The Coffee Table for My Wife

In 2016, as we were moving from Phoenix to northwest Arkansas, I wanted to make something special for my wife. She was already in Arkansas, renting a house, while I stayed back in Phoenix to finish up projects and pack up the studio. It was close to Christmas, and we had just bought a sectional sofa for the rental house. So I built a custom coffee table, designed to fit that sectional perfectly - the shape, the size, the height, every detail.

The table was cast in our slate-colored concrete, inlaid with a piece of Arizona turquoise, and paired with a hand-welded steel base that I fabricated myself. It was beautiful, functional, and completely one-of-a-kind. But it also came with a story.

It was a warm winter day in Phoenix as I was finishing the table, honing it down before sealing. A bead of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the unsealed concrete. I wiped it quickly with acetone and thought I’d dodged a bullet. But once I sealed the surface, a faint mark remained - barely visible, but there. I shrugged it off, wrapped the table in blankets, loaded it into my truck, and drove 20+ hours through ice and snow to deliver it to my wife on Christmas.

That night, after she fell asleep, I snuck out into the ice and snow and lugged that heavy table inside by myself and set it up. Christmas morning, she was thrilled - until she noticed the faint little spot. It immediately reminded me of the famous Seinfeld “red dot” cashmere sweater episode, where the tiniest imperfection sparks the biggest laugh.

Years later, that table is still with us. It’s been painted on, colored on, eaten on, and lived on by our 3 kids every single day. And despite all the abuse, it’s still beautiful. It’s still functional. It still tells our story. That’s the point of furniture made with real materials - it wears in, not out.