![N00DLE [ made ]](http://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/69dea82dd2729579982612a2/7f21f7df-2712-4491-a130-e6f8db5f4c4d/Screenshot+2026-04-14+12.58.58+PM.png?format=1500w)
He was born not from a clutch of roe hidden in a gravel bed, but from the sharp, deliberate bite of a carving knife and a piece of weathered cedar found along the banks.
His anchor is a stone, plucked straight from the cold, emerald shallows of the Middle Fork of the Snoqualmie River. Dark, heavy, and marbled with streaks of white quartz, the river rock was smoothed by centuries of rushing glacial meltwater. It remembers the relentless push of the mountain currents, and so, too, does the fish it holds.
Suspended above the stone by a tightly coiled brass spring, the wooden trout is a creature of kinetic memory. He is rough-hewn—his gills cut deep into the grain, his dorsal fin sharp, and a single, determined eye etched into his side. He wasn't carved to be a perfect, polished replica; he was carved to capture a feeling.
Most wooden sculptures sit still, trapped in the rigid silence of their materials. But not him. Caught in a sudden draft or awakened by a gentle tap, the brass spring comes alive. The wood blurs into sudden, frantic motion. He vibrates and dips, his tail kicking wildly as he swims against the phantom currents of an invisible river. He dances on his tether, perfectly mimicking the frantic, beautiful tremor of a wild trout holding its ground in a turbulent Snoqualmie eddy.
He may rest upon a shelf, miles away from the damp pine air and the roar of the valley, but he is never truly still. Bound to his river stone, he is forever swimming upstream, fighting the rapids of a river he carries in his very grain.
fir, brass & granite
2 × 4 × 6”h
He was born not from a clutch of roe hidden in a gravel bed, but from the sharp, deliberate bite of a carving knife and a piece of weathered cedar found along the banks.
His anchor is a stone, plucked straight from the cold, emerald shallows of the Middle Fork of the Snoqualmie River. Dark, heavy, and marbled with streaks of white quartz, the river rock was smoothed by centuries of rushing glacial meltwater. It remembers the relentless push of the mountain currents, and so, too, does the fish it holds.
Suspended above the stone by a tightly coiled brass spring, the wooden trout is a creature of kinetic memory. He is rough-hewn—his gills cut deep into the grain, his dorsal fin sharp, and a single, determined eye etched into his side. He wasn't carved to be a perfect, polished replica; he was carved to capture a feeling.
Most wooden sculptures sit still, trapped in the rigid silence of their materials. But not him. Caught in a sudden draft or awakened by a gentle tap, the brass spring comes alive. The wood blurs into sudden, frantic motion. He vibrates and dips, his tail kicking wildly as he swims against the phantom currents of an invisible river. He dances on his tether, perfectly mimicking the frantic, beautiful tremor of a wild trout holding its ground in a turbulent Snoqualmie eddy.
He may rest upon a shelf, miles away from the damp pine air and the roar of the valley, but he is never truly still. Bound to his river stone, he is forever swimming upstream, fighting the rapids of a river he carries in his very grain.
fir, brass & granite
2 × 4 × 6”h