Rather than being milled flat on every face, the walnut billet keeps the shape it had inside the tree along one edge, where the cross-section curves over the rim and drops toward the floor. On that hanging face the pale honey heartwood sits inside a wall of bark so dark it reads as charred, and even the small root spur at its lower tip has been left unsanded. The upper surface is levelled and polished but not corrected: grain moving between chocolate and cinnamon, open fissures and knots all stay where the tree put them. Slim square profiles in aged brass frame the underside, turn down on one side only and end in a flat rectangle on the floor, their welds and dulled patina deliberately visible. Because the opposite side stays open, that base slips beneath a sofa or an armchair and brings the top right under your hand. Sit down next to it and the eye goes first to the wood falling over the edge; the usefulness registers a moment later.