Marking time with the London Green Wood co-operative
Parakeet birdsong, a jarring car alarm and at one point, a light shower of rain briefly interrupt our interview with Samuel Alexander, one of the tutors at London Green Wood, a co-operative of green woodworkers who have fostered ‘crafty-ness and creativity’ since 2011. Its outdoor workshop in Hackney City Farm – the bucolic pocket carved out from the diverse borough – is littered with roughhewn objects (spoons, stools, bowls, benches), from its 60-plus members. Previous partnerships have included projects with the Red Cross for asylum seekers, young people with disabilities and special educational needs, as well as women’s groups. Port sat with Alexander on a warm July morning to discuss making as therapy, rescuing felled trees, and accessibility.
How did London Green Wood come about, why was it formed?
The idea was to encourage and spread the word of green woodworking and one of our primary aims remains giving the gift of rural crafts in a city setting. It started off 12 years ago, very small. A few people got together, first occupying a space at Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington, and it began to grow with courses before it became a working co-operative and community interest group. That’s when people really began to see the benefits of it. Now it’s reached a point where it’s almost rebirthing itself in a strange post-pandemic setting, in that people are actively looking for a sense of tactility. Many people attending the courses are quite screen based in what they do, day-to-day, and are frustrated by being stuck constantly scrolling. They want to regain a feeling of touch again.
What sort of peace does woodworking bring you?
I started making things through therapy. Nine years ago, I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression and PTSD. I was working with a counsellor and had tried things like mindfulness and yoga, but we didn’t really get anywhere. On the last session, I brought in a book about wood carving and it was a huge breakthrough. We had a rule that if we tried something and it doesn’t work out, we never do it again, but we at least try for 20 minutes. That’s turned into eight years. I was instantly hooked. It’s not just the focus or complete absorption in what you’re doing, the concentration happens mainly because you’re translating very easy decisions in your head. Yes, or no? When it comes to people that have busy lifestyles, that’s why they look to the simplicity of reducing wood. There are no big, corporate, life-changing decisions, it’s yes or no. Your brain is telling your body how to get there and that’s the beauty of it.
For me, the reason why I make is the release of energy. I’m documenting that release in every cut, and each carving indicates a second of time. I like the idea of the energy being in that capsule of an object. I made it a point at the very beginning that I never keep any of my own work. I always give it away, sell it, or burn it.
Could you expand on the ‘green’ element of the co-op’s woodworking?
I do a lot of carpentry as well, but the appeal of green woodworking is that it uses primitive methods – thousands of years old – and techniques mostly born in Sweden. There’s been a big rise in the last 30 years of this new wood culture that’s reintroduced a lot of heritage crafts, which have been saved as a result. As a material, green wood contains a lot of moisture. The fibers are still intact so they’re open and a lot easier to work with. I also find it a more sculptural way of working; I don’t have to measure. It feels satisfyingly laboursome.
There’s a social element to this which is important too. It goes hand in hand with the craft side of things. There are people who’ve been here from the very beginning who remember it in a very small cemetery, gathered around a fire, putting a small donation in the cash kitty at the beginning of the day in order to come and hang out. There’s a wide range of ages in the workshop and we’re always chatting about how we share the space, figuring out things together. I think that’s quite unusual in the city. I first started teaching here five years ago, and there are people that, having been taught by me, are now making a living from their craft. It’s deeply rewarding to see their journey in that respect.
What wood do you like working with?
We can’t be too selective of type as all the wood we use is a byproduct of tree surgery projects. So, we’ll receive wood that has been felled for road safety, for development, things like that. A lot of it is foraged; we have a little WhatsApp group so when trees come down in the area we’ll quickly trundle over in a car. Like a little rescue mission.
Given Hackney is an incredibly diverse area in London, what are you doing so that diversity is represented in your membership and workshop attendees?
Our outreach is great but the reason why we have a big variety of people is mainly because of our course prices. We have a tiered system – unwaged, low wage or full wage, and people can do that at their discretion. It means that we make it as accessible as possible for everybody. As a co-op, we’re not for profit, so it means that we don’t charge extortionate amounts of money, or chase a big profit game. We just want to teach and create makers.
What is the most treasured piece you’ve made?
I don’t think I’m attached to one thing in particular. What I really enjoy seeing, which happens quite a lot these days, is when I meet up with people and they have my work with them. I made an apple for my partner Kateřina when she first moved in with me. The apple is a worry apple – they live in the pockets of people I love, so that they can have a calming object with them in anxious times, or times of change. It’s made of cherry wood and is based on a Braeburn apple. I collect apple pips, and have been collecting pips since we got together.
With everything I make I’m almost making peace with something. I call it making peace with pieces. I’ll give them away or sell them, but it’s nice to re-encounter them. I tell people when they’re carving too much that we are often more drawn by the things that we leave behind rather than what we remove. Going to an old friend’s house for dinner I’ll see the spoon I made them, now covered with turmeric. I see another marker of time that’s passed with this lived object. Kateřina’s apple is stained from denim, has dents in it from her bag, has been burnished by her hands.
