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New York Magazine profiles generation twenty something in a recent issue – crediting a can do response to the economic downturn. As the story goes, well nurtured kids can beat a bleak economy. The furniture maker here, Devi Rawls, may have it as tough as many –  expanded overhead, squeezed profits and no benefits. But despite it all, American woodworking, about the most long standing trades across the land, is growing.

“We work to become, not to acquire.” – Elbert Bubbard (1856-1915) American Philosopher and Writer

The largest permanent installation at MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) isn’t art. Museum goers on the upper floors walk across a sprawling canvas of wood flooring – or more exactly, 4” tongue and groove engineered (veneer over plywood we’d expect) White Oak. It’s the expected choice, given factors of durability (hard wearing), cost (moderate) and aesthetics (a clear even grain that won’t divert from the art). Oak is like the gallery white wall, underfoot. But was it the best or only choice? Flooring specialists across different materials may call for a range of choices. But the natural warmth of wood, it’s ability to be both traditional and modern, and it’s abundance (at least with Oak, a relatively sustainable species), is part of why the wood product was specified. Would reclaimed wood be appropriate? Flooring grades with any degree of character marks – nail holes, knots, stress cracks, not to mention the currently popular “Dirty Top” (retaining the weathered surface of the wood), may raise some objections within the museum board and others. But a clear vertical grain heart Pine, a select grade of reclaimed Oak, or Ipe from the city boardwalks (another major American museum is considering the salvaged woods from the Coney Island boardwalk) may have been acceptable, potentially bringing a slightly richer hue and just enough character to connect with the art without diverting museum goers. The boards debate could then turn to getting the new installation under budget. Photo: Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

Left to Right: 1) Jackson Martin 2) Ilan Auherbuch 3) Richard Bottwin

 

“…Wretched refuse yearning to be free…” Emma Lazarus’ words on the base of the Statue of Liberty, in her poetic anthem to our ancestors and an American ideal of freedom. In the material world, and the wood one specifically, the refuse takes the form of discarded stair treads, broken bureaus, miles of bead board and wood shop off-cuts which rarely have a chance of freedom from the landfill. This is the stuff you see leaning on garbage cans or sticking up  over the top of dumpsters. But for pure quality of wood, these woods are hard to match, and surprisingly hard to acquire, harvested as they are in noctural rounds that require their pursuers to stay one step ahead of the trash truck.

The scraps may seem useless, unless you’re intending to piece together strictly functional furniture – an everyday practice in the developing world; or a modern furniture piece- a real rarity in the industrialized world. In New York City, Nadia Yaron and Nadia Scruggs, the design team at Nightwood,  collect and transform this prime material scrap into stunningly beautiful objects that even reflect the city’s diversity and hard knock charm.

Some of their sustainable works have included off-cuts from Sawkil Lumber Co., including reclaimed tank woods from a local brandy distillery and a Broadway theatre watertank. The design team was featured in New York magazine.

Through the 20th Century, we did more harm to the environment than we knew. Now, as Heather Rodgers exposes in ‘Green Gone Wrong’, we’re doing far less good than we imagine. Whether it’s U.S. car companies stalling fuel efficient cars, impotent carbon offset programs, the downside of biofuels, or toxic compromises in organic labeling, we are ‘undermining the environmental revolution.’ Market forces alone don’t work is a main argument, and Rodgers travels the ends of the earth to make the point. But what does work? She spotlights super energy efficient green buildings in Germany’s Black Forest, mass production green cars in China and organic farming in New York’s Hudson Valley (though this last at the cost of farmers living like starving artists). She’s chosen to highlight these areas rather than document the wrongs more comprehensively. There’s is no mention of the LEED green building standard or recycling programs, and limited discussion of the forces of human nature that may hold up progress. But there’s enough suggested in the delusion that buying earth friendly products can save the planet. The question are too large for any one country to answer  , but the seeds of change are out there. If not, then the June 2, 2011 headline may offer the best hope, “Planet Earth Doesn’t Know How to Make It Any Clearer it Wants Everyone to Leave.”

Next: Is reclaiming lumber good for the environment?

Reclaimed antique woods speak to qualities that don’t meet the eye; ones that are intangible, yet highly perceived. What are some of the immaterial qualities of these woods? How do we better understand their physiological and psychological impact? Is the affect changed and determined by the historical layers carried in the old woods? And how does our understanding of these qualities inform how we create, design and educate? Scientist Edward O. Wilson and Psychologist Erich Fromm each pointed to an idea of Biophilia, which may be a way to explore these questions.

The term “Biophilia” means “love of life or living systems”, coined by Fromm to describe the attraction to all that’s alive. Edward O. Wilson later widened the idea in his book Biophilia. They both shared the theory that a deep connection between humans and nature is based in our biology and part of our evolution. The hypothesis would help explain why people care for and try to save animals (and of course their own children),  plants and flowers. The natural love for life sustains life.
And included in this may be the pleasure in using wood, derived from living trees, even after the logs have been refined by the mill shop. But what about reclaimed wood? An aged and rough sawn surface may readily conjure similar rustic qualities in nature, and a more immediate experience of Biophilia. But the woods also carry history and qualities that don’t meet the eye. So is there an innate biological attraction to the nostalgia of past history, Histophilia? And what paradoxical (antique wood is still alive in a sense, yet conjures the past) and valuable role of opposition does it have within a modern environment?