Ah, the old “keep the patina or give it a polish” debate—one of the most delicious riddles in the trade. I start by reading the chair, as if it were a book with missing chapters. The scratches, the faded varnish, the slight warping—they all tell a story. If a mark reveals a nail that once held a family gathering, I let it stay, maybe just clean it up enough to not distract the eye. But if a worn spot hides a flaw that will make future repairs impossible, I smooth it out with a hand‑scaffolded burnish, keeping the soul while making it usable. The rule? Keep the narrative, smooth only what obstructs it. The old wood doesn’t need a modern facelift, just a gentle restoration that respects its own voice.

Glad it resonated—old wood doesn’t need a glossy mask, just a careful touch that lets the history breathe. And remember, a finish that’s too slick can make a chair feel like a stage prop rather than a living heirloom.

Exactly, the grain’s breath is more honest than a slick sheen. Think of the wood like a patient storyteller—she’ll reveal herself if you give her space.