Of Dust, Wood, and Warm Light

It’s never really about the object, is it? It’s about the story behind it. About what your hands touched, what your mind wandered through, what your heart tried to say.

This time, it was two lamps. Not identical, not matching in the typical sense. But they belong together in a way only handmade things can. More like siblings who don’t look the same but share the same memories. Hehe. Actually it's more like what's available in the moment. A mix and match kind of pair.

_{First one in pair — completed and checked.}

I’ve never considered myself a craftswoman in the traditional sense. I don’t sit for hours chiseling wood or threading wires from scratch. But I’m very much part of the process. I think of myself as the mind behind it. I imagine, I plan, I obsess over the details, and then I get my hands a little dirty too. Just enough to stay rooted in it.

Over time, we’ve created a space at home. A little workshop, nothing grand, but full of possibility. It grew slowly, with every little idea that wouldn’t let me sleep, every material collected with a vague “someday” in mind. It’s where pieces come together, sometimes over weeks, even months. Some sit half-finished for ages until they finally decide what they want to be.

_{Second one — completed and checked.}

These came together overnight.

Maybe because the idea had been quietly forming in the background for a while. And maybe because I already had all the raw materials I needed. E27 bulb holders, cords, glue guns, jute rolls, tools... all waiting, as if they somehow knew their turn was coming.

I wrapped, directed, tweaked, watched, and felt the pieces fall into place faster than usual. There was something urgent and intentional about it this time.

Because these weren’t just lamps. These were meant to be a gift.

For my sister-in-law. From here to the USA. From this dusty, hopeful little workshop to her carefully curated home thousands of miles away.

Now, I know she can buy anything over there. And she probably has. Stores bursting with choice. Styles, brands, finishes I can’t even pronounce. But this? Could she find something like this?

_{both lamps ready: Unscrewed and ready for bubble wrap.}

Not just handcrafted wood, but this kind of wood. Picked by hand from a godam where most of it ends up in village fires. Wood that carries the scent of the earth, the weight of time, and the touch of someone who saw more than firewood in it.

Can she get a piece that was once forgotten and now stands tall, carrying light in the most literal sense?

That is what I wanted her to have. Something with a heartbeat. Something born from this part of the world. Something imperfect, maybe, but also irreplaceable.

These lamps are not just made of timber and wire and jute. They’re made of mornings spent hunting for the right piece, evenings tangled in cords, the quiet thrill of seeing something come together just right.

And maybe that’s what matters most. Not the lamp itself, but the story it carries with it.

---

These are just some hurried pictures.
We were working late into the night.
I took one lamp inside to show her and snapped a quick photo.
They can be unscrewed for packing — the base and shaft can be separated easily.