In Awe and Anxiety: A lesson in how to take 7 months to refinish a relatively straightforward project.

I find a tremendous amount of awe in the gifts of trees. I run my hands over top of the newly sanded dresser.  The endgrain is so tight it is hard to make out the yearly growth rings.  I stood there squinting with my pencil in hand marking every 30 years or so. It quickly grew and I finally landed on my best estimate that it was at least 300 years old when felled. It could be and probably was older.

This dresser is most likely built somewhere in the 1840-1850’s, if you subtract drying time, shipping time, time it took to chop and mill the lumber, subtract another 15 years or so.  It is not unreasonable to assume that the tree that gave us this wood  started growing in the rainforests of Honduras (or Cuba) sometime around 1500’s (assuming my guess of mahogany is correct). Precolonization of the Americas. I say this to myself again. Before the colonization of the Americas.  As my hands rest on top of this ordinary object, I think it is not often you can time travel so easily.

Over 500 years ago it started growing a seed from its mother, fighting to find light in the dense forest, enriching the soil and providing habitat for thousands of birds, creatures, and fauna. It  was felled like so many of it’s neighbours in an orgy of colonial violence that fueled the industrial revolution. At the time it was determined that this was a trendy wood, a beautiful wood that smelled of the excesses for those that could afford it. ( I cannot help to think of the live edge walnut epoxy tables today, I doubt those will last 200 year though) So it was pulled down, chopped up and sent to a new land. From there it was planed down, shaped, joined with other lumber and made into a dresser. In the style that represented the grandeaur of an empire that would last a thousand years, and so shall it’s furniture they said. I’m sure there’s some irony in copying a style of furniture from the French empire that only lasted a couple decades.

The dresser surely did last though as a loved piece in a farmhouse, sold, resold, passed down to family members, inexplicably painted, and finally to spend the last number of years in a garage taking up space.

This dresser on the face of it is a rather straightforward restoration. Structurally sound, just a lot of surface imperfections. But I have struggled. I have struggled with dichotomy of  the commodity vs the gift. The gift of the tree, the gift of the labourer 200 years ago.  These stories pull right at my heart strings. But then there is the commodity of the dresser itself. I’ve definitely been duped by social media in the inflated prices that the “influencers” sell their goods at. “Sell your flipped dresser for $2000 at least and all that jazz.” I has easily deceived me into thinking something is worth more than it is. This has been the one of the oldest pieces I have worked on so I reached out to a couple of appraisers and auction houses. All with the same answer that despite being 200 years old the antique value is low to nil, best of luck! (one  gave me the helpful advice that I should work on mid century pieces. And the other helpfully offered I try to sell it on marketplace)

What do I do? To finish to sell, I probably won’t make much more than I am putting into it. And it won’t sell quickly, it’s too big, too red, too heavy. Am I just going to get stuck with this dresser, taking up desperately needed shop space? Am I too invested into it? I even considered chopping it up, there is so much lovely wood I could easily make 2 sets of nightstands (which I know will sell) and have leftover. I have been paralyzed with indecision, so I do little work but it seems to be always be on my mind.

 I can’t break it up. I don’t know if it’ll sell or if I’ll just end up giving it away, but I can’t take it apart. It’s a piece of history and stunning example of perseverance and the craftsmanship and an ode to the tree that deserves to be shown respect. I am going to try modernizing with some nice handles and trust that someone out there at some point will want it. This is probably the wrong business decision, but I don’t think I’m much of a business person, my heart generally leads first. If only there was a way to make sure my heart can get paid.