The Morrow chair started as a drawing of a seat with no back at all. Ines wanted a dining chair that disappeared under the table, and for most of the first year that is what it was: a stool with ambitions.

The back rail arrived in the second prototype, steam-bent from a single piece of oak. The first angle was too upright, and the chair felt like a lesson. The second was too relaxed, and nobody could reach their plate. The third is the one we make now: eleven degrees, which sounds precise and was found entirely by sitting in it.

The seat is saddled by hand, one at a time, with a travisher that belonged to Tomas’s grandfather. It takes about forty minutes. A machine could do it in two, and the seat would be almost the same. Almost.

The wool pad was the last decision. It is loose, tied on with two cords, because we wanted the chair to be complete without it. Some people take it off in the summer. Some never put it on. Both are right.