Notes on Sap

Every material should lead us back to its origins.

In developing covellite's first bathroom collection, I found myself following many trails. Some were already familiar. Others led into entirely new territory.

Some are easy to follow. Clay leads back to the earth. Stone to a quarry. Steel to ore buried beneath the ground.

Others are less obvious.

As the collection evolved, I spent countless hours exploring materials, manufacturing processes and the natural origins of things we often take for granted. The little kid in me still lights up when discovering a new path, particularly one that disappears beyond the next bend.

Some trails led to ceramics. Others led to recycled materials, glazes and manufacturing communities spread across different parts of the world.

This trail led beneath a canopy.

Not to the gum trees that define much of the Australian landscape, nor the Japanese maple whose delicate leaves drift across grey autumn skies. Instead, it led to a tree native to the Amazon Basin, Hevea brasiliensis, more commonly known as the rubber tree, one whose milky sap would travel far beyond its origins and, over time, become deeply rooted across the landscapes of Southeast Asia.

My guiding principle was simple: begin with materials whose origins can be traced back to nature.

The trail began while searching for a material solution for one of the larger pieces within the collection. I needed a material that could quietly perform a practical role within a wet environment while softening the meeting point between ceramic and stainless steel.

The search eventually led me to sap.

At first, it seemed an unlikely place to begin. A honey like substance often revealed after a wound or cut to the bark. Yet the more I followed the trail, the more I came to appreciate that sap is not merely a by-product of a tree. It forms part of a much larger story of protection, repair, resilience and transformation. And, as it turns out, the beginning of a material many of us interact with every day.

The rubber tree surprised me. Like many everyday materials, rubber exists so comfortably in the background of our lives that its origins are rarely considered. Yet standing at the beginning of its story, I found a remarkable tree with a journey of its own.

Native to the Amazon Basin, the rubber tree now grows extensively throughout Southeast Asia. Countries such as Thailand, Indonesia, Vietnam and Malaysia have become home to vast plantations that produce much of the world's natural rubber. Stretching more than twenty metres into the canopy when mature, these trees may spend six or seven years growing before a single drop of latex is collected.

That passage of time stayed with me.

Long before a material reaches a factory, years have already passed. Seasons have come and gone. Roots have spread. Trunks have thickened. The tree has quietly gone about the business of growing.

The harvesting process itself is surprisingly gentle. A shallow cut is made into the bark, allowing latex to slowly flow into a collection cup. The tree is not felled. It continues growing and producing, often for decades.

What fascinated me most was that latex is only one part of the story. The deeper I looked, the more I realised how many ways people have worked with the rubber tree over generations. Beyond latex, different parts of the tree contribute to timber, oils, soaps, coatings and other products that eventually find their way into homes and industries around the world. Nature, it seems, rarely produces a single outcome. One tree can support many possibilities.

Gradually, my attention shifted. What began as an exploration of rubber became an appreciation for the tree itself and the many paths that emerge from it.

That appreciation led to another question.

If natural rubber begins with a tree, how does it become the material we eventually encounter?

At first, I imagined a simple sequence. Tree to sap. Sap to rubber. Rubber to product.

The reality was more nuanced.

Like clay, timber, stone, steel and countless other materials, natural rubber undergoes transformation before it reaches its final form. What begins as latex eventually becomes part of a carefully developed material designed to perform a particular function.

What stayed with me was not the complexity of the material itself, but the relationship between origin and outcome. The tree provides a starting point, while generations of knowledge, experimentation and manufacturing shape what follows.

The story became more layered still when I discovered that not every rubber material begins with a tree. Many of the rubber products used throughout modern life are synthetic, developed to perform under conditions where alternative properties are required.

I wasn't looking for a debate between natural and synthetic materials. What interested me was the path itself. The further I looked, the more I realised that materials rarely follow a straight line from origin to outcome. They evolve. They adapt. They respond to different needs and different environments.

Somewhere within that exploration, the original design challenge quietly remained. The material I had been searching for eventually found its place within the collection, though not in a way most people would immediately notice. Its role is modest. It sits quietly alongside other materials, performing a task that is both practical and often overlooked.

Yet knowing where that material began changed the way I thought about it. It was no longer simply a component. It was part of a story that stretched across continents, climates, forests and decades of growth.

The search began with a practical question about a bathroom collection.

It led me back to a tree.

Further Reading

Bhattacharjee, A., Bhowmik, M., Paul, C., Chowdhury, B. D., & Debnath, B. (2021). Rubber Tree (Hevea brasiliensis): From Latex Production to Multi-Purpose Applications. Industrial Crops and Products, 174, 114186.