Matt Hutton went to art school to be a medical illustrator. He graduated with a BFA in woodworking and furniture design.

“It was not until I took a foundations course in 3D design that I knew I could make things,” says the Portland, Maine woodworker. “I also saw a visiting artist lecture at this time by Tommy Simpson, a renowned furniture artist, and it totally changed my life. I enrolled in woodworking classes after that, and the process just clicked.”

After receiving his BFA, Hutton studied on a grant from the Japan-United States Friendship Commission suggested by his mentor, Wendy Maruyama. The grant took Hutton to Japan for a semester and brought a Japanese student to San Diego State University, where Hutton was enrolled in graduate school.

“The program is two years long and does not have tuition, but what you make while you are there becomes property of the school,” Hutton says. “In a way, it’s a job as we would know it, but you are trained each day and go through a regimented curriculum, and then leave with a wide skill set in woodworking.”

Hutton came to Portland in 2002, straight out of graduate school, to teach at the Maine College of Art on a one-year contract; that year turned into 14. During that time, Hutton helped create a nationally recognized woodworking and furniture design program at MECA, where he is an associate professor as well as program chairman.

Balancing a full-time teaching career and a full-time studio, while also being a full-time dad, can get hectic. So Hutton built Studio 24b in his backyard. Quick access is a necessity for getting any woodworking done. “I often spend the evening in the studio once our kids have gone to bed,” he says. “My wife jokes that I lead a double life, as I often leave the house each night from 8pm-12am, when everyone else has ended their day.”

Since Hutton’s work varies in size, the number of pieces he creates each year varies as well. Last year, Hutton finished a piece on average every three weeks, which included some large projects such as an elevator bar, a dining set, and a large-scale sculpture.

Pricing for work also varies. Almost everything Hutton makes is a custom piece, so pricing is based on the scale and scope of the project.

While most of Hutton’s work is sold in the Northeast, he has shipped work as far as Austin, Texas. Hutton also participates in shows such as the Architecture Digest Home Design Show and the International Furniture Fair.

Although Hutton’s business is constantly growing, he doesn’t plan to leave Portland or his beloved backyard studio. “It’s a very special building to us,” says Hutton of Studio 24b. “The architecture is large, but not monolithic. Doors and walls pivot to allow flowing access from inside to out, and the building is quietly complicated, similar to my work. I thoroughly love working in that space, and feel very fortunate to have found a home with enough land and space to accommodate it within Portland city limits.”

Matt Hutton – owner of Studio 24b
Portland, Maine
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All photos courtesy Studio 24b

The post The Wonders of Wood appeared first on Take Magazine.

This article originally ran in our October 2015 print edition.

Texans have a name for expats from Massachusetts, and it ain’t Masshole. If you make the pilgrimage from New England to the Lone Star State, you’re a carpetbagger the second you cross the border, and you’ll remain one until you leave for greener pastures. Trust me, I’ve been lugging this baggage around for the past 15 years.

When my wife (then lady friend) and I migrated, I had ideas about Texas. I’d read all of Cormac McCarthy. I listened, drank, and wept to Springsteen’s Ghost of Tom Joad religiously. I once passed the flaming husk of an 18-wheeler on I-10 near Sonora at 3:00 a.m. on the return leg of a 20-day, cross-country drive.

In short, I thought I understood Texas. So we jumped into Crusher, my rusty blue ’88 Chevy Blazer; popped a Friends of Dean Martinez cassette into the deck; and headed southwest, stopping in Memphis to sleep through Y2K eve and TCB at Graceland.

Once in Austin, I looked for adventures. My expat buddy Tim and I attended a rattlesnake rustling competition, an event that yielded a great koozie and a glimpse into the socioeconomic drivers that spur folks to hook big ol’ snakes into a burlap sack for pennies. Really, we were outsiders pretending to be outlaws.

Later, my lady friend and I drove to Palestine (Pal-uhs-TEEN) to watch Robbie Knievel jump a steam train. Because Crusher had out-of-state plates and I was speeding, a trooper pulled us over in Jewett. As he swaggered toward us with his campaign hat, mirrored shades, and mouthful of chaw, we began to sweat bullets.

Obliging the slow twirls of his index finger, I rolled down my window.

“What’re you doin’ so far from Massatoosits, boy?”

“Taking my lady friend to see Robbie Knievel jump a steam train, sir.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Just slow it down, and tell ol’ Robbie I said hi.”

Then he drove away.

It was THE BEST.

We made it to Palestine in time to trek across fields and over barbed wire, alongside families with strollers, toward the locomotive pyre where Evel’s son made history as “Detroit Rock City” reverberated over the swale.

As the thrill of living in Texas began to fade, we settled into life in Austin. Sure, the nice self-mutilating tenants at our apartment complex occasionally dangled by their nipples from the mimosa tree in the courtyard. But the novelty wore off quickly; so we went about the tasks of making friends, establishing routines, and finishing our undergraduate degrees.

Here’s a fun fact I learned in my studies: Texas has had eight constitutions. The eighth went into effect during the Reconstruction to protect the state from carpetbaggers (I’m paraphrasing my professor here). Texas is determined to stay true to its maverick identity, even if much of that identity was stolen from Mexico. I suppose that’s a big part of what makes Texas so quintessentially American.

That said, Texas confounds me; despite its many flaws, it’s hard to resist its wily charms. I never thought we’d plant roots, but we’re still here because it feels like home. We’ve earned degrees here. We’ve made our fair share of lifelong friends here. Our family, careers, home. . . they’re all here. But while our little girl is a native Texan and Austinite, it’s likely we won’t raise her here. This state is just too damn red for us. Even so, thanks to the pilgrimage we made at the turn of the century, she’ll always have a place in Texas to unpack her bags and hang her hat.

Top illustration by Rob Kimmel.

The post Notes From An Expat: Pack Your Bags, Son appeared first on Take Magazine.