Process
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Preparing the Rimu Panel.
We had to dust off the panel and made sure that it was square on all 4 sides. That meant planing the wood so that it makes a perfect rectangle. (Refer below for a little bit more back story on the planing of the wood)
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Framing the panel.
With the panel square we then assembled a mitered frame to wrap the panel in out of reclaimed Rimu
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Pouring the Epoxy
We then mixed up some Entropy casting resin mixing with a transparent amber pearl and opaque metallic copper, to create a gradient along the length of the table.
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Sanding the surface
Once the epoxy cured, we wet sanded the epoxy flush with the timber revealing the final look.
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Finish epoxy coat
We then finished the top by adding a coat of table top epoxy, to add a heat and waterproof coating to the top of the table.
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The infinite search for legs
When we created the top, we had not fully conceived the entire table, or what it would ultimately look like, and what's its function would be. We were initially leading towards a side table, and even made a few prototype legs to that end, but nothing seemed correct. It didn't work. Eventually (read a couple of years later) we were walking through Bunnings, when we saw a set of bed legs, and the idea hit us. We immediately bought them and attached them to the top and we had what had eluded us for so long, a beautiful Rimu lap desk with replaceable legs so you could change the height depending on your wishes.
Planing of the wood back story
As Anthony prepared to plane the wood, he made an unexpected discovery—a split running through the middle. It didn't go the whole way though, just a little under halfway. Concerned, I voiced my worry that it might worsen, but he assured me it wouldn't. I told him that the angle wasn't that bad and that we planned to encase the entire piece in epoxy anyways so it wouldn't be that noticeable. Yet, against my reservations, he attempted to plane it not once, not twice, but three times. Unfortunately, on the third attempt, the inevitable happened—the wood caught in the plane, resulting in a clean split. I was speechless, feeling a surge of frustration, I retreated into the house, leaving Anthony in the garage.
As I busied myself cooking dinner, I heard the door creak open and the sound of Anthony's footsteps approaching. Determined to avoid adding fuel to the fire, I decided to hold my tongue. Then, unexpectedly, he uttered those three simple words: "I was wrong."
In that moment, laughter bubbled up within me. Seeing his crestfallen expression, my annoyance melted away. How could I stay mad when faced with such humble acknowledgment of error?
