The Perth upholsterer turning deadstock fabric into one-off furniture

In a small workshop tucked behind a row of converted warehouses in West Perth, rolls of unexpected fabric wait their turn to become a sofa, a set of dining chairs, or a banquette for a new wine bar. The upholsterer behind the work has built a quiet reputation across the local design community not for chasing the newest textile collections but for chasing what fashion houses, mills, and interior showrooms cannot sell. Deadstock cloth — the unused surplus from previous seasons, cancelled runs, and overproduction — finds a second life here, cut and stitched into one-off pieces that clients cannot buy off a floor.

What began as a practical solution to expensive imported textiles has become a thoughtful statement about how a small studio in Western Australia can reduce waste while producing considered, custom work. The approach sits at the intersection of craft, sustainability, and design — three things that are increasingly on the minds of Australian homeowners, hospitality operators, and the architects commissioning furniture for new builds.

From surplus to something worth sitting on

The upholsterer, who trained in soft furnishings before moving into commercial work, describes the moment the deadstock bug bit. A local fashion label was clearing out sample books and small offcuts from a previous season. Rather than send the lot to landfill, the label offered the rolls for the cost of removal. They were too good to ignore — linens with a beautiful drape, lightweight wool blends, cottons with a hand that mass-market fabric simply does not have. Those bolts turned into the first batch of armchairs, and a new way of working began.

Before long, the studio was ringing up bridal boutiques, curtain showrooms, and the local outposts of international textile brands, asking what was sitting in back rooms. The answer, almost always, was plenty. End-of-run jacquards. A single bolt of a discontinued outdoor weave. Roll ends from a soft furnishings factory in Osborne Park that supplies big-name retailers. None of it is waste in the traditional sense — most of it is perfectly good cloth that simply does not fit a sales plan.

Sourcing the unbuyable

Finding deadstock is less about walking into a shop and more about knowing who to ask. The studio keeps a quiet list of contacts in the local rag trade, a few interstate mill agents, and a couple of fashion labels whose designers are happy to part with leftover lengths when a collection wraps. Some pieces arrive by the metre; others arrive as sample hangers, swatches stapled to card, or a single cushion cover left over from a run that never went into production. Every bolt gets logged, photographed, and filed by fibre content, weight, and estimated square metreage, so the studio knows what it can offer a client before the conversation even starts.

A few trusted channels have become dependable standbys. Australian fashion houses regularly release small volumes of silk twill, viscose linings, and lightweight wool suiting when collections move on. Imports arrive occasionally through contacts at the Melbourne and Sydney fashion districts, where over-ordered European velvets and jacquards from Italian mills occasionally surface. There are also textile mills in the eastern states that, when a colour runs short, are left with enough yardage to upholster a small armchair but not enough to keep on the books. None of these channels are guaranteed, which is part of what makes each commission feel like a small act of rescue.

Reliable sources worth asking

The workshop behind the Subiaco border

The studio occupies a high-ceilinged space in a converted industrial building, the kind with sawtooth roof lights that pour north-facing light across a long cutting table. Bolts of cloth are stacked on industrial racking along one wall, each tagged with a code that links back to the studio's inventory spreadsheet. A heavy-duty sewing machine, an industrial overlocker, and a corner dedicated to foam cutting and frame work sit alongside a modest spray booth and a small reference library of Australian and international textile books.

Working from a single room keeps the operation lean. The upholsterer measures, patterns, cuts, sews, and finishes each piece in-house, with occasional help from a maker who comes in two days a week. Locals in Perth's design scene know the spot — it is a short walk from the Subiaco café strip and a quick trip over to Osborne Park's joinery workshops, which is where most of the studio's timber frames are built. The proximity matters: a frame can be trucked in one morning, a sample of fabric dropped off for client approval the same afternoon, and a finished piece fitted back into a Fremantle terrace or a Cottesloe renovation without a long supply chain getting in the way.

Natural fibres, climate-ready cloth

There is something quietly Australian about working with materials that already have a life behind them, and that instinct now lines up with a broader shift toward fibres that suit the country's harsh light and variable climate. Linen breathes through a Perth summer, wool warms a winter evening, and tightly woven cottons handle the salt air that drifts off the coast better than many synthetics. It is one of the reasons the studio steers clients toward natural fibres wherever a deadstock option allows, and why the wider move toward plant-based and minimally processed cloth has become a recurring topic across the local design conversation, including in recent writing on natural fibre upholstery trends across Australian studios.

The workshop has built up a small library of cloth that handles UV, humidity, and the everyday knocks of family life. Where a piece is destined for a commercial interior, the upholsterer works with the specifying architect to test the fabric for abrasion and lightfastness, often backing the deadstock with a suitable interlining or treating it for stain resistance. That kind of due diligence is what turns a rescued bolt into a fabric that genuinely belongs on a busy banquette or a hotel lobby sofa.

Hospitality, kitchens, and the commercial fit-out

Half the studio's work these days comes from architects and hospitality operators, including a growing number of restaurant and bar fit-outs across the city. When a new venue is being planned, the upholsterer is brought in early to talk through what is achievable in the budget, what colours are likely to be available in deadstock at that point in the season, and how the seating will need to perform over thousands of covers. For venues where ventilation, hygiene, and durability matter as much as aesthetics, that conversation often begins with the same practical questions raised when planning a ventilation strategy for a restaurant fit-out, since steam, grease, and constant turnover shape fabric choices just as much as they shape kitchen exhaust design.

The studio's commercial pieces tend to be built on solid hardwood frames from a local joiner, with high-density foam wrapped in wadding, and a cover that can be removed, washed, or replaced. Because the deadstock supply shifts constantly, the upholsterer often suggests a neutral base for the frame — a natural linen or a quietly patterned wool — and reserves the more expressive bolts for cushions, headboards, or a single statement piece that anchors a room. That way, when a venue changes its menu, opens a second location, or simply wants a refresh, the bones can stay and the soft elements can move with the times.

What to keep in mind when commissioning custom upholstery in deadstock

Joining the conversation at Wine In Design

The studio has become a quiet fixture on Perth's design calendar, and the upholsterer is a regular at the gatherings that bring the local architecture and interior community together. Conversations at these events tend to drift quickly toward materials — what is available, what is over-ordered, what is going to waste — and that is precisely the territory where deadstock sourcing feels less like a niche interest and more like a working method. Anyone curious about the year's lineup, or thinking about attending to swap notes with other makers and designers, can find the Wine In Design program details online.

For the upholsterer, those evenings are less about selling work than about keeping the supply network healthy. A chat with a soft furnishings rep might turn into a lead on three rolls of discontinued velvet. A conversation with a fashion designer might yield a couple of metres of silk that would be perfect for a set of dining chairs. The studio's quiet argument is that better furniture begins with better conversations about what already exists.

If a one-off piece built from rescued cloth sounds like the kind of work a home, a venue, or a project has been waiting for, get in touch through the studio's Contemporary profile. Early conversations with architects, hospitality operators, and homeowners across Perth and the wider Western Australian design scene are always welcome, and the bolts waiting on the rack are ready to find their next room.