In Concord, that compositional instinct meets a design culture steeped in restraint, where the grey-to-black veining of Black Limba does not compete with a room but quietly organizes it, lending structure the way a pen stroke gives meaning to a blank page. The heartwood's golden brown ground reads warmer here against New England's cooler palettes, and the indistinct border between sapwood and heartwood becomes an asset rather than a limitation—panels can be sequenced so the transition feels atmospheric, almost weather-like, shifting from pale greyish tones to deep amber without a single hard line. It is wood that darkens with age, which means a Concord installation commissioned this year will look subtly different five years from now, the streaks deepening, the contrast sharpening, the surface acquiring the kind of earned gravity that this market respects. That same temporal quality—the sense that the material is still becoming itself—is what makes Black Limba so compelling as it continues south toward Cookeville, where the conversation around figuring shifts from atmospheric subtlety to something altogether more deliberate.