DIY Drive, Open-Source Plans & ‘Choose Your Adventure’ Spirit: Q&A with Andrew Doxtater
Andrew Doxtater started building furniture the way a lot of our favorite projects here at Pilot begin —by following a hunch, using what he had, and figuring the rest out as he went. But what sets Doxtater apart isn’t just his instinct or hands-on skill — it’s that a simple, self-initiated build became a global touchpoint for design-minded makers. Since then, he’s cultivated a practice that feels as much like a design ethos as it does an open invitation — a kind of choose-your-own-adventure, for himself and for anyone ready to build alongside him.
In just a few years, Doxtater has carved out a space in the furniture and design world — not through traditional channels, but by creating pieces that carry, “an invitation to interact.” His breakthrough came with the release of his self-designed slotted chair, a project that not only showcased his eye for form but also sparked a global community when he chose to make the plans free and accessible.
Since then, he’s continued to expand his practice while navigating creative visibility in the internet age. We caught up with Andrew to talk about how it all started, why sharing became a core part of his process, and what it means to design from a place of resourcefulness, curiosity, and shared experimentation.
Photo by Nathan Cook
Pilot: I’d love to hear how you first got into furniture. Was it through design, art, or something else entirely?
Andrew: I feel like I’ve always been doing some kind of creative work. I was super into music, still am, and at one point I studied to be a recording engineer. But during the pandemic, I started noticing furniture design more. I’d see certain pieces pop up and think, This looks fun. One of the first was a Pierre Jeanneret office chair. I remember thinking, I could make that. I had handy skills I learned growing up from my dad and grandfather, so I went and grabbed some pallets I could see from my window. They were just sitting across the street. I thought, Why not try? So I started tinkering with what I had.
It took a lot of screwing around to get it right, but eventually I remade the chair. Through that, I built a lot of confidence, and I realized I really cared about this stuff. I got deep into researching furniture design and understanding who made what, how it worked. It just snowballed from there.
Pilot: And did it click for you right away, like, this is the kind of work I want to explore?
Andrew: Yeah, 100 percent. That chair was the project that really unlocked it for me.
Pilot: It’s not exactly a plug-and-play medium, you need tools, space, materials. How did you navigate that?
Andrew: I was lucky. My dad has a garage that’s kitted out, every tool you can imagine. From growing up and doing projects with him or with my grandfather, I already had some experience. My grandfather was super innovative with his repair jobs and also really into art, so it was this mix of practicality and creativity. When the idea to build something hit, I already had a space and tools at my disposal. I thought, Okay, I know exactly how I can at least try this.
Photo by Nicolai Papove Gregory
Pilot: You’ve mentioned that your work often shows the life of the material — scratches, dents, marks. How conscious is that?
Andrew: I don’t think it was something I set out to always include, but it’s become a common thread in everything I do. I like when something has a visible history, when it’s not perfectly refined or sterile.
“There’s something human about letting the imperfections show—something unrefined that makes the object feel honest.”
It’s a nice contrast to the kind of cookie-cutter, factory-made look. You can see a story in the material. It tells you it’s been used, touched, moved through time. That adds character, and I think it makes people relate to the object differently.
Pilot: That connection probably plays into how sculptural your work feels. Even though it’s furniture, it always looks like it could sit in a gallery.
Andrew: Yeah, I want everything I make to be usable, or at least interactive, if it’s more on the sculptural side. But none of this was super planned. I just go from idea to idea. Over time, you start to see these patterns emerge. Sculptural elements show up a lot, but there’s always a point of interaction. The rock lamp, for example, is meant to be repositioned however you like. The brutal table has a multifunctional centerpiece. I want the work to exist between utility and art.
Pilot: That spirit really comes through in how you shared your chair plans. When did you decide to make them public?
Andrew: That started with a video I posted of me making the chair. It was my first original design. At the time, no one was really following me, just friends, but the video picked up some traction. People kept commenting, I want to make this, where are the plans? That kind of pushed me to consider it. I thought, Okay, maybe this should exist.
Pilot: And you made them free, were just willing to serve that need. What went into that decision?
Andrew: I still think about that a lot. My answer keeps evolving. But initially, it just felt right. I thought it could be a way to connect with a community, get my name out there, spread the project around a bit. I was hoping, at best, a few dozen people might try building it. I never thought anyone would actually give a shit. But then it kind of exploded once I released the plans. Now I get builds sent to me from all over the world.
Pilot: That’s so refreshing, and really subversive. Pilot’s community includes many emerging creatives, learning how to build their brands, and I think what you did is really inspiring. We’re all super obsessed with ownership aren’t we, as sort of a default. So it’s cool that you went in a different direction.
Andrew: For sure. It’s been super fulfilling. But it also comes with its own weird challenges. There are people selling the free plans, or using my face or videos to promote themselves. I’ve even seen scammy sites pretending to be me to sell knockoff versions of the templates. It’s wild. But at the end of the day, it’s still been worth it. I’ve had people tell me they’d never built anything before, and this chair got them into woodworking, maybe got their uncle or neighbour involved. That’s the part that sticks with me.
Pilot: How do you feel like you sustained your energy through all this? And at that time, you were also working on other pieces?
Andrew: Yeah, I was working on a thicker, more premium version of the chair, that’s actually when burnout hit a bit. But I’d also been designing the brutal table kind of in parallel. So that gave me something new to focus on.
Pilot: That table feels like something out of a dream, incredibly imaginative. I feel like it can be tough to take an idea like that, so innovative, and give it shape in the real world. How did you actually bring it to life?
Andrew: Honestly, seeing how people responded to the chair gave me the push. It made me feel like I could make something people would connect with. I’d never welded before, but my dad had a welder in the garage. I asked him to show me how to use it. I didn’t know how to make a table, so I researched dimensions online. I used what was around me.
The tack welds you see on the table—those were just the first step. You’re technically supposed to grind them down to make it clean and smooth. But I stopped halfway and thought, This actually looks kind of great—like it’s frozen mid-process. So I left them.
Pilot: And the spiked tray?
Andrew: That was kind of funny. I’d finished the table and added flowers to the center tray, and they all just flopped over. I needed something to hold them up, so I thought, What can I add in here? I filled it with spikes, and it just worked. Visually, it looked great too. Later, a student from Carleton University, Kyle Allan, reached out and helped me refine the design. So even that part kept evolving. None of it was planned, it all came together step by step.
Nathan Cook
Pilot: That idea—using your limitations to shape the piece—feels really central to your process.
Andrew: Definitely. That’s how the oval rocker came about too. I didn’t know how to design a chair properly, but I understood plywood, and I knew how slotted joints worked. It was the simplest way to make something functional without hardware. The whole design was dictated by the tools and skills I had at the time.
Pilot: And that kind of constraint has become its own style, a part of your visual language.
Andrew: Yeah, I think most of my pieces are shaped by whatever’s around me—what I know how to do and what I’ve got access to. That’s what sets the limits, and from there I follow the thread.
Quickfire Round
Fictional character you’d love to get a commission from?
My gut says Shrek. He’d want something made from whatever’s lying around. Big plank energy.
A material you haven’t used yet but want to?
Glass. I want to make some kind of hand-blown light fixture or object. That’s on my radar.
If you could build anything with no restrictions—blueprints and rights handed to you—what would it be?
An Eames lounge chair. Just to see if I could pull it off.
Kill / Kiss / Marry. The Cesca chair, the Jombus tile lamp, and the Eames lounger?
Kiss: Tile lamp. It’s fun, weird, and kissable.
Marry: Eames lounger. Iconic.
Kill: The millions of Cesca dupes flooding the world.
What’s the soundtrack to your studio?
Lately, a lot of Oasis. “Wonderwall” radio on shuffle. Also anything produced by The Alchemist—Action Bronson, Earl Sweatshirt, Larry June. It pairs well with my process.
