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NOTES / 01

Giving Form to What’s Within

Sometimes, while working on Unquiet Form, I look at the clock and it’s three in the morning. I haven’t noticed the hours passing.

I’m so absorbed in what I’m imagining that, for a while, everything else feels distant. This project draws me in with an intensity I haven’t experienced before. And I think that says a great deal about why I felt the need to bring it into being.

Roots and possibilities

Wood has long been part of my life. My father, my brother and I share a craft that has taught me to understand materials, respect them and find ways to make an idea work in the physical world. From these roots grew the desire to develop an entirely personal creative practice, to take responsibility for every decision and see where it would lead.

At first, I wanted to bring art and wood together. Then fashion found its way in: a cut, a fabric, the way something follows the body. Every time I tried to define the project, I wanted to make room for something else.

Eventually, I realised I also needed to leave space for what I have yet to discover.

I enjoy finding connections between things that seem unrelated. Tomorrow, I might watch a football match and feel the urge to bring something of that world into an object. I don’t know whether it will happen, or what shape it might take. What matters to me is being able to follow that possibility and discover whether it holds something worth making.

I love beauty, and I’m fascinated by giving it a function. By the thought that something born from an intuition could enter someone’s life, be touched, used and become part of their everyday world.

Losing track of time

My ADHD is also part of this way of creating. It is part of who I am, and I feel it belongs in this story.

When I work on Unquiet Form, I sometimes enter what is known as hyperfocus: an absorption so intense that I lose track of time. Those three-in-the-morning moments are part of that experience. They reveal how deeply this project engages me.

I’m still searching for the words to explain what it means to find something that absorbs me so completely. I know that here I can give space to the connections that intrigue me and recognise myself in the decisions I make.

Unquiet Form is becoming a place where this part of me takes tangible shape.

A single, unique piece

I have chosen to make each work as a single, unique piece. I want to give it a creative exploration of its own, carry it through to completion and then make room for whatever comes next.

This singularity is what I associate with my idea of luxury: the possibility of owning something that holds a personal perspective, shaped by deliberate choices, time and an understanding of materials.

Something that exists only once and, on entering another home, begins a story I will never witness in full.

Something that remains

There is a desire within all of this that I find harder to say aloud: I want to leave a mark on the world. I want something of me to remain through what I create.

I’m moved by the thought that an object might continue to have a place in someone’s life long after the person who imagined it is gone. That it might be kept, passed from one person to another, carrying something of its origins with it.

I don’t know how long the things I make will last. I know that my desire to bring them into being comes, in part, from this.

Unquiet Form begins with what I know—wood—and leaves room for everything I have yet to encounter. Through the works, I will try to give form to those encounters.

Here, I will share the thoughts that accompany them, even while I’m still trying to understand them myself.