The Maker's Mark, part 2
Above: Hall table by Roy Schack with his inlaid maker’s mark. Photo: Jesse Smith
In part 1 of this article, Luke Batten explains why acknowledging the identity of the maker is an essential part of the handmade story and to the meaning of craft. Here, Roy Schack and Rolf Barfoed tell us why and how they ID their work.
Roy Schack: Inlayed symbols
In our world of woodworking, being able to mark your work with some form of personal signature speaks volumes as to how you value your craft and how you want the world to perceive it. It also unquestionably brands your work as your own.
Maker’s marks can take so many forms, and I love checking out those of other makers. Metal stamps leaving beautifully crisp marks, branding irons burning into the fibres of the wood, badges or medallions laser printed or engraved, or even simple signatures with dates and locations. These little bits of information add gravitas and are a seal from the maker to say to the eventual owner, ‘you have a piece of my original work, and with it, you have a piece of me’.
My favourite marks are those that tell a story and are synergistic with the piece they are representing. Marks that are crafted or carved and incorporated into the body of the work in such a way that they are difficult to remove. They become one with the work and reflect the personality of the practitioner.
Roy Schack’s maker’s mark before and after inlaying. Photo: Roy Schack
My maker’s mark has evolved over time. It has always been a very simple affair, with three sterling silver pins forming a triangle. The three dots, or points of the triangle represent my three influences in furniture design: Shaker style, Danish design and the Japanese sense for objects in space – or ma. I designed it in 1994, whilst a student at the Sturt School for Wood. My teacher, Tom Harrington told me that if I’m proud of my work, then I should put a mark on it – my mark. It was quite a memorable moment for me.
The mark itself has changed ever so slightly to be embedded into a tapered plug, typically endgrain for contrast, domed over, then inserted somewhere inconspicuous, in the main body of the piece. somewhere close enough for inquisitive fingers to feel its smooth dome.
My sentiment towards maker’s marks is similar to Tom’s. Be proud to show the world that you back yourself with your abilities. It shows confidence, and clients love that.
Louvre bedside in Tasmanian oak. Rolf Barfoed is credited with the names of the client/s, designer and maker. Photos: Lightbulb Studio
Rolf Barfoed: My own label
I employ a team of craftspeople who make work designed by me and by others. For the last few years, I have labeled my furniture with the names of the patron, designer, maker and the place and year of its creation.
Including the team member’s name on the label acknowledges their contribution. It shows my appreciation for their effort, and it even helps to inspire their craftsmanship. The craftsman’s reputation is at stake as much as the designer’s. Adding a label also makes me and my team accountable to the patron. Labeling work is akin to wearing a name badge in retail.
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Rolf Barfoed, Resolution table in Tasmanian oak. Photos: Lightbulb Studio
The label makes it easy to connect with the original business, designer and/or maker for informed maintenance advice. In the past, people have previously reached out to me, telling me they flipped a chair and found my contact details on the underside of the seat. I want future generations to understand the provenance of the piece and (hopefully) continue to enjoy the furniture.
I’m still chasing the dream. Searching for my signature; a distinct cabinetmaker’s aesthetic. My furniture should be innovative, useful, and easy to live with. Developing a recognisable style takes persistence and I’m working towards a bigger body of work.
Rolf Barfoed @rolfbarfoed, www.rolfbarfoed.com.au
First published in Australian Wood Review #126, March 2025