Day Two with the tulipwood starts with a change of plans. Instead of carving the shaft, I decide to add two more grooves to the grip of the handle so that the main feature looks more like an emerging flower.
(During the week I had to mull over the simple, single-petal design, I named the wand Rose and discovered her powers of influence over flowers and blossoming plants. There was an extended daydream about an army of warrior roses and daisies. Since I wouldn't normally spend much time thinking about flowers, I figured Rose was sending me a message ... Moving on.)
First I marked the lines for the second and third grooves, spacing them evenly around the grip. I used the basic sanding bit to carve the inside edge of the two new grooves.
I continued with the basic sanding bit to work on the slope of the petals as they laid sloped down toward the next petal. Early on the woodwork looked like I was creating spirals instead of soft petals.
At this point, I needed to move on from the basic sanding bit. It was tough rough on the softer heartwood, and was tearing through the grain like teeth. I switched to a stone grinding bit that would give me a smoother finish on the wood as I peeled the layers away. There was no beating the speed and ease of the sanding bit, but I was getting too close to final shape. In a blink, a sanding bit can bore too deep into soft wood.
The stone grinder also has a flat head that can smooth both faces of a right angle at the same time. I tried this along the line of a petals groove, to sharpen the petal's shape. But by the time I finished running it along one groove and into another, I realized I was doing more harm than good. The heat of the stone grinder was charring the tulipwood.
The black burns made the pink wood look like meat, like a roasted leg of chicken. Horrified, I retreated to a flapwood sanding bit.
I had not used the flapwood bit since I started using sandpaper to finish each wand. At least a year had passed since I stopped relying on it for the final polishing stage, switching to sandpaper instead. Sandpaper requires more muscle but you have so much more control. And with sandpaper I don't have to worry about sanding small grooves into the wood with the corners of the bit. Still, the flapwheel has its moments, particularly on rounded surfaces. I set to work.
The flapwheel was the perfect choice. It wore away the charred layers of wood and left a smooth finish all the way around. I used the curved corners of the flapwheel to distinguish the line of each petal's groove; however, I freely admit that the petals no longer look like petals. Nor are they perfectly even. There is a large curl and two smaller curls with grooves that twist nicely down to the base of the hilt.
Once again I attacked the hilt with sandpaper, first with 100-grit sandpaper to remove the roughest surface, then the 120-grit sandpaper to smooth the surfaces and to further draw down the lines of the curve, and finished with the 220 sandpaper.
This is Rose. Her pet name is Chicken Leg.
(During the week I had to mull over the simple, single-petal design, I named the wand Rose and discovered her powers of influence over flowers and blossoming plants. There was an extended daydream about an army of warrior roses and daisies. Since I wouldn't normally spend much time thinking about flowers, I figured Rose was sending me a message ... Moving on.)
I continued with the basic sanding bit to work on the slope of the petals as they laid sloped down toward the next petal. Early on the woodwork looked like I was creating spirals instead of soft petals.
At this point, I needed to move on from the basic sanding bit. It was tough rough on the softer heartwood, and was tearing through the grain like teeth. I switched to a stone grinding bit that would give me a smoother finish on the wood as I peeled the layers away. There was no beating the speed and ease of the sanding bit, but I was getting too close to final shape. In a blink, a sanding bit can bore too deep into soft wood.
The stone grinder also has a flat head that can smooth both faces of a right angle at the same time. I tried this along the line of a petals groove, to sharpen the petal's shape. But by the time I finished running it along one groove and into another, I realized I was doing more harm than good. The heat of the stone grinder was charring the tulipwood.
The black burns made the pink wood look like meat, like a roasted leg of chicken. Horrified, I retreated to a flapwood sanding bit.
I had not used the flapwood bit since I started using sandpaper to finish each wand. At least a year had passed since I stopped relying on it for the final polishing stage, switching to sandpaper instead. Sandpaper requires more muscle but you have so much more control. And with sandpaper I don't have to worry about sanding small grooves into the wood with the corners of the bit. Still, the flapwheel has its moments, particularly on rounded surfaces. I set to work.
The flapwheel was the perfect choice. It wore away the charred layers of wood and left a smooth finish all the way around. I used the curved corners of the flapwheel to distinguish the line of each petal's groove; however, I freely admit that the petals no longer look like petals. Nor are they perfectly even. There is a large curl and two smaller curls with grooves that twist nicely down to the base of the hilt.
Once again I attacked the hilt with sandpaper, first with 100-grit sandpaper to remove the roughest surface, then the 120-grit sandpaper to smooth the surfaces and to further draw down the lines of the curve, and finished with the 220 sandpaper.
This is Rose. Her pet name is Chicken Leg.
Next, for reals: the shaft.
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