I love looking at old photo's.

There's something about looking at these forgotten scenes, that really stirs up my imagination. I want to know what happened to the people in them. Where did their lives go from this moment in time? Did they know how much things were going to change in just the next few years? How did they cope?

The dominant technology of the day is usually there to be seen. Perhaps not front and centre, maybe off to the side. An early model car, or a steam powered ship. An iconic device from the era that silently defines the age.  Something that the locals of that time took for granted, and assumed would be forever.

Yet we observers from a century later, know different.

We see the carefree expressions on the faces in the photo's, and know that some real challenges lay just ahead of them. We easily spot the unusual device or profession in the photo; the one that we know didn't make it. We mentally project it's trajectory over time. It's downfall, and ultimate disappearance. We sense the scale of the disruption that it would have caused.

And we know it's happening to us in exactly the same way, right now.

The arrival of Netflix in Australia a few weeks ago has almost certainly signalled the end of the local (ailing) dvd rental store, not to mention whole chains of dvd sales stores. The mobile-app-based taxi service Uber, was recently confirmed as one of the most popular forms of domestic transport, despite being essentially illegal in many parts of the world. Incredibly, the taxi aspect of Uber may just be the tip of a very disruptive iceberg. And the FAA release of new commercial drone legislation, has started (albeit very tentatively) perhaps the greatest revolution in transport logisitics we have ever seen.

Will we look back on pictures of taxi drivers, video store facades and delivery truck drivers with the same knowing sense of nostalgic melancholy?

How much have our manufacturing processes changed over just the last few years? I knew 3D printing was going to disrupt, but it wasn't until I read about Rolls Royce printing sintered titanium parts for turbines, that I really got how big a deal this is going to be. Disruptive may well be an understatement.

So will there come a time when a manual lathe or a hand file, and the skills required to use them are considered an anachronism? Will the move toward additive manufacturing in both the commercial and enthusiast arena's displace what we know to be the staples of a home machine shop: A lathe, a mill and a set of files. Or will there always be a place for the home creator to turn a dial, and make a pile of chips?

Just like the people in those photo's, I really don't know.

But I have a suspicion that the low (and getting lower) barrier to entry of 3D printers, will make printed items seem more like a commodity, rather than a creation. By contrast, I think traditionally manufactured items will appear to be more unique. They will have more of a story; the careful output of the home shop artisan. I mean no disrespect to those who love the additive technology; there is certainly a craft associated with modelling a part in 3D and getting a good printed result. But perhaps the current revolution will serve to even more clearly define the boundary between the two.

Either way, I've often thought that what we make in our home shops is often more about creativity than utility. After a hard week at the real job, you get home on the weekend, and make something cool in the shop. It's fun to design things and then express your idea's in metal and wood. For some it's just to impress the family, for others it's a prototype for a new line of product. For many it's quite simply an outlet for their creative expression. Their version of art.

Maybe the tools used to get there simply don't matter. Perhaps it will be a blend of all technologies. All I know for certain is that there are few activities in life that make me feel as relaxed as spending time in the shop. So I'm off to make a pile of chips.

The old fashioned way.

Thanks for dropping by,
Chris.

Its kind of the key to it all isn't it?

Knowing what pushes your buttons, and what doesn't. What you want out of life and what you would rather do without.

Sometimes it comes to you through the daily grind. For example, I don't need to do another peak hour commute to know that I won't ever again live in a big city.

Nothing against the big smoke; we need big cities. It's just that I don't really feel at home there, not like I do in a small town.

At other times it creeps up on you slowly; gently edging into your unconscious mind. A brief flicker of recognition now and then, until it finally emerges into your awareness. Clear and bright.

And so it was that I discovered I wanted to be a machinist, and make clocks.

I went to the local hardware store to buy some paint. They're very clever at hardware stores you know. You have to walk in past all of the shiny stuff to get to the boring stuff at the back. And on that day they hooked me. There was a nice new mini-lathe sitting on the counter next to all the usual trade tools. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and stopped for a quick look.

I gave the carriage hand-wheel a quick turn, read the decals, slid the tail-stock up and back a few times. It was all shiny and red, and surprisingly small. Not at all what I remembered a lathe looking like. But it got me thinking about how I had enjoyed working with metal at high school.

Then I kept walking to the paint department, without a backward glance.

That night I found myself thinking about my high school manual arts (shop) class. Which was odd, because I hadn't thought about it in years. The projects I'd made, my teacher, the tools and machines. When I left high school I went to university, and followed a number of professional career paths; none of them involved using my hands. And I kind of missed that. The feeling of messing around with tools and metal. Of making something.

Again it faded from my thoughts.

But then slowly over the next few days and weeks, the urge to follow this thought just grew, and grew. Colonising my mind, and getting me motivated. I started watching youtube video's on machining, checking out prices for tools, and reading forums. The outside shed was sized up as a potential shop. Even the spare room inside was given a once over... this was starting to get serious!

There was only one thing to decide before I took the plunge; what exactly was I going to make?

I saw some impressive projects online. Steam engines, beautiful locomotives and one guy who had made a series of scale aircraft engines. I mean truly spectacular stuff. But I figured most of that was way out of my league, and I had it in my head that whatever I made had to have a purpose in everyday life. A working purpose. I didn't want to spend all this time making a steam engine, to then put it on the shelf to collect dust. I wanted whatever I made to be something I could use.

I don't recall how or when, but at some point the thought arrived: What about a clock?

And just like that it began. A multi-year obsession with learning about all things that go tick. The science, art, history and everything in between. What a great journey it's been. I've learned so much, met so many amazing and generous people, and found a level of satisfaction working with my hands, that I didn't even know was possible.

And to think it all started with a tin of paint.

Thanks for dropping by,
Chris.

This week I spent a lot of my shop time taking care of one of the more time consuming aspects of clockmaking: "crossing out" wheel spokes. I started this process a few weeks ago, and it's going to take me many more weeks to do all of the wheels for this clock. I'll probably spread it out over a few months, and mix it up with some tool making video's, so I don't bore you with the same thing.

But when I'm at the bench for long stretches like this, working on a single component, my mind wanders. I start to think about how it must have felt to be doing this 200 years ago, as an apprentice to a working clockmaker. Was the shop that different to mine, the vise, the files? Did they put in 8 hours a day, 10, 12? What about lighting and vision. I have an Optivisor to get up close to the work; how did they manage without modern lighting and optics?

As for productivity, my experience this week reminds me that past masters of this art were a very special class of maker. I am amazed at their sheer output; How did they push out so much work with just simple hand tools?

The traditional approach to crossing out a wheel is to remove most of the waste material by hand with a piercing saw, on a V-block of some sort, and then use files to finish the surface. This method comes with serious bragging rights. To take a component from raw metal to finished component without any power tool assistance takes not only skill, but a huge amount of time. Something that the modern world generally does not reward. This approach naturally leads to a very traditional appearance (every part slightly different, square corners at the intersection of spoke perimeter etc.), and is therefore still employed by bespoke makers of the finest quality items.

The modern approach is to use a CNC mill to remove the waste stock, or better yet wire EDM. Much faster, repeatable, and therefore financially rewarding. In each case, needle files and polishers can still be used to bring the profile of the spokes to a more traditionally correct appearance.

But this raises the question that vexes today's makers of clocks, watches and fine instruments: Is the CNC'd component really traditional? If an individual maker did not toil over it with needle file in hand from start to finish, does it still qualify? To what extent can we employ the time saving tools of the 21st century, and still claim the title "Hand Made"?

I have to admit that my own thoughts on this are still evolving. I absolutely love the hand tool tradition of classical watch and clock making. I use traditional tools and techniques as much as possible, and to the extent that I can still source the tools and materials. But I do use some power tools like a belt sander and scroll saw to speed things up. And I see some of my favourite makers embracing CNC with gusto, and watch their productivity shoot through the roof. It's hard not to be tempted.

So where do you sit on the spectrum - "Old School" all the way, or ready to roll with the latest the 21st century has to offer? Let me know in the comments.

As always, thanks for dropping by,
Chris.