Canvus: Turning Decommissioned Wind Turbine Blades Into Park Benches and "Functional Art"

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Overview

Every year, thousands of fiberglass wind turbine blades come down, and they are hard to recycle by conventional means. On this episode of the Manufacturing Happy Hour podcast, Brian Donahue of Canvus, a company based in Avon, Ohio, explains how the company cuts those blades into benches, planters, and tables for public spaces. Brian covers where the idea came from, how the team built a manufacturing process with no precedent, how it hires and leads craftspeople, and how the company has built a community and storytelling platform around the products. Brian's view throughout is that the physical product is the foundation, and that the people who make it matter as much as the equipment.

20 min read

The One-Minute Pitch

Asked to explain Canvus as if over a drink, Brian starts with the material. Wind turbine blades are long, heavy, and made of fiberglass, which is "not a very recyclable material" by traditional methods. Canvus approached the problem differently. It cuts the blades into what it calls "filets" and turns them into benches, planters, and tables that people can use in public spaces.

Why So Many Blades Come Down

The host cited a figure of 5,000 to 8,000 blades taken down each year, and Brian confirmed it as a historical range. He gave two reasons for removal: repowering and decommissioning. According to Brian, a well-maintained turbine can run anywhere from about 15 to 30 years, depending on location and conditions.

Government incentives over the past 10 to 15 years, he said, made it financially attractive to take down turbines that had been up only 10 or 12 years, before the end of their useful life. Because the technology had improved, operators could replace a roughly 1-megawatt turbine with a 2.5- or 3-megawatt one on the same footprint and produce two and a half to three times the power. The larger turbines need larger blades and equipment, so the old ones come down. The metal components and the fluids, oils, and hydraulics have established disposal routes. The fiberglass blades, Brian said, were something nobody had thought about when they went up, and the industry then had to figure out what to do with them.

Origin: Adding Value Where Others Weren't

Many of the Canvus founders came from another company, which Brian described as more of a broker. It handled the metals, which he noted have been recycled "for a 100 years at least" by sending them to a scrapyard or steel mill, and the fluids, a field he said already has around 200 companies in it. The team wanted to add value by solving the problem nobody else had.

In Brian's account, the first blades taken down were simply cut up and sent to local landfills. Once the media and environmentalists picked up that narrative, the wind industry "took a bit of a PR beating," because a green, renewable industry was burying blades that would sit in landfills for a very long time. Brian said that durability is exactly what Canvus values in the blade.

The alternatives he described all involved destroying the blade. One option was shredding it for use as fuel in cement kilns, with the ash becoming a component of the cement. Another was grinding it into aggregate or filler for roads. Both required an intermediate step of reducing a 140- to 175-foot blade into 2- to 3-inch pieces, which Brian called intensive work that is "really abusive on equipment." The host mentioned other ideas, such as using blades as highway sound barriers. Brian did not discuss those; he focused on why the team chose its own approach.

Parker Kosi, whom Brian calls the first founder of Canvus, had been tasked at the earlier company, Rivercap, with finding a better alternative for the company's renewable-industry partners. Parker came to the team one day and pointed out that if you cut the blade a certain way and set it on its side, it becomes a surface you can sit on. Brian says the team immediately thought it was "an incredible idea." Parker started Canvus about three years ago. He first brought on his college roommate Seth, who has an architecture degree and was primarily responsible for the early designs and for working out how the products would be made. Parker then brought in his sister Kayla, who runs strategic growth: infrastructure and processes across manufacturing, sales, and marketing. Brian was asked to join for his experience in sales, marketing, and go-to-market strategy. Other staff came from the previous company, and many were hired from outside. Brian summed up the core insight: it is much easier to cut a blade into filets with a rope saw than to grind it into 2- to 3-inch pieces.

Why Ohio

The initial reason was simply that the team was already there. Because they were building a manufacturing facility "truly unlike any other in the world," they wanted it close enough to keep an eye on while getting it running. People objected that the wind farms are in Texas, Oklahoma, Oregon, and elsewhere. Brian said many upcoming projects are in Upstate New York, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Illinois, so the location worked out well, and the company can bring blades from Iowa to Cleveland.

He was open that a larger question is unresolved. The team has discussed whether to open multiple manufacturing locations around the country, closer to supply and demand, or to keep expanding in Ohio and bring blades there. "We haven't landed on that yet," he said.

Building a Process With No Playbook

The facility is a former distribution warehouse. Asked how you build a roadmap for a manufacturing process nobody has done before, Brian began with a joke that was also partly an answer: you shut off the rest of your life and work 70 to 90 hours a week, with some alcohol on the late nights to get the creative juices flowing. More seriously, he described a group of people with strong opinions and a lot of tenacity, committed to solving a real problem and bouncing ideas off each other.

He called the novelty a double-edged sword. Competitively, it is great to be the only company making public-space products from wind turbine blades. But there is no playbook, and "no Googling you can do" to find out what equipment you need. The team had to decide in parallel how big a facility they needed and where it should be. They settled on one about 20 minutes from headquarters, which mattered because early on they were practically "living in" the facility, which they call a Production Studio. The building is 110,000 square feet. It was a bare box with the racking removed, which Brian described, "no pun intended," as a blank canvas. The team designed the facility layout through computer modeling "10 to 15 times" to work out the process flow. For each piece of equipment, the procurement team brought about 15 options, which the team debated before choosing.

Advice for Leaders Starting From a Blank Canvas

Brian's first piece of advice for manufacturing leaders starting something new is to be prepared for more tenacity than you ever thought you'd need, and to stick with it. His second is that "nothing great is ever built alone," so you should lean on partners.

He used equipment sourcing as an example. The team knew it needed a rope saw that could cut fiberglass blades. Such saws exist for concrete and for large pieces of wood, but the one Canvus ended up with came from Italy and is designed to cut marble and granite slabs for countertops. Cutting fiberglass also meant they needed substantial dust collection.

Beyond the big equipment, a facility needs bolts, sandpaper, dust masks, and many other supplies. Canvus partnered with Grainger, which Brian described as having almost everything a manufacturing facility needs. Grainger walked through the facility and handled the smaller needs, "the sundries and the nuts and bolts," so the core team could focus on the big vision and the main equipment. He mentioned other partners without naming them.

He argued that being new was an advantage. In his experience visiting many manufacturing facilities, companies often start production and only a year or two in realize they want to make everything efficient, when "the horse is out of the barn" and it is hard to stop and regroup. Canvus had the luxury of designing for efficiency from the start.

Standardizing a Product Where Every Piece Is Different

Every filet is unique; even two pieces cut side by side have different shapes. Brian described the company's approach as a hybrid. At one end is Ford, which he said turns out something like eight cars per minute (he cautioned he might be misremembering the number) through heavy automation. At the other is Aston Martin, where people stitch leather and assemble cars by hand. Canvus has to combine the two. The most automation it can apply is the rope saw cutting blades into filets, which he calls the "Ford side." After that, the work goes to craftspeople.

Canvus deliberately hired craftspeople who knew how to build things (houses, decks, cabinets, concrete work) rather than people with fiberglass experience or experience pouring the rubber the company uses in its benches. Blades get banged up in the air and dragged across the ground when they come down, so they carry scars. The workers smooth these out with a lot of Bondo, which Brian compared to working in an auto body shop. The cut edge would be uncomfortable to sit on because of wood and glass splinters, so they fill it with compounds to create a smooth edge. Brian said the workers learned quickly and enjoy the work.

Hiring, Leading, and Knowing When to Close the Suggestion Box

Asked for advice on setting standards for highly custom products, Brian returned to hiring. He believes it is worth paying "a little above market" for the right people. Canvus has benefited greatly from referrals, with workers recommending meticulous people they knew from other trades.

He stressed vetting leaders carefully, comparing hiring to speed dating: an hour or two of interviews and then "you're expected to get married." Leaders are the people who keep the operation running once the founding team returns to focusing on sales and marketing.

His other point was specific to craftspeople. The right ones tend to be perfectionists with lots of ideas. Brian said, "not in a disrespectful way," that the company has to know when to "shut the suggestion box." Otherwise there will be ten ideas for every problem and nothing will move forward. Everyone has to accept that the chosen solution may not be the best of the ten, make a decision, and move on.

Asked what leadership trait matters most, Brian described something like "noise cancelling": strong conviction and not reacting to every little thing. He contrasted this with leaders who see themselves as a shoulder to cry on and tell everyone things will be fine, while people bring them problems in the hope the leader will solve them. He said he has never worked in a setting where that works, though it might in some. He wants leaders who don't abandon their people but who turn a problem back with "what do you think we should do?" They should be able to acknowledge that a startup doing something new is hard, that the team may be a week behind instead of a week ahead, and still rally people. Rallying the troops is easy in good times, he said, and hard when you're setting things up.

Functional Art and Working With Artists

Brian said calling the output "products" or "furniture" is somewhat misleading. The brand team, early on with Parker and Seth, called it "functional art." Customers can order products with a finish called "primed and ready" (PAR), which means white primer and no finished coat of paint. Artists can come to the Design Studio at the Avon facility and paint them. Canvus does not tell them what to paint. They submit a design for approval, and Brian said he would be surprised if one were ever rejected; it hasn't happened yet. Products can also be shipped out for local artists to paint. At the time of recording, 10 products were headed to Austin, Texas, to be painted by artists there.

Canvus set aside 10,000 of its 110,000 square feet as a gallery. Executives from turbine and blade manufacturers, the wind industry, and partners such as Grainger and Cintas visit because they have never heard of a bench made from a turbine blade. The gallery shows the products in mock cityscapes with artificial turf. The team built walls from blade tips to divide the space, which looked "really boring" until a local artist painted a mural on them. Artists were brought in for two other large walls, and those artists came back to paint products.

Brian described how word spreads in Cleveland's art community, which he called thriving for "a smaller big city." One artist who painted a wall has a partner who, Brian said, was Cleveland artist of the year about three years running. The two returned and each painted a piece, and both pieces are now at the Great Lakes Science Center in downtown Cleveland. Artists share their work on Instagram, which exposes Canvus to new audiences. Brian noted that artists always want surfaces to paint and often press city halls for walls, and Canvus provides that surface area. In return, the Canvus team promotes the artists. Cities in Indiana have asked for a Cleveland artist whose work they saw. A dedicated team manages this PAR program. Brian, who says his own artistic ability stops at stick figures, finds it deeply satisfying to watch artists transform the pieces and communities receive them.

Manufacturing as the Foundation of Community

The company's stated mission is building a collaborative brand that inspires community. Brian said the marketing team calls it a brand, while he goes "lofty" and calls it a movement. Either way, the products are the cornerstone. They lead to collaborations with families (Legacy benches), national brands (Sponsor a Space), and partners like Grainger, and those collaborations create experiences. According to Brian, communities often call Canvus first after a delivery, surprised by how big, well made, and cool the products are. In Austin, he said, several events are planned where people can watch artists paint the pieces.

That is why Canvus put heavy emphasis on manufacturing quality. Products that fall apart or chip within a year would undermine everything built on top of them. Brian said the company "over-engineered everything." Where composite would do, it used aluminum. Where one coat of paint would work, it applied two. It uses the kind of paint applied to roller coasters and train cars. Cities appreciate that graffiti can be power-washed off without damaging the finish. Brian acknowledged the company "could definitely get away with less," but called cutting corners a bad move in manufacturing: better to make a better product and sell more of it.

How Communities Get Benches: Legacy Benches and Sponsor a Space

A business development team contacts communities across the US. Some communities simply buy the products and install them, and there have been transactions like that. Many, though, lack room in their budget or face approval processes and red tape. Two programs address this.

The Legacy bench builds on the familiar memorial bench with a plaque. Canvus uses "legacy" rather than "memorial" because the bench can honor someone still living and part of the community, not only someone who has died. Brian cited a California community that placed a bench outside its VFW to honor a "hero of the month," a local veteran. Under this model, the individual or family buys the product from the community, which buys it from Canvus, and Canvus helps the community promote it on social media.

Sponsor a Space works with national brands, large companies, local businesses, and foundations that want to give back. Brian's view is that most corporate citizens, from a small car dealership to a company with a local plant, want to be good stewards because their employees and customers live there. When a community wants, for example, 12 products for a park, Canvus finds sponsors for all 12 or for some of them and assembles the full package for the city.

Every product carries a 4x6 aluminum plaque with a QR code identifying who is responsible for it. The code leads to a story: a family's story, or, for a brand, something Brian described as a small billboard that someone is actually sitting on. The person isn't driving past at 70 mph or switching radio stations. They're sitting with a cup of coffee, scanning the code, and learning about the sponsor.

Canvus World: A Map of Stories

The Canvus World website hosts an interactive map with three pin colors. A red pin marks a location where a community has requested a product that hasn't yet been fulfilled; Canvus uses these to show sponsors where products could go. Brian noted that a local restaurant may not want a bench in front of itself advertising itself, but would want one in a park that draws people toward it, and that national brands can reach places where they couldn't put a billboard. A blue pin means a product has been ordered and is in production. A black pin marks a completed installation, whether a family's Legacy bench or a sponsored piece. Clicking a pin shows the same content as scanning the QR code on site, even from 2,000 miles away.

Brian gave a personal example. His family is spread across the country, so he could place a bench in his parents' hometown, and his sister and brother, each living about a thousand miles away, could each add their own stories. He also contrasted lifespans: a typical memorial bench lasts 6 to 10 years, by his account, while Canvus products should last about 20 to 30 years at the low end. The story attached to a bench, whether a family's or a brand's that changes over time, can live on for that long.

Stories Behind the Benches

Asked for a memorable story, Brian first mentioned schools that buy primed-and-ready products and have students paint them with handprints. The story behind the QR code can then be updated as those children progress from, say, first grade through high school graduation.

The most moving one, he said, involves the California city that uses its bench to honor veterans. Brian said the bench honors someone he believes was a Marine who never came back from Vietnam and had been an important part of that community; the man's brother attended the ribbon cutting. Brian also mentioned that Canvus is working with the VA to place products on hospital campuses. Other people have linked to favorite songs, wedding songs, or grandma's chocolate chip cookie recipe. The team helps assemble the content, but within the bounds of decency, Brian said, people can put whatever they want there: "it's their real estate to tell the story that they want to tell."

Closing Thoughts: People Are the Equipment

In closing, Brian returned to people. He described two kinds of manufacturing: heavily automated operations where people run equipment, and operations like Canvus, where "the person is sort of the equipment." Either way, he argued, the right people will get a company further, faster than simply filling slots on the floor. As evidence of the culture, he said he believes every one of the 25 to 30 people in the Canvus facility has come in on a weekend to show the place to a spouse, partner, or parents. Brian had recently shown his own parents for the first time. That is something he says you rarely see in manufacturing, and he takes it as a sign of how much pride the team takes in the work.