Trees have characteristics that often mirror the people in my life. The locust wood I worked with to create these pieces came to life and hung around my workshop like the shadow of a person I used to know.
Black locust is one of the strongest and most resistant woods native to Appalachia. It has a hearty timber, guarded by thorns in a shroud of toxic bark and leaves. Years of evolution have given this tree a robust combination of defense mechanisms to protect itself.
Just by looking at the tree these pieces came from, you’d never know it was hollow, a secret masked by its tough facade. This tree was consumed by an inner darkness, leaving it empty. Even though hollow trees can live for many years, their collapse is inevitable.
While efforts for conservation would not save the tree, there was an opportunity to give it a second life. In a final act of preservation, I took the wood from this ailing tree, stripped it of all its defense mechanisms, and cauterized the wounds that once left it vulnerable.
Much of the wood I work with is met with indifference from its sources. Tossing aside something because it is not as good as it once was is not an option for me. I will do everything in my power to make good on the chance to breathe life back into something I know can be great.
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