This project runs parallel to my earlier chair work. Where that chair focused on learning angles and stick construction, this set—table and chairs—was about living with the work.
I had moved into a rental home, needed a dining table, and decided to make one instead of buying it. Eventually, I’d like to build all the furniture in my house, and this felt like a practical step in that direction.
The goal wasn’t novelty. It was restraint, coherence, and durability—objects meant for daily use, not bold statements.
The Table
The table is built from Sapele and includes a 24″ leaf. I chose an oval form for both practical and visual reasons. An oval accommodates more people comfortably than a comparable rectangle, and without the leaf installed it resolves into a clean ellipse rather than a pill shape. Just as importantly, the curve of the tabletop echoes the curved backrests of the chairs, allowing the pieces to read as a set.
Designing a table with a leaf adds complexity quickly. The curves had to be mapped so the removable center section could remain straight at the edges while still reading as part of the larger oval. My initial idea—a pedestal base—gave way to a four-leg design over concerns about stability. That decision introduced its own constraints: the legs needed enough splay for visual lightness, enough setback to allow chairs to slide fully under the table, and enough clearance in the center to accommodate the sliding dovetail extension hardware.
(Yes, I built most of the table on the back porch of a rental house.)
I built the tabletop at full length first, then cut the leaf from the center so the grain would align when installed. In its raw form, the top was extremely heavy, which required careful planning—not just to move it, but to prevent damage as the edges became thinner and more refined. Much of the work happened with the table upside down, estimating angles and visual balance because flipping it repeatedly became impractical.
Small details, such as small and large chamfers to break the edges, help refine the design and keep it user-friendly.
I finished it with wax, which I may revisit in the future. It feels and looks appropriate, but daily use has already revealed its limitations against heat and water.
The Leaf
The extension hardware came from Osborne, and I tested two different systems before committing. Hardware like this imposes strict dimensional constraints, and installation tolerances are tight, but being able to purchase them rather than fabricating my own saved time and inevitable problems.
In daily life, the table works so well with the leaf installed that we’ve left it in place almost permanently. That makes the flexibility feel slightly academic, but it also means the table can be resized or relocated later.
One clear takeaway: any moving or adjustable feature multiplies complexity. It’s not just another component—it’s another system that must be anticipated from the start and designed around.
The Chairs
The chairs posed a different challenge. These are frame-style chairs (rather than stick chairs) built from repeating side components.
Each side is based on a profile template composed of a front leg, back leg, and side rail. (Small things: the legs have a slight thickness taper, losing about 1/2″ down to the foot, so they seem a little lighter and less of a uniform vertical line.) The middle features two rails for the seat and backrest, which required routed mortises for the built-in tenons to notch into.
The difficulty wasn’t the joinery—it was repetition. Small errors that can be absorbed in a single chair multiply quickly when building four. An under-routed rail or misplaced tenon doesn’t need fixing once; it needs fixing four times. In hindsight, building one chair fully before batching the rest would have saved many hours. Instead, I did the opposite—something I’d advise against to students.
Upholstery
This was my first time upholstering a seat. I chose padding over carved saddles for comfort—dining chairs need to support sitting for an hour or more without becoming punitive. While it’s not difficult to achieve a serviceable result, doing it well requires practice.
The biggest challenge was tensioning the webbing and fabric evenly. I pulled too tight in places, causing minor puckering that I’ll address in the future. Still, the process feels accessible and useful groundwork for future projects like a couch or lounge chair.
Material & Design Language
I used Sapele throughout to keep the set visually cohesive. Mixing species would have introduced unnecessary competition between forms. Sapele is often mistaken for walnut but costs much less, and it offers good moisture/weather resistance should the table ever live on a covered porch.
The design aims for mid-century modern—letting proportion, curve, and joinery do the design work. This is often less forgiving than traditional furniture, where joinery imperfections can be hidden or reframed as character or style. Here, precision matters. That discipline is part of the appeal and helps the work resist becoming dated.
Living With the Work
The table is easy to live with, aside from the wax finish. The leg placement avoids knee and toe collisions, and the chairs are light, comfortable, and easy to slide. Over time, I’ve noticed the upholstered seat frame is slightly thick, creating mild pressure at the outside of the hips—something I’ll refine in future versions.
I also wish I’d pushed the leg splay on the table farther. What felt right upside down reads more vertical when upright. More splay would add movement and elegance; the current stance emphasizes stability.
For now, I’ll live with it. Design decisions tend to clarify themselves through use.
What’s Next?
To complete the set, I still need to build two armchairs for the ends of the table.
I’m also working on four three-legged stools with rotating, saddle-carved cherry seats that sit somewhere between the staked chair language and these mid-century frames. Ideally, those pieces will act as a bridge, allowing different furniture vocabularies to coexist.