Craftsman & Lena
Lena
Have you ever noticed how carving a piece of wood feels a lot like writing a story? Both start from something raw and end up shaping something that can carry meaning, history, and a piece of your own identity. What's your take on that?
Craftsman
Crafting wood is much like telling a tale, yes. You start with a block, raw and full of potential, just like a blank page. As you saw a line, a groove, you’re choosing what will speak, what will hold meaning. In both cases patience is key—you don’t rush the grain or the words, you let the shape or the narrative unfold step by step. And when the piece is finished, it carries a little piece of you in it, a record of your hands and your thoughts. I find that quiet focus of the workshop mirrors the quiet focus of writing, each line or cut adding to something that will outlast the moment it was made.
Lena
That’s a beautiful way to see it. The quiet of the workshop and the hush before a sentence are almost the same—both a pause that lets the next idea, the next cut, settle into place. When you finish, you’ve left a little echo of yourself in that wood or that page, and that echoes back to you when you look at it later. It's comforting, almost comforting, that what we create can outlive the moment of its creation. How do you decide which lines or cuts to keep?
Craftsman
I look at the grain, the way the wood wants to fall. If a cut follows that natural flow it feels right, like a sentence that just fits. I set aside any line that feels forced, that breaks the rhythm. The simplest, strongest cuts often stay; they’re the ones that let the piece breathe and let the story show itself. And when I’m sure a line or cut will keep its meaning over time, that’s when I keep it.
Lena
I love that you let the wood guide you—like when a character just seems to know where they’re going. It’s all about listening to that inner rhythm. Do you ever feel the wood nudging you toward a particular shape, like a story that’s been waiting to be told?