CABINETRY
You know what a cabinetmaker hates about cabinetmaking? The cabinets.
The square boxes with no soul. The plywood coffins we build because we have to, not because they inspire anything. We build them because they’re the bones the thing everything else hangs off, but on their own, they’re about as exciting as a one‑hole outhouse. I’ve built hundreds of them. Hundreds. And plastic laminate? Let me tell you about plastic laminate. I spent a full year, a year doing nothing but laminate countertops and slab doors. Sheet after sheet. Glue, roll, trim, repeat. I got good at it. Too good. Good enough that they kept me on it because I was fast and clean, which is exactly why it was soul‑sucking. Three years in that shop till I was allowed to assemble my first cabinet. When I finally did, I was proud as hell. That was a long time ago. Hundreds of cabinets ago. Now I build them when they’re needed, not because I’m chasing some romantic idea of “cabinetry.” Let’s be honest, nobody is. And no, they’re not “cupboards.” My college instructor preached that word like it was gospel. Nobody says cupboards in his shop. When Leo goes to class next year, I’m buying him a shirt that says: “PROFESSIONAL CUPBOARD MAKER” He’ll be so popular. And I’ll be blamed. Worth it. Here’s the truth: Cabinets are the bones. They carry the trim, the doors, the lighting, the style, the stuff that actually matters. The beauty is in the finished piece, the whole composition, the symphony. The cabinet itself? It’s just the instrument case. But you need the bones. You need the structure. You need the thing that holds the story together. And that’s why I still build them. Not because they thrill me — they don’t.
But because they’re the foundation that lets the real craft happen.
Taken at Nemeth Diamonds in Winnipeg. Built by Knotty Dave’s Fine Woodworking.
