
— a second forest, growing on the shoulders of the first.

Each tile is finished by hand in our Knoxville studio. Artwork is slowly infused into the ceramic surface under high heat and pressure, and rests beneath a thin glossy finish. The colour lives in the surface, not on top of it.
Pick any four 4-inch tiles — National Parks you've been to, a Smokies set, the four seasons of one place. $ for a set of , cork-backed, ready to live on the table.
Each tile ships in a kraft box, tied with cream ribbon, with a handwritten note from the studio if you'd like to add one.
Three or five different vistas, hung together — a chapter of places you've been, or want to go.
“Two hundred and fifty feet up, the giant sequoias stop being trunks and start being country. Whole limbs turn horizontal and grow their own trees on top of themselves. Huckleberries root in the bark. Ferns settle in. Light comes down in slow, particled columns, and the air stays cold and resinous even in July. This is the ceiling of the Sierra, walked mostly by climbers with ropes. — from the studio
The sequoia canopy is the upper world of Sequoiadendron giganteum in the southern Sierra Nevada, concentrated in the Giant Forest of Sequoia National Park at roughly 6,700 feet. The largest individuals — General Sherman, President, Franklin — carry crowns 250 to 275 feet above the ground. What reads from below as a single trunk becomes, up top, a branching architecture the size of a small orchard. Climbing biologist Steve Sillett and collaborators mapped these crowns in the early 2000s and gave the ceiling a working geography.
The canopy is not empty scenery. Sillett's surveys documented reiterated trunks — secondary sequoia stems growing straight up out of horizontal limbs — some more than 130 feet tall on their own. Huckleberry shrubs (Vaccinium) take root in accumulated bark duff hundreds of feet up. Ferns, lichens, and a small community of invertebrates live in that soil. In 2020 and 2021, wildfire killed an estimated 13 to 19 percent of all mature giant sequoias on Earth, most of them by scorching these crowns.
Light in a sequoia grove arrives filtered through 250 vertical feet of foliage and cinnamon bark. It comes down in slow, dust-thickened columns that shift by the minute. The canopy holds its own weather: cooler than the trail floor by several degrees on a July afternoon, damp with fog-drip in the mornings even in drought years. Colour up there is a narrow band — deep resinous green, the rust of old bark, and the pale gold of new needles catching sun at the very top.