Why I Started Building Mid-Century Modern Furniture — And Why I Can't Stop

CRAFT  ·  DESIGN  ·  PROCESS

Introducing the Heartwood Collection: three handcrafted pieces built for modern living, rooted in the design language of 1950s Scandinavia.

By Mallory     |     April 2026     |     8 min read

 

There is a moment in the shop that never gets old. You have been working a piece of raw walnut for hours — milling, jointing, fitting — and then you wipe on the first coat of finish. The grain opens up. The wood goes from dusty brown to something that looks almost lit from inside. That is why I love working with wood.

I have been woodworking for 4 years. For most of that time, I built things for myself — a workbench here, a shelf there, gifts for family. But for the past year, something has shifted. I found myself returning again and again to the same design vocabulary: tapered legs, clean joinery, honest materials. The furniture of mid-century Scandinavia. And I started to wonder whether I could make a small business out of it.

Today I am sharing the answer to that question: the Heartwood Collection — three pieces designed together, built in my small shop, and made to ship anywhere in the country.

 

The Design Language That Keeps Drawing Me Back

Mid-century modern furniture — especially the Scandinavian strain of it — is one of the most enduring design movements of the last hundred years. It emerged in the 1940s and 50s from a simple idea: that beautiful things should be functional, and functional things should be beautiful. That there is no conflict between the two.

The Danes and Swedes took this seriously. Furniture makers like Hans Wegner and Finn Juhl were working at the intersection of craft and design, producing chairs and tables that felt inevitable — as though they could not have been made any other way. Tapered legs that lift the eye. Joinery that is both structural and decorative. Wood that is allowed to be wood: grain visible, texture present, warmth real.

What draws me to this aesthetic is its honesty. There is no veneer over particle board. No plastic laminate pretending to be something else. When you run your hand along a piece of solid walnut that has been hand-oiled and left to breathe, you know exactly what you are touching. It is a different experience entirely from most furniture sold today — and I think people can feel that difference, even if they cannot always name it.

 

The Three Pieces

Each piece in the Heartwood Collection was designed to solve a specific problem that most modern homes face: too much stuff, not enough considered space. These are not large pieces. They are not statement furniture in the way a ten-foot dining table is a statement. They are the quieter pieces — the ones that earn their space by being exactly right, every day.

No. 01 — The Bjorn Side Table

The Bjorn started with a single design problem: I wanted a side table with real visual presence, but without the mass. The solution was the A-frame — two sculpted solid panels that form the table's sides, with an arched cutout that lifts the whole piece visually.

The lower shelf is slatted and open, practical without being cluttered. The top is solid, wide enough for a book and a lamp but not so deep that it crowds a sofa. At 16 inches square and 26 inches tall, it fits most living rooms, bedrooms, and reading corners. It is the piece I get asked about most.

I hand-shape every arch - no CNC here. That process leaves tool marks that I sand through progressively but never fully eliminate. There is a slight texture to the wood surface that tells you a person made this. I consider that a feature, not a flaw.

No. 02 — The Sten Plant Stands

The plant stand might be the purest distillation of Scandinavian design principles I know how to make. Four tapered legs, splayed outward at eight degrees on all four sides. Two cross-rails that cradle the pot without gripping it. A through-bolt in the lower rail that you can see — a piece of honest hardware that does its job without apology.

I make the Sten in two heights: a tall version at 32 inches and a medium at 22 inches. They are designed to be sold and displayed as a pair — staggered in a corner with two contrasting plants, they create the kind of layered, living composition that is very hard to achieve with most furniture. The pair together is among the most satisfying things I make.

No. 03 — The Lund Floating Shelves

Walk into any home goods store and look at the floating shelves. They are almost always three-quarter-inch thick. Often they are veneer over MDF. They flex under moderate weight and the finish chips at the edges within a year. I understand why — thin shelves are inexpensive to make and ship. But really, is that what you want in your home?

The Lund shelf is built from two-inch solid slab with an integrated hardware — same material, same finish — that steps down from the wall in a clean geometric profile. There is no visible hardware from the front. The front edge is rounded on a router table and hand-sanded through 220 grit.

I make the Lund in three lengths: 24, 36, and 48 inches. Longer shelves have deeper brackets. All lengths use the same profile, so if you buy two shelves at different lengths, they relate to each other visually — same geometry, different scale. That matters in a room.

How I Build — And Why It Takes the Time It Takes

I get asked occasionally whether I use CNC equipment. The honest answer is no — not because I have anything against the technology, but because the pieces in this Collection require hand-shaping at key points that a CNC cannot easily replicate, and because the volume I am working at does not justify the investment.

Every piece begins at the lumber yard, where I select boards by hand. I am looking for consistent color, tight grain, and figure that will read well after oiling. For walnut, I prefer boards with some sapwood — the pale blonde stripe you sometimes see at the edge of a walnut board — because it adds natural contrast and reminds you that you are looking at a tree.

Milling is the foundation of everything. I joint one face and one edge, plane to consistent thickness, and rip to width. This process removes any warp or twist and gives me flat, square stock to work with. It is the least photogenic part of woodworking and probably the most important.

Joinery is mortise-and-tenon throughout on the table and stands, with biscuit reinforcement on glued-up panels. I test every joint by hand before glue-up — it should go together with moderate hand pressure and come apart cleanly. 

Finishing is hard wax oil applied in two coats. I let pieces cure for 72 hours before I consider them ready. The result is a low-sheen, tactile surface that feels like wood because it is wood — the oil penetrates rather than sitting on top, so you are touching the grain directly.

On Pricing — And Why Good Furniture Costs What It Costs

I want to be transparent about pricing, because I think there is a real misunderstanding in the market about what handmade furniture costs and why.

The Bjorn side table starts at $389. The Sten plant stands are $149 depending on size. The Lund shelves range from $149 - 189 depending on length. These are not impulse-buy prices. But consider what you are buying: solid hardwood that will outlast any flat-pack alternative, joinery that is designed to be repaired rather than replaced, and a surface finish that you can renew yourself.

Mass-market furniture is priced the way it is because it externalizes costs — to the environment, to the workers making it, and ultimately to the buyer who replaces it every five to seven years. I am not making that furniture. I am making things I expect you to own for twenty years and hand to someone when you move.

 

Custom orders welcome  ·  3–5 week lead time