Carving a second life out of sustainably sourced timber
Sophie Sellu’s creations suggest branching coral and pangolin scales, undulating hills and drought-cracked earth. Their resemblance to naturally occurring forms, however, belies their laborious craft. Using only wood that would otherwise go to waste, vases, chopping boards, brushes, butter knives, and recently more sculptural pieces, are patiently hand carved in her home studio in south east London. Sellu became enamoured with woodworking following a day-long workshop in 2013, and a year later, started her own solo venture. Today, Grain and Knot’s collections often sell out it in minutes.
In conversation with Port, she reflects on tactile learning, arboreal beauty, and channelling the world into her work.
What is it you enjoy about the physical act of making?
I am, as many of us are, obsessed with my phone – so it’s nice to sit still, put a podcast on and create something. I got into woodworking because I wanted to occupy my hands… get away from screens and emails. I get this undivided hyper-focus flitting between half-finished pieces and have realised, particularly during the pandemic, that I am a deeply tactile person. To process objects I need to touch them, so I properly understand their weight and texture. Each piece of wood I come across will have a unique feel or character, a different density and surface.
What is your process?
First, I sketch. I have a real fear of not doing the wood justice, so I always make sure that the template I’ve drawn is right beforehand. That means as little waste as possible. The paper cut outs are quick, can be changed easily, and allow me to get an idea of scale. I’ll then mark and cut the wood with a bandsaw, the only electric machinery I use. Next, I’ll hand carve, whittling away to enhance its textural element. Knowing when to stop is something I’ve had to learn along the way. It is very easy to get lost in the act – you have to be incredibly careful because it’s a reductive process; you can’t put it back.
Do you look to the natural world for inspiration?
I get plenty of ideas when I’m out walking and spend a lot of time in the woods with my dog. I’m forever looking at trees and am drawn to their organic patterns. Spalted timbers, which I often use, have these lovely black lines running through them. Essentially tree fungus, the free-form way it moves is very striking. Sycamore and hornbeam also have this wonderfully subtle yet detailed grain. I’ve never liked things that are too rigid and much prefer natural finishes rather than anything super polished. Some people could probably see my work as unfinished, but I believe there’s a nice quality to be had when you can see the marks of production, get a glimpse of how it’s made. In each cut, you can see that my hand has passed across it.
What tools do you use?
I don’t have a huge arsenal, and that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with it. When I started, all I had was a hand axe, a Swedish carving knife and a couple of gouges. In the craft world, that’s an inexpensive starter package! There are so many ways to approach woodworking, and part of the joy is figuring out how to make things with or without certain tools. Ninety per cent of my work is done with a single quite basic knife.
Why do you use reclaimed and sustainably sourced timber?
I’ll use whatever I can get my hands on, so if a maple comes down in a storm, I’ll take it. Working with chance materials is how I started out. Back in the day, I’d be dragging bits of broken furniture from the garage, rummaging through skips. I didn’t know any tree surgeons so had to seek out timber wherever I could. My uncle used to renovate period properties, so sometimes I’d get my hands on wonderful mahogany from a house built in 1850, wood that you can’t buy now because it’s endangered. I’d pounce on places like Tate Britain ditching old benches, or trawl through eBay for wrecked chairs. I remember my parents’ neighbour’s house was largely destroyed by a fire and they were ripping things out. I salvaged some timber and made them chopping boards so they could have something to remember their old house.
Typically, traditional green woodworking is done with freshly chopped down trees, but working sustainably just made sense to me. Now, I only use timber from a family-run woodland that has been taken down because it’s damaged, diseased or dangerous. Rather than letting it go to waste we dry it out, which means it’s a lot tougher to work with, but I want to give that wood a second life.
What else informs your work?
My inspiration isn’t stuck to one place; it can come from anywhere. It could be the shadows on a wall, cell structures, old maps, something as mundane as the stitching on a stranger’s jumper. I like registering these shapes, thinking about how they link together and interpreting them, in a way. I’m absorbing images all the time, which can be quite overwhelming, but there is a therapeutic aspect when you channel them into something else: fusing these ideas into a physical object.
What are your hopes for 2022?
I’m working on a book, and some exciting private commissions. At some point, I’d also like to have a pop-up or exhibition for mostly sculptural wall-hanging pieces. I’ve got so many at home but have never sold them, and I need to unpack why. I’ve got a love-hate relationship with social media because it can hold me back from doing certain things, waiting for feedback, making me doubt myself. The beginning of the year is my time to experiment before the collection drops, so I’ve been working with modelling clay and drawing every day. You learn a great deal by playing and giving yourself permission to create what you like. People respond to that personal joy. It means they can see my fingerprint on each piece.
Photography Antonia Adomako
This article is taken from Port issue 30. To continue reading, buy the issue or subscribe here
