My rookie era: After my panic attacks, woodworking became the one good thing I could count on | Australian lifestyle
I I had my first panic attack on New Year’s Day 2022. In the months that followed, I experienced more of these episodes and craved serenity more and more. Woodworking appeared in my mind as a place where I could gain respite from the new psychological labyrinth I was falling into after a traumatic event changed the way I experienced the world.
The appeal of the wood was undeniable. I landed at the Victorian Woodworkers Association in North Melbourne for its pricing, emphasis on craftsmanship and the pedigree of its tutors. Here I was able to take an open course that allowed me to do whatever I wanted from day one.
When I entered the basement workshop for my first class, I expected monastic peace, slow craftsmanship, the grain of soft wood, and the wisdom of the ancients.
Instead, a years-long hazing ritual awaited my frayed nerves: machines that severed limbs, loud noises, amateur embarrassment, compromises and mistakes.
My first lesson began with a visit to a workshop and mapping out my first project on a large thin MDF board – the first of three cabinets housing my record collection, turntables and DJ mixer. I wanted to avoid power tools and imagined following my path to reclamation, that is, creating joints that don’t require screws.
My new master, Isabel Avendaño-Hazbún, a hilarious sculptor and textile artist, was ready to show me but convinced me otherwise—people have been doing dovetailing for 20 years, she jokingly warned, and mine wasn’t going to look like that. I had to put my aspirations aside – power tools were the only way forward.
I quickly learned that it is always better to listen to Isabel if I want my body to be the same when I leave the workshop as when I arrived. When she screams “Buckley, what are you doing?!” on the other side of the engine room, it’s to prevent me from cutting my hand or impaling someone with a projectile. The punishment stings less than amputation. His tutors, Jess and Brandon, are also excellent.
In three years, I made slow progress. I learned how to select wood, then use a jointer to prepare the boards for gluing into larger panels; and a planer to mill the panels to the desired thickness. Using reclaimed black wood to match the housing of my Condesa DJ mixer required countless hours of sweaty mask-wearing to protect my lungs from the lung-shredding fibers of the wood.
I can now confidently use drop, cabinet, band and panel saws; “cookie” and “domino” machines; drill presses; and manual and table top routers. The trick remains intimidating and the handheld belt sander hates me.
Mutilating jokes aside, the workshop is a safe space. Classes are decidedly mixed, with people of different genders, ages, sexual orientations and political beliefs working bench by bench. I noticed that the supervision of my tutors relaxed as my skills developed, and this confidence allows me to feel capable beyond the workshop.
At first, my mental state made it difficult to keep up with Isabel’s passion and pace. I find her approach to mixing materials incredibly inspiring, as does the way she combines precision, roughness and experimentation. Against my natural inclinations, she teaches me to accept things as they are.
One of his works—a scaffolding made of dowels, a woven rubber inner tube, and cylindrical sawdust bricks—looks like something the hand of Dune’s Paul Atreides might endure in a test of Gom Jabbar’s humanity. The book’s litany applies to my life in and out of the studio: “I must not be afraid. Fear kills the spirit.”
Progress is slow, frustrating, and impatience invariably leads to damaged work. In three years, I have only completed two of my three cabinets. However, I love them. My favorite design choices on the cabinets are the light-catching brass disc dividers; and the rounded, stacked, mitered slat base – people always comment on this.
Woodworking helped reconnect my mind to the physical world and reminded me that when I apply myself, I can create beautiful things. During the most difficult time of my life, woodworking was the only good thing I could count on every week. I’m getting better at leaving my emotions at the studio door.
I thought serenity would be my cure, but the exposure therapy I learned was the treatment my panic attacks really needed. It’s been a year since my last episode.
