I first met Gregory Beson at the furniture showroom in Lincolnville where I was working. He was my first sale, taking home a cherry Shaker side chair with a green, woven seat. Gregory lives and works in New York, but has a deep love of Maine, largely born from the time he spent in Blue Hill in his 20s. This past year he bought a plot of land on Vinalhaven Island, on which he plans to make a home.
I met up with Gregory at his studio in Brooklyn, a large, warm, space that smelled of mahogany. Gregory sat in an old, Arts and Crafts–style rocker, and I on a low, deep couch (which he told me later was designed by Hella Jongerius for the UN.) Gregory is soft-spoken, and I leaned forward on my elbows to hear him, praying my mic was picking up his words—many, but carefully chosen. I had questions prepared, but didn’t look at them once. As he told me, he’s been doing very little socializing lately (too busy preparing for his upcoming solo show) and has spent much of the last month in solitude. It felt as if my being there was less for an interview and more as fresh ears for conversations he’s been having with himself for weeks.
But Gregory is anything but self-absorbed, and repeatedly guided our conversation back to the idea of helping others. Were he not a furniture designer, he joked, he’d probably be a high school guidance counselor. For him the draw of Maine is the return to a more collaborative ecosystem. He has many friends there already, and spoke reverently about the many ways in which they support not only each other, but their neighbors and communities.
As we talked, he walked over to his large bookshelf and pulled titles that he thought would interest me. One of them was The Craftsman by Richard Sennett, as he reflected on the etymology of the word craft (from German kraft, meaning strength or power). In New York, he struggles with the tendency for power to be measured in money and status. Through the lens of craft, power is measured by the impact of your work. He refers to this influence as waves—the things we do and make inevitably causing ripples of influence far from our conscious understanding. As he spoke, my eyes drifted to photos of the wave-like ridges on a beach, taped to the wall above a textured, hand-carved side table that will go in his upcoming show—his philosophies literally etched into the material he uses.
When it was time to go, Gregory drove me across the bridge so I wouldn’t have to wait for a Lyft in the rain.
I met up with Gregory at his studio in Brooklyn, a large, warm, space that smelled of mahogany. Gregory sat in an old, Arts and Crafts–style rocker, and I on a low, deep couch (which he told me later was designed by Hella Jongerius for the UN.) Gregory is soft-spoken, and I leaned forward on my elbows to hear him, praying my mic was picking up his words—many, but carefully chosen. I had questions prepared, but didn’t look at them once. As he told me, he’s been doing very little socializing lately (too busy preparing for his upcoming solo show) and has spent much of the last month in solitude. It felt as if my being there was less for an interview and more as fresh ears for conversations he’s been having with himself for weeks.
But Gregory is anything but self-absorbed, and repeatedly guided our conversation back to the idea of helping others. Were he not a furniture designer, he joked, he’d probably be a high school guidance counselor. For him the draw of Maine is the return to a more collaborative ecosystem. He has many friends there already, and spoke reverently about the many ways in which they support not only each other, but their neighbors and communities.
As we talked, he walked over to his large bookshelf and pulled titles that he thought would interest me. One of them was The Craftsman by Richard Sennett, as he reflected on the etymology of the word craft (from German kraft, meaning strength or power). In New York, he struggles with the tendency for power to be measured in money and status. Through the lens of craft, power is measured by the impact of your work. He refers to this influence as waves—the things we do and make inevitably causing ripples of influence far from our conscious understanding. As he spoke, my eyes drifted to photos of the wave-like ridges on a beach, taped to the wall above a textured, hand-carved side table that will go in his upcoming show—his philosophies literally etched into the material he uses.
When it was time to go, Gregory drove me across the bridge so I wouldn’t have to wait for a Lyft in the rain.