Designs For The Master

     The master craftsman sees the finished work before a single cut is made. This requires a combination of vision and confidence, born of experience and dedication. Watching a master at work enlightens one to the possibilities of human ability; as my father once said of such craftsmen, "the work just seems to fall from their hands." It is good to know there are paths to higher places if we are inclined to go there.

     I have always maintained that the work of the master deserves to be displayed in a palette worthy of the master's skill. In the design of boats, whether large or small, there exists a unique opportunity to create form with function, at a level of interaction with nature that exists in few endeavours. Wright could only marry his architecture to one natural setting, but the designer, the builder of boats has every ocean and port to challenge and display his work. There is an imperative, I believe, to bring beauty and grace to every aspect and detail of a fine boat design, which becomes the basis, the palette, in which the master may work. 

     The process of designing boats for what I am calling the Master's level begins with this mindset, I believe; that every line and part must be drawn and planned with singular purpose and proportion, in context of the whole and finished work. Hulls must first be refined and functional; but railings must be tapered on both planes, to also look proportional and to best complement the boat. Cabins, coamings, seats, interiors, need to be scaled, shaped, curved, and arranged to appear completely natural and provide complete comfort. This attention to refinement in detail will make the craftsmans' efforts worthwhile,  for builder and owner alike. It is a truism that exceptionally fine boats tend to be built well and serve their owners for many years.

     In earlier articles, I addressed the role of technology in the design and building of boats. Here I would like to expound for a moment on the concept of beauty and aesthetics in design, as we have seen for many decades now a trend  towards designing what I will politely refer to as unattractive boats. This has been especially true, as we know, in mass production boats, which must serve many purposes for many people, mostly in the context of a boat show in winter. In the world of sailing, blame must also always by laid at the feet of rating rules, the IOR  of the 1970's being particularly offensive. Once a concept is successful in competition, it is inevitably adapted for general use, except when the requirements of "general use" are combined with optimized performance, the result is generally awkward at best. Thus we have the ubiquitous deep-V racing powerboat transformed into beamy pleasure boats,  when the deep-V really only works well in narrow boats going 80 knots or better. Out of these decades of mass production boats, poorly conceived sailboat rules, marketing driven boat design, and the endless call for more comforts of home when people leave home, an odd belief has taken hold amongst so-called (self-called) boating experts, that beautiful boats are slow, and boats must be ugly to be fast.


     Added to this has been the improvement in computer design capability, with an especial increase in the ability to use mathematical models in the development of hull design, and we have a complete transition to boats that seemingly meet the criteria of advanced design through improved technology. They do tend to look like they were drawn by machine, however; and while this may in fact be immaterial to a boats' performance, it raises this perhaps esoteric question of why some things "look" right to us, while other objects do not.


     The answer lies in our bifurcated brains. Specifically, it lies in the right side of our brains, which is the non-verbal, non-logical side; which, it turns out, processes information 100 times faster than the logical left side of our brains. This means that, when we look at an object, our left brain makes an analytical study of the object, based on prior knowledge and the facts that are readily apparent or attainable at the moment (the boat is deep-V like an offshore racing powerboat; it must be fast like an offshore racing powerboat). Our right brain, meanwhile, makes a rapid, non-verbal, non-technical analysis of the object, and quickly discerns that the boat is too wide, too deep, and too heavy to be truly fast. This is communicated to the left brain as a "feeling", a gut sense. Similarly, show your brain a Ferrari, and it will know the Ferrari is fast, because it is streamlined and just "looks" fast. The same is true when shown an old bi-plane and a fighter jet, and so on. Boats seem to be the exception that proves this rule.

     My approach to boat design attempts to combine the two, the logical and the aesthetic, sides of the brain. I still use half-models carved of pine, to develop my hull shapes. But, I also work with the fundamental theories of hydrodynamics to establish necessary  parameters and proportions.This is in practice an admittedly arduous approach to what is already a difficult trade. But I feel the combination of technical and aesthetic input results in better boat designs: if they "look about right," my experience is that they will be about right.


     The above reference to railings needing to be tapered on both planes is not simply for appearance sake. If a rail is taller. it requires a wider base to be sufficiently strong. This is why structures that are not proportioned properly "look" weak. I should add, that the process for arriving at proportions for structures may take several courses; there are scantling rules, which generally err on the side of caution. For the less critical, but eye-appeal sensitive pieces, there is the practiced, experienced eye. And then, there is the pure and proper engineering approach, which is to determine working and high stress load potentials, and engineer the structure accordingly. This will always result in a structure as perfectly proportioned as a birds' wing, and for the same fundamental reason. Structures developed to fulfill a purpose waste no weight in material, and so are absolutely graceful. Or, if a structure looks clunky, it has not been refined to its best potential.

    
     I mention all of this because boat design is, first and foremost, functional. Boats must perform under the harsh real conditions of water and weather, over extended lives, but with no excessive weight or mass. Proportion and grace are, then, functional; it is the refinement of functionality that brings gracefulness to the finished work.


     In my next postings, I will examine and describe some designs which in my estimation have achieved the level of Master's design; this will be followed by some thoughts for builders, amateur and professional, on the approach to take before building a boat such as these.


    

     

    

     

Four By Four

     After these many years of working on boats, their design, new construction, and maintenance, I have become aware that different people want boats that possess different levels of finesse and finish. This may be for reasons of taste, utility, economics, or upkeep; there is no right or wrong here, only personal preference, and if the plain boat gets used more than the gilded one, it is by my lights the more successful boat. Having reached this conclusion, I have (perhaps arbitrarily) decided to divide my design work into four distinct groups, based on the levels of skill, time, and finish each will take to construct; and, with a concurrent consideration of the skill levels needed to use and maintain the  finished boats. I have given these four groups the distinguishing, traditional labels of: Masters, Journeyman, Apprentice, and Work Boat, which I trust will aid in providing clarity of the intent behind each design in each group.

     I have also learned over the years that there are in essence four ways by which someone (individual, group, family) will come to acquire and own a new boat built in the one-off or one-at-a-time universe.The first is to have a boat built to order by a professional builder to an agreed upon level of finish. The second is to purchase a pre-cut kit, and assemble and finish the boat yourself. Third is to build a boat for yourself in a classroom setting. And, fourth, build for yourself a boat from a set of plans (or digital files). Naturally, there will be some overlaps between these, as one may want help with parts of assembling a kit, or one may take some classes to learn how to build a boat at home. But these are the four primary ways a person may come to acquire a new, personalized boat.

     The process of deciding which approach best suits an individual must consider such factors as cost, time available to work on a project, timeline for when the boat is wanted, personal skills, intended use for the boat; and, the nature of one's personal interests; as some want a project and others want a boat. There is also the question of customization, available in every format and level, but an issue always subject to time management and the value of usefulness added to the final product.


     In separating boat designs into four levels based on finesse and finish, it goes without saying that here, too, there is some overlap and blurring of the lines. I have built simple, flat bottom skiffs with bright finished mahogany throughout (the Masters Skiff); while my father designed and built one of the finest motorboat hulls in existence, finished plain for charter fishing. But, as a general point of discussion, I will next offer my definition of the four levels in my forthcoming postings.