What’s at the front of your mind when you design?
Simplicity. I try to let the rawness of the materials speak, and I always try to take risks without overcomplicating things.
What frustrates you about the current state of Scandinavian design?
Few things frustrate me, but I do have a desire to challenge the industry. In a way, what frustrates me is what led to the establishment of New Works. I have a lot of respect for the big players in New Nordic design, but five years ago I was struggling to understand why Scandinavian design had become so feminine. It was too polished, too colorful. I wanted New Works to be more tactile and—this isn’t the word I want to use, but I’m not sure how else to say it—masculine. Everything felt so clean, and I wanted to step away from that.
Where do you escape to at the end of the workday?
I’m a romantic person who spends a lot of time in the garden. We live outside of Copenhagen in a 100-year-old house with a garden on a lake, so I spend a lot of time tending to the flowers and work in the garden mowing the lawn. It’s a huge contrast from the rest of my day, but it’s a good way to meditate when I’m outside the city.
What’s the most important lesson you learned about yourself through design?
I’ve learned to separate the person from the designer. For a long time, I was worried that if I didn’t do something right in my work, it would affect how people saw me. But my work is not me. Despite loving each piece I’ve designed or curated, I don’t have the entire collection in my house. I don’t even have half of what I’ve designed. Doing what I love is a privilege, and I care so much about New Works—I’ve put everything into it, it’s my baby. At the same time, it’s also just a job. What matters most is who’s waiting for me at home.
This story originally appeared on Skandiastyle.com
