WORDS Martin Jacobs PHOTOS Lillie Thompson, Alice Rosati, Gebrüder Thonet Vienna, Jason Varney, Daniele Molajoli, Rob Whitro, Valerie Sadoun, Supplied

Hers was the original restaurant interior to break the internet: a pink-on-pink masterclass that, to this day, remains one of the world’s most recognisable restaurants – one that was instrumental in defining Millennial pink. Yet for all its cultural impact, India Mahdavi’s design for London’s The Gallery at Sketch was never intended to be permanent. Conceived as a temporary installation that would off er a hyper-feminine take on traditionally masculine brasseries, the project was expected to remain in place for two years. “I conceived the room as a monumental, windowless cube submerged entirely in a single Hollywood pink, with no relief, no interruption, no place for the eye to rest except on the pink itself,” she says. “I had Stanley Kubrick and David Lynch somewhere in the back of my mind – that quality of uncanny immersion, spaces that feel slightly more real than reality.” Her design remained in place for eight years, transforming from a playful experiment in colour into one of the most iconic interiors of its generation.

India’s own path was similarly unplanned: she never set out to become an architect or interior designer. Born in Tehran to an Iranian father and Egyptian mother, India spent her childhood moving between countries, relocating to Cambridge, Massachusetts, then Heidelberg, Germany, followed by the south of France. “To grow up nomadic is to grow up without the comfort of the self-evident. You cannot take a culture for granted when you’re always arriving into someone else’s,” she says. “That condition sharpens the eye enormously – you learn to read a room before you can read a sentence, to decode the visual grammar of a place out of necessity. In that sense, being a foreigner was my first design education.”

She credits both her heritage and this upbringing for her enduring love of colour, recalling the visual exuberance of 1960s America as formative. “Cambridge felt saturated with colours and joy – Bugs Bunny, Mary Poppins, pop culture in full Technicolor bloom. For a child who had no fixed identity yet, that saturation was liberating. Colour was a kind of belonging that didn’t require a passport.” With the family’s move to Heidelberg came change. “Almost overnight, the world turned to black and white. I understood then what colour does to a human being – what its absence costs – and I’ve been recovering that first chromatic joy ever since. I think that’s what drives everything I make.”

Drawn to filmmaking, she instead enrolled to study architecture at Paris’s École des Beaux-Arts before moving to New York, where a growing interest led her to study graphic, product and furniture design at Parsons School of Design, Cooper Union and the School of Visual Arts. By the time she returned to Paris to join Christian Liaigre’s studio, and in 2000 establish her own, the foundations of the multidisciplinary approach for which she is known were already in place.

More than a quarter of a century later, India is considered the undisputed queen of colour. Whether in Paris, Rome, Berlin or London, or in cities further afield – like Tokyo, Mexico City and Melbourne – her interiors possess a recognisable visual language, defined by bold chromatic juxtapositions and an understanding of emotionally comforting atmosphere. “I think of colours as characters in a room who must negotiate their coexistence: they can argue, they can clash, they can create tension, and through that tension arrive at something alive,” she says. “A room where every colour agrees is a room where nothing is being said.”

India’s approach to colour is multifaceted and relational. She believes that a colour can only become itself in the presence of another (three is her minimum combination). She never approaches colour in a fearful manner. “Courage with colour is not about “Courage with colour is not about loudness – it’s about commitment. You must be willing to add when you think there is already enough, and then add once more,” she says. And for India, colour never travels alone. “I use texture as colour, and pattern as light. The two are inseparable for me: a rough linen and a polished lacquer placed against each other produce a chromatic effect as powerful as any pigment.”

Her chromatic confidence extends to her extensive work in furniture design and brand collaborations. She has partnered with luxury houses – Dior, Louis Vuitton and Guerlain – as well as with design-led brands such as Bisazza, de Gournay and Pierre Frey, and household names like H&M Home and Nespresso. Across these collaborations, she’s consistently treated colour not as surface decoration but as a sensory and emotional language.

Described as a visionary, she’s responded, “I feel the sign of the times before other people.” Her interiors for The Gallery at Sketch speak to this talent, as does her sidetable-cum-stool, the Bishop. Deriving its form from a barstool she designed for a New York nightclub in 1999, 27 years later the Bishop remains India’s bestselling product, selling on average one per day. “What has given it longevity is that it is fundamentally one form – a single continuous gesture – that changes entirely at different scales, and in different materials and colours,” she says. “It is a chameleon, which is why it has found its way into so many contexts: as a sidetable, as a stool, in ceramic, in lacquer, now in 20 colours. An object that adapts without losing its identity is a rare thing. Most design ages because it is too specific to a moment. The Bishop has no moment – it has only a character.”

India describes both her interiors and her objects as couture pieces – singular creations that are shaped by context. It is a philosophy that has defined her career. As she once joked in an interview at Stockholm Furniture Fair, reflecting on the enduring legacy of The Gallery at Sketch, “Pink owes me, I think!” This it does – because few designers have done more to shape the way colour is experienced in contemporary interiors than India Mahdavi. | india-mahdavi.com

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WORDS Lynette Botha PHOTOS Paris Brummer

“First of all, there is no hotel.”

This is usually the number-one thing Gabriel Hope feels obliged to explain when introducing Ex Hotel, the fictional establishment that has become the framework for his increasingly distinctive design practice. Yet, while the rooms exist only in the imagination, the objects within them are very real. “The story I used to tell is that I needed a place for my ideas to live, and so I gave them a hotel to live in,” he says. “What has changed, I realise, is that the hotel has become the idea.”

For Gabriel, a cabinet, a chair or even a retail interior are all occupants of the same ongoing narrative. “Nobody would stay in an empty hotel room with nothing but a great view,” he says. Trained in fine art rather than furniture or interior design, Gabriel arrived at making through what he describes as the back door. There is little sense of reverence for categories or convention – in his mind, a piece of furniture and an event occupy the same territory. “I’m as happy making a piece of furniture as I am organising an event for the Ex Hotel Bar. To me they are the same, part of the same thing I’m creating.”

Ex Hotel produces bespoke furniture and cabinetry with an affection for nostalgic detail, though Gabriel likes to remind people that visitors can also purchase room keys. “A room for life,” he jokes. “Now that’s a bargain.”

Humour runs quietly beneath much of the work. By his own admission, Gabriel is hesitant to reveal the full extent of his dry wit in person, but Ex Hotel has become a useful disguise. “It’s been a powerful mask – even if it’s all a game of pretend that we all know is happening, a willing suspension of belief.”

Ideas tend to arrive emotionally before practicality enters the room. “I design emotionally at first – read impractically – and then spend a long time trying to work out how to hold on to that feeling while dealing with the unfortunate realities of gravity and structural integrity.” The references come from unexpected places. His computer desktop is filled with screen grabs from films, often saved because of some almost imperceptible detail in the background. Typography has become another preoccupation: “If I get a second shot at life, I’ll be a typographer,” he says. In his mind, the profile of a lowercase “h” might become the back of a chair, while an “l” suggests the leg of a table.

He has little interest in presenting himself as an authority, and speaks freely about mistakes and false starts, preferring the honesty of process to the illusion of perfection. “So much of the time, I’m lost,” he says. “It feels only fair to communicate this and not pretend by hiding behind some slick, finished item.”

That openness informed “Five Attempts at Getting it Right”, his 2026 Cape Town Furniture Week series that explored the humble bedside table through five sculptural studies – an everyday object that captivated him precisely because of its quiet role in our routine. “A bedside table is the bookend to our day. It’s the first thing we see on waking, and the last as we shut a book or set an alarm on our phone. It’s the quiet witness to our routine.”

Built quickly, and intentionally rough around the edges, the pieces became what he describes as three- dimensional scribbles. In a discipline where craftsmanship can move at a glacial pace, they off ered something immediate. “Furniture has a presence, and this is something near-impossible to experience through drawings, screens, models or renders. Only the real thing, at 1:1, will do.”

That sense of scale has gradually expanded. Recent projects, including The Corner Store on Bree Street and Clay Corner in Woodstock, have allowed him to shape entire environments rather than individual pieces, revealing more of Ex Hotel’s character in the process. “The crack in the door is widening,” he says. “Slowly, more is coming into view.”

Public spaces hold particular appeal because they are constantly activated by strangers who eventually become regulars. They provide opportunities for moments of theatre, such as the train compartment concealed within The Corner Store. “Being able to play like this is a huge drawcard,” he says.

Lately, another unlikely obsession has emerged: galvanised steel. “It’s a strange material, kind of ugly, especially at first,” he says, almost affectionately. What fascinates him is not its refinement; precisely the opposite. The marks left by its manufacture remain visible on the surface, unapologetic. “I love that the process of its production is what gives it its character, as opposed to how we usually treat materials by sanding, polishing, painting or oiling them. Galvanised steel is what it is. Take it or leave it.”

As South African design continues to negotiate questions of identity and authorship, Gabriel is increasingly interested in embracing the freedoms and constraints that come with making things locally. More than anything, he speaks longingly about older skills and slower ways of working. “I long for a period of consolidation, of relearning old skills and reviving time-honoured skill sets before embarking on new modes of making. I’m not sure the world has the patience for this, so I’ll continue to make and design in an urgent and engaged way, hoping no-one looks too closely at my credentials.”

And if Ex Hotel ever materialises? According to its proprietor, guests would encounter a beautifully weathered floor, a drunken janitor pushing a mop, an irate visitor complaining about room service, a family of seven wrestling with too much luggage, and an awkward newlywed couple oblivious to the commotion around them.

The plans already include a heated pool and three additional floors. exhotel.co.za | @ex.hotel

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WORDS Lynette Botha PHOTOS Supplied

There is a moment that happens in front of a Water Dixon work when certainty begins to shift . A surface appears solid until it catches the light; a reflection takes on unexpected colour; space seems to stretch beyond its physical boundaries. These are the subtle perceptual shift s that sit at the heart of Water Dixon, the Cape Town-based studio founded in 2018 by artists Caitlin Warther and Wendy Dixon.

Working at the intersection of art, material experimentation and design, they’ve become known for their mirror and light installations, creating works that explore the relationship between reflection, colour and the changing qualities of light. More than reflective surfaces, the mirrors act as instruments for altering the way we experience space, and their pieces have been exhibited in galleries and museums in Cape Town, London and Shanghai. Now, with the launch of Spectrum, Caitlin and Wendy are taking that exploration in a new direction. In what feels like a natural extension, they’ve developed a collection of solid-colour and gradient mirror materials specifically for architectural and interior applications.

At first glance, Spectrum appears to be a collection of coloured mirrors, but a more complex story emerges on closer inspection. The luminous colours and gradients are created by layering various pure metals onto transparent sheet glass – a meticulous process that produces a material unlike conventional coloured mirrors, which typically rely on surface- applied films to achieve similar effects. The result: a mirror that appears to hold colour within the glass itself. As light shifts throughout the day and interacts with its surroundings, the surface reveals layers of depth, luminosity and reflection, creating an experience that is as dynamic as it is visually captivating. For Caitlin and Wendy, this responsiveness is central to the experience of the work.

Throughout their practice, mirrors have served not only as reflective objects but as vehicles for exploring perception. Spectrum extends that investigation into larger-scale environments: hotel lobbies restaurants, residential interiors, bathrooms, furniture and bespoke installations. The collection unfolds like a study in colour. Solid chromatic finishes include tones such as Lapis, Lazurite, Jade, Aquamarine, Morganite, Rose Quartz and Amber. Alongside is a series of gradients named aft er gemstones and minerals – Tiger’s Eye, Ametrine, Amazonite, Peridot, Amethyst, Tourmaline and Carnelian.

The names themselves are telling. Throughout the catalogue, colour is approached almost geologically – not as a flat application but as something shifting and elemental. Brass transitions into purple; silver dissolves into navy; copper moves gradually towards dark pink. Vivid combinations of turquoise, green, orange and violet create chromatic landscapes that feel as though they’ve been distilled from the natural world. What makes Spectrum particularly compelling is the way it blurs traditional distinctions between surface and atmosphere. Light entering a space becomes part of the composition.

This project is less about decoration and more about experience – unsurprising, given Water Dixon’s artistic roots. The studio’s work has always been driven by an investigation into how light behaves and how materials can shape perception. Spectrum carries those ideas beyond the gallery and into everyday environments, allowing designers to work with the same visual language that’s informed the duo’s practice since its inception. For Caitlin and Wendy, Spectrum represents the next evolution of a practice built around perception, material experimentation and the subtle ways light shapes our experience of space. What follows is not just reflection, but atmosphere. @waterdixon | @spectrummirror

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WORDS Amy Rusch PHOTOS Jan Ras

Choosing these objects was easier than I’d imagined. They are belongings; I belong to them, and they belong to me. We inhabit the same living and making space. Each is a porthole of access to family, to memory, and to a sense of awe in relation to the living world. Many of the pieces were made, held, worn or formed long before my birth; in many ways, they have added to how I’m able to be who I am. They are valued beyond measure.

Bezoar Stone

Two days aft er my paternal grandmother Sunray passed away, my dad and I went to visit her sister, who said to choose anything from her home, saying she no longer needed “things”. I was immediately drawn to this round stone – which, once I held it, I realised was not a stone at all. Smooth and much lighter, it’s a bezoar stone – a hairball from the stomach of a goat from the family farm. Historically, bezoar stones are thought to have healing properties. A bezoar could be worn as a charm, ground into powder and consumed, or dropped into a drink that’s suspected to contain poison. They can be found in the stomachs of goats, oxen, snakes and porcupines. I feel incredibly grateful to be the custodian of this magical, mystical ball.

Bird-call Instrument

Just before my god-daughter Kino was born, my dad spent several days making and perfecting two little instruments made of wood harvested from a searsia tree growing in the garden. The correct amount of friction and rosin [pine sap resin] makes the wood call out like a bird. One instrument was given to Erin and Nic as a gift for the soon-to-be-born Kino – and in an uncomplicated moment when my dad walked me to my car that same afternoon, he handed me the second instrument. I was very moved.

Ancestral Threads

Receiving the first cotton threads on wooden bobbins from Nouchi, my maternal great-grandmother, was a catalyst. I began experimenting with these threads in high school; they were the access point to a form of expression mark-making using the thread line and imprint. I now have a collection of inherited threads from both sides of the family – a daily material access point to the female makers in my family.

Nana’s Chair

I inherited these chairs from my maternal grandmother Nana. I made new canvas covers for them, and replaced the worn arm strapping with blue rope. I have memories from childhood of these chairs in my grandmother’s home; of family members at the table. I love that they’ve held bodies, conversations, gatherings; that they’ve held family around a table in celebration… and in disagreement. They hold the potential to keep holding, and have been my studio chairs for 10 years.

Ammonite Fossils

These ammonite fossils were given to me and my sister when we were kids by John Parkington, my mother’s stepfather and a professor of archaeology. They are a connection to deep time, to life’s changing cycles, and to archaeology. They are reminders of continuous change, and how matter that feels permeable and fluid can change form, becoming stone under the right conditions. They feel like a starting point from all the way back to my present interest and work in archaeology.

Stone Pine Lino Print

This lino print was given to me by my maternal grandpa Marc, years before he passed away. On the day he passed, I sat watching the evening light change to darkness, the stone pines and the mountain turning from pink to orange to blue, and then to darkness. This is an image that transports me to a memory of a life’s transition – what it means to live a full and present life.

Twin Fish Quilt

My mom made this quilt 37 years ago while pregnant with me. They are the first transmissions I received through her womb – of working with hands and threads; of making in preparation for my birth. I feel that, in some ways, this piece is an early waypoint on the path towards my way of making now. This blanket holds so much of me and who I’ve become. It’s beautiful, and practical, and full of deep symbolism.

Rock Pots

When gardening with my mom about seven years ago, digging in the earth I came across two rocks with holes in their centre. After a good scrubbing, it became clear that these were pottery pieces made by my grandmother, Nana, in 1976. There was something wonderful about finding them buried in the soil in my parents’ back garden – it felt like digging up treasure in a miraculous moment of discovery. There’s still soil that spills out of their centre holes.

Wind Rose Wooden Sea Kayak

Building Wind Rose felt like a rite of passage – a return to tactile, slow and meticulous making. Working on and off, it took me three years to build her, and it was this process that slowly shifted me closer to finding voice, allowing my making way to surface, and trusting that things will find their place in time – and that time is not linear. She was a transition marker, a guide, and a process of learning wooden boatbuilding from my father. Our kayaks – Little Leaf and Wind Rose – are built from the same plans, but slight adjustments that I made to the keelson and the cockpit coaming (the raised rim around the cockpit) make them different. Wind Rose has allowed me to follow ancestral threads of connection to the ocean, seafaring, boatbuilding and navigation. Both boats are built of 3mm Japanese marine plywood, with an Oregon pine keelson, coaming and gunwales.

Nutshell Sailing Boat

My dad built two little wooden nutshell sailing boats during my mom’s pregnancy. I learnt to sail in these boats – they were the porthole and my first interaction with sailing, working with wind, and the craft of wooden boatbuilding. Like the quilt my mom made while I was in utero, I feel that my dad’s process of building these wooden boats transmitted towards a growing Amy. As physical objects, they have been a practical access point to ancestral seafaring, navigation, and interaction with the ocean, rivers and lagoons – but symbolically, they hold so much more. Through both the Twin- Fish quilt and this pair of nutshell sailing boats, I feel very strong ties to who I am in the present, today. | @amy.rusch

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WORDS Steve Smith PORTRAIT Steven Piper PHOTOS Supplied

Usually it’s the smell of incense that gets your attention, not the vessel the stick is perched in. But that was not the case with Held Smoke. Entered into this year’s Cape Town Furniture Week’s CTFW x VISI Design Prize, this incense holder’s unusual shape and materiality was a curiosity that invited a closer look. It was architectural, sculptural, even a little sci-fi – and my fellow judges and I loved it. It ended up winning the Authenticity category.

The piece wholly represents its maker’s practice and personality. When you meet Ndivhuho Rasengani, you’re likely to be struck by the mix of his quiet, graceful persona and joyful, creative side that exudes positivity. He both observes and takes great delight in the world he encounters – and Held Smoke emerged from his recent residency in Shanghai, reflecting its ultra-modern cityscapes from the perspective of Ndivhuho’s quiet contemplation.

“I explore the conversations between materials,” says Ndivhuho. “Steel brings strength, weight and permanence; glass offers lightness, transparency and quiet uncertainty. In my work, these qualities are not in conflict – they exist together, held in a deliberate balance.”

He holds an MFA in sculpture from the Rhode Island School of Design, and his sculpture and glass works have been recognised in the US through fellowships, and with exhibitions at the WheatonArts cultural centre in New Jersey as well as the Socrates Sculpture Park in Queens. We spoke to this talented South African to explore the ideas, influences and philosophies that are shaping his work today.

“My journey into design has been a gradual refinement of a sensibility rather than a fixed decision. I began with a deep interest in how objects hold presence; how they carry atmosphere, memory and emotion within space. Over time, this has developed into a multidisciplinary practice that spans sculpture, installation and collectable design.

“Working in cities like New York and Chicago exposed me to a global design language, but returning to Johannesburg has been equally defining. It has allowed me to root the work in a slower, more intentional rhythm – one that values craft, material sensitivity and the experiential quality of space.”

“I’m drawn to the intangible, to moments that are fleeting yet deeply felt. Reflection, distortion, stillness and transition are recurring themes in my work, and material is central to this exploration. Glass, in particular, allows me to work with light, depth and perception in a way that feels both precise and poetic. I think of materials as carriers of atmosphere, shaping how a space is experienced, and not just how it’s seen. My references often extend beyond design into architecture, fashion and hospitality – disciplines that understand the power of detail, restraint and sensory experience.”

“My design approach is rooted in creating objects and environments that hold a quiet but intentional presence. I’m interested in work that reveals itself over time; pieces that reward proximity, light and movement. The process is conceptual yet deeply material. Each project begins with a spatial or emotional proposition, but it is by working closely with materials, testing, refining and allowing for nuance, that the final form emerges. There is a strong emphasis on craft and finish, with an understanding that luxury today is not just about exclusivity, but about depth of experience, material integrity and the ability of a piece to transform its environment.”

“Held Smoke began as an inquiry into how one might give form to something ephemeral. Smoke is inherently transient; it resists containment and exists in a constant state of movement. The piece explores the idea of suspension rather than capture. It seeks to create a moment where something fleeting appears held, a quiet tension between permanence and disappearance. Through the use of glass and reflective surfaces, the work plays with perception, allowing the viewer to encounter something that feels both present and elusive. The object shifts with light and movement, echoing the intangible quality it references.”

“Looking ahead, I’m interested in situating the work within more immersive and architectural contexts, particularly in collaboration with spaces that prioritise atmosphere and experience. I see the practice moving towards creating site-specific installations and collectable objects for environments such as hotels, retail spaces and cultural institutions, where design is used to shape how people feel in a space.

“There is a growing focus on developing pieces that operate at the intersection of art, design and luxury – works that can live in refi ned, detail-oriented environments while holding conceptual depth. I’m particularly interested in collaborations that value material innovation, spatial storytelling and a strong curatorial sensibility.” rasenganiatelier.com | @r.asengani

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PHOTOS Thea Cogil/Courtesy of Curación Collection

Sourcing clay from the land around him, South African clay artist Mick Haigh forms each vessel by hand before firing it in a long wood-fired kiln. Each piece carries the marks of flame, ash and chance, shaped as much by nature as by the maker.

His Kiln IV collection speaks to ritual and slowness, offering vessels made to be held, used and lived with.

Curación Collection shares this focus on process, material and intention: a commitment to the quiet beauty of everyday ritual. Here, Mick tells us about his practice and current body of work.

What do you hope people feel or carry with them after encountering your work in this space?

“Connection, that humans are not just visitors but part of this living planet. Finding your place at home here in this wild world changes a lot.”

Your work is shaped by earth, fire and time. How do these forces influence your approach to making?

“My approach is not cerebral; clay comes from the earth, not a plastic bag. Wood comes from trees and time from the sun. All these raw elements speak for themselves; I connect the conversation. My approach is counterintuitive: what can this clay around me do, what temperature will it vitrify at, how thick does the vessel wall have to be to stand up to fire, and how long will the fire heat take to vitrify the clay? So materials influence the making as much as my ideas about what to make.”

Can you speak to the role of slowness and process in your practice?

“Slowness and process intertwine through materials. Clay air dries at its own rate based on airflow and humidity, and wood burns at the rate of oxygen supply. My practice is governed by how my materials behave, and how much I can modify them.

“The sun and moon cycles happen independent of how busy we are. Our minds bend time. Natural materials like clay and wood behave outside of time. My practice captures this time, recording the slow process of turning malleable clay born of eroded rock over millions of years into hard, enduring rock again. Bending time through material provenance.”

What inspired you to create this body of work?

“My inspiration comes from knowing that living with meaningful objects can create meaning in our lives. How objects make you feel enhances your quality of life. Do we need more objects in this world? I think we need more feeling in this world.”

How does your current body of work explore a sense of place?

“Provenance is very powerful, connecting humans to source. Being rooted in the familiar warmth of earth, the non-challenging warmth of things made by hand for human comfort gives a sense of I am part of this place, not a superior observer but part of this living world which I affect and which affects me. Connection.”

What values do you feel you share with the Curación Collection, and the body of work you’re creating?

“Human living/leisure environment can only be as good as the evolved thought put into its creation. I create pieces which I feel are not available. I have thought about how I can supply vessels, artworks, pieces to enhance living spaces and quality of life. I feel much goes into the building and designing of structures, and not enough attention goes into how they feel because of what we put in them and how we use them. What we choose to live with. After decades of designing and making tabletop ceramics, I am now using my clay knowledge and skill to explore vessels as art pieces as feelings of expression. I strongly feel the living/workspace edit is long overdue. The values we have in common lie in the quality of feeling and expression, no more average to get the job done.” curacion-collection.co.za | mickhaigh.com

Mick Haigh’s work will be on display at Curación – 9 Orphan Street, Cape Town – from 6th August until the 30th August.

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WORDS Martin Jacobs PHOTOS Mathij S Labadie, Marcin Rusak Studio, Kasia Bielska, Pion Studi

When last did you stop to consider a cut-flower bouquet – impulse-bought from a market, gift ed on an occasion, arranged at a wedding? We admire the easy hit of nature at home, the colour, occasionally the fragrance. But the engineering behind cut flowers – the genetic tweaks for scale and speed of transport, the straightened stems for easier shipping and arrangement in vases, the bolder blooms bred at the expense of scent – rarely crosses the mind. Like most things we live with, flowers have become just another consumable. Except in the hands of Marcin Rusak.

Given the Polish multidisciplinary designer’s lineage, you could argue this was inevitable: that cut flowers, in his hands, would come to carry the weight of consumption, commodification, time, preservation and decay. “When the family history of over a century of flower growers and botanists ended with my birth, I felt there was nothing of a grower in myself,” he says. “What I remember from growing up surrounded by abandoned glass houses is mostly their textured industrial materiality, and the presence of disappearance and decay at every step I took exploring.”

Those glass houses loom large for Marcin. Across interviews and features – from Cabana and Vogue Poland magazines to Financial Times and Dezeen – he returns to them obsessively: their shattered panes, broken glass and scrap metal; their scents of rust and rot. Former sites of cultivation and beauty turned feral, they became his playground – spaces where collecting, assembling and an early fascination with decay laid the formative groundwork for a practice centred on transformation.

Born in Warsaw, where he lives and works today, and now in his late 30s, Marcin studied conceptual design at Design Academy Eindhoven before continuing his studies at London’s Royal College of Art. It was in London that a second pivotal encounter with flowers would reshape the trajectory of his practice. “I clearly remember the first time I thought of plants as a substance, a raw material,” he says. “It was at one of London’s flower markets that I realised the economics behind it, and the amount of waste it produces. There’s a common rule that what hasn’t sold in the first two days at the market has to be tossed. I’d collect the binned waste – wilted, fragrant, already in decline – and drag heavy garbage bags across the Underground to the eighth floor of the RCA in Kensington. The smell was unforgiving.”

Having explored the possibilities of resin as a material while at Design Academy Eindhoven, many years of experimentation followed – first in London and subsequently in his Polish studio (which he describes as a laboratory), working with discarded floral matter. In bringing these threads together, something akin to alchemy emerged: Flora, a material Marcin regards less as a product than as an ongoing process of transformation. “Flora is the result of years of research driven by my desire to capture and preserve the perishable beauty of flowers, which here float under the shiny surface of resin,” he explains.

“The process of creating each piece is very labour-intensive, as everything from collecting and processing the flowers to finishing the resin is done by hand. Each piece is composed like a painting – I choose flowers for their sculptural qualities, colour and symbolic significance. I make several compositions, and only when the effect is satisfactory do I translate them into the material.”

Much like Flora – available in a spectrum of coloured resins and floral compositions spanning themes such as baroque, tropical, classic and field, arranged either densely or with a more open spatial logic – subsequent materials extend the same inquiry under different conditions. Perma is machine-cut, revealing cross-sections of preserved fl owers, where petal forms and leaf flowers, where petal forms and leaf structures emerge within a more stone- like resin body. Glaes, by contrast, lends itself to solid, monolithic forms, its process deliberately producing light-catching fractures throughout the material, giving it an amber-like depth.

These materials extend the lifespan of what would otherwise be fleeting, and – due in part to their synthetic composition – are intended to endure for thousands of years. They take shape as credenzas and cabinets, tables, screens, lighting and sculptural objects that, while preserving floral waste, also prompt a reassessment of what we consider valuable, and how beauty is consumed and retained. Most are made to commission – an approach that itself resists excess production. Larger works are conceived as future heirlooms, developed in dialogue with each client, often incorporating floral matter that holds personal or emotional significance.

In parallel with his ongoing resin explorations, Marcin has, in recent years, turned to metal. His Tephra series takes its name from the geological term for fragments ejected during a volcanic eruption – a reference that nods to the works’ Pompeiian silhouettes. “These objects are built using specially treated flowers mounted on sculptural forms made of hand-welded steel wire and jute,” he says of the complex process, which allows plant growth to gradually envelop the structures. “They’re then metallised using a thermo-coating technique that covers the dense textures in a layer of molten metal.” Floral matter becomes ornamental within a restrained, monochrome palette. By contrast, in his Protoplasting Nature series, a similar thermo-coating process is applied to foliage rather than flowers, allowing organic growth to assume a more structural role in cabinets that reference 17th-century furniture typologies.

As much as Marcin’s materials and objects engage with preservation, they are equally concerned with decay. In his Nature of Things installations, vessels and domestic forms are composed from biodegradable materials, which include waste flowers, beeswax, sugar, sand and shellac, and are designed to decompose over time. These works embrace impermanence as both a process and an outcome. As Marcin says, “They provide a field for experimentation that takes as its starting point a critical commentary on the ideas of consumerism and planned obsolescence that contribute to the culture of waste.”

Marcin’s philosophical approach ultimately unsettles a broader cultural fixation on permanence. From his Warsaw studio – where, depending on the project, he collaborates with a team of up to 12 specialists with expertise in everything from artisanal production to digital modelling – he interrogates how beauty is consumed and how value is assigned. “Our desire to create, to make, to invent, is not something that we can – or should – suppress. It is fundamental,” he says. “But we can begin to question what needs to be preserved and what can be released. Loss, in this context, isn’t failure – it’s a recalibration. It reveals what matters. It invites reflection. It slows us down. It asks us to listen. What if loss was not an absence, but an alert system? A way of navigating? A reminder that our time with things – objects, people, places – is limited, and therefore precious?” | marcinrusak.com

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The post The Vanguard: Marcin Rusak appeared first on Visi.

WORDS Neyani Mphephu PHOTOS Supplied

For Nwabisa Ntlokwana, sculpture has always been about what cannot be photographed. Growing up with a mother who captured memory through a lens, she gravitated towards something slower and more physical – materials that hold weight, carry history and demand presence. That instinct has since evolved into Motherwood, her most significant body of work to date, which uses leather, wood and found materials to explore the relationship between motherhood, memory and legacy. The recipient of the inaugural DLO Energy Resources Group Artist Prize at RMB Latitudes, Ntlokwana is among South Africa’s most compelling emerging sculptors. Here, she reflects on her process, her materials and the stories she still feels compelled to tell.

Your practice is deeply rooted in personal experience, particularly your journey through motherhood and the legacy of your late mother. How did these dual influences first shape your decision to work with sculptural materials, and how do they continue to guide the stories you tell through your work?

“I grew up watching my mother capture memory in an instant, a single frame and fixed forever. That shaped me more than I realised at the time, but when I started working with sculpture I realised I was reaching for the opposite of what my mother did. Sculpture for me is about holding weight and presence, it’s not something that you can glance at and move past. I think I wanted to give her a way of seeing the body.

“Then motherhood came and closed a loop. I became a daughter who continues to carry a memory of her mother as well as a mother who is now creating memories of her own and the legacy I’d want to leave for my child.”

Your current body of work, Motherwood, explores the relationship between wood and leather as materials that mirror the life cycles of motherhood. Could you walk us through how you chose these specific materials and what they represent for you?

“I wouldn’t say I choose the materials that show up in my work – it’s really the other way around. My approach to materials is very childlike: with an open mind, curious, unafraid to ask questions I don’t know the answers to yet. That’s what gives me the freedom to experiment without worrying about getting it right. In that process of poking and playing and figuring things out, I end up learning something about myself and the materials become a kind of mirror for how I see who I am.”

You work primarily with leather, wood and found materials, many of which are unconventional or discarded. What draws you to materials that have had a previous life, and how does the idea of transformation play into your creative process?

“This is honestly the best part of my process. It’s quite a journey. Growing up, I had always been drawn to old things. They carry so much memory and endurance, and that’s something I relate to deeply, both as a mother and as an individual. I don’t think I would be the person I am today without my personal experiences. They have shaped how I see and touch everything I create. And nothing beats the joy of watching these objects come back to life, taking on a new form while still holding onto all the memory they carry within them.”

Receiving the inaugural DLO Energy Resources Group Artist Prize at RMB Latitudes is a significant milestone. How do you think this recognition will shape the trajectory of your career, and what does it mean for you as an emerging artist in South Africa?

“This achievement is an investment in what comes next, giving me space to breathe with the opportunities it’s created. The exposure fuelled by the DLO Energy Resources Group Artist Prize has already given me a freedom to create without fear rather than chasing opportunities simply to stay afloat. It’s also a reminder that our stories and our labour hold value – not just aesthetically but also economically. As creatives, we are often told to separate art from the business but this prize does the opposite. It’s empowering me as an artist and as a business which is something that you need to have a sustainable practice.”

What does the reality of being an emerging artist in South Africa look like day to day, and what are the biggest challenges you face in building a sustainable career?

“It’s a day to day balancing act. The romanticised idea of a full time studio practice is not a reality for many emerging artists. You are building a practice around everything that keeps you afloat. The biggest challenge is the cost of existing as an artist before you have made a cent, then there’s materials, studio space, transportation of the work to galleries. None of this is cheap, you are spending money before making any and nothing is guaranteed.

“Visibility is also a factor. In South Africa, there is a pool of artists who make exceptionally great art but there is a small collector base relative to the number of artists. This means we are all competing for the same opportunities, fairs, open calls, residences and gallery space. Getting in front of the right people often matters as much as the quality of the work.”

Your work speaks to how women carry memory across generations and continually reinvent themselves. How do you see your role as both an artist and a mother influencing the way you think about legacy and what you pass on, both creatively and personally?

“Becoming a ‘mother’ has completely changed how I view legacy. How I create is truly how I raise my child. Both are about what gets carried forward and what gets left behind. I think about the woman who came before us, like my mother. What they carried that was never written down or documented – but it lived on through the stories they shared with us, how they cooked, cared and held themselves through hard seasons. My work is partly an attempt to hold on to those memories and pass them on to the next generation. As a mother, I also feel a huge responsibility about what gets passed on – so I have to tread carefully.”

You’ve mentioned your ambition to create monumental sculptural works. Where do you see your practice heading next, and what stories do you still feel compelled to tell?

“Scale is the next step – these stories deserve to take up space. So it will bring on new challenges to my practice and my journey. As for stories, motherhood is a fraction of my identity and I don’t have a solid blueprint of life yet, so I will let the journey continue and let the work speak when it’s ready.” | @nwabisantl0kwana

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The post Making Space for Memory appeared first on Visi.

WORDS Jo Buitendach PHOTOS Ana Hop (Portrait), Ana Hop, Francisco Nogueira, Kingston Levern

Layered, eclectic and bold, interiors by Stephanie Barba Mendoza balance rich colour with a striking interplay of contemporary and antique pieces. Born in Mexico, she began her career in London, initially working in residential interiors before joining the acclaimed Martin Brudnizki Design Studio. There, she contributed to an international portfolio that included hospitality, retail and private projects, gaining experience on a global scale while refining an instinct for spaces that feel both immersive and personal.

Nearly two decades later, her independent practice is defined by a fearless approach to colour, materiality and cultural reference. Collaborations with artisans and makers bring depth and texture to each project, resulting in interiors that feel expressive yet assured. She’s guided by what she describes as a desire for spaces that are “layered and bold, with some theatre – something unexpected.”

Stephanie heads up her eponymous studio alongside longtime collaborator and business partner Garrow Seal-Sinclair. Since its launch in 2020, the practice has grown to include a team of 10 designers, working on residential and commercial projects that are driven by Stephanie’s sense of vibrancy and opulence. The studio’s international portfolio spans private homes in London, Antwerp and Miami; boutique hotels in Lisbon, Vienna and Amsterdam; and a members’ club in the heart of Mexico City.

Inside the portfolio

One of Stephanie’s more recent projects, Wilde Lisbon, reinterprets the Portuguese capital’s maritime heritage through a contemporary, playful lens. With interiors conceived around a sense of immersion and movement, the boutique aparthotel draws on Lisbon’s relationship with the sea. References to water appear throughout, from softly curved architectural lines and wave-patterned glass mosaic flooring to a palette of deep blue and green that anchors the space. A bespoke ombré wallpaper echoes shift ing ocean tones, while materials such as marble, ceramics, timber and mosaic are balanced by tactile textiles to create warmth.

Conceived as a social living room for the city, the hotel blends wit with craft, subtly reworking traditional Portuguese motifs and tile references. Rattan details, greenery and sculptural lighting animate shared spaces, while a curved staircase leads to a mezzanine co-working area inspired by Portugal’s landscapes and expressed through organic forms, sun-washed hues and walnut finishes. Stephanie also curated a layered collection of local ceramics and international art, from mid-century pieces to contemporary works and site-specific installations, reinforcing the dialogue between Portuguese heritage and global perspective. @wildeaparthotels

In February 2026, returning to her home country for the first project since founding her London studio, Stephanie unveiled El Desconocido – a cultural club in Mexico City’s Roma Norte neighbourhood that fuses music, gastronomy and art. This homecoming is also her first professional collaboration with her brother, Alejandro Barba Mendoza, who conceived the club’s esoteric concept and curated its music, food offering and art.

The design embraces contrasts and immersive sequences, using sculptural lighting, high-gloss surfaces, brass accents and considered acoustics to transform the space. Velvet drapes, honey-toned floors, stained timber and antique mirrors amplify a surreal, tactile atmosphere, while intimate lounges, gilded furniture and dimmed lights create pockets for conversation. At the bar, eucalyptus-veneer joinery meets jaguar-print wallpaper, antique brass shelving and a copper island, marrying sound, mixology and theatre in homage to Aztec and Mayan symbolism.

Art and ritual thread through every corner of the space, from malachite-clad private rooms with velvet banquettes and lacquered tables to curated works by artists such as Leonora Carrington, Remedios Varo, Francisco Toledo and William Blake, as well as photographs of Coil, Diamanda Galás, Aleister Crowley and Gurdjieff.

“El Desconocido creates a space where the spiritual and the sensual can coexist,” says Stephanie. “It’s not about spectacle, but about sound, discovery and celebration of rituals. I’m so thrilled to collaborate with my brother in bringing this vision to life.” @clubeldesconocido | barbamendoza.com | @stephaniebarbamendoza

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WORDS Bonolo Chepape PHOTOS Jan Ras

I chose these objects because they speak to a common thread. Each one carries a part of my life’s story, history and identity. From books that hold cultural memory to fabrics and garments that shaped my creative blueprint, these pieces reflect how history is preserved, inherited and lived. They represent rituals that deepen my understanding, objects that anchor my cultural connection, and design forms that hold the collective memory of a people. They’re objects and pieces I’ve collected and kept to remind me of the vastness of the world, the richness of culture, and a celebration of art and design.

The violin

More than 36 years old, it is a family heirloom passed down from father to daughter. It carries a quiet humour, and is a reminder of talents hoped for but not pursued. It speaks to play, possibility and the idea that not every discipline must become a profession – some exist purely for joy. More than anything, it remains a sentimental connection to a father who left it behind as an invitation for future dreams.

Ceramic piece by Anthony Shapiro

Gifted by a dear friend, this piece carries both artistic and personal meaning. I have long admired Anthony’s craftsmanship and his commitment to teaching others. When I see it, I think of our shared trade shows and the laughter between us; in these moments, I am left in stitches. It represents what creative practice should strive towards: generosity and the passing on of knowledge, friendship and joy.

Rothko by Jacob Baal-Teshuva

Acquired at an Anthropologie store in New York, this book is a masterclass in colour. Rothko’s work reminds me of the power of restraint and devotion to language; it reinforces my belief that everything is art, even the quiet discipline of balancing colour.

Traditional Pedi blanket

Passed down from my grandmother, this is one of my most sentimental pieces. It holds memories of womanhood within my cultural context; of her resting under a mango tree; of being wrapped around the waist by elders. I often sit on it when I design – a reminder of my grandmother’s presence in both spirit and object.

Patterned doek

An heirloom from my mother, this doek brings me joy through its patterned motifs, which reflect subtle Western influence alongside cultural significance across South African communities. It represents the intersection of the worlds I navigate: tradition and contemporary identity.

Calabash water vessel

An important object in my daily life, the calabash is part of a ritual passed down through my Pedi culture. Beyond its beauty, it is a tool for ancestral connection. It reminds me of the importance of knowing my background and honouring those who came before me, safeguarding the spiritual knowledge passed down through my lineage.

Henri Mattise print

Collected during my first visit to MoMA in New York; Matisse is one of my favourite artists. This print reminds me of the spirit of community and togetherness, and of the importance of collaboration and building supportive creative ecosystems. Its colour language and sense of play continue to influence my work.

Reflecting B(l)ack by The Manor

This book reveals the importance of documenting and archiving African history and culture. Through stories, imagery and representation, I find a point of connection as I shape my own understanding of how I would like to represent African culture in the future. It serves as a daily reminder of the responsibility of archiving.

Pink woven Cambodian throw

Discovered at Maison&Objet Paris, from a vintage Cambodian merchant, this textile embodies layered knowledge and craft . Made from offcut fabrics woven together, it champions silk thread, colour variation and the beauty of imperfection. It reminds me of resourcefulness, and the power of transforming remnants into something new, meaningful and environmentally conscious.

Boubou dress

A traditional Senegalese garment collected during a trip to Dakar, this piece reflects the cultural knowledge embedded in African textiles and print-making. I look to it not only to admire the natural dyeing techniques and inherited craftsmanship, but also as inspiration for my own practice, and where I hope it will evolve. | lulasclan.com

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