Material and making

Timber that already lived once.

Where our wood comes from, the ironwood we're developing, how we burn and oil it, and how every piece is built.

Last updated 2026-10-16

Chapter 1 · Where our wood comes from

17,000 islands, built in wood.

Looking out of a dark timber shed onto a pile of old wood offcuts in the sun
Old wood waiting outside the workshop.

Indonesia has more than 17,000 islands, and for centuries much of it was built in wood. On Java, families lived in joglos: big teak houses held up by four mighty pillars and put together without a single nail.

Today many of them are making way for concrete. The teak inside is often older than our grandparents. Throw it away? Not on our watch. We'd rather give it another life.

Our teak (Tectona grandis) is repurposed: timber that has already lived a life, often in old joglo houses, and also in bridges, boats and other structures. We are also building a way to trace each piece's own story: the Passport.

A yard stacked with old teak posts and beams, their cut ends marked in chalk

Old posts and beams, marked and sorted before they are cut.

Chapter 2 · In development

Meet ulin, Borneo's ironwood.

A reclaimed ulin plank held in a hand, weathered grey on the outside and warm brown where it has been planed
Reclaimed ulin: weathered outside, warm and dense inside.
The ends of old ulin beams stacked under trees, with S-shaped irons hammered into them
Old ulin beams. The S-shaped irons keep the ends from splitting.

Ulin (Eusideroxylon zwageri) is so dense it sinks in water, so tough that termites give up, and so slow-growing that a tree can live for more than a thousand years. For generations it carried fishing boats, held up bridges and kept river villages above the water.

A wood like that should never be cut new. So when an old boat or bridge retires, we give its ironwood a second career. Our first ironwood samples have just left the workshop.

Why can't you just buy new ulin?

Because a tree that takes centuries to grow was cut much faster than it could grow back. Indonesia stepped in: new ulin can no longer be exported, and the species is protected. Old ulin is another story. When a bridge, a house or a dock has done its job, its wood can start again, traced and documented. That's the only ulin we'll ever use.

Chapter 3 · Shou Sugi Ban, our way

Fire, borrowed from Japan.

Burning the surface of the timber.

In Japan, carpenters have protected cedar by setting it on fire for centuries. Really. It's called yakisugi, and a charred surface helps wood stand up to weather and bugs.

We borrowed the idea and tried it on something harder: repurposed teak. We burn the surface, then rub in natural oil. The idea is to help the wood handle the tropical sun.

An old Japanese technique, moved to a new wood and a new climate. Just the wood, a little braver.

Chapter 4 · Natural oil

Into the wood, not on top of it.

Close-up of stacked repurposed teak boards, with old nail holes, cracks and saw marks along their edges
Old nail holes and marks stay part of the board.

Many outdoor finishes are coatings: a layer that sits on top of the wood. Over time they weather, flake off and end up in the soil and the sea.

We finish with natural oil instead. It soaks into the wood rather than forming a skin, and when a piece needs care, you oil it again.

Reclaimed wood also carries marks from its first life. They stay visible, wherever they don't weaken the piece. Character is welcome. A weaker chair is not.

Making

Made in Indonesia.

Every piece is made by hand in Indonesia by makers we work with directly, in small batches.

Producing close to the material keeps the supply chain short and visible.

A maker in a red T-shirt sitting on a teak stool at a pillar drill, surrounded by stacks of repurposed teak boards with old holes, sawdust in the afternoon light

Stacks of repurposed teak, drilled one board at a time.

The hardware

Bolts built to outlive the chair.

The underside of a raw teak frame, showing a leg joint with three bolt holes and the threaded inserts set into the wood
Three holes, three bolts, at every main joint.

Hardware is usually the last thing anyone thinks about. It is often the cheapest part of a piece of furniture, and the first to fail: screws rust, threads strip, and a good chair is thrown out because of a part that cost almost nothing.

We turned that around. Every SATU joint is held by engineered stainless steel (SUS) bolts that screw into threaded inserts set into the wood. The bolt never cuts into the wood itself, so a joint can be opened and closed again and again without wearing out.

The three-bolt clusters you see on every piece aren't decoration. They hold everything together, and they're designed to last longer than the furniture around them.

Technical drawing of the stainless steel connector bolt, with a flat head and a long thread
The bolt.
Technical drawing of the threaded insert that sits in the wood and receives the bolt
The insert it screws into.
The sign in the bolts

Three dots. One circle.

Drawing of three dots joined in a circle by three arrows, the same layout as the three-bolt cluster on every piece

Look closely at any SATU joint and you'll find three bolts. They hold the piece together, and they also carry the idea behind the name. Each bolt stands for a life the piece can have, and together they turn in a circle:

Material

The wood already lived once, before it reached our workshop.

Owner

The piece can move on to someone new and keep working.

Place

Undo the bolts and it can be rebuilt somewhere else.

Round and round, never ending. That's another life.

Built to be rebuilt

Flat, bolted, and back again.

Parts fit by hand, then bolt together.

Every piece travels flat and is bolted together on site.

The same bolts let a piece come apart again without damage: to move it, to store it, or to change a single worn part while the rest carries on.

Prices are ex works, Indonesia.

Shipping

Stop shipping air.

An assembled chair is mostly empty space: between the legs, under the seat, behind the backrest. Ship it like that and you pay to move air across the ocean.

Flat-packed, a 40 ft high-cube container holds around 1,300 of our chairs, against roughly 350 assembled. Almost four times as many chairs per trip, so fewer containers, less fuel and a lower cost for every chair.

Our estimates. The final figures depend on packaging and loading.

Illustration of a shipping container filled with sixteen large boxes of assembled chairs
Illustration of the same container filled with dozens of thin boxes of flat-packed chairs
Flat-packed · ~1,300Assembled · ~350

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