The beauty of wood makes a most unique and interesting landscape. Many times [since I was a small child] it has served as my destined landscape, becoming an integral part of my life without much effort of my own in the beginning anyway. Now that I’m older I feel the need to acknowledge the fact that wood [and the trees it originates from] made a profound mark on this life. I found my favorite music to be – “tambien es hermoso” but have you ever noticed the beauty of natural wood? There’s a movement in wood as well that remains with us after the fact, after the milling the sawing the gluing and the nailing, a beauty that was always present though hidden once inside a tree. I believe trees have a story to tell, their stories are individual, just as individual as the stories of people, mostly held in silence but on full display for anyone who cares to listen with eyes open. People that deal with wood and in woods are the kind of people who care to listen to a tree’s “story”. They watch, they look, they listen long enough to observe the beauty of a piece of natural wood.

The fact is I grew up around sawdust, I remember my mother shaking her head as my father dragged sawdust into the house [once] again. I was the only kid I knew who’s father made him hold a piece of board on a Saturday [while other kids in the neighborhood were off playing]. I would need to hold one end of a long piece of wood just so my father could make as clean a cut as possible with his table saw. He made all kinds of things out of wood [mostly on the weekends], there were tables with drawers that closed into them; and cabinets with doors to close into them and new counter tops and desks, even some carvings out of wood. My Dad even knew how to add and delete walls to create new living spaces. I remember he even built a family sofa once. Before you ask me if I liked his concept of what a sofa [should be] it was akin to lying on a long wooden bench and having someone hand you a flimsy pillow. If I recall correctly I don’t think it lasted long in the house and for good reason. One thing I do regret not crediting my father enough for while he was alive is that he accomplished all of this woodworking with only the use of one eye.

By the age of four I had an interest in drawing, mostly pencil, charcoal and later ball point pens. By my late teens and early twenties most of these drawings included trees or contained something made of wood like a bridge, or a loft I remember. Wood as a texture was usually on full display in most of my drawings. I remember wondering a few times why that was, why it came so easy for me, but now that mystery is solved, therein lies the answer.

Wood garnered from trees might be why we’re all here today, one never knows. What one can determine is that wood is the number one reason The America’s were discovered in the first place. Spanish and French explorers sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, and you guessed it – on ships made entirely of wood back then [pre-1800’s] and that practice continued, eventually morphing into an industry known as “shipbuilding”. I do know that wood is much warmer than steel and lighter and more workable too. You can’t eat wood but you can burn it for heat and live under a roof that it can make over your head. And since there’s still no law against hugging a tree if that turns you then I suppose you can do it. Forests full of trees are a natural resource, they exist for us, they’re as important to humans as fossil fuels are today. And understanding the beauty that comes from wood can enrich a life over and over again for which I’m a prime example… now that I look back to being that youngster, I guess I was lucky my father made me help him complete his many visions all made from wood. 😉