There is timber you can source anywhere. And then there is timber that spent eight centuries growing beside Byzantine walls, Ottoman roads, and the quiet rhythms of a grove no longer there.
When infrastructure expands through the olive-bearing lands around Bursa and İznik, trees that have stood for generations face a simple fate: destruction. We intervene before that happens. Every piece of timber we work with was already condemned. We do not fell. We salvage.
Olive wood of this age and width — 90 to 120 centimetres across — does not appear on any commercial market. These dimensions are a consequence of extreme longevity. A tree must live for centuries before its trunk reaches this scale. The material is, by any honest measure, irreplaceable.
The grain of an ancient olive is not a pattern. It is a record — of drought years and wet seasons, of pruning hands long gone, of time measured not in decades but in dynasties.
We source responsibly and document each tree's origin. We document the origin of every tree we work with. Transparency about provenance is not an accreditation we pursue — it is simply how we operate.
Rooted in Bursa and its surrounding craft tradition, we draw on proximity to İnegöl — one of Turkey's foremost centres of fine woodworking — to ensure every object is shaped by practitioners of genuine, generational skill.
