Luna Bench- The Log

The branch I had carried to my workshop left me coated in a fine layer of white bark dust. It was heavy and cumbersome and I had no clue how I was going to break into it. I began with my fathers Nepali kukree, an item he had given me when I asked if he had a small axe. “This should work similarly.” He had said. I sliced at the edge of the log. I sliced again, this time with less hesitation. The blade glided through the soft wet bark as though it were the skin of a fruit. I carved away more pieces reavealing the cream colored lumber below. I was embracing this material without a plan, feeling its texture, its strength, its softness. In a short time I was winded from wielding the kukree, I decided to call it a day and make a plan for the next.

A design was an obvious starting point for making something from this log. I wanted to make a bench, but the log itself was too narrow to be used as a slab. I could place the two halves side by side like a national park bench. I could dig into it with a gouge and make some sort of narrow saddle seat item. I could split the log in half and place one half with the round side up, beside the other with the round side down, forming a wavelike seat that would both support the lower back, and curve with the bend of a knee. I ran a quick google and found no results for this design. Why wasn’t this out there? I brushed off the question and settled on the design.

There is beauty and sadness in the lumber from a tortured tree. A professor of mine expressed this observation when I was in college. He showed my class the blue streaks of a pine beetles wrath. He shared the twisted and rippled grain in burl caused by disease. This understanding made me hesitant to reach for exotic woods. Even if lumber came from a dying tree, the pain of that trees life would become part of the furnitures story. With this in mind, I confronted the suffering that was painted all over the log I was about to crack open.

Crack open that log is exactly what I did. With a sledge hammer and wedges I pried the sides apart. I had broken open geodes as a kid and this felt very much the same. The diseases and bugs that riddled this poor aspen had created a managerie of color inside, like crystals beneath the dull crust of a stone. With a pop the log was open and I was in.