Giacomo Ciufoli

They seem like very different worlds, but both shaped the way I think about design.

Aviation taught me precision, proportion, and the beauty of something engineered down to exactly what is necessary. It also gave me a different perspective on material and time. Flying over mountain ranges, seeing the geological strata from above, started an obsession with deep time and landscape — with the idea of compressing something immense into an object that could sit intimately against the body.

Fit, balance, line, construction. And the importance of details that may never be obvious to anyone except the person who made them.

Both are still present in the work. It is precise and reduced, but it is never just geometry. It has to resolve properly around the body, and the material itself has to mean something.

There is something more powerful in a form that is interrupted, where the eye expects it to continue and it does not. The break creates tension, but it also leaves space for the body to become part of the object.

That incompleteness matters. It keeps the form alive rather than resolved. In many ways the break became the beginning of CIUFOLI: the line stops, but the idea continues.

The house will not invent new collections simply to have something new to sell. The work is to discover how much can exist within one idea.

It will not add ornament without purpose, allow a stone to dictate or compromise a form, use an unusual material for novelty, manufacture a history it has not earned, or dilute the work to make it easier to understand commercially.

I would rather make fewer things and push them much further. The house should become more recognisable through depth, not breadth.