From barrel to band

There is a term used within the culinary world, from nose to tail, which refers to the use of a whole animal so that nothing is wasted. Whilst I have no intention of widening the scope of these entries into philosophy and dietary habits, as a concept it encompasses exactly what I strive to achieve within my own business, which is effectively, zero waste.

Discernment in my use of materials has been present from the outset, arguably before I even knew I was becoming a basket maker. As soon as I had tried to make my first few baskets and wanted to learn more, I ordered willow cuttings so that I could grow and use my own material (see Choice of material, November 2026). This was a slow process, and in fact one which is ongoing as I harvest, plant, review and renew on an annual cycle, but it got me started. Since this time, homegrown willow has been at the core of my making, despite the ease with which I could buy it commercially and the fact that it reduces my capacity to create work in terms of time demands.

The concept of self-sufficiency and as a result, minimising waste, was then widened when I began to introduce the use of oak as a material alongside willow. Initially this began with offcuts from various renovation projects we undertook on our small holding, most notably the making of my studio within the shell of a redundant Nissen hut. I was slowly accumulating interesting pieces of wood, with no distinct purpose other than it seemed a shame to use them as fuel. It felt like a natural step to consider how they could be re-purposed to become useful; a progression which began to inform my whole design process as I looked at ways of integrating wood with willow.

Having played with oak exploring the concept of blending materials, I began to consider shape. Loving curves and circles, I was considering the process of steam bending using some of the longer lengths of oak, as a way of creating solid curves. While I was investigating the process of steam bending, and wondering whether I could use my existing steamer to process oak too, I started playing with some oak barrel staves. We have had an oak barrel swing under a tree for years. The original swing was made by my younger brother, and the design involved cutting out a few staves and re-using the wood as a seat. When the original swing rotted and became unsafe, I asked another brother to help make a new one. He copied the original design and we were left, as before, with a few spare pieces of slightly curved oak. It was these that I turned to while deliberating steam bending, using them as prototypes for design concepts, and it was this process that made me turn to oak barrels instead of steam bending.

A barrel is a beautifully crafted piece of engineering. The Cooper (the official term for a barrel maker) learns their trade over many years. It is physically demanding and extremely technical work. Used to age and flavour a variety of wines and spirits, there is a point at which the barrels become no longer fit for purpose. It is these that I use. They arrive like a blank canvas, large, awesome and slightly scruffy. The first job is to deconstruct them. The large metal hoops that keep the staves in place are cut, and the barrel is slowly taken apart. I am left with a collection of staves, each differing in width and curve, bowing along their length as well as their width (reflecting the shape of a barrel), a lid and a base, some cut metal hoops, and a workshop that smells like a brewery.

The individual components are then moved to the draughty long barn where they are left to dry for several months, after which time I study each stave to decide where it will work best within a design. They are then refined by various levels of shaving, sanding and cutting to get them to the desired finish. Some are left with a natural patina, having been charred during the making process or dyed by the alcoholic contents. These give me bolder tones to offset against my willow. Others are taken back to the original golden oak. Each is interesting and each has its purpose, and no two staves are alike. The lids also have their purpose and are prepared accordingly.

For a long time, this was as much as I could manage. I had a vision with the wood, and found it natural to facilitate its re-working, but at the end of the processing I was always left with a collection of six metal hoops. These were a source of slight frustration to me. When I worked so hard to use every single piece of wood, I felt like I was letting the process down by having surplus hoops. They sat in a pile in my shed, slowly increasing in number while I worked out what to do with them. I considered disposing of them as scrap metal, but they had a beauty of their own, and I was reluctant to do this, wanting to alleviate waste, not create it.

It was a chance conversation with a fellow member of Cornwall Crafts Association, Lisa Wisdom, an incredibly talented blacksmith, who suggested re-purposing them as hooks. Our conversation started with me asking her whether she would be able to make hooks from which to hang my range of shelving. The shelves are deep and therefore require a hook which provides greater depth than a standard picture hook or nail would provide. The conversation ended with her offering to teach me the skills to do it myself, using the surplus hoops as the material. It was simply the best suggestion and the perfect way to complete the re-purposing of every single part of a barrel. I love learning new skills and, as Lisa had suggested, it allowed me full control and autonomy over the process.

Yesterday, after much trial and error, I dropped my first batch of hooks into the gallery at Trelissick Gardens, Cornwall. They have been designed specifically to hang my handmade wall-hanging shelves. They are fairly rudimentary in design, and will probably have an evolution of their own, but they complete the zero waste, from barrel to band story, with nothing left to linger in my shed, unused.