This article is part one of a three-part series exploring the mind and methods of legendary puzzle designer Stewart Coffin. Through his notes, records, and craftsmanship, we uncover how he turned simple wooden puzzles into lasting works of art. In this first chapter, we look at why his documentation and puzzle instructions became just as important as the puzzles themselves.
"Good puzzles should be difficult to make but easy to play."
Stewart Coffin wrote that line decades ago, and it still resonates through every handcrafted burr, cube, and interlocking design that bears his name. Yet behind the polished edges and ingenious geometry lies something even more valuable, the paper trail of a maker’s mind.
In the world of fine mechanical puzzles, instructions, letters, and ephemera often get lost to time. But Coffin knew better. His Puzzle Instructions and Ephemera collection is not just an archive of how-to sheets. It is a chronicle of philosophy, humor, and craftsmanship that defined a generation of puzzle art.
The Blueprint Behind the Brilliance
For most of us, puzzle instructions are a quick fix, a last resort after surrender. But to Coffin, they were something else entirely, part of the design itself. Each instruction sheet, he wrote, “serves as both a guide and a record of evolution.” It documented not only how to solve a puzzle but how it came to be solved.
Coffin was not documenting puzzles as static products. He was documenting ideas in motion, sketches, design variants, and even the woods used. His famous AP-ART serial lists read like a diary of decades spent perfecting geometry. He logged every design, from the Star of David to the Confessional, noting subtle shifts that others might dismiss as trivial, a changed angle, a modified notch, a new way the pieces “speak” to each other when handled.
These notes were not marketing. They were preserved. He understood that a puzzle without its documentation eventually loses its lineage, its identity.
AP-ART - A Compendium Of Puzzle Designs - By Stewart T. Coffin (2018)
Why Puzzle Ephemera Matters
Collectors today often focus on rarity, craftsmanship, or price. But as Coffin’s archive reminds us, provenance is the soul of authenticity.
An instruction sheet in Coffin’s handwriting instantly tells a story: which version, which batch, which workshop. You might see a marginal note, “Try maple instead of walnut,” or an aside to a friend, “This one’s not quite right yet.” Those moments bridge the maker and the collector across decades.
For modern collectors, these fragments are gold. They confirm that the puzzle in your hand is not a reproduction but a piece of a creative continuum. Coffin himself warned that as designs spread, documentation became the only thread tying originals to their creator. His meticulous habit of numbering, dating, and annotating each design effectively created the foundation of puzzle authentication.
In his words, “A puzzle that cannot be traced back to its roots becomes merely a clever object, not a work of art.”
Puzzle Craft - By Stewart T. Coffin (1985)
Design Notes as a Window into the Mind
Coffin’s notes reveal an astonishing blend of art and mathematics. He saw geometry not as an abstraction but as a material to carve. His records often include technical sketches alongside musings like, “The trick isn’t making a hard puzzle, it’s making one that’s hard for the right reasons.”
Those right reasons meant elegance over complexity. He rejected brute-force difficulty. Instead, he sought purity, puzzles that “come apart gracefully” and teach something about structure. His documentation shows that he revisited designs constantly, refining until both the construction and the concept felt inevitable.
The Star of David, for example, appears in several iterations across his notes, each with slight modifications to angles and interlocking depth. To an outsider, these might look like footnotes. To Coffin, they were the essence of craftsmanship, the quiet, relentless pursuit of harmony between form and function.
Actionable Takeaways for Modern Collectors and Makers
Coffin’s approach to record-keeping holds surprising lessons for today’s puzzle makers, collectors, and even creative professionals beyond the workshop.
1. Document Every Iteration
Coffin recorded every puzzle version, even failed prototypes. He believed each variation was part of the story. His “Serial Listing of AP-ART Puzzles Produced and Sold 1970–1998” includes hundreds of entries, some never mass-produced. For designers, the message is simple: keep your creative trail visible. Future generations may see innovation where you saw imperfection.
2. Preserve Context, Not Just Content
When documenting, note why changes were made. Coffin often wrote short rationales: “balance improved,” “joint too tight,” “movement too stiff.” This transforms dry technical notes into a living context. Collectors can do the same by keeping photos, receipts, and emails with their puzzles. A complete story enhances both sentimental and market value.
3. Treat Instructions as Artifacts
Coffin’s instructions were not just utilitarian. Many included hand-drawn diagrams, typography experiments, and subtle humor. Modern puzzle makers can embrace that spirit, turning instruction sheets into part of the aesthetic experience. Include your logo, a short maker’s note, or a quote about the design’s inspiration. It deepens emotional connection and keeps your work human.
What Coffin’s Letters Reveal About Integrity
Coffin’s correspondence with fellow puzzle enthusiasts, snippets preserved in the archive, often circled back to the same principle, integrity in design. He once quipped, “The easiest way to ruin a puzzle is to make it cleverer than it needs to be.”
That humility shines through his record-keeping. He saw his documentation not as self-promotion but as service, a gift to future designers who might learn from his mistakes. In a 1980s note, he reflected,
“What begins as tinkering may, in hindsight, be theory. But if no record is kept, it remains tinkering forever.”
This blend of self-awareness and generosity made his archive so remarkable. It is not just a technical manual. It is a philosophy of creative stewardship.
Preservation as an Act of Respect
Coffin’s obsession with accuracy extended beyond his own work. He encouraged others to maintain what he called “the chain of provenance.” Every puzzle, he argued, carries three creators: the designer, the maker, and the solver. The documentation links them all. Losing it breaks the chain.
He warned that mass production, especially in the late twentieth century, risked “washing out the personality” of puzzles by divorcing them from their origins. His notes about The Blue Mahoe Story and Use of Multi-Colored Fancy Woods reveal his resistance to uniformity. He preferred individuality, visible in grain, texture, and even the occasional imperfection, over perfection without soul.
Today, his words echo in every handcrafted piece that values uniqueness over mass appeal.
The Maker’s Legacy Lives on Paper
For all his talk of geometry and precision, Coffin’s greatest masterpiece may have been his commitment to documentation. His archive reminds us that creativity without record is like a puzzle with missing pieces; the form exists, but the story disappears.
So, next time you pick up a handcrafted puzzle, pause before tossing the instruction sheet. That small slip of paper might outlive the puzzle itself. It is the last handshake between maker and mind.
Or, as Coffin might say, “the final piece that completes the puzzle.”