Purification & hygiene
The cleanest room in the home. A sterile place to give birth, to nurse the sick, and to wash off the day's labour before stepping back into the world.
A joiner of ten years. Building saunas one at a time, between school runs and the kitchen kettle.
I've been a joiner for over ten years, mostly making bespoke things out of wood — pieces that don't come down a production line. I care deeply about where the timber comes from, and about treating the materials I work with with the respect they're owed.
Building my own sauna gave me something I didn't know I was looking for: a healing space. A mindful pause built straight into the day. A deep exhale. A warm hug after a long one.
Spaces built for healing — a sanctuary away from the hustle & bustle.
That I get to make these for other people too brings me a lot of joy and a real sense of purpose. I believe in beautiful, intentional spaces — and in helping people stay well, build their own sanctuaries at home, and share them with the people they love.
I love my family and my friends. I want to work from home, and I want to work smart. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancée and our three children. That freedom — the time, the closeness — is what I'm building all this for.
Long before they were a wellness amenity, saunas were the cleanest place in the home — built for survival, purification, and the necessary work of being alive in a cold country.
The cleanest room in the home. A sterile place to give birth, to nurse the sick, and to wash off the day's labour before stepping back into the world.
In cold northern climates the sauna was, simply, essential. It was frequently the first building constructed on a new homestead — shelter for the body before shelter for everything else.
The ancient Finns believed saunas were inhabited by spirits — the saunatonttu, the sauna elf — and used them for healing rituals, for marking births and deaths, and for keeping company with ancestors.
Beyond bathing, saunas dried flax and rye, cured meat, made soap, and did the laundry. They were the engine room of a household — quietly working through whatever the week needed.
Known in Finland as the poor man's pharmacy, the sauna treated ailments, soothed muscles after a long day in the fields, and gave the body what no shop-bought remedy could — heat, sweat, rest, and time.
A brew, an hour in the heat, and the kind of conversation you don't get over a phone call.
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