There's a kind of furniture that behaves more like architecture than upholstery, flat surfaces meeting at clean angles, nothing curved unless it has to be. This daybed belongs to that category. The wood is solid, worked and joined by hand in the workshops of Jodhpur, its grain left visible and unbroken across two tall panels that rise like a low partition rather than a headboard. The mattress sits thin and level atop it, channel-tufted in undyed bouclé, with a single round bolster set against the panel like punctuation at the end of a sentence. Seen from across a room, against a panelled wall or a plain plaster one, its silhouette reads as furniture built by a joiner's logic, not an upholsterer's. In a Richmond studio, or a Hampstead room kept deliberately spare, it asks only to be looked at lengthwise.
