Christine

What does fashion give that interiors alone cannot?

It is always more interesting to find inspiration outside of interior design. We often draw a room’s color palette from a painting, for example, but fashion has always been one of my personal secret sources. Silhouette, draping, stitching, pattern, ornamentation, all of it can be translated into interiors. I am particularly inspired by the way fashion uses small details to make even the most minimal piece feel luxurious and special.

I recently designed a magazine rack for our collection with Artemest that was inspired by my beloved, and appropriately worn-out, YSL handbag. John referenced Bottega Veneta’s leather weaving for the top of a bench. And I have long been a fan of Khaite, not only for the clothing, materials, and exquisite draping, but for that sense of edgy elegance. There is a tension between refinement and attitude that feels perfectly balanced, and that is something I am always trying to bring to my interiors.

When a fashion reference finds its way into a project, where does it tend to reveal itself?

It often reveals itself in the smallest details, the ornamentation of a handbag translated into hardware, or a color that emerges from a particular season’s collection. I am especially interested in tailoring and construction: a pleat, a seam, the way a fabric drapes or folds. Those details can translate beautifully into upholstery, window treatments, millwork, or even the architecture of a piece of furniture. The possibilities are endless, and often the fashion reference is subtle; you may never recognize its source, but hopefully feel its influence.

When you bring outside references into a project, how do you communicate their relevance to clients?

At the beginning of every project, we put together a massive collection of inspiration images. Internally, we call it “the telephone book.” It helps us establish the narrative and, more importantly, creates a common visual language with the client. Many of those images come directly from fashion, so the connection can be quite immediate. I also like to use references that people instinctively understand. The simplicity of a pencil skirt is a go-to reference of mine: it is tailored, restrained, and incredibly precise, but then there is that slit in the back, a small detail that changes everything. That idea translates beautifully to interiors. It gives us a shared vocabulary for talking about proportion, restraint, and where to introduce just a little tension or surprise.

Do you look beyond the interiors world for objects or materials? What draws you to them?

Always. Fabrics are a great example; there really are no limits. Of course, a textile has to perform
differently depending on its application, but I love finding vintage or repurposed fabrics and imagining them in an entirely new context. The same is true of reclaimed wood and other vintage materials; there is something exciting about giving them a new life through furniture or architectural details. I also love a trip to my local hardware store. I can wander the aisles and start dreaming up ideas from the most utilitarian objects: a hook, a piece of metal, a fastener. I am drawn to things for their materiality, craftsmanship, or simply because they spark an idea. It doesn’t really matter where something was intended to live; what matters is seeing the possibility of what it could become.

Orit

What inspired you to extend your practice into objects for the interior, and how did you approach translating your language from the body to the home?

I never plan a next step. I follow instinct. One day I realised that everything I wanted to create needed to become bigger, quieter and rougher. Less about adornment, more about presence. Looking back, sculpture was always there. Objects were already waiting for me. This wasn't a new direction, it felt like coming home. Jewellery, sculpture and objects are all chapters of the same story. For me, it has always been about the mark, the touch, the weight, and the feeling that something has existed long before you found it. I wasn't translating jewellery into objects. I was allowing the same language to inhabit a different scale. Jewellery lives against the skin. Objects live between people. I don't work with moodboards.

A dear friend once told me to stop thinking of my studio as a workshop and start seeing it as a laboratory-a place where ideas arrive, stay for a while, transform, and then move on. That thought stayed with me. It gave me permission to embrace more chaos. To let go of certainty. To become braver. I don't chase trends. I chase a feeling. Today, I trust instinct more than certainty. My process is a conversation between myself, the material and time. I layer. I burn. I wait. With my objects, I wanted the surfaces to feel as though they had already lived a hundred lives. I believe materials remember. Time leaves its own fingerprints. I never polish things until they become perfect. Perfection is forgettable. My journey has never been linear. It moves in circles, always returning to memory, landscape and stories.

Your pieces are often highly personal and tactile. Do you think about the relationship someone might develop with an object over time, and how it becomes part of their life?

I think about that all the time. Perhaps because I never really believe an object belongs to me. I only spend a little time with it before it continues its journey somewhere else. When I'm making a piece, I imagine the life it will have after it leaves my studio. Not where it will live, but how it will be lived with. That difference matters to me. Objects quietly witness our lives. They sit between us during conversations, celebrations, heartbreaks and ordinary mornings. They become part of our rituals without asking for attention. I've always been fascinated by the fact that materials continue changing long after I've finished working with them. Bronze darkens. Silver softens. Surfaces absorb time, touch and memory. In many ways, I feel the object continues creating itself.

I don't design for the moment someone buys a piece. I design for everything that happens afterwards. Whether a bowl holds lemons, flowers, jewellery or nothing at all is unimportant to me. What matters is that, over time, it becomes impossible to imagine that home without it. I've never been interested in perfection. I'm interested in attachment. For me, that's when design becomes memory.

Fashion is a reference point for many designers. Is it also a reference point within your own practice, and where does it appear in your work? 

I don't fall in love with trends. I fall in love with stories and not in trends. I'm much more interested in people with a strong sense of self. Someone who dresses instinctively, mixes old and new, and wears clothing with confidence rather than following fashion. That authenticity inspires me.

That's why I've always been drawn to vintage. Not because it's old, but because it has already lived. I often find myself imagining who wore a garment before me, where it travelled and what it witnessed. Those invisible stories fascinate me far more than a trend ever could. Everything I create is ultimately about one woman. She surrounds herself with objects that carry meaning rather than status. She chooses craftsmanship over perfection. She collects memories instead of trends. Whether I design jewellery, High Jewellery or objects for the home, I'm searching for the same feeling, something that feels discovered rather than designed.