Turning for the Love (and the Tools): Confessions of a Self-Funded Woodturner
I don’t turn wood to get rich — I turn so I can afford more tools. A funny look at how woodturning funds itself (barely) and why that’s exactly the point.
Some people start a side business to get rich.
I started mine so I could buy more gouges.
Yes, I sell my work — but let’s be clear: nearly every dollar I make goes right back into the Tool Fund. You know, that mysterious black hole where art profits disappear, only to reappear as new chisels, sandpaper, and another lathe attachment that “I absolutely need this time.”
⚙️ Tools of the Trade (or: Where My Money Goes)
Woodturning might look simple — just you, a block of wood, and a lathe, right?
Ha. That’s like saying cooking just requires “a stove.”
To create even the tiniest turned mushroom or ornament, I rely on:
A lathe, the whirling heart of the operation (and, occasionally, the reason I need new walls).
A bandsaw, to cut blanks that are somehow never quite square.
A chainsaw, for “roughing out logs” — which usually means getting covered head to toe in sawdust.
A collection of gouges that sound like a medieval weapon rack:
Roughing gouge – for turning logs into something vaguely round.
Spindle gouge – for delicate details and occasional unplanned design changes.
Bowl gouge – the MVP, and also the one most likely to launch shavings into my shirt.
Skew chisel – elegant, precise, and terrifying.
Parting tool – for cutting things off when I’m either finished… or frustrated.
Each piece of wood turned art is really a collaboration between creativity, tools, and my checking account.
💰 The Myth of the Rich Woodturner
Let’s be honest — if I were doing this for the money, I’d have quit the first time I calculated my “hourly rate.”
After factoring in time, materials, sanding, finishing, photography, and website maintenance, I’m making… somewhere between coffee money and don’t-ask.
But that’s not the point.
The point is that every bowl, box, and mushroom pays for the next block of wood, the next gouge, the next spark of creativity.
🧠 Years in the Making
It’s taken me years of turning, selling, reinvesting, and occasionally learning the hard way (looking at you, cracked maple bowl) to make this hobby self-supporting.
And honestly? That’s the real success — not profit, but sustainability.
The ability to keep creating, learning, and occasionally justifying another tool purchase.
❤️ The Real Reward
In the end, I don’t turn wood to get rich.
I turn because it’s magic — because taking a raw, rough piece of tree and revealing the beauty inside never gets old.
The art funds the tools, the tools fund the art, and the cycle continues — beautifully, sawdust and all.
Code by Day, Chips by Night: The Double Life of a Programmer Turned Woodturner
A funny look at juggling life as an Customer Service Manager / automation programmer and a woodturning artist — full of sawdust, code, and creative chaos.
They say everyone needs a hobby. Some people golf. Some people garden.
I, apparently, decided to start a second career involving sharp tools, flying wood chips, and a lot of sanding dust.
By day, I’m Customer Service Manager / automation programmer — writing code, debugging systems, and explaining to coworkers why “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” actually is sound advice.
By night (and early morning… and weekends), I’m a woodturner — wrangling logs into bowls, mushrooms, and occasionally abstract shapes that I call “artistic choices.”
🧢 Wearing All the Hats (and Probably Some Sawdust)
When you run a creative side business, you’re not just an artist — you’re a one-person circus.
In a single weekend, I’m:
The woodturner, covered in shavings.
The photographer, chasing daylight with my phone in one hand and a bowl in the other.
The website developer, wondering why the gallery page just vanished.
The social media manager, trying to sound witty without saying, “Here’s another bowl I made.”
And the shipping department, surrounded by cardboard, tape, and existential questions about box sizes.
Some days, I’m amazed I remember which hat I’m wearing — though they all seem to collect sawdust equally well.
💻 When Code Meets Craft
Programming and woodturning actually have a lot in common:
Both require patience.
Both occasionally crash.
And both can make you question every life choice around midnight.
But there’s something wonderful about stepping away from the screen, picking up a gouge, and shaping something real — something that doesn’t require a firmware update.
🪚 The Balancing Act
Finding time for art after a full-time job isn’t easy. My schedule looks like a Tetris game where the pieces keep falling faster. But those evening and weekend sessions at the lathe? They recharge me. They remind me why I make things — not because I have to, but because I need to.
Sure, I might be running on coffee and epoxy fumes some days, but at least I’m creating something tangible — and occasionally round.
⚙️ Final Thought
Being a programmer-turned-woodturner means living in two worlds: one of logic and code, and one of creativity and chaos.
And honestly? I wouldn’t trade either.
Because whether I’m debugging a PLC or a chunk of maple, there’s always that same moment of satisfaction when everything finally runs smooth.
Confessions of an Introverted Woodturner: The Art of Self-Promotion (Without Panicking)
A funny look at the challenges of an introverted artist learning to share their handmade woodturning creations — one awkward post at a time.
I love woodturning. I love the smell of freshly cut cherry, the hum of the lathe, and that magical moment when a block of wood becomes something smooth, shiny, and entirely unexpected.
What I don’t love?
Telling people about it.
Because, you see, I’m an introvert — which means I can happily spend eight hours sanding a bowl in silence but break into a cold sweat at the idea of saying, “Hey, could you check out my website?”
The Social Media Struggle
They say you need to “build your brand” and “engage your audience.” I tried. I even wrote my first Instagram caption:
“Here’s a bowl I made.”
It sat there, looking lonely. So I added a few hashtags — #woodturning #handmade #pleaseLikeMe — and called it a day.
By the time I hit “post,” I needed a nap to recover from the emotional exertion.
The Elevator Pitch That Never Left the Ground
I know I should be ready to tell people about my work — but every time someone asks, “What do you do?” my brain short-circuits.
Instead of proudly saying, “I create hand-turned wood art,” I usually mumble something like, “Oh, you know… wood stuff,” and change the subject to the weather.
Apparently, that’s not the marketing strategy experts recommend.
The Website Whisperer
Even my website is quiet — tasteful photos, simple design, and not a single pop-up screaming “Subscribe NOW!” I tell myself it’s minimalist. Others might call it nervously polite.
But slowly, I’m learning.
I’ve started sending an occasional email, posting a new photo, and even — brace yourself — sharing my work in a local art group.
Each time, I remind myself that I’m not bragging; I’m inviting people to see something I made with care. And that’s not scary — it’s kind of wonderful.
The Moral of the Story
Being an introverted artist in a loud, promotional world is tough. But just like turning a rough log into a smooth bowl, it’s all about patience, small cuts, and taking a deep breath before the next step.
So if you’re here, looking at my work — thank you.
You’ve just made an introvert’s day.