Most sofas hide their bones beneath upholstery, a skirt of fabric pretending the wood beneath isn't doing all the work. This one doesn't bother with the pretence. The frame is teak, turned and rounded by hand in the workshops of Jodhpur, left fully visible, at the arms, along the base, under every cushion, so the wood becomes as much a part of the silhouette as the seat itself. The fabric sits within it rather than over it, a soft, undyed linen the color of unbleached cotton, cushions resting like trays inside a frame built to hold them. Seen from the side, against a plain plaster wall or a poured-concrete floor, its open structure reads as architecture first, comfort second. In a Hampstead study, or a Richmond room where the garden comes in through tall windows, it sits low and honest, asking nothing to be hidden.
