry grew up close to the open spaces of Australia in the middle of the twentieth century. Nature can be harsh and living close to it usually involves hard work, but there is something about big spaces that gets into your head and into your blood, from wherever you hale and wherever you eventually land. This respect for and intimacy with nature and the environment is present in all his works. As readers of his masterful Wood Dreaming (1996) know well, he has also found respectful inspiration in the wisdom and worldview of Australia’s indigenous peoples. All this resonates in his work’s complexity, wit, and sensitivity to wood’s special place in human experience. To see and think about his work reminds me of the phrase used to describe many of the exploring expeditions of the early nineteenth century: “voyages of discovery.” Terry Martin’s work is all of that. — Harvey Green Author of Wood: Craft, Culture, History