Robert Ortiz in his Chestertown studio where he designs and… (Lloyd Fox, Baltimore Sun )
If the life of furniture maker Robert Ortiz was ever made into a movie, it would be full of adventure and plenty of plot twists.
The opening scene would unfold in New York City in the 1960s, with a Hispanic kid from humble roots leaving home at age 14 to enter a religious order that trains monks. The camera would pan to a young man strumming a guitar at coffeehouses, renovating houses, teaching schoolchildren and eventually landing in Baltimore.
After leaving the order and trying his hand at many careers, Ortiz finally found his professional calling: designing and crafting fine wood furniture.
Today, the 61-year-old husband and father of two teens, spends his days meticulously making contemporary tables, chairs and other pieces from a tidy 2,000-square-foot studio on the Eastern Shore.
Depending upon the design, the furniture can run upwards of $10,000 or more, and it is exhibited in galleries and private collections nationwide.
"There's a Puerto Rican in downtown Chestertown making Japanese furniture," Ortiz says, chuckling. "Who would have imagined it?"
If this were a movie, there would be a cinematic flashback about the pivotal moment that changed the trajectory of his life and led him here.
"I was visiting Chicago, and one day I was walking past a bookstore," Ortiz recalls. "There was this big window display with all these copies of one book, George Nakashima's 'The Soul of a Tree.'"
Published in 1981, the biography of the renowned Japanese furniture designer is also a how-to manual for woodworkers to, as Nakashima wrote, "create an object of utility to man and, if nature smiles, an object of lasting beauty."
Ortiz, who gained carpentry skills renovating houses during summers while he was attending Catholic University, was immediately fascinated.
"I read it five or six times," he says. "I very foolishly thought I could teach myself about woodworking."
Thus began a journey to learn the art of furniture making.
"Back then, there were a lot of books about furniture-making that focused on the Old World European tradition," notes Ortiz. "And as I liked to say, it was not my tradition."
Yet the clean, minimalist aesthetic of Japanese furniture appealed to Ortiz.
He also appreciated the craftsmanship of the Shakers — the religious community that came to America from England in the 1770s — who gained fame for their simple, functional furniture.
"In postwar America, the prevailing view was that furniture made by hand was seen as inferior," Ortiz says. "Nakashima is among those credited with reinvigorating the American craft movement, noting that these pieces could have inherent value."
Slowly but surely, Ortiz honed his skills. He went to work for two commercial furniture makers, and later opened his first studio in Dickeyville. His second stop was among the artists' hub in Baltimore's Clipper Mill, where a fire in 1995 destroyed the old foundry and left a firefighter dead.
"Miraculously, the fire leapt over my studio," says Ortiz. "But so many others lost their work." He stayed two more years, then moved his business to Chestertown.
The scenic environs of the nearby water and land are well-suited to a nature lover like Ortiz, and his philosophy regarding organic craftsmanship: namely, respect for the natural lines and grain of timber.
"Many woodworkers use dimensioned lumber, cut and squared," he says. "I work with slabs of wood. Some pieces still have the natural edge. I try to be respectful of the slab I'm working with."
Eastern walnut, cherry, yellow birch, Honduras mahogany and African bubinga are some of the familiar and exotic woods that he uses to create his treasures.
With time, love and care, Ortiz transforms them into, say, a curvy coffee table, or a sideboard with rice paper. Or a chair of cherry wood accented by silk.
"My method is not unlike sewing. I develop my patterns. I transfer them to the wood. I cut them out," he says, adding that two part-time employees assist him with sanding and building.
Still, he does most of the work himself. "My customers expect that it's my hand making the piece."
While the tools of the trade in every woodworking shop may be slightly different, Ortiz says there are a few staples.
"I use a wide belt sander — 36 inches — because I'm working with wide slabs. I have two band saws. Just like the person sewing must cut out material, mine is the band saw. It can go through curves."
Safety is paramount, says Ortiz. "This is dangerous work," he says. "I know people who have died or lost limbs."
To that end — and having weathered a minor accident — he has invested in saws with new technology that will automatically stop a blade if it comes into contact with skin.
"How would I feel if one of my helpers was injured?" Ortiz says. "And I play piano — my wife's day job is an attorney, but we also have a band. We love music, and I can't afford to lose a finger."
Woodworkers have to deal with other hazards, he notes.