#Plywood Sales

[coldpenguintaco]

Construction Segment to Remain the Fastest Expanding Application of Plywood Market During 2022-2027

Construction Segment to Remain the Fastest Expanding Application of Plywood Market During 2022-2027

The global plywood market size is projected to grow from USD 54.2 billion in 2022 to USD 73.3 billion by 2027, at a CAGR of 6.2%, According to the MarketsandMarkets™ analysis. Plywood is a well-known manufactured wood-based panel product that has been used in global development projects for many years. Plywood panels for structural applications are made up of many layers or plys of softwood…

[sramfact]

The report "Plywood Market by Type (Hardwood and Softwood), Application (Construction and Industrial), Uses Type (New Construction and Rehabilitation), and Region (North America, Europe, APAC, MEA, South America) - Global Forecast to 2027", Plywood market size is projected to reach USD 73.3 billion by 2027 from USD 54.2 billion in 2022 growing at a CAGR of 6.2%. The Asia Pacific region is the largest market for plywood across the globe. The market in the Asia Pacific has been studied for China, India, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, Malaysia and the Rest of Asia Pacific (Australia, Indonesia, and others). Among these countries, China accounted for the largest share of 80.0% of the Asia Pacific plywood market in terms of value.

India and China have experienced close to double-digit GDP growth in recent years, as well as a population boom. The stable economy and growing building and construction industry has augmented the growth of plywood in India and China. Furthermore, furniture sector is one of the main consumers of plywood in India. During the 2018 to 2023, it is predicted that the India furniture market by commercial sector will have a CAGR of 11.97%. India is the fourth-largest consumer of furniture worldwide and the fifth-largest producer of furniture. The Indian furniture industry is estimated to be worth $8 billion, represents 0.5% of the GDP in 2022 according to IBEF (Indian Brand Equity Foundation). The domestic organized industry has roughly 5000 businesses, and there are almost 10,500 furniture imports. The industries that contribute most to the sectors growth include real estate, housing & hospitality, and consumer base growth.

Major players operating in the plywood include Georgia Pacific LLC (US), Boise Cascade Company (US), Weyerhaeuser Company Ltd (US), UPM-Kymmene Oyj (Finland), Svezza Forest Ltd (Russia), PotlatchDeltic Corporation (US), Greenply Industries Ltd (India), Century Plyboards India Ltd. (India), Austral Plywoods (Australia), and others.

[kenobihater]

here's my current favorite pictures in my collection. i picked up the first two of these in colorado. unsure about the women's names, and i need to clean up/fix the clock frame, but it's such a unique piece. i like the intimacy of the second one of harry clyde greening and friend. they just seem really close yk? not a ton of studio portraits of men circa 1910-1920(ish?? rough estimate from clothing and age) have them both posed closely and focused on each other. then the last one, of ruth adams kline is her marriage portrait at age 17-18. she was a socialite who died tragically after a car crash at 20. i'm not related to her, but i inherited it from my grandfather and i believe she was a close friend to his aunt iirc? the ages line up and my grandma told me she was an aunt, though that's not accurate, so i'm assuming she misheard my grandpa before he passed. she was probably a close family friend and his aunt was given the photo by her widower or family. it's absolutely stunning, the frame is unlike anything i've ever seen and she's utterly ethereal

[lazysimpsstuff]

Tiger drawing in folk art style on 8' plywood canvas

[kishre23]

Discover Quality and Variety at Kanchan Plywood Sales: Your Trusted Plywood Dealer in Hyderabad

When it comes to finding the best plywood dealer in Hyderabad, look no further than Kanchan Plywood Sales. Located in the heart of Goshamahal, our store is your one-stop destination for all your plywood and board needs. We pride ourselves on being one of the top plywood wholesale suppliers near Goshamahal, offering a wide range of products to meet your construction and interior design needs. Whether you are a contractor, a builder, or a homeowner, we have everything you need to bring your projects to life.

At Kanchan Plywood Sales, we specialize in offering a comprehensive selection of plywood products, including the highly sought-after Gurjan plywood. Our store is also a leading Shera board dealer in Hyderabad, providing durable and versatile solutions for various applications. If you are searching for a reliable plywood store near you in Goshamahal, we invite you to visit us and explore our extensive inventory. Our knowledgeable staff is always ready to assist you in choosing the right materials, ensuring that you receive the best quality products at competitive prices.

Visit Us:

Address: Paramount Complex, 5–3–835, Malakunta Road, Herza Estate, Goshamahal, Feelkhana, Hyderabad, Telangana 500012

Contact:

040–24611829

040–24611830

040–24732335

+91 9246103511

+91 9989990107

Working Hours:

Monday to Saturday: 10.30 AM to 8.00 PM

Sunday: On Appointment

Website: https://www.kanchanplywoodsales.in/Kanchan-Plywood-Sales-Home-Page

For all your plywood and building material needs, visit Kanchan Plywood Sales and experience quality and service that you can trust.

[maycoindustries]

Lead Solder Plumbing

Essential for a wide-variety of plumbing repairs, lead solder is an essential for nearly every plumbing professional. We are the largest lead product producer in the country, supplying the national market with everything from plumbing lead, to flashing, to lead solder bars, and many more lead-based items.

[logipack]

Logipack Technology Paper Honeycomb: Sustainable Packaging that Makes a Difference

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[vinlamconcepts]

[ninyard]

I was thinking about Aaron; older, his twins almost 10 or 11, and everything is… normal? His daughters get to say my daddy is a doctor or my mommy is a scientist when their teachers in school ask about their jobs. He goes to dance recitals, or little league tournaments, Katelyn bakes little cakes for the school bake sale when she has the time to do so. Most evenings he comes home to a home cooked meal, or he’s happy to hand his wife a hot plate of food when she’s finished a long shift. They have a mortgage, and bills, and insurance and a college fund for the girls - they wave to the neighbours when they pass them in the mornings, or have a beer on each others porches in the evenings. They have to water their grass. They help their kids with their homework. He’s been to therapy. He sleeps at night. He wakes up in the morning. They’re a family, and they work, and everything is normal.

One day their youngest by four minutes is having a shower in their main bathroom. He should’ve fixed the lock when he said he would. Katelyn is at work, she should be home soon - he’s in the kitchen, the radio is on behind him, the extractor fan is loud. He doesn’t pay attention to the first round of banging, leaning over the check that there was nobody knocking on their front door, and then he hears it again. Three, four solid knocks of fist on wood from the upstairs bathroom. The older of the two meets him on the stairs just in time for him to hear his youngest calling out, “dad!”

“The lock is jammed!” she yells, and Aaron tries it from the outside. Nothing - no movement, no give.

“Stand back,” Aaron says through the door. “Don’t be scared, just stand back in the tub.”

When he’s certain she’s retreated, he tries it with his shoulder first - nothing. Again with his shoulder, a hard, forceful whack - there’s a little bit of movement, but still not enough. He’s taken a step back before he’s realised what he’s doing, and aims his foot for just below the door knob. The second his heel meets splintering plywood, he hears it. The thumping against a wall, or maybe it’s just the pounding heart in his chest. As the door swings open he feels the racquet in his hands, the blood on his face, the hands in his hair.

This has been in my drafts for so long that I’ve lost where I was going with it but something something Aaron accidentally being triggered by/around his kids and having to deal with that, knowing he’s scaring them, knowing they don’t know whats happening. Aaron feeling so far away from his past but being transported back in an instant.

[rahuratna]

"You're starting a what now?"

"You heard me, Gojo. Now, join us."

"Hey now, hold on."

"What's the need for delay?"

"Nanami, I don't know how to say this, but ... how would this even work? We die in the line of duty on a regular basis, so what good would - "

"All the more reason to take preventative measures and plan for the future. Why should jujutsu society continue to function without a representative for sorcerers? Are we mere cannon fodder, to be thrown at hordes of - "

"I mean, yeah, I get what you're saying, but this - "

"It will be to our benefit if you join. As much as I hate to admit it, your word carries weight. And so does your signature. Now, if you'd just sign here - "

"Damn, I'm beginning to see how lethal you were in sales."

"I was an investment broker."

"Even worse."

"And, as a former salaryman, I can visualise the significance of this endeavour with more clarity than anyone else. You can take my word for it."

"And what would be the function of an organisation like this?"

"Protecting the interests of sorcerers is of paramount importance. We need access to a wider variety of medical practitioners who specialise in sorcery-related injuries. Free psychological assessments every three months and advanced funeral cover, inclusive of a reconstructive procedure in case of gruesome death. Families deserve to see their sorcerer loved ones looking their best, even if they've been chewed on by a cursed spirit. I am also personally advocating for vacation subsidies for destinations of our choice that cover hotel, airfare, transport and day-to-day expenses."

"You ... you've really thought this out, huh?"

"Along with our slogan. 'United we matter, divided we splatter.'"

"Uhhhh ... moving on. I need to ask a few questions before I commit to your ... union."

"Naturally."

"What's in it for me?"

"I thought we might hit this little snag."

"Riiight. Because ... you know. Strongest sorcerer. Practically invincible ... "

" ... Look, Gojo. This pen is sparkly and expensive. You like such things, yes?"

" ... Yes."

"I'll give it to you if you sign on the dotted line here."

"Just how low is your opinion of me?"

"I'll also buy you a milkshake."

"Oh! Why didn't you say so?"

Welcome, new member, to the Jujutsu Sorcerer's Guild. A place for equality, representation and freedom of expression. A place where your clan can no longer invite you to those abusive family dinners. A place for those who would like to be seen as more than a loose cannon, a vessel or an animated suit.

Find your kindred spirits here; those who long for a voice, an occasional vacation and something better than a plywood coffin or a bit of gristle dug out from between a cursed spirit's teeth. Together, we shall reverse the status quo and

UNIONISE. WEAPONISE. LOBOTOMISE.

Herewith find attached the minutes of our first meeting:

A little crack, inspired by my very own union meeting.

[mandsleanan]

Browsing through Facebook Marketplace, looking at aquariums, and some of these listings are bonkers.

My fellow fishnerd, you are not going to receive $3+/gallon for your used, mineral-encrusted tanks. Aquarium stores regularly have $1/gal sales, and anyone willing to pay more than that is looking for something way more expensive than your gently loved Aqueon. I'm not even willing to match that for something I need to spend an hour scrubbing with alcohol, water-fastness unknown.

Honestly people would be better scrapping the glass tank and just selling the stand, especially if it's one of the heavy, solid wood ones that you can't find sold anywhere now. I don't think any company is even making them, given that the stands carried at the same retail price now are all particle board. Not even plywood. Particle board.

Enshittification has finally reached the aquarium hobby.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1894 Victorian in Portland, Oregon has a beautifully painted exterior, but it's hidden in the trees. It has 4bd, 2ba, & is priced at $770K.

Very nice entrance hall. Smaller and much different than the larger Queen Anne Victorians.

The sitting rooms have been modernized and look more 70s than Victorian.

So, it looks like 70s bottom cabinets and they matched the upper ones to the wood panel in the front hall. It's a big kitchen, but not very pretty.

The dining room has wild wood wainscoting. I can't help thinking that it looks like plywood, even if it's not.

Nice large bath with vintage touches.

One of the bedrooms.

And this another lovely large vintage bath.

It has a very nice patio and garden in the yard.

[sramfact]

The globalplywood market size is projected to grow from USD 54.2 billion in 2022 to USD 73.3 billion by 2027, at a CAGR of 6.2%. The increasing demand for plywood from end uses, such as building & construction, packaging, industrial, and furniture sector, drives the market. Demand for multifarious plywood is encouraged by many companies to formulate different developmental strategies in the plywood market to expand their footprint in the market. The companies have adopted various strategies, such as investment & expansion, merger & acquisition, new product launches, and joint ventures to increase their global presence and maintain sustained growth in the plywood market.  

The plywood market in the Asia Pacific is forecasted to register the highest CAGR, in terms of value, between 2022 and 2027. Asia Pacific is a rapidly developing region that offers many opportunities for various industry players. Most of the leading players in North America and Europe are planning to move their production base to this region because of the availability of inexpensive raw materials, low production costs, and the need to serve the local market better. The demand for premium products is increasing in the region with the growth in the middle-class population. Government initiatives are also helping in the growth of the wooden sectors. These factors will play an important role in driving the plywood market.

There are various small, medium, and large players operating in the market. Some of the major market players include Boise Cascade Company (US), Weyerhaeuser Company Ltd (US), Upm-Kymmene Oyj (Finland), Sveza Forest Ltd (Russia), Austral Plywoods Pty Ltd (Australia), Potlatchdeltic Corporation (US), Greenply Industries (India), Metsä Wood (Metsäliitto Cooperative) (Finland), Centuryply (India), Austin Plywood (India). They have adopted various developmental strategies such as investment & expansions, new product launches, mergers & acquisitions, and joint ventures to increase their share in the market.

[greenishghostey]

Dungeon Master meet Prop Master | part 1

Pairing: Eddie x Drama Club!reader 

Summary: A D&D nerd and a drama geek finally cross paths in their little shared paradise realm - the drama storage room of Hawkins High School.

Warnings: None! Just a good, wholesome meet-cute. There is some suggestive language but nothing is graphic/explicit.

Word Count: 4,639 words (this took on a mind of its own super fast)

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a few fics floating around where the reader is part of the drama class but I hadn’t seen a fic where reader is more behind the scenes, thus spending a lot of time in the drama store room - aka The Hellfire Club room. Also, the official title of the person in charge of props is ‘The Prop Master’ so that worked too perfectly. I couldn’t not go down that route. I was a drama kid in high school so I am definitely projecting a bit but at least I’m being creative with it.

I would like to say a little thank you to @manicpixiedreamcurl , @punk-in-docs​ and @luveline​ whose works and amazing writing styles inspired me to get back into writing after a really really long spell of writer’s block.

/// Part 2

The best part of being in charge of the props and the set for the drama club was the fact that you got to keep the coveted storage closet key. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest honour to the others in your club, but that closet and the rehearsal room were your domain. It’s where all the stuff was, the mass of stuff you had accumulated since freshman year for the club. Miss Butler had told you just last week that the place was “starting to look like a dragon’s hoard,” she’d spoken with her usual encouraging smile, so it really lit a fire under your ass. 

The rickety shelves were weighed down by stacks of old books you’d found in second-hand stores, some of which were actually pretty good - The Hobbit and the first three Oz books being your current favourites. The floor was cluttered with random small pieces of home decor you grabbed from yard sales around Hawkins - the old ladies of your neighbourhood had basically thrown the lamps, ornaments and doilies at you. There were a few pieces of large furniture that had been in the closet long before you were let loose in it - the usual set dressing stuff, small wooden desks, chairs, dusty rugs.

Your favourite piece that had greeted you as prop master was that big, ornate wooden chair - more like a throne - that you barely got to touch because the Dungeons and Dragons club’s leader had basically called permanent dibs. Eddie Munson was known to be a lot of things around the school and had been for what felt like forever. Freak, creep, cultist, asswipe - all the classics. However, to you, he was a chair hog, but that was about it. You’d never really put stock into the satan-murder-super-cult schtick that everyone and their mother spewed. He was the head of a roleplaying game club with its own fun little shirts, so how harmful could he be? 

For how much time you spent building, fixing, or organising props in the theatre room, you would assume Eddie would have crossed your path much more. But you guys always seemed to miss each other, and he was hard to miss, even on a good day. Fridays were Hellfire Club nights, so you would always have to just head straight home after last period. The rest of the week was fair game, and he never dared to stay on school grounds longer than he had to. You’d seen him tearing out of the parking lot yesterday. He nearly rear-ended Carver’s car while blasting Mississippi Queen - part of you wished he had taken the back off of the jock’s car; Jason was a bitch. 

It was Thursday, and you were perched by old plywood and canvas backdrops, surrounded by various shades of brown and grey paints - glasses on because this job was gonna require 20:20 vision or as close as you could get. Miss Butler wanted to direct a show-stopping production of The Crucible this year, so you were getting started on some very sad-looking colonial church backgrounds. The painting had always been one of your favourite parts of your role. Sure, brown and grey weren’t the most exciting colours ever, but you had to give yourself some credit; you really knew how to create faux, mouldy wood grain. Working in total silence just wasn’t gonna work, though, so you dug your cassette player and headphones from your backpack and welcomed the silky rasp of Patti Smith to accompany your Arthur Miller-ifying activities.

With ‘So You Want To Be’ blaring in your ears, you didn’t notice when the door to the theatre room was thrown open, and Hawkins High’s resident super senior rushed in. 

Eddie quickly started busying himself with the usual Hellfire set dressings dotted around the room. He usually set up on Friday afternoon but had some “business transactions” to deal with before the weekend, so after-school Hellfire feng shui it was. Eddie had dumped his backpack against the plywood backdrops behind his throne and started rummaging through scraps of notes, general lint and some old food crumbs to find his good set of metal dice. They always sank right to the bottom of the bag just when he needed them. 

A loud thud bellowed through the theatre room, quickly followed by Eddie’s voice cracking into a yell. 

“Son of a-!”

You shot up from your spot and felt your eyes widen at the metalhead, who was currently hunched under a piece of Saint Basil’s Cathedral, “Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay? I am so so sorry!” you scrambled around the backdrops to heave up the fallen pieces. They weren’t heavy enough to do any damage, but you’d been nearly crushed by them plenty of times. Cardboard, canvas and plywood are a bitch.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just dinted my spine is all.” Eddie groaned, rubbing his back and stretching like some old man. “Knew you guys hated me using this room but wasn’t expecting a full-on assault.” He actually looked like he might have been injured from the rogue Cathedral piece. Maybe you were just used to things falling on you or stabbing yourself with craft knives. 

“Eddie, I’m really sorry. Do you want me to get some ice? The nurse might still be in her office, so I’ll run - I’ll be like 5 minutes, yeah?” You were scrambling for ways to make sure Eddie knew you were sorry. Rambling, really. God, you pride yourself on seeing past his mean and scary persona when others didn’t, but you’d gone and basically winded him with a church tower. Maybe if you took the hallways that the janitor had already mopped, you would be able to pick up speed and slide to the nurse’s office. 

Eddie took notice of your frantic state, eyes shifting around the room and towards the door, shoulders bunched up - you looked like the really nervous stray cat, Frankie, that wandered around the trailer park. “Hey, hey. I was just messing with you, specs,” he chuckled lightly. It was a new experience for him to see someone, let alone a girl, get worked up on his behalf in any capacity. Usually, he’d get an insult at worst or a grimace at best. He stood up straight and did a small half-spin so you could see for yourself that he was, in fact, fine. “See, I’m a-okay. Little offended at getting smacked by a church, but hey, it was gonna happen eventually.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” You huffed, a smile sliding across your lips, “fuck you, Munson, I thought I’d actually hurt you!” you swatted him with the paintbrush you’d put in your back pocket, a few specks of grey paint hitting his jeans. You turned to make sure everything was secured to avoid another workplace accident. Then, you heard him laugh, it was something between a snigger and a giggle, and it was actually kind of sort of cute. What fresh hell was this?

“Fuck you,” he said, in a high-pitch, mimicking voice - Eddie had jokes now. Brave of him. “Fair enough. I’m sorry I made you worry about little ol’ me.”

“Wasn’t worried. More frantic concern,” you tried to shrug off his playful comment. It did bring a little heat to your face, but he didn’t need to know that. “What are you doing in here today anyway? It’s Thursday; you’re a day early.”

“Ah yeah, well, I’ve got some important business to attend to tomorrow so…” his voice trailed off as he leaned against the edge of the long table. He could have just said drugs, you were quiet around school, sure, but you weren’t a total square. Possibly more of a square with rounded edges. 

“By business, you mean weed?” You asked. 

“Yeah, weed.” Huh, he sounded a little bit discouraged in his reply but quickly covered it with a chuckle and a smirk. Typical Munson. “You wanna buy or?”

“God, no. I mean, I'm not judging it, but it’s not really my thing. One of my friends said she’s gonna buy from you for Willis’ party on Saturday, though.” Penny had been raving about scoring some weed for that party since Monday. She’d only smoked a handful of times in her life, but the guy she had her eye on was like a chimney attached to a house on fire. His name was Chris or Keith or something that started with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’. All you knew is that he was a glorified benchwarmer for the basketball team and had ‘sexy’ hair - Penny’s words, not yours.

“Is that the redhead chick who makes you run lines at lunch when there’s a play? She’s bought from me before but didn’t know what papers or filters were.” He couldn’t hold back a snigger when remembering how he had to explain the fundamentals of a joint to the poor girl. 

Eddie’s laugh was nice, you decided. You couldn’t find a word to describe it other than nice at that moment. Penny could take being thrown under the bus for a minute as long as you got to hear him laugh again. She’d made you read as Romeo one too many times, so, if anything, this was like karma. 

Wait. 

How did he know what you got up to at lunch? Penny was sometimes a little too loud when she got really into a monologue but you usually distracted yourself with your sandwich and soup when that happened. But Eddie had noticed. He had noticed the heavy-handed performance of your friend, but more importantly, he had noticed you. God, what if he had heard your crappy take on the witches from Macbeth? You’d done voices. 

“That’s her, yeah. Her name’s Penny. If you call her “chick” she’ll go nuclear. Just warning ya.” You needed to keep this conversation on track. You liked talking to Eddie. It felt easy. Like you’d always thought it would. “She’ll buy from you, but it’s for this dude she likes.” 

“Awww. That is so gross.” He replied in an airy, cooing tone. You’d moved to join him at the table, getting yourself comfortably seated. You really didn’t want to go back to painting. Eddie was actually kind of funny, and not in his usual loud, antagonistic way - you did still enjoy that, obviously, but seeing a new side to a pretty guy wasn’t something you were gonna complain about. 

“You going to Willis’ this weekend? Since pennies and some other drama nuts are, I’d assume you are to make an appearance?”

“Drama nuts, huh?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look genuinely miffed at the comment. He was right, though. Everyone knew theatre kids were fucking nuts. 

“It’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s a nut about something - sports, drama, music, sometimes math for whatever unholy reason.” He was now sitting on the table with you, leaning back on his forearms like he was getting comfy to stay there for some time. God. 

“And what are you a nut about exactly?” 

“Getting an answer about your party attendance, if I’m honest.” Oh. 

True be told, Eddie didn’t flirt all that much. When he did, it was usually to get a rise out of people or make them uncomfortable. But he’d had at least one eye on you for a while now. You were cute, which was the first thing he noticed - all big wireframe glasses and funky sweaters with weird patterns on them. 

The more he glanced your way, though, the more he liked. You were definitely the most level-headed of the drama nuts, reining in their impromptu lunch rehearsals. You were always jotting down notes in your little red, paisley-patterned notebook with “WORK STUFF” written on the front. You also snorted when you laughed at one of his comments in history like a month ago, so that had done a number on him for at least a week.

You were a little weird, honestly. But, he liked weird. Weird looked good smacking him in the spinal cord with theatre backdrops. Maybe you could smack him in other, more friendly, situations. That’d be cool. 

“Oh? You’ve got some lines, huh? I thought the charm was only for the jocks and Miss O’Donnell?” 

“My charm has many layers, thank you very much,” he smirked, the expression taking up his entire face. This guy’s Dante’s Inferno of charm was gonna have you ready to lose layers if it kept up. Wait, what cesspit of your brain did that thought crawl out from?

“Okay, okay, noted. Back to the weed party. Not really my kinda scene, too busy, too loud.” You smiled, a little sad at your confession. Big parties had never really been your thing, even when it came to birthday parties in elementary school. A cast and crew wrap party was always fun but you knew everyone at those, so it took less effort. Penny had been nagging your ear off for the past two weeks to “let your hair down,” but you knew you’d wind up being a buzz kill, regardless of what hairstyle you went for.

“The weed party? I’m gonna steal that one, specs. Could use it for my summer sales and marketing scheme. Business ventures aside, what is your scene if it isn’t weed parties?” He giggled a bit when he spoke. You weren’t going to be able to forget ‘weed parties’, but, hey, it could be an inside joke between the two of you, like friends. 

“Well, this, more or less. It’s all like my own big extracurricular craft project, I guess.” You said, gesturing around the theatre room, glancing towards the storage closet door, the backdrops, the variety of sword props you’d made for Othello last year, and stacks of old paper that you had meticulously aged. It wasn’t much of a “scene”, but theatre was your life. Creating all of those little details that could elevate a play and bring it off the page alongside the actors was a great feeling. Most people didn’t understand why you liked painting backdrops or making stuff out of plywood or foam. Penny tried to. Bless her heart, but maybe Eddie would get it. Maybe he could peek behind the curtain and understand.

“Wait. So like, you make all of this stuff? Dude, seriously?!” Eddie lept up from the table quickly and dashed towards the “weapons bin” - it was the name you’d lovingly given to the big crate that was full of fake swords and daggers from previous productions. Miss Butler loved a good Shakespearean tragedy to get her thespians ready for their future Tony award nominations. Eddie rummaged through the crate and pulled out one of the more “adventurous” pieces you’d made. The blade itself was pretty basic, made from some foam with a wooden base to keep the shape and covered in metallic paint you borrowed from your dad. The handle and guard were what you were really proud of. And, apparently, so was Eddie. 

It was an aged gold colour, made to look like the metal had been held numerous times but was still well-crafted. You’d taken way too much time to shape the handle to look like finger grips had been hammered into the gold. There were detailed patterns etched into the guard that you’d done with a craft knife at your kitchen table. It had been a bitch to work on since you’d stabbed your fingers a lot, but it looked fucking sick. Eddie held it like it was real, like it was a gift bestowed upon him by the gods themselves. 

“You’re telling me you made this?” He spoke earnestly. It was the first time you had ever heard him sound that way. His big, dark eyes felt like they were scanning your whole body, not just your face. 

“I don’t handmake everything, but the swords and other stuff that’s production-specific, yeah, I have to make it.” 

“This sword. This sword, here. It’s the fucking crown jewel of our Hellfire campaign right now,” he stated. He’d started running his hand along the fake blade while maintaining eye contact with you and wearing an awestruck look. This must have been another layer of that charm he mentioned because warmth was crawling up your neck. There was an innuendo about stroking a sword rolling around in her head, but you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself that quickly - things were going too well.

“The Sun Strike. The most sought after and powerful magical sword. The guys are gonna use it to destroy this cursed rogue knight dude. Or, at least, that’s my plan. The new freshmen might fuck it up; who knows.” He swung the sword around as he told you all about the tale of the weapon, spinning it around in his hand. Eddie was so weirdly unpredictable - the scary satan worshipper could go sword tricks and was grinning like a big goof.

You didn’t speak for a few moments. You just stared at him and the sword from your perch on the table. This guy really was insane but in the best way possible. He looked like an excited little kid with your prop in hand. 

Your parents had always supported your passion for building and crafting pretty much anything your little mind could think of - you’d once made a magic staff out of a gross tree branch you’d found on a hike. However, they never really got the enjoyment and sense of pride that crafts gave you. Breathing new life into something that might otherwise be viewed as mundane or as nothing. Transporting even the smallest object back in time to any period with some paint, some brushes and a whole bunch of all-nighters. 

It was more than just fun. It was more than just a hobby. And Eddie Munson, of all people, seemed to understand that loud and clear. He’d even named one of your creations. How adorable was that?

“Hey, specs? Specs? Sorry, I should have asked to use your stuff. I didn’t know any of this was actually made by some-”

“No, no. Do not say sorry. Nuh uh,” you yelled, moving towards Eddie and grasping his upper arms. “The Sun Strike. That name is way cooler than anything I could come up with, so no sorry’s. And - and it's magic? Like good magic or bad magic?” Your quiet shock was long gone, and you started shaking Eddie by the shoulders. The bright grin on your face was infectious as Eddie stared at you, his expression slowly matching yours once the reality of your questions had set in. You were excited and asked him about D&D and liked the sword's name. Eddie had never been concerned about how smoking would affect his breathing, but you had him near gasping for air. 

“Good magic, don’t worry. The best kind, actually. Like the light of the world, that type of stuff. Crafted by the fair hands of a Sun goddess herself.” Eddie explained with a lopsided smirk. Fuck, he was so proud of that piece of lore now; he could use it as a line on a cute girl. That had never happened before. 

“Was that pre-established, or did you just make that up for me?” You laughed, not giving a single shit about what the answer was because you were a fucking Sun goddess. Now that you had calmed down, you made sure to let go of Eddie before you gave him minor whiplash. You were also becoming increasingly aware that being so close to him was feeling a little too nice.

“Nah, ‘fraid to say that I came up with that when I first saw it last year. But how about we change your name from ‘specs’ to ‘sunny’? How does that sound?” It almost amazed Eddie how easily he was laying it on thick with you. 

“Keep ‘specs’ gives me the chance to redeem a name from middle school. Besides, one of the other girls in drama gets called Sunny, so no dice.” You were cursing Sunny to high heaven in your head. Her real name was Mary-anne, and she only got the nickname because her last name was Sunderland. But, you didn’t need to start gaining a God complex over a fake sword, so ‘specs’ you would have to remain. 

You and Eddie continued to talk about your projects and if he had worked them into his campaign. Funnily enough, he had only used the gold handled sword since he’d never had a real inspection of the other treasures in the theatre trove. You were starting to grasp the fundamentals of D&D, and you could clearly see how fun it could be. What Eddie did with his club was sort of similar to you and the drama club - transforming, transporting, reviving. While helping him move some new stuff into place for Hellfire Club the next night, you both fell into a calm rhythm. You would suggest setting and props that could work for what he had planned in the session, and he would ‘hm’ and ‘haw’ about the place for them. You’d given him a few more fake weapons - two daggers and a wood-cutting axe - along with some weathered books and candlesticks. 

This Hellfire set was one of the best you’d worked on, and it wasn’t even for the drama club. It was still just as theatrical and imposing but was also cosy and welcoming. Kind of like Eddie, you’d realised. After the evening you had spent with the town pariah, you were even more against the vile opinions people held about him. He was a huge cheeseball, inside and out. You had handed him a huge, beat-up, leather bound bible, and he nearly shrieked with excitement as he put it on the table. Behind the hair, the leather and the bite was one of the sweetest guys ever. 

Eddie lounged back in his ornate, dark wood throne, surveying the upgraded Hellfire Club set-up. Candelabras, weaponry and some gothic patterned fabric draped over the ladder against the back wall. The place had never looked so right, so good. The best addition to the room, however, was you. You, organising the extra boxes and crates to clear up the space around the long table. You, who was giddy while dashing around the room and trying to get the fantasy-medieval-heavy metal aesthetic just right. 

“Gotta hand it to you, specs. You can craft a damn good set. Very metal.” He chimed, giving you a soft round of applause from his throne. 

“It’s all pure, raw talent, Munson.” You stated, standing proud with your hands on your hips and smiling smugly. Eddie was still glancing around the room with a look of childish wonder on his face. He’d put on the lights and bathed the room in a cosy, honey glow. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes. Wide, burnt umber, and so full of appreciation. This doe-eyed metalhead was past the point of doing it for you. You could feel the budding beginning of a crush - hadn’t had one of those since freshman year when Patrick McKinney was your biology partner for, like, two weeks. 

“You know, I used to think you were just a chair thief. I’ve wanted to put that huge thing on stage for ages, but now I’d feel bad if I accidentally tainted its reputation.��� You gestured to Eddie’s throne - you were more willing to call it that now. 

“Well, I called dibs like a year before you even started here, so there. This bad boy is dripping in my glamorous reputation. I mean, look at this butt groove.” Eddie proclaimed, standing up quickly to reveal a pretty impressive imprint in the leather seat. You were being encouraged to inspect his ass, and who were you to pass up an opportunity like that. His dark jeans hugged his legs subtly and were definitely doing him favours. “Also, it’s 6:30 now, so we should probably think about vacating the premises. Higgins gets antsy if he senses that I’m around for too long.” 

“Shit, it’s that late already? I gotta get home. I promised to watch MacGyver with my mom after dinner.” You quickly grabbed your backpack from behind the backdrops, only for some of its contents to spill onto the floor - your tapes, some almost dried-out pens and your copy of A Wizard of Earthsea. 

“Oh ho, what you got there, specs?” Eddie, ever the gentleman, gathered up your stuff but didn’t hand it over right away. A chance to see what kind of music you were into? That was far too valuable. “Some Patti, a solid choice. And… Yes. Unexpected, but I’m pleasantly surprised. Didn’t peg you for a prog rock kind of gal.” God, he was annoyingly good at this. Making you flustered but still comfortable - making you want to match him toe to toe.

“I like cool ladies and funky guitar riffs. I’m very easy to please.” 

“Noted.” He grinned. The bastard grinned from ear to ear. And you ate it up. “Anyway, you need a ride home? It’ll be dark out by now, and you can even have stereo privileges.”

Riding your bike home in the dark was always a dicey experience. You’d done it a few times after staying late at school accidentally and ended up walking most of the way since you were too worried that a car would run you off the road. Plus, Eddie had a van, so getting your bike home would be easy too. 

And control of the music? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

“That’d be great, actually! I live over on Fletcher; I think it’s kinda close to your place.”

“It’s on my route. So, let’s make like a tree.” Eddie picked up his backpack and headed towards the door, nodding for you to follow. 

You had to restrain yourself from practically skipping through the halls. Staying late for theatre stuff was always fun, but it did start to get a little lonesome. Theatre kids in Hawkins loved being on stage, but they weren’t huge fans of being behind it. 

But Eddie. He was on the stage, behind it and in the goddamn audience. He had a sort of omnipresent energy that followed him around. Most of the student body saw it as annoying, obnoxious or just plain evil, but you knew better. He was passionate - that was the best word for him. He was passionate about his game, he was passionate about his music and- 

“Specs? This your sweet ride?” Eddie asked, ringing the bell on your bike. It was a dull, low ding - your bike was old as balls, and so was the bell. 

“Yep. That’s her. Gorgeous, right?” You boasted, slapping the bike seat. The bike had been your mom’s many moons ago, and while it was a senior citizen, it was still a great shiny silver. Isopropyl and a wire brush kept her pretty. 

“Maybe a little old for my tastes, but got the silver fox thing going, which is doing- something for me.” There he went again - the invitation, the tease to keep the banter going. You were about to quip back at him when he hauled your bike onto his shoulder. He held it so carefully even though it was just a bike. “Van’s across the lot, so I’ll carry the old girl. Come on.” 

You just nodded, maybe a little too excitedly, but better than talking with your foot in your mouth. You jogged a little to catch up with Eddie, falling into a brisk pace with him. It was early October, and the wind was starting to get its bite back. 

But you couldn’t help but feel a little warmer when you watched Eddie awkwardly shift himself and wrestle to get your bike in the back of his van. 

[almostarts]

Donald Judd, "Chair 84" (1991)

In the early 1970s, Donald Judd began to design furniture for 101 Spring Street in New York. His first designs were a wood bed and metal sinks. In 1977, he returned to furniture design through necessity; he needed pieces for his children’s bedrooms in Marfa, Texas, and pieces for the entire residence.

By 1984, Judd had designed a range of wood furniture including a bed, desk, and a daybed; and metal furniture including chairs, benches, beds, and a table. That same year, Judd had his first exhibition of metal furniture at Max Protetch in New York. From 1984 to 1993, he continued to develop new designs. At this time he began writing in more formal terms about furniture and his approach to design, fabrication, sales, and distribution.

Fundamental to Judd’s designs are his specifications regarding dimensions, material type, finish, and construction of each piece. Judd specified that the quality remain high, a considered approached given that fabrication of the furniture involved the expertise and handwork of both local carpenters and master craftsmen. He selected fabricators he entrusted with the interpretations of his designs, working directly with them to develop and refine his desired level of quality."

~ From Donald Judd Foundation

Manufacturer: Wood & Plywood Furniture, USA

Date: 1991/2006

Dimensions: 15 W x 15 D x 30 H

Material: Laminate over plywood.

This model, constructed of a deep greenish black laminate over plywood, was manufactured in 2006.

Pictures Courtesy of Forsyth Art

[federicocortese]

“The swimmer”, oil on wood panel (plywood), 44 x 14 cm, 2023.

Imaginary portrait of a boy floating on the water. The uncertainty of the image induces the viewer to think about a boy swimming in the sea as well as about a memory from a dream, where the base concept is the fusion among the subject and the environment, a deep unity between things, where boundaries disappear.

This original painting is available for sale at the price of 295 US$, shipping is worldwide free. Contact me in case you are interested in more information about my work, or the availability for work on graphics.