How has living between New York, Paris and Milan shaped your design perspective? What has each city left with you?

 

Living between New York, Paris and Milan taught me three distinct disciplines. New York gave me scale and boldness. It removes hesitation. Objects must hold presence there — they compete with architecture, speed and ambition. Paris refined my eye. It taught me restraint and proportion. In Paris, elegance often lies in what you remove. Milan gave me material intelligence. The culture of craftsmanship there is unmatched. You learn that structure is not only conceptual; it is engineered, resolved and detailed, often visible in façade layouts and material hierarchies. My designs sit between those three: bold in presence, restrained in language and engineered with precision.

 

How does your background in photography inform your design decisions today? Is light and framing still a tool in your process?

 

Photography trained me to observe before creating. Light remains central. I consider how a piece behaves at different hours, how stone absorbs shadow, how metal reflects tension and how edges cast lines. Framing is fundamental. I do not only design an object; I design how it sits in space. A table is not just a surface but a horizontal plane that reorganises a room. I also spend time framing images carefully.

 

ARCUS PIECES READ LIKE FRAGMENTS OF BUILDING — CARRYING TENSION AND GRAVITY 

 

Your work feels driven by structure rather than decoration. What does it mean, for you, for an object to approach architecture?

 

For an object to approach architecture, it must have internal logic. Architecture is not applied; it is resolved. Every line carries weight and every joint has a reason. I begin with structure, almost like the bones of a building. Ornament, if it appears, emerges from construction. I am less interested in adding than in revealing. 

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Haydn ‘Arcus’ pieces are like fragments of buildings — reduced and scaled down, yet still carrying tension and gravity.

 

In the Arcus collection, the idea of reducing architecture to its “bare bones” stands out. When simplifying a form, what do you make sure to preserve?

 

Simplification in Arcus was not about minimalism but about essence. When reducing a form, I preserve structural clarity, proportion and weight. If those remain, the object keeps its dignity and its bones. I strip away until only what is necessary for balance remains. What is left should feel inevitable, as if nothing more could be removed without collapsing the idea.

 

Stone, wood and metal each carry a different voice. Is your material selection more intuitive or analytical?

 

It begins analytically and ends intuitively. I first study structural roles: what carries weight, what holds tension, what grounds the piece. Then I listen to the material. Stone brings permanence and silence, wood brings warmth and humanity, metal brings precision and tension. I am drawn to contrast — softness against rigidity, opacity against reflection. That tension creates energy.