The Hearth Chair
The OriginalThe chair the film is about: a saddled solid-wood seat on wedged-tenon legs, made to be pulled up to fires, tables, and long conversations.
58 × 82 × 55 cm
Scroll at a walking pace. Over the next minute one standing oak will be felled, milled, rested, and joined into furniture — the same unhurried road every Heartwood piece walks.
Before it is furniture, it is a tree on a hillside — sixty rings, two droughts, one lightning summer. We build with all of it.
One tree gives a dozen boards. We take it down ourselves, saw it in our own yard, and read the years in every ring before a single cut is planned.
Legs find their mortises. Stretchers brace like held breath. The board you watched come off the log is saddled by hand into a seat — no screws, nothing hidden, nothing hurried.
A chair must look right from the corner of a room and from the corner of an eye. Choose your wood below — oak, walnut, or smoked ash — and watch it drink the finish.
This close, furniture becomes honesty: a wedged tenon, a saddled seat, an oiled edge your palm will find every morning for forty years.
Out of the workshop, into the evening light — the chair, then the table, the sofa, the lamp gathering around it. Every piece in the room began on the same hillside.
From grain to grace — furniture that remembers the tree it was.
Heartwood is eleven people, one saw-tooth-roofed workshop, and a woodpile we know tree by tree. We buy whole logs from managed forests, mill them ourselves, and let the boards rest for two years before a single cut — because wood, like people, behaves better when it isn't rushed. Every piece is joined the old way, finished with oil and wax you can renew with a rag, and signed underneath by the hands that made it. Nothing we build needs a manual; everything we build expects grandchildren.
We buy standing timber from managed forests we can walk to, and we take the whole log — the knots and the character with it.
Boards sleep in our loft for two full years, stickered and patient, until they've forgotten the weather they grew in.
One maker takes your piece from first pencil line to final wax. You'll get their name, and photographs of the grain before it's cut.
We deliver, place, and level it ourselves — then come back once a year, forever, if it ever needs us.
Turn any piece on the bench, swap the finish, check the true dimensions against your doorway — then reserve it and we start milling.
The chair the film is about: a saddled solid-wood seat on wedged-tenon legs, made to be pulled up to fires, tables, and long conversations.
Every design below is cut from rested boards in the wood of your choice. Try any of them on the workshop floor above.
The chair the film is about: a saddled solid-wood seat on wedged-tenon legs, made to be pulled up to fires, tables, and long conversations.
58 × 82 × 55 cm
Two book-matched boards from the same tree, breadboard ends, and room for every chair in the house. Seats eight; hosts twelve.
220 × 75 × 90 cm
A low oak frame carrying deep linen cushions — the nap-tested heart of the room. Covers unzip; the frame outlives them all.
210 × 78 × 92 cm
A turned-wood column with a paper shade that pools warm light exactly one book wide. The workshop's favourite overtime companion.
32 × 148 × 32 cm
Five planks, two uprights, zero fasteners you can see. Holds the family library and doesn't wobble when the kids climb it — we checked.
90 × 180 × 30 cm
A floating platform on splayed legs, headboard soft-edged for late-night readers. Assembles with a mallet and one satisfying knock.
190 × 95 × 215 cm
“We watched the website build that chair out of a plank and thought: that's how I want our table made. Two years later it still smells faintly of beeswax when the sun hits it.”
“The maker sent a photo of the actual boards with pencil marks on them before cutting. My chairs have a biography.”
“Assembled with one mallet knock, exactly as promised. The joint tightened over the monsoon instead of creaking — my grandfather would have approved.”
Stocked pieces ship in two weeks. Commissions take six to ten weeks depending on the season — the boards are already rested, but the bench doesn't rush. You'll receive photographs at every stage.
From managed community forests we visit ourselves, bought as whole logs and milled in our yard. Every piece can be traced to its log, and most to the hillside it grew on.
Wipe spills when you see them, and once or twice a year rub in the small tin of wax we include. Scratches can be sanded and re-oiled at home — the finish is designed to be repaired, not replaced.
Yes — every design is made to order in oak, walnut, or smoked ash, and most can be scaled to your room. Send us a doorway measurement and we'll take it from there.
The workshop is open to visitors most days — bring a doorway measurement, leave with wood samples and a fair quote.
Tell Heartwood the room, the light, and the life it needs to hold — the bench takes it from there.