My fascination with natural history began in the entrance rotunda of the American Museum of Natural History in New York. Standing beneath fully mounted dinosaur fossils, I understood how presentation could make something ancient feel immediate. Years later, I found myself searching for that same sense of wonder in objects for the home—and finding the same handful of butterflies in basic black frames, with little attention paid to the specimen or the setting around it.

That absence became the beginning of The Proper Potter. I wanted to learn every part of the process: sourcing unusual specimens, pinning and composing them, building museum-quality frames, and shaping the surrounding materials so the display would disappear just enough for the natural form to take over.

The process is intentionally slow. Rough lumber may be milled and left to rest while I consider where its grain, scale, and weight belong. Some material becomes a box or piece of furniture; some becomes a frame; some changes direction entirely. Working by hand creates a point at which touch becomes another way of seeing—the material begins to reveal what it can become.

There are no true mistakes in woodworking, only moments that ask for a different response. A difficult grain pattern, an unexpected split, or a miscut can redirect the piece toward something stronger. Craft is not simply the ability to execute a plan. It is the ability to recognize what the material is asking for and make the adjustment feel inevitable.