On working with a material that cannot be fully controlled

Craft is, for me, a relationship with a material and a process that cannot be fully accelerated or automated. It is an experience built over years, through observation, the repetition of gestures, mistakes, and moments in which the material begins to set its own terms.

Handwork today is not solely about making an object. It is about the ability to conduct a process in such a way as to preserve the character of the material and its natural properties. In the case of glass, this means working with a material that is simultaneously fluid, fragile, and entirely unpredictable.

Everything began with observing the process of glassmaking in the glassworks run by my parents. As a child, I could watch for hours as the glassmakers moved through each stage of the work, from preparing the moulds, through the melting, to the hand-forming of objects.

What struck me most was the moment in which the heated matter began to respond to movement, temperature, and time. It was then that I understood that glass is not a static material. It is always at work.

The skylight created for the new La Marqueuse boutique was inspired by the structure of a rough diamond, a material whose form has not yet been subjected to the perfect symmetry of the cut. We were interested in the tension between the naturalness of the form and the way in which it conducts light.

The starting point was the observation of light within the structure of the material: its refractions, its depth, and its unexpected reflections. The object was not to imitate a diamond literally, but to interpret its character: its rawness, its multi-dimensionality, and its relationship with light.

It is this way of thinking that connects glass and jewellery. In both cases, the material comes to life only when it enters into a relationship with light.

Glass demands enormous technological discipline, yet at the same time, it does not permit full control. Every project takes shape between a precisely planned process and the response of a material that can change the direction of the work within seconds.

It is within this tension between control and chance that form is born. The design must account not only for aesthetics, but also for temperature, weight, structural tension, and the way in which glass holds light within the object.

In handwork, repetition is never absolute, and it is precisely for this reason that every object retains its own character. A machine can achieve perfect technical uniformity, but it cannot create the tension that appears in objects formed by human hands.

Minor differences, traces of the process, minimal asymmetries - these are not errors to me. They are a record of the work of the material, of temperature, and of time. They are what prevent the object from remaining neutral; they allow it to build an emotion and a relationship with the person who encounters it.

Yes, glass very quickly shows the boundary between conducting a process and attempting to subordinate the material entirely. There are moments in which one must accept that the form has begun to live at its own rhythm.

It is often precisely at those moments that the most interesting solutions appear, ones that arise not solely from the design, but from a dialogue between the person and the material.

It is a moment that is difficult to describe in technical terms. Sometimes the form is still far from the original design, yet the material begins to signal that it has reached the right tension, proportion, and light.

It is a moment that is difficult to describe in technical terms. Sometimes the form is still far from the original design, yet the material begins to signal that it has reached the right tension, proportion, and light.