A Thousand Skills: George Nakashima

You’ve probably seen George Nakashima’s furniture in the pages of shelter magazines, at auction, and in museum and gallery exhibitions across the country. His aesthetic influence is everywhere: your favorite cafe might have an eye-catching espresso bar with a live edge, or you might see a midcentury-style bench you like at a mass-market furniture retailer that ‘echoes’ one of Nakashima’s designs, to put it diplomatically. Or you might have heard his name and seen photographs of him with his family in an episode of the series Artbound on KCET, “Masters of Modern Design: The Art of the Japanese American Experience,” which tells the story of some of the renowned artists and designers who spent time in internment camps during World War II. Writing in Curbed in 2017, the architecture critic Alexandra Lange examined the connection between American design history and Executive Order 9066, which President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed in 1942. The order granted authority to the military to transport citizens to “relocation centers” in Arkansas, Arizona, California, Colorado, Idaho, Utah, and Wyoming. We call them internment camps today, and about 119,000 people—most of them Japanese immigrants or Japanese-Americans—were sent to live there for several years during World War II. George Nakashima was among them, as were the artists Ruth Asawa and Isamu Noguchi.

Nakashima was already a citizen of the world prior to the war, having spent a year traveling abroad on a round-the-world steamship ticket after graduate school. Born in 1905 in Spokane, Washington to Japanese emigré parents, he grew up hiking and camping in the forests of the Pacific Northwest with the Boy Scouts. He studied forestry at the University of Washington-Seattle, but was drawn to design as well, and graduated with a BA in architecture in 1929. He earned an MA in architecture from M.I.T. in 1931, and embarked on his world tour, spending a bohemian year in France, then traveling to North Africa, and finally to Japan. Nakashima met and eventually worked for the American architect Antonin Raymond, an associate of Frank Lloyd Wright, and he toured Japan studying building techniques and design. In the late 1930s, he was the project architect on the Golconde Dormitory at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry, India, where he discovered two practices that would shape his life: yoga and furniture-making.

He returned to Japan in 1940, where he met the woman who would become his wife, Marion Okajima, and the two settled in Seattle after marrying in Los Angeles. But in 1942, now with a new daughter named Mira, the Nakashimas were sent to Camp Minidoka, an internment camp in Hunt, Idaho. Incredibly, he used the time there to apprentice himself to a woodworker named Gentauro Hikogawa who had been trained in Japan. Hikogawa taught Nakashima to work expertly with Japanese hand tools and helped him master Japanese joinery techniques. He used whatever wood scraps he could find to practice his craft and develop his first designs for furniture. In 1943, his old mentor Antonin Raymond sponsored the Nakashimas for early release, and offered them his chicken farm in rural New Hope, PA as a place to stay. Mira Nakashima recalls that her father believed the name of the small town—which was becoming a mecca for woodworkers at the time—augured well for a fresh start. Nakashima quickly made connections with Knoll, for whom he designed several furniture lines such as the Straight Back Chair, and he designed a sofa for Widdicomb-Mueller which has gone back into production.

But most of Nakashima’s works were unique. He was famous for using butterfly joints, which allowed him to select unusual, asymmetrical pieces of wood and transform them into inviting dining tables and coffee tables. Nakashima had numerous lifelong clients, and he often signed their names in ink on boards that he selected especially for them. The largest private collection of Nakashima furniture was, for a time, that of Nelson and Happy Rockefeller, who owned over 200 works that Nakashima had designed for their Pocantico Hills estate. His passion for architecture, like his passion for forestry and trees, never wavered, and he was able to weave all three activities together at his home and studio. He designed buildings on his property, and was especially enamored of parabolic shapes, which led to the creation of a line of chairs called “Conoid,” with gently curved backs, which were named for the dramatic roofline of a building he called the Conoid Studio. In a sense, Nakashima didn’t believe in flaws. In his 1981 book The Soul of a Tree, which offered a glimpse at his philosophy and his technique and life story, he wrote: “Each flitch, each board, each plank can have only one ideal use. The woodworker, applying a thousand skills, must find that ideal use and then shape the wood to realize its true potential.”

Nakashima’s Conoid Studio in New Hope, PA. Courtesy of George Nakashima Woodworkers.

The George Nakashima House, Studio and Workshop is now a United States National Historic Landmark and a World Monument, and although it’s temporarily closed as of July, 2020 due to the pandemic, the site is generally open to visitors. Today, Nakashima’s daughter Mira, who is an accomplished designer herself, works alongside a team of highly skilled woodworkers to produce both classic and new designs. A grant from the Getty Foundation has helped in the preservation and conservation of the site and its many unusual structures. There’s a museum and gallery in the city of Takamatsu, Japan where Nakashima once had a studio. In 1983, the man who once jokingly referred to himself as a “Japanese Quaker” was presented with the Order of the Sacred Treasure by the Emperor of Japan and the Japanese government. A key figure in American Modernism who spent most of his life in Bucks County, PA, Nakashima deftly combined the woodworking and design traditions of the United States and Japan. Despite his harrowing wartime experience as a Japanese American during the conflict that pitted the two countries against one another, he seemed to remain deeply rooted, aesthetically and philosophically, in both worlds.

Why We Manufacture

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit the United States in March, a shift from in-person to remote work swept every “non-essential” workplace practically overnight. Suddenly television news anchors were broadcasting from their homes against subdued digital backdrops. Classrooms went virtual, and students became expert “zoomers.” Museums shifted their operations to the web, and began sharing ever more content via Instagram and virtual events and tours. Novice sourdough bread enthusiasts shared their exploits on social media, while others sang the praises of a popular YouTube-based yoga teacher. Writing in the New York Times, reporter Dana Rubenstein noted that many politicians and journalists doing interviews from home were conspicuously displaying The Power Broker, Robert Caro’s massive 1974 biography of Robert Moses on their shelves, along with elegant ceramics and framed photos within view of the camera lens. (There’s even a Twitter feed that documents Power Broker sightings on TV.) It almost started to feel normal.

Of course, digital and virtual economies were vital before the pandemic, too. High school TikTok stars and Instagram influencers have real power (and make real money) these days, not as hobbyists, but as stand-up comics, singer-songwriters, and as arbiters of fashion and style. But as the experiences of brave essential workers demonstrated starkly at the pandemic’s height, digital work is limited to certain fields and certain kinds of jobs. There is no such thing as a digital emergency room doctor or EMT, or a virtual bus driver, or an online-only grocery store stocker. We live in the flesh and blood world, and we can only conduct certain aspects of our daily lives from behind a glowing screen.

Like every other business, when the pandemic began, The Hudson Company had to quickly find workarounds in order to keep functioning safely. We were already doing certain things that made this transition possible: we have a website, social media feeds, we can share digital documents and images instantly, and we can communicate with clients and colleagues using video chat. But when New York State mandated that non-essential businesses close down in March, we had to close our showrooms and our Pine Plains mill. Just like companies that make fabric, tiles or lighting fixtures, there are things that simply cannot be accomplished virtually.

Take reclamation, for example: the expertise and hand skills necessary to deconstruct a barn or farmhouse are years in the making. Each old barn is unique, and our experts need to know what they’re looking at and how to deconstruct it, which is a different task every time. What kind of wood is it? How old is it? What kind of shape is it in? Then the wood comes to our mill. How should it be treated and processed? What features does our client need for a particular project? The tools and techniques required to mill and finish wood, especially to the high standards we’re known for, are not something that can be mastered overnight, nor can they be accomplished alone. Our team has years of expertise, and they work together in real time to produce the flooring and paneling we offer.

New York State has started lifting some of the restrictions for non-essential businesses, but we’re still practicing social distancing, frequent handwashing and mask-wearing, and probably will continue to do so for some time. This may be our new normal. We usually hear the word “manufacture” in the context of industry, and we picture assembly lines, huge factories, and smart machines making things at high speed. But the word “manufacture” itself predates industry, and its Latin root words mean “to make” (facere) “by hand” (manus). Our digital tools, from Instagram to Zoom, have kept us connected these past few months, and we’re grateful for them. Indeed, we probably couldn’t survive without them. But if this experience has taught us anything, it’s that nothing can replace the know-how, creativity, or trained eye of a human being.

Inside Man: Contemplating Art and the Interior World with Donald Judd

Donald Judd, 100 untitled works in mill aluminum, 1982-1986, Mill aluminum, 100 units each 41 x 51 x 72 inches.

The artistic legacy of sculptor Donald Judd (1928–1994) is getting a lot of attention this spring: there is a major retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art curated by Ann Temkin, and a massive plywood installation at Gagosian Gallery, on view for the first time since 1981. This flurry of activity has fallen, quite by chance, at an odd moment: you can’t see either exhibition in person, because—as of this writing—institutions across the United States (and especially in New York City) are closed to the public in an effort to stop the spread of COVID-19. There’s also a book, and this you can read anywhere: Donald Judd Spaces, edited by Flavin Judd, Rainer Judd and the Judd Foundation, which offers newly published photographs from Judd’s archive, as well as five essays by Judd himself.

Judd is typically classified as a sculptor, but he didn’t like that term, nor did he like “minimalism.” He described his efforts as “another activity of some kind.” He began his career as a painter, and in the late 1950s and early ‘60’s, he worked as an art critic. This role gave him access to the postwar New York art world, where at the time Abstract Expressionism reigned supreme. As a blue chip artist today, Judd’s work is immediately recognizable: geometric, orderly, colorful, architectural, and smooth. Judd wasn’t precious about craftsmanship: once he began making three-dimensional objects, he started working with industrial fabricators, especially a commercial sheet-metal shop called Bernstein Brothers, providing them with detailed drawings and plans. In 1968, he bought a cast iron building on Spring Street in SoHo, and renovated it floor by floor, using it as his art studio and residence.

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Judd in the early 1960’s in his studio on East 19th Street in New York City.

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“Untitled” (1991) is among the many untitled works in ”Judd” at the Museum of Modern Art. The exhibition opens on March 1.Credit...Donald Judd Art; Judd Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York; Zack DeZon for The New York Times.

In 1971, he rented a small house in Marfa, Texas, eventually assembling the compound around the Ayala de Chinati Ranch and the abandoned buildings of U.S. Army Fort D. A. Russell, which would in 1979 become the Chinati Foundation, with support from the Dia Art Foundation. In addition to the collection of important large-scale works by Judd and contemporaries like Claes Oldenburg, Dan Flavin and John Chamberlain, the Chinati Foundation preserves Judd’s living quarters and studio exactly as he specified. The Judd foundation does the same in New York where his Spring Street loft building is carefully preserved as a working and living space.

Writing of the MoMA retrospective in the New York Times in February of this year, critic Holland Cotter described Judd’s early forays into 3D work thus: “It was three-dimensional, so it wasn’t painting but, he claimed, it wasn’t sculpture either. He called the new works “specific objects,” and left it at that. He titled all of these objects “Untitled,” and insisted they were devoid of metaphors, personal data or real-world references — all the lures, in other words, that art traditionally uses to draw us in.” It may have been devoid of “lures,” but it wasn’t devoid of references: Judd’s specific objects, and the dwellings and studio spaces he designed them in, were the very “personal data” and “real-world references” Cotter believed Judd eschewed. Judd was a creature of the interior.

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An installation view showing, in the foreground, “Untitled” (1963/1975); one of Judd’s earliest experimental objects (from 1961), left, with a baking pan sunk in its surface; and, right, a 1963 piece that shows him playing with space. Credit: Donald Judd Art; Judd Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York; Zack DeZon for The New York Times.

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Some of Judd’s objects come with special effects: Peer into either end of a row of the four aluminum boxes that make up this 1969 work and you’ll find that they form a long blue corridor with a reflective surface. Credit: Donald Judd Art; Judd Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York; Zack DeZon for The New York Times.

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Donald Judd - Daybed, 1979, Pine wood (with canvas mattress). 112 x 115 x 203 cm.

This is one of the key themes of Donald Judd Spaces, which brings readers into Judd’s material world. He placed objects and furniture in specific locations, and while he lived in New York and in Texas, he created works of art that themselves framed out space, with colors, forms, surfaces, and gaps. The Judd Foundation restored his residences and studios, so when visitors see them, they’re seeing something like a 20th century historic house museum rather than a collection of sculpture. The differences between his studio work and his forays into architectural preservation are mainly questions of scale: where he made room-size installations in his works of art, he also restored a SoHo building and conserved old structures on what is now the site of the Chinati Foundation, which could be read as gigantic Judd-type sculptures astride the landscape.

Right now during this indeterminate period of quarantine, it’s possible to read about Judd’s work, see some of his outdoor sculpture if you happen to be in Münster, Germany, the campus of Northern Kentucky University, or Marfa, Texas. You can watch an interview with Judd on YouTube via the Museum of Modern Art’s website—all part of a movement that’s taken shape in the past few weeks known as #MuseumFromHome. In a way, Judd’s work is particularly compelling right now because we’re experiencing an abundance of shared two-dimensional experiences: working remotely, reading the news on a tablet, playing games, streaming Netflix, even gazing out the window. The picture plane is all around us, signs and symbols everywhere. But inside, where we may least expect it, complexity and an abundance of forms in space abound. Our furniture, personal belongings, papers, and kitchen implements can all be seen, if we choose, as an interior landscape to be explored rather than overlooked or taken for granted. That’s the ironic twist of Judd’s temporarily hidden exhibitions: just thinking about them rather than seeing them—and indeed of Judd’s own spaces in New York and Texas—can make us see our own interior worlds in a new way.

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READ THE BOOK: DONALD JUDD SPACES

An unprecedented visual survey of the living and working spaces of the artist Donald Judd in New York and Texas.

The pennsylvania barn

This winter, The Hudson Company salvaged lumber from a large 19th century barn in York Springs, PA, a rural farming community in Adams County about 15 miles northeast of Gettysburg. This part of Pennsylvania briefly gained notoriety as a health retreat thanks to the York Sulphur Springs, a summer resort that catered to clientele from Baltimore and Philadelphia, and even hosted George and Martha Washington in 1799. But the construction of the regional railroad shifted traffic away from this part of the state in the 19th century, and it has remained a largely rural enclave ever since. There’s a strong sense of history in this part of the state. Gettysburg was the site of a key battle of the Civil War, and today Gettysburg National Military Park is the most visited battlefield in the United States. Adams County is also the gateway to Pennsylvania Dutch country, and there are nearly 80,000 Amish people—the descendants of Swiss Protestant settlers who eschew modern technology—living in Pennsylvania today. Horse-drawn carriages with bright orange traffic safety signs on the back are a common sight here.

The landscape and architecture of other parts of Pennsylvania—Pittsburgh, Scranton and Philadelphia—were drastically transformed by mining and industry in the 19th and 20th centuries, but this part of the state remains pastoral and green. So it’s no surprise that Pennsylvania is one of the only states in America that has several styles of barn construction named after it. Robert F. Ensminger, an emeritus professor of geography at Kutztown University, developed a typology in his 2003 book The Pennsylvania Barn: Its Origin, Evolution, and Distribution in North America (Johns Hopkins University Press.) Ensminger explains that Pennsylvania’s unique barn architecture is the result of a blending of different European building traditions in collective response to the topography of the region. Immigrants from Germany, Switzerland and the British Isles brought with them the barn construction techniques of their countries of origin, and adapted their designs to suit the landscape they encountered here. He identifies three primary barn types: the Royer-Nicodemus Barn (1790—1900) which were built into hillsides and have overhanging forebays; the Sweitzer or Swisser barn (1730—1850) which are crib-type barns built from logs with overbays and asymmetrical gables; and the Extended Pennsylvania barn, which are taller and wider barns built later in the 19th century with features of the first two types.

The York Springs structure that The Hudson Company recently salvaged was probably an Extended Pennsylvania barn. It has a forebay typical of the Royer-Nicodemus type, which allowed farmers to easily access both the basement and the levels above it. It also has an asymmetrical gable roof like a Sweitzer, so named for the barn Swiss design that likely inspired it. As farming technology improved and productivity increased in the mid-19th century, form followed function, and farmers built larger structures to accommodate livestock, feed, and equipment. The York Springs barn was three stories tall, and had high ceilings on its second level, with many intriguing features. Carved Roman numerals can be found on some of the beams—this may have been a technique for builders to note where each piece of lumber should go in the structure. The floors were built from wide planks. We refer to rustic wood that comes from the area where wheat was likely separated from the chaff as Oak Threshing. As it was deconstructed, the wood beams that supported the upper floor were exposed, revealing a complex, web-like system of interior struts. These are primarily hand-hewn White Oak, and tend to have wonderful characteristics and quirks like mortise holes and pockets. Now all that the wood has been salvaged in York Springs will become the foundational elements of homes and buildings across the United States, extending the life and reach of this centuries-old regional legacy, perhaps for generations to come.

RECLAIMED OAK THRESHING

RECLAIMED OAK THRESHING

HAND HEWN BEAMS

HAND HEWN BEAMS

Ridgefield Showroom Profile In Architectural Digest

Photos by Michael Biondo.

Profile Excerpt from Architectural Digest, Dec 13, 2018

“When Jamie Hammel bought what was then known as Antique and Vintage Woods of America eight years ago, he recalls, "I thought the product was beautiful, but it wasn't being presented beautifully." Fast forward nearly a decade and Hammel is operating what is now The Hudson Company, providing new and salvaged wood surfaces to architects and designers for projects (including, most notably, Renzo Piano's Whitney Museum) in the New York area and beyond. And his latest showroom is proof that beautiful presentation is core to the brand.

The Hudson Company's third location is in a woodsy area of Ridgefield, Connecticut. "So many of our clients co-locate between the city and a house upstate or in Connecticut or the Hamptons," Hammel explains of the choice. "We have the mill, in Pine Plains, so that helps us cover that territory, but we didn't really have a presence in Connecticut. Ridgefield is a beautiful town and is not in the heart of Greenwich." He clarifies: "Being on Greenwich Avenue would feel just like our Manhattan showroom. This is a little bit off the beaten path, but it's central to both Westchester and Connecticut."“

Read The Full Article and Go Behind The Scenes

Click here to read the full article in Architectural Digest, featuring interviews with The Hudson Company’s Jamie Hammel and designer Brad ford. Story by Hadley Keller, photos by Michael Biondo.

The Coast Installation Wins NYCxDesign Award

Either / Or

Congratulations to Paul Chan, founder of The Coast, on his award-winning presentation at Collective Concept. Either / Or  won in the "made in the boroughs" category at the NYCxDesign Awards produced by Interior Design. 

The Coast showed a mischievous yet austere lighting series composed of three lamps for nightstands, tables and floors. An ensemble of silver translucent fabrics, dark fresco paint, and forged French oak flooring from The Hudson Company coalesced as an immersive backdrop for the light series.

The Coast is an architecture and design studio that creates buildings, environments and objects. With a profound belief in unexpected connections between forms, functions, materials and cultures, its projects are characterized by a genuine curiosity, always expansive, never limiting, to explore the in-between. We are pleased to have collaborated with Paul and The Coast.

Sponsors
Pure & Original
The Hudson Company

Join Us For Sitting Still, May 11 - 24

Join Us for Sitting Still May 11 -24 

We are excited to announce Sitting Still, a field study curated by designer Brad Ford of Field + Supply. This very special in-showroom exhibition will celebrate the age-old 'art of the chair' from May 11 - 24 at The Hudson Company Showroom and will be open to the public during the showroom's normal opening hours.

Celebrating The Art Of The Chair

Sitting Still will feature iconic chair designs by George Nakashima, Finn Juhl, Jim Zivic, Fern, Michael Robbins, PP Mobler, Overgaard & Dyrman, Furniture Marolles, Coil + Drift, Sawkille, Regeneration, Weinberg Modern, Rayon Roskar, David Ebner, BDDW, Fort Standard, Egg Collective, Asher Israelow, O&G, and Materia Designs.

A few thoughts from the exhibition curator, Brad Ford

"The concept for Sitting Still is all about slowing down - specifically during the crazy month of May when there are so many things happening. Despite all the incredible things that have been done with design over the years, the chair is still probably the most relevant piece of furniture in the home, the office, the kitchen, and the public space. For the special exhibition inside The Hudson Company's 20th Street showroom, we plan to bring together twenty beautifully handcrafted chairs from various eras that represent a continuity of basic purpose despite the ever-changing tide of taste, trend, and technology."

About The Event Curator 

Brad Ford is an interior designer based in New York City. With a highly edited vision and a strong hand, Brad has developed a spare, modern aesthetic with a warm soul. Originally from Russellville, Arkansas, he moved to Manhattan 22 years ago and established his own firm Brad Ford ID in 1998 with an emphasis on residential spaces. Clean lines and simple but well-crafted furnishings, with an attention to texture and the highest quality materials are Brad Ford ID essentials. “We create environments that complement and suit the lifestyle and personality of the client. Whether the room is formal or casual, traditional or modern, accessibility and comfort are a must." Brad is also the founder of the annual Field + Supply: A Modern Makers Craft Fair. 

More event Details To Come

Stay tuned to this blog and follow The Hudson Company on Instagram for the latest news about this special, limited engagement event.

Go Behind The Scenes

The Hudson Company Story

Go behind the scenes and see how The Hudson Company sustainably sources, mills, and finishes a wide range custom floors, high-character wood paneling products, and reclaimed timber beams. Locally owned and vertically integrated, The Hudson Company proudly provides the A&D industry with New York's finest wood floors and surfaces. 

Click any of the video stills below to view The Hudson Company video, filmed and edited by Jenner Brown, with titles by Amanda Jane Jones. 

After watching the behind-the-scenes video,  visit us at our FSC-Certified mill in Pine Plains, NY (Mon - Fri 8-5) for a first person visit. We would love to help you with your next design project.

It All Begins At The Source

Milling Great Floors Starts At The Source

Knowing the origin of each and every product we create allows us to pass on a meaningful narrative that our clients have come to expect. You can learn more about our sustainable sourcing practices here.

Learn More About Our FSC-Certified Mill in Pine Plains, NY.

Learn How Wood is Reclaimed and Custom Milled.

Request A Quote For Your Next Project.

Installation In Focus: Sunnyfield Farm

A Classic Home 8 Years In The Making

Overlooking the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley is the idyllic Sunnyfield Farm, a horse farm and traditional Georgian-style home in Millbrook, New York.

The Hudson Company was honored to play a role in the development, design, and construction of the home — a project spanning more than eight years, including a research trip to the Swedish countryside for inspiration and materials. This passion project required not only a very close client-designer relationship but also an ongoing dialogue with The Hudson Company. The result of these close partnerships is a residential installation project that features some of our most ambitious flooring details to date, including 10" Reclaimed Heart Pine flooring sourced from historic New York City townhouses; custom-milled, extra-long White Oak floor planks;  and Reclaimed Redwood specially milled for Sunnyfield’s trim work. 

Throughout the process, lead architect Cynthia Filkoff of Di Biase Filkoff Architects was attuned to her client’s high standard of quality and beauty. “We were initially asked to transform the preexisting modernist house into a traditional Tudor,” Filkoff explains, “but after living in the original house for a year, the client decided that the quality of the construction was inadequate. It made more sense to tear it down and build a new home.”

In time, the team at Di Biase Filkoff came up with a solution that would meet the client’s exacting criteria: a proper brick Georgian home with Swedish-inspired interiors connected to the magnificent land and views. In order to find the right balance of craftsmanship and aesthetic, Filkoff traveled to the client’s summer home in Fiskebäckskil, Sweden. “In Sweden, I was able to study the wood-centric, old-world architecture that the client admired so much. What I found there was an aesthetic that was rich in handcrafted details. It was inventive and playful, both inside and out. Ultimately, these were the kind of details that we worked to incorporate at Sunnyfield.”

Along with a detailed list of high-quality, sustainable material specifications, the choice of wood flooring was critical to the aesthetic and design of the home. “When it came to flooring,” Cynthia recalls, “the client was committed to creating a wood floor that reflected the antique floors of classic Swedish homes. The details had to be authentic.” From here, Di Biase Filkoff turned to The Hudson Company, who encouraged the designers to incorporate two complementary flooring types: Reclaimed Heart Pine and White Oak.

The Reclaimed Heart Pine milled for the Sunnyfield project was sourced from a row of historic townhouses on New York City’s Upper East Side and then milled to a width of 10” to reflect the flooring Filkoff had researched in Scandinavia. The White Oak flooring planks, installed in the home’s ground floor, were sourced from purpose-cut trees, hand selected from private timber stands. The trees were air-dried, kiln-dried, and custom milled to meet the architect’s designs. Along with an intricate wagon wheel pattern for Sunnyfield’s dining room, Filkoff also designated that much of the White Oak would be milled into extra-long planks that could span from the home’s front entrance all the way to the back door. At 10” wide and ranging from 10’ to 24’ in length, these extraordinarily long oak planks create a striking and unique aesthetic for the home’s ground floor. In addition, Reclaimed Redwood, sourced from decommissioned New York City rooftop water tanks, was used to outfit the home’s custom door and window frames and interior trim.

In the end, what made the Sunnyfield project such a glowing success was the sustained and passionate attention to detail by everyone involved: the client, the designers, and a wide array of talented craftspeople. Looking back, Filkoff remembers the project collaboration with special fondness. “Working with The Hudson Company exceeded our expectations on every level: from their knowledgeable insight and expertise, to their creative ideas, to their ability to source and deliver materials on time and on budget,” she says. “Throughout the project, the collaboration was exceptional. The Hudson Company enhanced the entire process. You know, I could go on and on about this project. Sunnyfield was such a labor of love.”

This installation profile originally appeared in The Hudson Company Journal, Volume 2 - click to learn more about our new print journal and catalogue.