Notes on the build
The Bench started from two forms in nature: a heron's foot, and the span of a bird's wings held open in the air. The base carries the first — a narrow, articulated stance that looks too light to hold and holds anyway. The top carries the second — a long, shallow span that lifts at the ends rather than sitting flat.
Every dimension was decided, not defaulted. The seat height was set for a tall family with long lower legs, so the knee sits at the right angle without the front edge cutting in. The crescent cut in the base does two things at once: it clears the table it lives beside, and it braces the span — without it, the plywood would flex under load. Form and structure in the same line.
The top is shaped to the body, not to a photograph. A shallow groove runs the length of the seat, positioned for the sit bones — it's why the bench is comfortable with no cushion, because the surface follows the same curvature as the muscle and bone it carries. Just ahead of the groove, a slight pitch relieves the pressure of bare wood against soft tissue. Small decisions, but they're the difference between a bench you look at and a bench you stay on.
The lamination is left exposed because it's honest — every layer that makes the piece strong is visible in the piece. Nothing hidden, nothing veneered over.
Notes on the Build
The original cabinetry represented the standard consumer compromise: hollow spaces hidden behind hinged, decorative doors. It was a cavernous approach to storage that required one to crouch and reach into the dark. The structural overhaul entirely rejects this static void.
Every internal volume is now dictated by strict mechanical purpose. By integrating the Blum Legrabox system, the inert shelves have been replaced with kinetic, load-bearing planes. The vertical space is ruthlessly organized, layering shallow organization trays directly above deep, high-capacity drawers. Every available cubic centimetre is brought forward into the light. Even the narrowest remaining aperture has been engineered into a functional pull-out rack.
The human interface with this mass is immediate and physical. The heavy Vauth-Sagel waste management unit deploys via a foot pedal, recognizing that hands are often occupied and a functional system must yield to momentum.
Externally, the aesthetic is entirely unforgiving. Decorative framing has been discarded in favour of flush, unadorned surfaces. It is an honest presentation of mass and mechanical control, where the strict tolerance of the gaps is the only ornament required.