The Perth Restorer Turning Salvaged Marri into Heirloom Furniture
In a lean workshop tucked behind a weatherboard cottage in Perth's inner western suburbs, a quiet revolution in sustainable design is taking shape. Here, salvaged Marri timber, much of it pulled from suburban demolitions and rural tree-removal jobs across the Southwest, is being coaxed into sculptural dining tables, sinuous benches, and cabinets that look as though they grew rather than were built.
The hands behind this work belong to a furniture restorer whose one-off pieces have begun circulating in the homes of architects, gallerists, and a handful of discerning collectors along the coast from Cottesloe to Margaret River. His practice sits at the intersection of conservation, craft, and contemporary Australian design, and it tells a story that resonates far beyond the workshop floor.
A craft shaped by the West
The restorer grew up in the jarrah forests of the Darling Scarp, where weekends were spent at his grandfather's property near Mundaring. That early exposure to felled timber, bush sawmills, and the lingering smell of fresh-cut hardwood shaped a sensibility that prizes character over conformity. He trained formally at a Perth trade school before spending nearly a decade in commercial joinery, restoring Federation-era windows and mid-century shopfronts throughout the metro area.
Frustrated by the cycle of new imports and disposable flat-pack culture that has come to dominate the Australian furniture market, he struck out on his own around 2018. The decision was as much philosophical as financial: a desire to work with timber that already carried a story, rather than commissioning more of it from the mill. His studio now operates by appointment in a shared maker space in Osborne Park, where a band of cabinetmakers, upholsterers, and metalworkers trades tools and tea in equal measure.
Why Marri, and why recycled
Marri, or Corymbia calophylla, is one of the most recognisable trees of the Southwest, its distinctive gum nuts and stringy bark a fixture of backyards from Joondalup down to Bunbury. It is also a timber that has been historically undervalued in the broader market, often dismissed as too prone to surface checking and gum vein for fine joinery. That reputation has shifted in recent years as designers across Australia have embraced the wood's wild figuring, deep red-brown heart, and willingness to take a polish.
Working with recycled Marri introduces a different set of challenges and rewards. Bricks, plaster, and old fixings must be located and removed before any saw touches the board. The timber, once it has been milled on a Wood-Mizer in the back of a ute, often reveals hidden spalting, insect trails, and shakes that would be unacceptable in a freshly felled log but read as biography in a finished piece. The restorer treats these marks as part of the commission, mapping them onto the design rather than disguising them.
| Characteristic | Recycled Marri | Newly milled Marri | Imported European oak |
|---|---|---|---|
| Source | Demolition sites, tree removals, salvaged slabs | Forestry operations, native or regrowth | European and American plantations |
| Carbon footprint | Minimal, material already cut | Moderate, recent tree removal | High, international shipping |
| Surface character | Spalting, gum vein, old fixings | Clean, predictable grain | Uniform, pale, easily stained |
| Cost per board | Moderate, depends on salvage | Moderate to high, rising | High, volatile import pricing |
| Local provenance | Strong, tied to a specific site | Moderate, generic origin | Weak, no regional connection |
The contrast matters for clients who care about the story behind their furniture as much as the form.
The process, from slab to setting
Every piece begins with a trip to assess the source. Sometimes it is a suburban verandah post pulled during a renovation in Mount Lawley, sometimes a roadside tree removed by the local shire after storm damage. The restorer photographs the standing tree where possible, records its dimensions, and sketches the furniture he imagines emerging from it. Clients are often invited to see the log before it is cut, a small ceremony that anchors the eventual object in a specific time and place.
Back at the workshop, the slabs are stickered and air-dried for as long as the timeline allows, often twelve months or more for thicker pieces. Kilns are used sparingly, and only on commissions with tight deadlines. Joinery is largely hand-cut: through-tenons, dovetails, and floating panels finished with traditional hard wax oils rather than polyurethane. Hardware, where it appears, is sourced from a small foundry in Bassendean that specialises in recycled brass and bronze.
A market for the singular
The economics of one-off work in Perth are different from those in Sydney or Melbourne, where a deeper pool of collectors and a higher concentration of architecture firms keep custom makers busy. Here, the restorer relies on word of mouth, a modest Instagram following, and a slow trickle of referrals from interior designers working on high-end residential projects in Dalkeith and City Beach. Prices reflect the labour involved, with dining tables typically starting in the low five figures and stretching well beyond for more sculptural commissions.
Clients tend to be people who have inherited a Marri tree, or who have watched one come down in their street, and who want the material returned to the home in a new form. Others are architects specifying pieces for projects where the sustainability narrative must be backed by genuine material provenance. Either way, the briefs are wide open, and the restorer prefers it that way.
A seat at the table
The work has not gone unnoticed in the broader West Australian design community. The restorer is among the local makers who have exhibited with Contemporary Wine In Design exhibitors, the annual showcase that pulls together architects, furniture makers, and suppliers for an evening of tastings and cross-pollination. He speaks warmly of the event, which he describes as the one time of year when the design conversation on this side of the country feels properly consolidated.
He has also been a regular at the smaller Saturday markets in Subiaco and Fremantle, where his smaller objects, including candlesticks turned from offcuts and small serving boards, find a more accessible entry point for buyers who cannot stretch to a full table. These stalls, he says, do as much for the public profile of sustainable craft as any magazine feature.
Timber, climate, and country
The decision to work with recycled Marri is, in part, a response to the environmental pressures facing the Southwest forest. Marri is not currently classified as a threatened species, but the wider jarrah and karri ecosystems have been heavily fragmented by decades of logging, mining, and urban expansion. Repurposing timber that would otherwise be chipped, burnt, or sent to landfill is a small intervention, but one that aligns with a growing movement in Australian design toward traceability and material accountability.
There is also a cultural dimension that the restorer is increasingly willing to engage with. Marri, sometimes known as widgi in local Noongar language, has long been used by Aboriginal communities for tools, shields, and shelter. Acknowledging that lineage in the finished work, whether through discreet inlay, accompanying documentation, or simply a thoughtful conversation with the client, has become part of the practice. It is a quiet gesture, but one that several local architects have told him matters.
What comes next
The workshop is currently finishing a large commission for a vineyard in Margaret River, a live-edge boardroom table milled from a single Marri that came down on the property during last winter's storms. Beyond that, the restorer is exploring a collaboration with a glass artist from the Perth Hills, and has begun experimenting with ebonising the timber using iron acetate, a finish that pushes the red heartwood toward something closer to blackbutt in tone. The wider Perth design conversation, including the Contemporary event recap on a new locally published design book, has put this kind of experimental material work in sharper focus.
He is also thinking about the next generation. There is a shortage of skilled restorers in Western Australia, he says, and most of the country's best training pathways remain concentrated on the east coast. He takes on an apprentice every couple of years, and quietly hopes that at least one of them will eventually open a studio of their own, with their own stash of salvaged slabs in the rafters.
For those curious to see where the work is heading, the Contemporary ambassador network is a useful place to find the makers, architects, and writers shaping the West Australian scene. Drop into the Osborne Park studio on a Friday arvo, knock before entering the roller door, and ask to see what is on the bench.
