Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Dining

In less than an hour, our home will be filled with the third installment of a beautiful piece of furniture made from the rage tree.  To date, that makes a Rage Desk, Rage Bed, and finally this Rage Dining Table to call our very own.  Where I'll hug it and pet it and squeeze it and love it.

I look forward to sliding my grandparents Steel Case chairs up to the heads of the table.  Assessing the best placement of my succulents, place settings, chairs.  Kneeling at eye level, running my hand over the smoothe, sprawling top.  wow.  My mind wanders to the large brunches and dinners I can now finally offer; knowing the laughs that await, hugging lovely friends, and making memories that will embed themselves into each grain.  Hopefully he'll keep the secrets since who knows what'll happen to our brains in 50 years.

The evolution of this three year story is quite remarkable.  From the excitement of a ginormous tree in our yard, to the mess, to the removal, to the logs, to the tears, to the milling, to the craftsmanship by a man and his tools.  Not even gonna make a joke, because you're mind is already in the gutter.  Each piece that now sits in our home is distinct; they feel a little different, has it's own message, breathes independently of one another, yet are born from the same lone, spikerificus parent.  This table is the descentment of a remarkable crescendo.

But the transfer of one surface to another is extra personal for me, a confessional.  I have never regularly dined with any other table before.  I kid you not, it feels weird to leave it, which is weird to say about a table I played no part in acquiring.  But it feels right, this be the one who replaces it.  The previous eating apparatus was in my family since before I was born.  Literally.  My parents purchased it in 197x-something from a Marie Calendar's restaurant that was going out of business.  And all the years in Simi Valley that weren't spent eating cereal on the floor in front of the fuzzy TV watching Saturday morning cartoons, were spent reaching up for my bowl on that table. It kept my secret of drawing on my american cheese slices - and of course EATING THEM; it held me up when I would cry because of a bad grade.  It didn't complain when I branded it with green nail polish during a slumber party, or when I would kick its legs out of frustration for something my parents said no to.  It supported me in Palmdale when I would rest my head because I was so unhappy; it was also went with me when I moved away from that awful place and started life 2.0.

It's seen its share of joy and heartache.  Seems wrong to get rid of what I keep wanting to say is her, so at least for now, it'll stay with us.

{end cheese}

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Thank you to the chump who planted this ridiculous, but beautiful tree.
Thank you to the city goobers for allowing us to take it down.
Thank you time and frustration, which forced us to find the best people in Los Angeles to surrogate our wood.
Thank you x1000 Josh at Arbor Exchange, for giving us these enduring formations that will outlive us.


...although I may request they be cremated with yours truly, so none of you fools can have them...

besos.

Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Bed

On February 8, we had our first piece of Rage Furniture delivered - Rage Desk. I don't think the pictures do it nearly enough justice, but that seems to be a theme among a "phone cameras are rad but still doesn't replace a great manual" world.

Today, the wonderful chap Josh and his lovely & mighty sister from Arbor Exchange delivered the Rage Bed.  The highly anticipated, extra incredible, years in the making, can't believe it's ours...  Rage Bed.  It's inspired by famed Japanese designer, George Nakashima.  And now we get to SLEEP on this magnificent example of fine, Los Angeles based craftsmanship.  It will be there during spring birds, gusty nights, rainy Sundays, laughs, cries, writings, readings, puppy hugs and lofting dreams.  This wooden form of amazeballs will stay with the Clarks', through life and quietus.

 

  

 

FIN.

Tree of Rage Furniture: Rage Desk

A journal I wrote August of last year eloquented the story of how we found our home.  While that part 1 story dove into the home itself, it also illustrated a particular tree we unknowingly inherited.

The tree of rage story will unfold another time.  This is the story of its bitter wood, after the foliar carnage.

Our plan from the get-go was to keep the two largest logs and turn them into furniture.  What exactly that meant at the time, we did not know.  We tossed ideas into the air: front doors and tables and desks and cabinets and bookshelves and a mantel, a guitar, a bed, and wall sculptures and anything else centerpiecing the mighty beast.

The logs sat for a much longer spell than anticipated.  Jokes of being the worse neighbors, became lovage for it's homing beacon abilities, both for locating our house and for the high schoolers to smoke pot on.  I didn't care and totally would have done the same back in the day, yo.

After months of research and endless phone calls to lameoids, we FINALLY found a portable miller man in the form of Brent (Urban Logs to Lumber.)  He took each behemoth and sliced him up good; dried the planks in his Clark appropriate solar kiln, checking on it often to ensure peak performance. Seriously people, I hope anyone searching for a Los Angeles miller finds this reference.  Stop searching!  Fantastic experience.

After seeing a dozen or so slabs of the most beeuteeful wood, we narrowed our initial focus to a Rage Desk and Rage Bed.  Local craftsman Josh at Arbor Exchange is who we entrusted to build beauty from anger.  He is the most patient, understanding, knowledgeable feller who guided us through the design, process and delivery.  Absolutely top notch piece of fucking handmade realness.

Now, a history in pictures.

The rage desk was delivered today.

BEHOLD ITS GLORIOUS FURY!!!!!!