A sofa, the kind that holds a family in it for ten years, is not a product you assemble in a week. It is an architecture — of frame, of joinery, of tension — and architectures are built at the speed of their materials. Our frames are ash, kiln-dried, with a moisture reading written in pencil on the end grain. A board at six percent will sit still in a home for thirty years. A board at twelve will fight the room. The difference is a few weeks and a great deal of patience.
The rest of the schedule follows from the frame. Eight-way hand-tying takes a day — sometimes two. Down wrap takes another. Fabric, once cut, is pulled and tacked by a single upholsterer across the span of a piece because handing a sofa off mid-build is how seams stop matching themselves. By the time a customer sees the finished object, every stage has already taken its own time, and every stage has been done once, by one person.
Twelve to sixteen weeks is not a delay. It is the work, measured honestly, and the reason the sofa is still in the room when the room has been changed twice around it.