March - our hard-wired connection with wood
Written for and originally published by Homes & Gardens
Last month we were in the woods, now we’re in our warm, south-facing London workshop with the spring sun bouncing off our wood-dust-white walls. The transporting of freshly harvested timber from our woodland in Kent to the workshop in the city is, I often think, a good metaphor for the delivery of a piece of our furniture. We are bringing the natural world into the human world, much as we do when we place a dining table in someone’s kitchen - a moment in which I wonder (or ask) about what leads our customers to commission us? Is it the design, the story, or something else?
For many people, it’s a latent desire to bring a small piece of tamed nature into their home. There is a deep bond to our evolved past in any worked piece of wood, satisfying us in our detached world. This connection is hard-wired; one example among many is a study in 2011, which measured children’s heart rates were lowered when studying in a room with wooden wall panels. I think we know the benefits of natural surfaces, somewhere deep in our psyche, often escaping as involuntary stroking of wooden surfaces. Could this stroking be our subconscious reaching out for something we need? I wonder if our ancestors would have done the same, connected as they were to nature’s rhythms?
The textures and figuring in wooden surfaces are irreplicable by digital means; a kitchen table top can act as a humble example of the infinite uniqueness of the natural world. Each board is a record of the years and conditions in which it grew. The light, soil type, aspect, water availability, wind, county, gradient, years, even centuries affect the pattern in your piece. I believe strongly that’s an important thing to be in the presence of, daily, as you slurp your tea and crunch your toast. Taking the time to notice that keeps your feet on the ground and, as we know, your heart-rate low.
Our challenge as makers is to not detract from these wonderful characteristics. We must understand the structural implications of (I hate this word) ‘imperfections’ and work around them to keep the natural order humming in our client’s piece. Of course, our work can only be achieved with solid wood; I question the point of inviting natural materials into our homes if they are indeed only 0.6mm thick, homogenous in pattern, and hiding MDF (dust bound together with urea-formaldehyde).
On my first day at university, I remember cutting some beech with a sharp tenon saw, deciding I could work wood for the rest of my life. I meant wood, real wood, abstaining from the veneering section of the course because ‘William Morris wouldn’t have approved’. I stand by that abstention, a promise we make to our craftsmen-and-women, is that they’ll never work with veneer or MDF. I’m sad to say we’re a rarity in our industry.
So I shall leave you with a tip to ensure your future kitchen table serves you in bringing a sense of wellness to your day: Follow the grain along its length to the edge of the table, you should see the annual rings of the tree at the end of the grain; if you cannot, request some solid wood instead.