Not a live tree falls
for our burnishments.
Rustic Furniture from the log - Glass Top Tables - Tree Table Sculpture P.O. Box 143, Wilson, Kansas, 67490, US
Copyright 1996 - 2019 - Mike Just - Rustic, natural, organic. Elegant root Furniture - Glass Top stump Tables - Art Furniture - Sculpture All images, rustic furniture design elements and other content represented on this web site are protected under United States and International copyright laws and are the sole property of Michael W. Just, unless otherwise noted. All use and/or publication rights are reserved, worldwide. All represented images and content are not in the Public Domain. No images, or furnishing designs represented on this web site may be copied, stored, manipulated, published, sold or reproduced in whole or in part without the express permission of an authorized representative of Rustic Oak, Mike W. Just, TreeTables.com. Simply Ask.
"Standing in the forest, I am alone. explosions rock my senses. Kaleidoscoping, spinning. Out of control. Dizzy, pales of green, swirling browns of barks. Rust. The smell! Paler shades, sky-blue-pink pierce my vision. Earth forces wind, movement, engulfed. No where to hide. I give up, surrender, peace, embraced by floating, magical like enchantments. Nature's Art, our creator, softly, holds ME.
I work with dead. Slag woods, salvaged from the floor of tree groves. One piece at a time building upon the next, over days, weeks, months. Each pieces past affects its present, leaving statements and influence that dramatically guide what happens next. I work painstakingly, allowing. Undulating enchantments permeate the work. The next day I rework it. I go to my collection of gathered pieces. Viewing, there is silence, a sullen sulking death pervades the air. Soft music plays in the background. I dig deep for inspiration, the vision, inexplicable energy, evading doubting Thomas', exhaustions. To express and create in a large gesture, audacious colorations, a sublime of serenity, the enchantments of nature. A sense of peace, our omnipitent creator. A Reckless line I walk. Struggling with peace, pieces, shaping them breaking them down, building them up. Hideous accidents occur: movement, crack, does not flow as I wish; colors collide in careless abandon; irregular shapes protrude the air in reckelessness, about the piece. Life. My eye is offended by what it sees! I am angered! ! My passion: to tantilize this ugliness, this unlikely blend of shapes, these pieces lurid in history, into visual coherence. I foreground the ghosts of wood's death, highlight the spectacular of character, coax its indeterminism of strength and beauty, into purposes. Look closely, you will see my mess. Step back, tilt your head. The work, organic, human. Life plays out in front of you. Listen. Space exists to accent shape and misshapes by form; made subtle, with emptiness. It's form, line, flow. Some days we dance together, riding rainbows to stars. Some days we engage in bloody battle. The session is over. The piece awaits my return. The next day I start anew. Birth." Mike Just
"In order to keep it, give it away."