Some people express themselves in oils; pottery, perhaps, or fashion.   Richard Benson finds self-expression in ten tons of felled trees, a band saw, and a gift for furniture making.

When art called his name, it didn't say anything about convenience.

Richard Benson works in wood. He creates cabinets, benches, tables, sculptures, mobiles, even elegant pasta forks.  But he also has a vested interest in the raw material itself. Benson not only transforms the wood –  he personally scouts out fallen trees,  then hauls, saws, planks, and dries 'em.   

When art called his name, it asked for some muscle.

Benson, long-time Altadena resident and JPL engineer, started down the woodworking path about 10 years ago. As with so many addictions, the first one was free.  There was a tree, felled by the forest service in the San Gabriel's-- his for the asking, or, more accurately, his for the hauling.  

He found the offer attractive; aside from the fact that Benson doesn't like waste (what engineer does?), it seemed like an interesting test of skill and logistics, getting a one-ton tree trunk up to the house in Altadena, and figuring out a plan once he got it home.   Fine carpentry runs in the family, so Benson had an idea or two.

But what started as a one-off  has evolved into a prodigious undertaking involving oak, ginkgo, walnut, carob, ficus, all manner of wood with one thing in common – weight.  They weigh a ton.  Each.  Moving the trunks or giant root systems from point A to point B and beyond requires Benson's cobbled together workforce of truck, flatbed cargo trailer, winches, forklift, saws, and occasional volunteers. 

When art calls your name, I guess you can't say you're not home.

These days, the forest service or county routinely alerts him to fallen trees, as do local residents. A neighbor lost an old maple recently, one with history and to which she had a sentimental attachment. Wood from the this tree will become her dining room table.

That is, eventually it will. End-to-end wood working requires  time, and not just from a craftsmanship perspective. Though a tree can be sawed immediately, initially it's 50 percent water, and must be carefully stacked, stored, and left to dry for at least two years.

We dust off some of the planks in various stages of "doneness" to compare examples of fancy wood – the oaks, and carobs, walnuts – to their plainer relatives. Benson basically lets each piece determine its own fate, depending on size, shape, and degree of intrinsic beauty or interest in the wood itself. 

Kind of like a Rorschach test, except together, these ink blots could sink a yacht. This one looks like a tabletop; this a bench, that a rocking chair. Over here we may have the beginnings of a piece of sculpture.

Whatever he makes, his main concern is to expose the natural beauty, and the history, of a tree. Sometimes this includes exploiting the flaws – knots, burls, and unique patterns resulting from insect damage, fungus, nail holes.

Benson can also work in "clean" wood -- a discipline that produces something perfectly planed and flawless.  We both agreed that knotty is nice – more to our taste, but as he put it, "Some see feature, some see defect."

Who can explain the attraction of a hobby, an art, an obsession.  Especially one that is so heavy, potentially dangerous, often painful, time-consuming, messy – in short, so bloody inconvenient.

In this case, maybe the end justifies all the means it took to get there. Benson creates something that’s one-of-a-kind, useful, and will last for generations.  Or perhaps the best part is that nothing goes to waste – it’s an example of extreme recycling.

As Benson puts it, “I’m part of the flow of sustainability, not the flow down the drain.”

Remember the controversy when the city of Pasadena chopped down some 100-year old ficus trees lining Colorado Boulevard? 

Guess who retrieved a few of the bodies. Now they're in his waiting room as squared logs or "cants." 

"I'd like to build some benches, and have the benches placed on Colorado Boulevard, near where they grew," Benson said. "Wouldn't that be something?"

When art called his name, it had the right guy.