If it ain’t shared, it doesn’t exist
“I had a dream”. That’s sometimes how stories start. This is (a part of) my story. I was eight. My father took me to a local woodworker who was making a staircase for our home. I was fascinated. I still remember the smell of freshly planed oak and hot glue.
Fast forward forty years later. After a professional career using most of the few brains I had, I wanted to find out if I could do something more. Something with my hands. The lightness of a beginner. And, non, je ne regrette rien. The past years have been a fascinating trip between ideas, creativity, puzzling, precision, unforgivable errors, fascination, discovery, dust and satisfaction. Let me share a few results.
And these are some of my most recent:
