A G U I S E

A G U I S E
a Tuxedo sofa byJasonKoharik 2025
Shown in linen and silk dust-rose brush fringe welt. Hardwood hand tied spring construction with feather down wrap pillow back and seat cushion with a mahogany plinth base. Designed with a special notched lapel offering anew look to a simple line.
— The Tuxedo sofa; a notable design emerging from the early deco movement  out of the 1920s. Named for the upscale community of Tuxedo Park, New York.
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AGUISE 
a sofa byJasonKoharik 2025
Recently I had a discussion with a contemporary I respect deeply; about a conflicting idea of where design comes from “The inspiration” —a word I generally avoid & actually very much dislike — The discussion was not of mine but other designers work—“Inspiration”, I said, “is reserved for that which makes you want to be a better person.”— “Evoke, that is a word most applicable.”
“I’ll share a story”, I told her: 
This is a sofa. I designed it. I built the frame. It is a rectangle. It is as simple as it comes. A tuxedo sofa; named after a wealthy area in New York,1920s.
I designed it in a mildly intentional mid-life “creation? Re-creation?” Finding myself the age I am. Lovingly Separate— a partnership. A beautiful & brilliant son. Cared for deeply. Both living in a home I am able to provide. I, happily lonely in a small pied-a-terre, tucked in the hill side nearby—Filled with my lighting & furniture, art & sculpture, cherished books & artifacts. My single voice alone. I wanted a sofa that evoked long sun shadows. Stone fruit by moonlight. Sanguine stares, fixed eyes,piercing past shoulder blades & collar bones. Over broken bindings; encyclopedias. 
Chess games that last 3 years. Amaro. Hand crushed ice. Warm milk ,espresso—honeybees. The end of a record. Ill-matched silverware. Tan skin. White sheets. Anything with thorns. Poison everything. An occasional misplaced crimson bikini. No expectations. Large bills as bookmarks. Puzzles; missing pieces. Dried water colour pallets. Market florals wrapped in newsprint. Strewn. The quiet thoughts of a childhood nostalgia. Clouds low & slow, looming. Lake water. Loons, larks. Heat lightning. An abandoned french horn in the attic. Mint tea. Clay cups. Thrifted crystal ashtrays. A broken stair. Perspiration. A pencil revered. Eric Romer’s “La Collectioneuse”
I designed a sofa from the inside out to fill this seemingly wasteful, perhaps superficial, borderline mythological, void in my heart. Cursed Honesty—
“That’s the short version.“—
“That is how I work,” I said. “Other designers do it differently. Their way seems to be an intention which yields success.”
“My way yields fulfillment “

Price This Configuration $12,500

Size 98” w x 36”d x 30h