Perfectly Imperfect: My First Deep-Cut Bowl

Not every project goes to plan — and that’s okay.

This cherry wood bowl was meant to be a simple gift for my uncle. My first proper attempt at a deep-cut turning. I had the vision in my head: smooth curves, clean lines, that rich cherry grain catching the light just right. I imagined the kind of bowl you might find in an old countryside home — something functional, but also full of story and character.

The reality? Let’s just say this bowl and I had some moments.

Handmade wooden bowl showing natural imperfections and a rustic finish, crafted from English cherry wood

There’s a chip on the edge from a lapse in concentration. A few deeper-than-planned gouges on the inside where I was still figuring out the best tool angles. My gouge caught a few times, sending the bowl spinning in ways I hadn’t quite prepared for. I swore at it, laughed at myself, then took a breath and kept going. That’s the thing with woodturning — or any kind of craft, really — you don’t always get to be in control. The material, the grain, the tools… they all have a say.

But despite the flaws — or maybe because of them — I’m proud of how it turned out. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s honest. And because it represents a turning point (pun intended) in my woodworking journey. It was the first time I really pushed myself beyond the usual comfort zone of shallower bowls and more predictable forms. I wanted to make something that felt substantial. And I did.

Learning in the Making

There’s something about mistakes in woodworking that stays with you. They’re like little notches in your own experience — markers of growth. The gouges in this bowl will forever remind me of the importance of tool control and being patient with deeper cuts. The chip on the rim? A lesson in awareness and timing. And maybe most importantly, a reminder that sometimes, good enough really is good enough.

It’s easy to get caught up in the Instagram version of woodworking — the flawless finishes, the perfect symmetry, the clever edits. But that’s not what the craft is really about. At least not for me. For me, woodworking is about connection. To the wood, to the process, to the people I’m making for. And sometimes, those connections come through more clearly in the flaws than in the polish.

The cherry wood itself was a joy to work with — rich, warm, and beautifully grained. It smelled incredible as I turned it, filling the workshop with that sweet, slightly spicy scent that cherry gives off when it’s freshly cut. Even when the tools weren’t doing exactly what I wanted them to, the wood was reminding me why I fell in love with this craft in the first place.

The Perfect imperfect Gift

I made this bowl as a gift for my uncle. He’s one of those people who’s always appreciated handmade things — the kind of guy who’d rather have something rough but meaningful than something shiny and mass-produced. When I handed it to him, I pointed out the chip and the gouges, almost apologetically. He smiled, turned it over in his hands, and said, "It’s beautiful. It’s got character."

And he was right. Because handmade doesn’t always mean perfect — it means time, care, and the willingness to try. It means showing up, even when you’re not sure how it’ll go. It means turning a rough bit of timber into something that didn’t exist before. That’s the real magic of it.

Sometimes we forget that perfection isn’t what draws people to handmade work. It’s the human touch. The irregularities. The story. This bowl has all of that in spades. It might not sit in a gallery, but it sits in his home, full of meaning. And that’s more than enough for me.

Why I Share the Flaws

Close-up of notch detail on handmade wooden bowl, highlighting natural wood character

One of the reasons I wanted to share this project — gouges and all — is because I think we need more of that honesty in the creative world. It’s easy to only post the wins, the finished products, the best angles. But what about the mess-ups? The off-centre holes, the splinters, the times you glued something backwards?

We learn from those just as much, if not more.

And maybe someone else who’s just getting into woodturning will see this and realise they don’t need to get it perfect the first time either. That we’re all on a learning curve — even the people who look like they’ve got it all figured out.

That’s one of the things I love most about the woodworking community — there’s a lot of generosity. People share tips, stories, advice, encouragement. You realise pretty quickly that perfection isn’t the goal. Progress is. And passion. And patience.

Crafting Through Connection

There’s a bigger reason I do what I do — and that’s connection. To the people I’m making for, to the trees that gave the timber, to my own hands and mind. Every piece I make feels like a conversation, in a way. Sometimes it flows easily. Sometimes it’s a bit more of a back-and-forth.

This bowl was definitely the latter.

But even when it was frustrating, I found moments of joy in it. When the curve started taking shape. When the finish brought out the colours in the cherry. When I stood back at the end and realised, despite all the hiccups, that I’d actually made something pretty special.

That’s what The Crafty Woodshed is about. It’s not a factory. It’s not about churning out perfect pieces on a production line. It’s about making real things, with real tools, by a real person — me — who’s still learning every single time.

So here’s to the imperfect pieces. The ones with stories. The ones that pushed you. The ones you weren’t sure about until they were done. The ones that mean more because of the effort it took to get them there.

Here’s to making — flaws and all.

Looking Ahead

I’ll definitely be making more bowls. I’ve got a few ideas brewing already — experimenting with different woods, maybe some mixed media pieces, and pushing myself to refine my technique further. I know each one will come with its own set of lessons.

Finished wooden bowl displayed beside the original cherry tree stump it was carved from

And if you're reading this and you're just starting out, or maybe you’ve hit a frustrating patch with your own projects — stick with it. Keep turning, carving, cutting, sanding. Keep learning. It won’t always go to plan, but it will always be worth it.

Because when you make something with your hands, you’re not just shaping wood — you’re shaping experience. And that’s where the real craft lives.

So thank you, cherry bowl, for being a challenge. For teaching me. For reminding me that perfection is overrated, and connection is everything.

Until next time — back to the workshop I go.