Scandi Nights
Niki Rollof
“Many foreigners have asked me how we made the Danish style. And I’ve answered that it … was rather continuous process of purification, and for me, of simplification, to cut down to the simplest possible elements of four legs, a seat and combined top rail and armrest.” — Hans Wegner
Scandinavian design, arguably, is the most popular, widely seen, affordable aesthetic, with Swedish homewares behemoth Ikea having brought cheap and cheerful furniture to the mass market in a way previously unimaginable in terms of scale, reach and affordability; in doing so they truly democratised the concept of “good design” in a way egalitarian-minded modernists such as Charlotte Perriand (1903-1999), Jean Prouvé (1901-1984) and Pierre Jeanneret (1896-1967) could only aspire to achieve. Think of all those online bloggers who, inexplicably, have made a living out of Ikea “hacks” whereby, for example, a truckload of flat-pack particle board bookcases are magically transformed into a “home library”, or an oversized basket “repurposed” à la Nicky Haslam (b. 1939) as a “statement chandelier”. Yet, as consumers become more ecologically aware, moving away from “fast furniture” and increasingly embracing the idea of buying better quality, less impactful pieces that are built to last, Ikea has taken the somewhat bizarre decision to close its revolutionary research lab Space 10, stating simply that it “achieved what we initially set out to accomplish”. For those unfamiliar with this Copenhagen-based studio, it has, for the past decade, worked exclusively with Ikea, developing often groundbreaking solutions to some of the world’s most pressing environmental and social issues. “We feel immensely proud to have influenced one of the biggest design companies in the world,” explains Kaave Pour, co-founder and head of the studio, “while making our ideas portable and shaping conversations in everything from technology to design, architecture and food.” Democratic and community-oriented key projects included the somewhat whimsically titled Tomorrow’s Meatball, examining the future of farming, and exploring ways in which technology could change food production and consumption; and Couch in an Envelope, in which, essentially, they challenged artificial intelligence (AI) to “think outside of the box”. In effect, using their renders as a dataset, their custom AI model would act almost as if a “creative collaborator”, developing variations on those images which the designers would iterate on, resulting in a synergistic cycle, the aim of which was to develop products that are more sustainable, moveable, adaptable and sociable. For those worried about AI and its implications for the industry at large, following her involvement in the project, Space10 producer Georgina McDonald explained she’s not interested in letting AI design without human intervention, in essence, on the basis that machines lack innate subjectivity: “A machine hasn’t sat on a couch before. It hasn’t cried on a couch before. It doesn’t know what it feels like, so it could only take us so far in this particular thing.”
The home of Danish designer Hans Wegner (1914-2007) in Tinglevvej, view from his desk into the sitting room © Hans J Wegners Tegnestue
A collection of furniture by Swedish designer Axel-Einar Hjorth (1888-1959), shown by acclaimed gallery Modernity Stockholm © Modernity
Of course, it was those twentieth-century heavyweights like Carl Malmsten (1888-1972), Bruno Mathsson (1907-1998) and Stig Lindberg (1916-1982) who put Scandinavian design on the map. Inextricably bound up in the deep-rooted culture and lifestyles of Nordic countries, it’s a style synonymous with simplicity, functionality and craftsmanship. The sort of mid-century Scandinavian design that has, to a large extent, become the basis for contemporary interior trends, emerged in the 1950s alongside the modernist movements in Europe and America, starting with the monastic austerity of Le Corbusier (1887-1965) and the Bauhaus school to the classicist rationalism of Mies Van der Rohe (1886-1968) and boxy, glass-walled architecture of arch-plagiarist Philip Johnson (1906-2005); which, caught up in a whirlwind of unimaginative corporate greed, petered off into the prosaic one-note banality of 1980s postmodernism (a style perfectly encapsulated by the rosy granite edifice of the AT&T building (later Sony Tower), which inexplicably earned Johnson a Time magazine cover story for what was essentially a light visual gag — a broken pediment that reminded people of Chippendale furniture). Whilst “International modernism”, en masse, was defined by its clean lines, functional furnishings and neutral palette, Scandinavian design stood apart for its attachment to local materials and the natural environment, heavily influenced by the region’s cold, short winter days and the understandable desire for interiors to be cosy yet bright. A key tenet, it’s never overdone, or for that matter overthought, and with an emphasis on the organic, it’s somewhat warmer and more approachable than the sort of cold-blooded modernism encapsulated by the mechanistically inhuman Wittgenstein House (1926-1928); which, despite its unarguable originality and obsessive detailing, has overtones of a luxury sanatorium — not exactly the sort of place very many of us would want to kick back with a martini at the end of a gruelling week.
In terms of contemporary interiors, twentieth-century design from the likes of Axel Einar Hjorth (1888-1959) and Arne Jacobson (1902-1971) is nowhere more popular than in the United States, where “superstar” decorators including, non exhaustively, Waldo Fernandez, Michael S. Smith and, in particular, most desirable of them all, mother-and-son duo Tommy and Kathleen Clements, frequently include such nordic masterworks in a seemingly endless stream of low slung, white-walled, palm tree strewn villas, snapped up and redecorated on repeat by a bevy of A-list celebrity house flippers — including, not only the grand dame of real estate Ellen DeGeneres (b. 1958) but also a younger generation of social media savvy celebs (e.g. Vanessa Hudgens (b. 1988), Ashley Tisdale(b. 1985) and Joe Jonas (b. 1989)), attempting to brand themselves as Instagram-approved arbiters of taste. Interestingly, the unrelenting desire for Scandinavian design might stem from the sort of subtle and covert political indoctrination that saw “Jackie O” imprint Bernardo sandals and oversized sunglasses in the public consciousness as must-have fashion accessories. In the autumn of 1960, at a time when all-powerful ad agencies set about pedalling the “American Dream”, which was, for all intents and purposes, an object-centred standard of excellence, pre-packed and sold off to a newly minted middle class, fanning the flames of what was to become today’s image-led, throw-away culture, voters sat glued to their television screens for the first of the Kennedy-Nixon presidential debates; the takeaway image was that of an ashen, careworn Richard Nixon (1913-1994), standing at a lectern, glistening with sweat, in stark contrast to John F Kennedy (1917-1963), cool, calm, collected, one leg crossed rakishly at the knee, sitting resolutely in a Danish-modern chair. As an image, it was so powerful there’s still fierce scholarly debate as to whether it changed the outcome of the election.
Swedish interior architect Niki Rollof, pictured here in her Stockholm studio
An office designed by Niki Rollof, with overtones of twentieth-century design
Outside the realm of supposition, it’s an indisputable fact that from henceforth, the chair in question, the “PP503”, designed in 1949 by Danish visionary Hans Wegner (1914-2007) — which, with his usual provincial modestly, he rather charmingly referred to as “The Round One” — became so immediately identifiable that it was marketed in the US simply as “The Chair”. Whilst, for the most part, American modernism is said to derive from the sort of functional, mass-produced architecture espoused by the Dessau School in Germany, undoubtedly, any stateside decorator or designer working today has, in some way, been influenced by their Scandinavian counterparts; for example, the Swedish Pavilion designed by Magnus Isæus (1841-1890) for the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition was such a runaway hit it was purchased by the so-called “Father of Landscape Architecture” Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903) for Central Park in New York City, where it still stands to this day. Indeed, following the Second World War and a spate of exhibitions, trumpeting the virtues of Nordic design, popular periodicals such as House Beautiful were enthusiastically ebullient cheerleaders for promoting such an aesthetic as the very pinnacle of aspirational living. Perhaps even more influential, in 1923, Finnish architect Eliel Saarinen (1873-1950) moved to America and designed the campus and curriculum for the Cranbrook Academy of Art, just outside Detroit, Michigan. A largely Scandinavian faculty, hand-picked by Saarinen, churned out a troupe of avant-garde designers and craftspeople who would go on to become some of the most influential, seminal figures of the twentieth century, including Charles (1907-1978) and Ray (1912-1988) Eames, Florence Knoll (1917-2019), Harry Bertoia (1915-1978), Jack Lenor Larson (1927-2020), Ralph Rapson (1914-2008), Ed Rossbach (1914-2002), and, of course, Eliel’s son and leader of second generation modernists, Eero Saarinen (1910-1961). From thence began what Bobbye Tigerman, Associate Curator of Decorative Arts and Design at Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) describes as a “pedagogical chain of influence”, whereby each new crop of alumni mentored and trained the next.
Today, Scandinavian design is as popular as ever, and its no-frills, rigorously modern approach to design is particularly popular with a new eco-conscious generation of consumers moving away from gimmicky, trend-driven interiors, toward something with more longevity and substance; a trend which hasn’t escaped the all seeing eye of Paris-based, self-anointed “incubator for talent” Deselle Partners — whose finger-on-the-zeitgeist Anglo-French founder Julien Desselle has propelled Scandinavian designers such as Dutch architect Anne Holtrop and Swedish inredningsarkitekter Christian and Ruxandra Halleroed of the eponymously named studio to the pantheon of the gods in terms of desirability and cachet. Fashion and interiors have always been inextricably linked, and as such, the minimalistically inclined husband and wife duo have managed to make a cutting-edge name for themselves by designing a series of stores for Scandi-cool stalwart Acne Studios, an amalgam of soaring stainless steel walls, terrazzo and poured concrete, and, more recently, the achingly sophisticated interior of “in the know” tailoring house Atelier Saman Amal (including its elegant ready-to-wear London outpost, nestled within a labyrinth of marble halls that make up the so-called “men’s superbrands” at Knightsbridge department store Harrods) — whose erudite, detail-oriented founders we interviewed earlier this year (TLL, Jan 2023). Whilst some of their work might feel a little as if it was curated by Patrick Bateman (in the best possible sense), Nordic noir, if you will, apropos its almost austere, spartan aesthetic, the duo are, in typical Scandinavian form, heavily inspired by traditional craftsmanship; for women’s clothing line Totême they lined a Stockholm townhouse in pale limed wood panelling, akin to an elegant space-age sommarstuga (a traditional pine walled summer house), and outfitted Byredo’s New York flagship with angular alder shelves and dramatic walls of glass brick, giving a knowing wink to mid-century modernism. It might, perhaps, come as little surprise that Christian originally studied cabinetmaking and furniture design at Carl Malmstens Verkstadsskola CMV (now part of Linkoping University). Looking forward as to contemporary Scandinavian interiors, we spoke to up-and-coming ensemblier Niki Rollof, whose work has a refined sensibility and appreciation of the past — typical of a new generation of young Scandinavian designers — about everything from influences and inspirations to the controversial question of whether beige really is boring.
Steel cabinetry and Gio Point chairs blend seamlessly in this interior by Niki Rollof, with its palette of natural materials typical of Scandinavian design
An elegant wood-panelled interior by Niki Rollof, is perfectly demonstrative of her talent for juxtaposing old and new
TLL: What was it that initially drew you to a career in design?
NR: Both my grandparents and parents are artists of different sorts, so I grew up in an incredibly creative environment. The approach in our home was that artistic expression is the most important thing we have — any form of creative utterance was allowed, for example, repainting your room in a new colour or dressing up and putting on a performance during dinner. I didn’t appreciate until later in life what sort of effect such creative stimulation had on me. Undoubtedly, this spirit of freedom and fun influenced the way in which I seek out and appreciate colours, materials, textures and forms in different ways.
Furthermore, it’s been important for me to choose a profession that allows me to have a global outlook. Working in the field of design and decorative arts gives me the opportunity to travel and work on projects worldwide. I’m currently helping clients in several different countries simultaneously and each place offers a different perspective to my work. Being exposed to many different styles and types of architecture fuels creativity. Also, as part of the process, collaborating with local craftsmen and learning about their traditions and techniques is something I find incredibly rewarding.
Your interiors are evocative, but not derivative of, the work of twentieth-century designers such as Auguste Perret and Djo-Bourgeois, an aesthetic which is, of course, currently en vogue. To what extent are you inspired by the interiors and architecture of the past?
I think it’s fascinating how interiors and architecture constantly mirror where our society is at. It’s interesting to study older references by pioneers such as Uno Åhrén, Björn Trädgårdh and Jean-Michel Frank and see how their ideas propelled movement and invention forward in different ways. I find old publications from the 1920s and 30s such as Art et Décoration, Art et Industrie and Mobilier et décoration incredibly inspiring. It’s fascinating to see how modern and timeless many of the interiors one can find there are.
Often it can be the small things that inspire me the most, such as the use of particular material in a specific context, that ultimately leads me to a new idea that can be incorporated into a project in a contemporary way. In bringing such an idea to life, however, especially if it involves using specialist techniques or materials rarely used today, I can’t emphasize enough how important the right craftsmen are to the outcome. They need to have an understanding and interest in the craft and sometimes be willing to find new ways of working, instead of seeing only potential constraints.
Having lived in London and New York, you chose to set up your interiors practice in Stockholm, which, thinking in terms of interiors — designers and architects including Halleroed and Johannes Norrlander — and fashion and tailoring — Acne Studios and Saman Amel — is increasingly at the cultural zeitgeist. What do you think it is about the city, which seems to focus on a refined, stripped-back elegance, that, in a similar way to Antwerp, fosters such a singular and immediately identifiable aesthetic vision?
Looking back, we have a rich design history in Stockholm with a long tradition of arts and crafts. Organizations such as Svenska Slöjdföreningen, that is, the Swedish Society of Crafts and Design, had a great impact on the development and importance of interiors and architecture, enriching the possibilities of what design could be and do. Personally, I think 1920-30 was a significant important period for Stockholm as a cultural capital. Not only were some of the key structures built but there was also a general shift in attitude — and Swedes started to combine folk traditions, classicism and modernity in a way that still today characterizes both the city and its inhabitants. This all together has of course affected the people living here, and shaped our approach to design which is quite understated and refined.
On that note, your work has a fairly subdued, ton sur ton palette, with a predominance of wood tones, neutrals and classic shapes; would you say that stems from the clients you’ve worked with or your own personal preferences, and, for that matter, do you harbour any secret desire to work with bold, eye-popping colours?
Absolutely, I believe colour can tell a story, trigger a memory or create an association for people. Through colour, one can create both comfort and discomfort, which evoke different feelings. This is something I find interesting. In the projects you’re referring to, however, there’s been a certain story we wanted to tell, which compelled the use of a more restrained colour scheme, and that can of course change going forward depending on how a project’s context changes, whether that be in respect of the location and history of the space, or the client who will inhabit it.
In the UK, if anything, there’s too much of a focus on clashing colours and prints, an aesthetic harking back to Charleston and the Bloomsbury set which, sadly, has come to dominate and define contemporary London interiors trends; what would you say to those who think “beige is boring”, in reference to the sort of white-walled interiors made popular by Axel Vervoordt and Vincent Van Duysen?
When using a more muted colour palette, one can emphasize materiality and scale in different ways. If done right, and all the way, it requires even more from a designer since nothing can be hidden by cheap and easy tricks. It calls for attention to detail, which not everyone can master. To avoid ending up in a beige and boring place, the designer must work with finishes, textures and light in a way that feels thought-through … [continued]
… A scheme of furnishings carried out in tones of cream, beige and white can be utterly calming yet advanced, it just requires good taste and appreciation and understanding of how to use materials correctly.
To date, what would you say has been your most difficult client request?
Having been fortunate enough to be part of creating our current home from scratch, I found acting as my own client turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. It was straightforward in the sense that my partner and I clearly knew our own needs and desires, but at times it was also overwhelming because it meant being very particular about every detail. The house, built in 1910, was worn down and needed complete restoration — we wanted to preserve the soul of the building and its original details while modernising it for the twenty-first century. By working with highly skilled artisans, I think we succeed in what we set out to achieve, transforming it into something at once traditional and contemporary — where the old and new collide and coexist.
Over the past decade, there’s been an increasing trend for “copycat” interiors, which, in turn, has resulted in the proliferation of look-alike furniture by modern masters such as Pierre Jeanneret and Jean Royère for those who can’t necessarily afford the real deal — which of course, increasingly, is everyone but the 0.01%. Interestingly, I was speaking to a New York-based interior decorator who said not only was he tired of seeing the same pieces of twentieth-century furniture used ad infinitum, but also pieces heavily inspired by the work of certain superstar contemporary designers, with the result that it lessens the impact and allure of their original work. What effect do you think such shameless, unimaginative imitation has on the industry at large?
Digitalization has led to information overload, where the same images spin over and over again on social media platforms. This has to some extent resulted in a uniform design language across the industry that tends to repeat itself. Therefore, I try to seek inspiration from different kinds of sources, such as music, film and art, all of which can provoke both nostalgia and forward-thinking — in the sense that you can travel within it to wherever you want to be. To lean on such mediums, instead of digital imagery, for instance, allows me to escape into my own imagination. I also find great inspiration in old books —a lot of what you can find there doesn’t exist in the digital realm which excites me. Especially when I come across a surprising connection between two different creative fields, for example, looking at a couture dress and seeing traces from a period in architectural history and so forth.
For a designer to be interesting, or relevant, is it necessary they have a unique vision and given everything that’s gone before, is it even possible to reinvent the wheel, as it were?
Due to social media and the digital world, it is of course challenging. The fact that you can see what others are doing tends to make people uncomfortable with making their own choices and following their inner voice. To avoid falling into the trap of being too trend-focused, one must be consistent in going back to a project’s narrative and asking — what story is it that we’re trying to tell? One thing that helps is to map out all those different elements that connect to the narrative which one can then go back to throughout the creation process. It can be a soundtrack or a movie scene that sets an atmosphere that can dictate whether a certain piece will have a place in your space for example.
With reference to contemporary design, what would you say, if anything, differentiates Swedish design from that of other countries?
I think Swedish design is characterised by a certain integrity, resulting from a close collaboration between artist and manufacturer. It’s noteworthy for its lightness, grace and the artistic imagination shown in its design — mostly modest in scale, using light finishes, and natural forms, focusing on an honest treatment of materials. Finally, I think elimination is one of the Swedish secrets of successful interior decoration which is rooted in what we call being lagom, which, in essence, means to be moderate — not do too much or too little.
In an ever-changing world, what are the biggest problems facing today’s designers, and indeed for that matter, the industry at large?
Rather than focusing only on how something looks, we should focus on how it makes us feel. The emotional experience of a space tends to be forgotten today when things are so image-driven. A photographer recently told me that he was disappointed when visiting a house by a famous architect — which received wide public acclaim — because in reality, the space was totally soulless and flat. This kind of misconception is common nowadays when we are being fooled by great photography and forget that, sometimes, it doesn’t necessarily correspond with reality. The idea that we can capture the essence of a space by just looking at an image is an illusion.
Having already discussed Stockholm’s unique place in terms of interiors and architecture, what would you say is your favourite work of art or design?
In respect of architecture and design, some of the most important landmarks in Scandinavia can be found in Stockholm, such as the City Hall, designed by Ragnar Östberg, the Woodland Cemetery by Asplund and Lewerentz and of course the Matchstick Palace, or Tändstickspalatset, commissioned by Match King Ivar Kreuger as the headquarters of the Swedish match company Svenska Tändsticks — a wonderful example of the Swedish Grace style in architecture, art, and interior design.
An elegant office designed by Niki Rollof, where a Pierre Jeanneret Pigeonhole desk stands in front of a wall of custom cabinetry
In this interior by Niki Rollof, white walls and elegant steel furnishings allow for a feeling of minimalistic calm
What was the first important piece of design you ever owned?
Maybe not the first, but emotionally the most important piece is a rare 1930s desk in lacquered wood by Björn Trägårdh. It’s such a delicate piece, embodying everything I like most about Swedish design — pure and light, with perfect proportions. We use it as a reading desk at home, and I always feel special when sitting there and studying something. What’s so amazing about furniture, compared to a painting for instance, is that you can use it and enjoy looking at it at the same time.
An object you would never part with?
One piece that I hold dearly is a floor-standing glass chandelier made by my grandfather Erik Höglund in the 1960s. Regrettably, he passed away when I was very young but the legacy he left through the beautiful objects I’ve inherited and collected keeps his memory very much alive. Beyond his artistic accomplishments, I believe his most remarkable quality was his ability to entrust fellow craftsmen and honour their efforts, all while motivating them to challenge conventional methods and ideas. Both his work ethic and approach to life remain a continued source of inspiration to me.
What was the last thing you bought and loved?
Earlier this year, I stumbled upon a charming children’s wardrobe from the 1930s at auction. This piece also holds the distinction of being the first item of furniture we acquired for our son. The wardrobe, crafted from wood and adorned in a delicate shade of yellow lacquer, strikes a harmonious balance between playfulness and elegance. We’re hopeful that its current pristine condition will endure in the years to come — though, I doubt it …
What would you like to own that you currently don’t possess?
Being a curious person who loves to collect, I spend quite a lot of time sourcing things I find interesting and beautiful. I’m currently captivated by vintage jewellery. I find women who fearlessly embrace the art of mismatching, effortlessly wearing precious pieces incredibly inspiring. There’s something intimate about wearing a preloved item that has been cherished by someone else for a long period of time. I wish there was a means to delve deeper into the history of an object, to learn more about its journey and origins.
What’s the best gift you’ve been given?
The greatest gift of all time was finding out my partner and I are expecting our first child later this year. I can’t wait to become a family of three, there’s nothing more I could have asked for.
What’s your biggest extravagance?
Health and wellness. Taking care of myself and improving my well-being by staying mentally and physically strong is important and something I prioritize — having a personal trainer and eating nutritious food is a necessary luxury I like to treat myself with.
What’s your biggest regret?
The boring but truthful answer is that I don’t believe in regretting things. I used to have a hard time making decisions, something I no longer battle with — one of the cures for this indecisiveness was to stop regretting things and looking backwards. Instead, I’m trying to focus on what’s coming next and how I can get there in the best possible way.
Where’s the most unforgettable place you’ve travelled?
I went to Rajasthan in Northern India earlier this year which was an incredibly rich experience. We visited carpet looms and learnt more about traditional hand-knotting techniques from artisans — more than ninety per cent of whom are women — whose knowledge about the craft is absolutely astonishing. Those kinds of trips are important to fully understand what goes into a hand-made piece, which can otherwise easily be forgotten. One gains a great deal of respect for the craft and the time it takes to make good things when seeing it firsthand.
What’s the best souvenir you’ve bought home?
Small ceramic bowls and plates in different glazes and sizes that I’ve collected on trips all over the world — they’re all unique, so I like to mix them up, they add character to any table setting.
Tell us about a recent “find”.
I recently visited the atelier of French sculptor Philippe Anthonioz, in a charming townhouse in the bohemian eleventh arrondissement of Paris. He works mainly with plaster and bronze — two materials so incredibly multifaceted — and is highly knowledgeable about his craft; it was a memorable meeting as I got the chance to learn first-hand, not only about the characteristics of these mediums but also his manufacturing process.
If you didn’t live in Stockholm, where would you live?
Then it would have to be Paris. I think one can find such a high level of expertise there in almost everything. French people do it better! Highlights from recent trips there were visiting the Musée Nissim De Camondo for its architecture and of course, the overall atmosphere, and for food, Early June in the tenth and Le Servan in the eleventh are both absolutely incredible.
If you had to limit your shopping to one neighborhood, in one city, which would you choose?
I’d like to pay homage to my hometown, Stockholm, with a special nod to the Östermalm neighborhood, where I recently opened my new studio space; on the same street you can find galleries Jackson Design and Modernity — both of which are meccas for enthusiasts of decorative arts and design. At Jackson, they curate new exhibitions on a monthly basis, which I always find incredibly interesting. Around the corner, you’ll come across the tailoring atelier of my dear friends at Saman Amel. Apart from being extremely talented, they’re a blast to be around and the most caring people. Another absolute favourite is the newly opened restaurant Ett Hem — it captures the essence of a home, which is something we all truly appreciate in Sweden.
What’s the best book you’ve read in the past year?
Recently, a friend presented me with a copy of Man with a Blue Scarf by Martin Gayford. The narrative revolves around an art writer who embarks on a journey to have his portrait painted by a preeminent master of portraiture. The resulting story unfolds as a diary, meticulously chronicling the sittings and interactions. Essentially, the book operates as a dual portrait — one of the artist as he creates a portrait of the author.
What would you do if you didn’t work in interiors?
I think I’d probably do something related to film. Just like architecture and art, a good movie has a tendency to bring people together and create a dialogue about something. Many of my dearest childhood memories with my dad are from watching movies together.
What ambition do you still have?
To design and produce my own line of products would be an exciting journey to embark on one day. However, good things take time, and I don't feel any sense of urgency. I believe that the right moment for that chapter will reveal itself in due course.
What’s the greatest challenge of our time?
The development of artificial intelligence. I believe it will do wonders for humanity — some say for example that it will solve the climate crisis and that it could cure cancer — but it needs to be done in the right way.
What’s next?
I favour collaboration, as it allows me to venture beyond the confines of the studio and engage with fellow creatives. A project I’m excited about seeing to completion is the design for a window in one of our projects. It will be brought to life by a Swedish glassmaker who specialises in the restoration of churches and chapels, serving as the focal point of the building — seamlessly merging the interior atmosphere and exterior architecture.