Every piece begins in the timber stack, not the sketchbook. We buy whole boards, air-dried and full of character, and let the grain tell us what it wants to become.

We sketch by hand until the shape stops asking for attention.

A drawer should glide with one finger and a table should never wobble. Every proportion starts from the body that will use it — seat heights for long dinners, edges softened where hands actually fall.

Three coats rubbed in by hand, days apart. The finish doesn't seal the wood so much as wake it up — the grain deepens, and the surface learns to age.

A piece isn't done when it leaves the workshop; it's done when it has carried its first thousand mornings. We build for the scratch, the patina, the second generation — furniture that gets better at its job the longer it stays.