Whit Vogel, a Portland-based production designer with TV and film credits including Bones, SWAT, and Party of Five, who has watched traditional opportunities in Hollywood shrink dramatically. But rather than retreat, she’s doubled down on what she calls the fundamentals of staying creative: “You can’t stop doing your craft, and you can’t do it alone.”
That philosophy led her to Carvers Collective, a group of professional artists spanning architecture, film, therapeutic practice, and photography, all united by their passion for woodworking. For Vogel, a third-generation woodworker who made her first film set from toothpicks as a child in a Minnesota garage, working with wood isn’t just a hobby, it’s a return to the tactile creativity that shaped her career.
“This is about reclaiming the value of hands-on creativity when traditional opportunities are fading,” Vogel explains. The collective represents more than artistic expression; it’s part of a larger vision to build a larger creative community and to support Portland‘s creative economy, from developing dedicated studio space for collaboration and to mentoring community college students.
Vogel explains more about her journey with the Carvers Collective below:
You’ve worked on major Hollywood productions like Bones and SWAT, but the Carvers Collective feels like a very different kind of creative endeavor. What inspired you to shift your focus from large-scale production to something so hands-on and community-rooted?
That’s an interesting and perfect sampling of shows, because my work with Carvers Collective is rooted in what remains a skill in our trade industry. An industry that has wildly shifted twice in my lifetime! In the late 90’s we saw the collapse of analogue to digital systems. Now we are mitigating spectrum with streaming. However wood woodwork, sculptural work, and structural work are foundational to design objectives in film, television, and what is now media with various narrative objectives.
To me, there is no shift; rather, there is a necessity to bring awareness and exercise the fundamentals of working with your hands. I am fortunate enough to have worked with two amazing Production Designers. Valdar Wilt from Bones taught me to “look for the gold and goodness” in everything and everyone’s communication style. Meaning try to view any hard or harsh messaging or times in a positive light. Randal Groves, who worked on SWAT and helped build the Titanic on Titanic, taught me “big time is where you are at.” As we have moved into segmented work and spartan resources on entertainment projects, it’s important to bring folks back together to communicate in person versus remotely. Both Val and Randal were excellent at taking a lap in the mill and checking in with everyone. I learned a lot from both of them about what community can look like when you physically check in.
Sensing a need for a check-in with our Portland Film Community, the “Todai Prototype” at the Good Wood show with Carvers Collective was a collaboration with some of our local union members. Our carpenters, painters, and sculptors are incredibly valuable tradespeople. It feels important to foster their creativity and integrate ideas with a broader group of folks who aren’t in entertainment to ensure we continue to create despite the shifts in the industry. There’s excellent crossover to ponder. In my mind, that’s huge for healthy and happy workers. Moreover, making art for and with my community is how other positive forms of creative combustion or style can occur when I’m running at different speeds on different projects. I can draw from a full and deep well quickly when needed. Our PDX team has context, and I know their physical and metaphorical tools are sharp because I’ve asked them to use them. And working with others reminds me to keep my own gouges, because a dull edge is dangerous to start with and sucks to work with in the long run.
You’ve described woodworking as a return to the “fundamentals of staying creative.” Can you talk about what that means for you personally, especially as a third-generation woodworker and a production designer?
Sure thing! Let’s start with toothpicks. The first “film” I made was maybe at six or seven years old. It was actually a video on VHS, I had pitched the idea to my pops. He helped set up a little station in the garage with glue, paper, a couple of #2 pencils, and the toothpicks. I went to town. Once everything was ready for the “show,” I asked him to hold the camera after spending an absorbent amount of time gluing up those toothpicks to make two rafts. Both rafts had little eyeballs on them. This was “Rafty,” and he went down a river drawn on that paper and little pop-up paper rocks. My film was two shots with what I learned later was a jump cut. Rafty cruised down the water and hit a rock in my story. He basically explodes into a mess. In my premiere character design, one version of the raft was whole, definitely Mark Twain raft vibes, and the second version was a pile of rubble with crooked cartoony eyeballs. Spoiler alert: Rafty goes off the coffee table “waterfall” and doesn’t make it. I thought this was hilarious and in some ways still do. Dark humor is a thing. What I appreciate about that moment was support in telling a tale with wood, full stop. Paper is still pulp! Moreover, that I didn’t have the outlet of YouTube to post this video, I totally would have, because I might have been bombarded with a public colosseum of opinions about that project’s message or my own mental health.
I am fortunate that my grandfather and father both are incredible woodworkers. They are both veterans as well. Grandpa Vogel would never describe himself that way; rather, he would call himself a whittler. Both of these men in my life are veterans who were incredibly supportive of what was, at times, I’m sure exhausting “show and’ tells.” They helped me achieve the goals I had in mind as they grew from little shapes to freestanding elements to theatrical flats to general construction and now industrial construction for film and television. I’ve always had a bug when it comes to wood, but I’m sure that comes from having the foundation of starting small. Yet learning over time how to scale up practical effects for entertainment value and narrative support. I still get excited while handling sets that are heavy with special effects and stunts that occur practically. And models made from toothpicks, paper, and cardboard are still excellent examples to show a cost-effective, ecologically responsible overhead of something big we are about to do as a team that has scope and cost.
The Carvers Collective brings together professionals from such varied disciplines. What do you think happens creatively when people from these different worlds build something together, literally and metaphorically?
The Carvers Collective is uniquely qualified to put on an incredible show because of our dynamic span of age and professional experience throughout our group. It’s important to note that all of us are working full-time or are creating art nearly full-time in tandem with doing our woodcarving projects together. Yes, we are comprised of architects, photographers, lawyers, theater, film, and teachers. Our mentor Monica Setziol is in her 80s. She has a background working with textiles and costumes for theater. She knows what it is like living on the road and what it means to work out of and keep up with boxes and bags that go everywhere with you. She’s also a beast when it comes to slinging big pieces of wood into gorgeous woodcarvings. She is definitely the glue between us and pushes us to be creative. Yet she brings us context while choosing where to do a show while thinking about mobility, access, and parking for folks of her age. That’s incredible insight. Having folks in our group with families and even retired folks brings balance to what we should chew off and when. We all agree that sticking together gives us that push to carve and create. If we were alone, we wouldn’t explore the conversations we have with wood or scratch at the curiosity of what we could do with a type of wood as often. This comes back to community. The patchwork is more interesting and intriguing to discuss when there are different minds at the table. Being somewhere in the middle of an age range,, I have the patience and interest to hear from older and younger generations. I continue to work at creating environments where balance can be found in how we tackle ideas, goals, and interests while mitigating design objectives. And when we disagree on something, I am happy to say we will come back to the table together and discuss what we are bumping on. I would love to work on a table with the Carvers Collective with the ideas of kitchen values in mind.
How does your background in film and set design influence the way you approach woodworking and collaboration within the collective? Are there creative overlaps between those worlds that still surprise you?
Having worked with phenomenal journeymen with traditional theatrical backgrounds and coming from a military family, there is tons of overlap when it comes to duty, civic engagement, toughing up in hard times, yet being generous while giving your time and attention to a task. Be it my own work or a need to help others with theirs. The word I would use is tradition. I didn’t go to Carnagee Melon, but two more phenomenal production designers, Bruce Miller and Michael Mayer, did. They encouraged me to buy used textbooks that they had in college. To trace over the set designer’s drawings to get used to the layout. To get used to the repetition of what needs to be on a finalized drawing every time. Verses what is okay for a sketch. Monica Setziol greatly helped release me from what I would call formality with my woodwork. This was a crucial step for progression, so I do not get held up in previs with some of my carvings. That, like with the toothpicks, you just go for it. Low risk, high reward. However, I do find that some of the most successful works are done when I put pencil to paper and I go through the motions of laying out what I want to do with the wood. Where balance enters back in here is understanding and reading the wood as I am working with it. I cannot fully will myself onto the wood; this typically goes very poorly. The grain, hardness, or even unforeseen knots that become things of science horror films while trying to shape diligently will explode or crumble. I can either be perturbed or I can pivot. And ohh baby! Do we know how to dance and pivot in the Art Department.
You’ve mentioned mentoring community college students and building a collaborative studio space. How do you see Carvers Collective evolving as both an artistic and civic force in Portland’s creative future?
Yes, I have a passion for and am actively working on creating a space where local woodworkers, carvers, and sculptors who happen to be film industry professionals can meld with community colleges, parks & rec, and even emergency response teams who need help. Example being forest fire workers. It is important to keep traditional craft, ultimately trade work, in the forefront of this dynamic landscape shift. Meaning we cannot ignore the robots; they are here to stay. The software and hardware are going to continue to hit a price point that will dissolve from industrial to prosumer, eventually pedestrian. But perhaps this is where my background at PBS is very helpful, because the robots and digital transition already happened.
I’ve been participating in it for over 30 years. Be it the subtractive machine like CNC routing or an additive machine like a 3D printer, these electronics fueled with internet technology have different robust uses. Verses getting freaked about artificial intelligence, we need to make sure our community understands how it works, and to work with it to ensure there are mindful coders in the mix. Having done code as a lot, I genuinely believe there is a younger generation out there with good intentions that thinks the older generation doesn’t get it. I get it. I still have a good flame on my fire. And there is an older generation that thinks the younger generation, our city, our state, nation etc, is doomed. It’s not true. There is still time to find balance. But it does mean doing a hard reboot on how we approach communication in general. I want to ensure skills are being fostered in a place that is safe, well-lit, well-run, practical, and encourages creativity. I had that opportunity and want to share it with others. That is my duty and torch to carry. The Carvers Collective is a group I absolutely want to be a part of in this endeavor because there needs to be a wide range of minds involved, and ultimately it’s important to think about how to make this space someplace we would actually want to work in first and foremost. This is where design, architecture, teachers, and artists crush and crunch the numbers and real-world questions that will be asked. Our context is not an amalgamation. It is local. We can cite our sources and provide truthful formulas. There is only one prompt folks need to know right now – authenticity will have its own form of currency. This is where we can build social equity before social media. And this is where we can turn toothpicks into town centers.
Thank you, Whit!
