Client changed their mind. Again. Third time on the same table design.
Starting to wonder if they actually want a table at all.
Here is where we are: Three months ago, a couple commissioned me to build a dining table. Walnut, live edge, seats eight. Pretty straightforward – I have built probably forty tables like this over the years. We agreed on a price, they paid their 50% deposit, and I ordered the slab.
Then the emails started.
Version 1.0
Original design: book-matched walnut slabs, butterfly keys in the natural crack, steel trestle base powder-coated black. Classic modern farmhouse look. I sent over SketchUp renderings, they approved, I started flattening the slabs.
Got about six hours into the flattening when the email came. We have been thinking…
Never good words to hear from a client, especially when you are already covered in walnut dust.
Version 2.0
Now they wanted a different base. Wood instead of steel. Specifically, a trestle base made from the same walnut, with through-tenons and wedges. Okay, fine. More work, but a beautiful detail. I quoted an additional four hundred dollars for the material and labor, they agreed, and I revised the drawings.
Cut the tenon stock. Laid out the joinery. Started chopping mortises in the trestle feet.
Email arrives. We have been looking at Pinterest…
Version 3.0
Pinterest. Of course. Now they want a waterfall edge. For those not in the know, that is when the slab wraps around the end of the table, so the grain flows continuously from the top down the leg. It looks spectacular. It also requires cutting the slab – the slab I have already flattened – at a 45-degree angle and losing about 18 inches of length.
I explained this. I explained that the table would now seat six, not eight. I explained that we would need to buy additional walnut for the other end because you can only do a waterfall on one side with a single slab. I explained that this was an additional six hundred dollars in materials and a complete restart on the base design.
They said they would think about it.
The Real Problem
Here is what I have learned after twenty years in this business: some clients do not want a piece of furniture. They want the process. They want the fantasy of having something custom-made. The emails, the design changes, the Pinterest boards – it is entertainment for them. The table is almost secondary.
I have also learned that there is a direct correlation between the number of design changes and the likelihood of eventually hearing we have decided to go in a different direction or our budget has changed.
Right now, I have got about eight hundred dollars in walnut sitting in my shop, plus fifteen hours of labor. If they bail, my 50% deposit covers the material but not the time. That is on me – my contract should have been tighter.
What I Should Have Done
A design lock date. That is the thing I forgot to put in the contract. After client approval, any design changes reset the project and require a new deposit. No exceptions.
I used to think that was too rigid. Too unfriendly. Now I think it is basic self-preservation. Custom furniture is collaboration, but there has to be a point where collaboration ends and execution begins.
The other thing: change fees. Every revision after the initial approval should cost money. Not to be punitive, but to make the client think before they email. When changes are free, they come fast and often. When there is a two hundred dollar revision fee, suddenly those Pinterest ideas get vetted a lot more carefully before they reach my inbox.
Where We Are Now
I sent an email this morning outlining the three options: revert to the original steel-base design and stay on schedule; proceed with the waterfall edge at increased cost and delayed delivery; or terminate the project with a partial refund of their deposit minus materials and labor already invested.
Radio silence so far. They are probably looking at Pinterest again.
In the meantime, I have got other projects to work on. A cherry blanket chest, a set of Shaker-style end tables, a shop cart I have been meaning to build for myself for about three years. The walnut slabs will wait. They have already waited a hundred years to become a tree; they can wait a few more weeks to become a table.
If they ever decide what kind of table they want.
Sometimes I think I should just make furniture and sell it. None of this commission drama. But then someone comes along with a clear vision, pays their deposit, and lets me work. Those projects remind me why I do this.
This one is reminding me to update my contract.
