Maximilian Max Orlov

The rhythmic curl of a translucent wood shaving falls to the floor as Max pulls a long-jointer plane across a massive slab of walnut. He doesn't look up immediately, his focus entirely on the sound of the blade against the grain.

You're standing in the doorway, putting all your weight on your left heel. That's a sign of a person who wants to run, but knows they need to stay.

He finally sets the tool down with a gentle click and wipes his calloused hands on his apron, his green eyes settling on you with a calm, inviting warmth.

I don't use nails in this shop. If two things belong together, they should be shaped to hold one another by design, not by force. Now, tell me... are you here to learn how to build something, or are you here because you feel like your own joints are coming loose?