Recently, someone asked “Why do you make furniture?”

Strangely enough, it’s a question that I’ve never really had a good answer for. Or least an answer that I considered good. But that question has been noodling around in my head ever since, and I this is my attempt at answering it.

I want to make things of a place. Things that are a piece of a place where life happens. Mundane daily events, exciting once in a lifetime events, boring things, happy things, sad things, special occasions and all the other times that make up the intertwined fabric that is our lives.

A place to rest your back or your feet or your mind. A place to rock the baby to sleep. Or to sit and talk about serious things like money or problems or hopes or dreams. Or a place to share your favorite dad joke. Or a place to just daydream. Or a place to be grateful. Grateful for all that we have in our lives, and grateful for being able to share it with others.

A piece of a place that holds memories. Things that when we see them, we flash back to those moments in time that sit silently, hidden in the back of our mind, dormant and forgotten, until roused and jolted from our memories and then they force their way front and center in our minds when we see these particular pieces of place.

The first time you tried wedding soup. Or when milk came out your sister’s nose. Or where you were when you heard of a loved ones passing. Or a new addition to the family, a brother or sister, a cousin, a grandchild. Where tears are shed, sometimes of joy, sometimes of sorrow, and where memories are made and shared amongst many, or maybe sometimes just a few.

Pieces of place that show their history and memories through use. Maybe they show their age through a creak or a groan, or maybe a barely perceptible squeak, when opened, or maybe just the scratchy sound when moved across the floor, which are all just a little thank you for using them and including them in our daily lives and making them part of our memories.

Maybe they have other signs of the love of use – a dent here, a ding there, a scratch or two, maybe a bite or claw mark from a beloved pet - little perfect imperfections they accrue over time. With an imperceptible wink, they silently remind us of all that they’ve seen and heard and been a part of throughout our lives.

A splash of paint from when you painted your first picture. A reminder about doing that one particular science project on the dining room table was a bad idea. A burn spot from that time your uncle tried to make an omelet. Fingernail polish from that sleep over when they all snuck into mom’s ‘stash’ to secretly try out their favorite color.

I aspire to design and build furniture that is timeless and practical and put to use and will last generations so that it will help us hold onto our memories that get lost in the craziness that is our of increasingly complicated lives. That reminds us of our friends and family. That helps us remain grateful. That grounds us.

That’s why I make furniture.