Author Archives: Ida Torres

Issey Miyake Just Made a Lamp That Wears Pleated Clothes

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When a fashion brand turns its most iconic textile technology into a lampshade, you pay attention. That’s the short version of what A-POC ABLE ISSEY MIYAKE and Swiss design studio atelier oï managed to do with the O Series, the latest chapter in their ongoing TYPE-XIII collaboration. Portable, pleated, and quietly radical, these lamps feel like proof that the best design ideas rarely stay confined to one category for long.

The project started in 2024, built on a deceptively simple question: what happens when clothing technology meets light? A-POC ABLE ISSEY MIYAKE is known for its A-POC (A Piece of Cloth) philosophy, which treats fabric as a continuous, considered whole rather than something to be cut and assembled. From that foundation came Steam Stretch, a process where pattern and structure are woven directly into a single piece of recycled polyester fabric. Heat is then applied to specific areas, causing them to contract and bloom into a dimensional, pleated form. No additional construction. No extra pieces. The texture is built into the material itself.

Designers: A-POC ABLE ISSEY MIYAKE x atelier oï

For the O Series, that same pleated textile becomes a lampshade. Atelier oï, the Swiss studio with a practice spanning architecture, interiors, and product design, contributed the oval wire frame that holds it all together. The shade is designed to be detached and swapped out, which means the lamp can shift its mood depending on what material, color, or texture you choose. It’s modular in the quietest, most intentional way: not a gimmick, but a reflection of how both studios think about longevity and use.

The second edition of the O Series was presented at 3 Days of Design in Copenhagen this past June, marking A-POC ABLE ISSEY MIYAKE’s debut at the festival. The new colors were inspired by nature, which feels right for a material that transforms through something as elemental as heat. The exhibition at Gallery 2112 was set up so visitors could actually handle the lamps rather than just look at them from a careful distance. That decision says a lot about the confidence behind the design. When you make something this considered, you want people to touch it.

The collaboration is credited to designer Yoshiyuki Miyamae of A-POC ABLE ISSEY MIYAKE, working alongside atelier oï, with lighting expertise brought in from Ambientec. The TYPE-XIII project first debuted at Milan Design Week 2025, so Copenhagen represents a growing body of work rather than a one-off moment. That continuity matters. It suggests the two studios are genuinely exploring this territory rather than producing a collection for the press and moving on.

Somewhere in the details of the O Series is an idea that fashion has understood for decades: what you put in a room, like what you put on your body, can shift with context. The lampshade is interchangeable, almost seasonal. But unlike a cushion cover or a tablecloth, it arrives carrying real process. The structure comes from heat and fiber rather than scissors and glue, which gives it a kind of intellectual weight that most lighting objects simply don’t have.

It’s also worth saying that the lamps are just beautiful. The pleating catches light with the same kind of movement and depth you’d expect from an Issey Miyake garment, and the oval wire frame reads as restrained and precise without being cold. The portable format means they’re not anchored to a single room or a fixed power source, which opens up how and where you might actually use one.

Design collaborations between fashion and other disciplines can easily feel like branding exercises, two logos on one object with little else to show for it. The TYPE-XIII Atelier Oï project is not that. It’s a real conversation between two studios that understand materials deeply, and the O Series is the kind of outcome that makes you reassess what a lamp can actually be. Cloth and wire. Pleat and light. Sometimes the most interesting objects are the ones with the fewest elements.

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A Wind Turbine That Goes Anywhere, Even Where the Grid Doesn’t

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Most of us picture wind turbines the same way: massive, industrial, planted firmly on a hillside or out at sea, part of a choreographed grid infrastructure that took years and millions of euros to build. That image isn’t wrong, but it’s incomplete. And French designer Fabien Brun is one of the people quietly trying to fill in the gap.

Brun’s project, Wind to Watt, is a modular wind turbine concept that challenges the assumption that clean energy has to arrive at scale or not at all. The pitch is simple: wind is everywhere, so the technology that captures it should be too. Whether you’re on a rooftop in Morocco, a remote construction site in the Sahara, a farmland in Eastern Europe, or an offshore platform in the middle of the ocean, Wind to Watt is designed to work there, without drama, without heavy machinery, and without rerouting the landscape to accommodate it.

Designer: Fabien Brun

What makes the design genuinely interesting isn’t its ambition alone. It’s the materials. The turbine is built from aluminum tubes and plastic tarpaulins, which sounds almost too simple, but that simplicity is entirely the point. Rustic, lightweight, and practical. Heavy machinery needs cranes and specialists. This needs neither. The terrain doesn’t need to be modified, no concrete bases poured, no complex grid hookup required. You bring it, you assemble it, and the wind does the rest.

That low-tech philosophy runs all the way through the product. The aluminum and plastics used are 100% recyclable, which puts it well ahead of most conventional turbines, whose composite blades have been making headlines for all the wrong reasons lately. Blade waste is a genuine and growing crisis in the wind industry right now, with older turbines reaching end-of-life and their non-recyclable fiberglass components heading straight to landfill. Wind to Watt sidesteps that problem entirely by making recyclability a design principle from the very beginning, not an afterthought.

The price point is also hard to ignore. At €2,500, with a projected return on investment in five years and maintenance costs of just €50 per year, this is a product designed to be within reach, not just for utility companies but for individual communities, farmers, isolated worksites, and regions of the world where extending the traditional grid is simply not viable. Over 25 years, the projected gain sits at €10,000. Those numbers are not flashy, but they are honest. And in the renewable energy space, honesty about cost and return is rarer than you’d think.

From a design perspective, the modularity is where the real elegance lives. Modular systems are forgiving by nature. They scale up or down depending on need, they’re easier to repair, easier to transport, and far more adaptable than monolithic structures that were designed for one location and one purpose. Brun’s approach treats wind energy less like a fixed infrastructure project and more like a tool, something you deploy where it’s needed rather than something that demands the world reshape itself around it.

Wind to Watt is still in development, but it has already been technically and commercially validated internationally, with a pipeline of over 90 strategic contacts spanning Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and India. That’s a wide net, and it makes sense. The communities that have the most to gain from accessible, affordable, off-grid energy solutions are often the ones most underserved by traditional renewable energy rollouts, which tend to favor established infrastructure and wealthy markets.

The broader conversation about renewable energy often gets stuck in the spectacular: offshore mega-farms, hydrogen pipelines, solar arrays blanketing entire deserts. Those solutions have their place and they’re necessary. But they’re not the whole story. The practical, low-tech end of the spectrum matters just as much, maybe more, if we’re serious about treating energy access as a global issue rather than a first-world design challenge.

Wind to Watt doesn’t promise to solve everything. It promises to be useful, deployable, and affordable in places where those three things rarely arrive together. For a design world that sometimes mistakes scale for ambition, and ambition for impact, that restraint might be its most radical feature.

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Austria’s Clay Cooler Is the AC Killer Nobody Saw Coming

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Every summer, the conversation around air conditioning goes roughly the same way. It’s hot, we turn on the AC, the electricity bill spikes, and we quietly wonder if there’s a better way while doing absolutely nothing about it. A design student from Austria named Katja Posch decided to actually do something about it. The result is MALU, a compact, low-tech cooling system built from terracotta and wood that is currently turning heads in the sustainable design world.

MALU is not trying to be a gadget. That is the first thing that struck me about it. Standing 700mm tall and 280mm wide, it looks far more like a considered piece of furniture than a household appliance. The form is a smooth, rounded terracotta cylinder in a warm sandy tone, topped with a wide circular wooden tray and elevated on a four-legged wooden cradle. It would look at home beside a sofa, and that is very much the point. The design is deliberately simple, rooted in the ancient science of evaporative cooling, the same principle that makes a wet cloth on your forehead feel so immediately refreshing.

Designer: Katja Posch

The mechanics are elegant in their restraint. Water is poured into the wooden tray at the top, which feeds slowly down through the porous terracotta body below. With walls just 8mm thick, the terracotta absorbs moisture readily and releases it through evaporation, drawing heat from the surrounding air in the process. Three narrow horizontal vents run along the body, allowing cooled air to escape into the room. At the base, nestled within the wooden stand, sits a small electric fan that draws air upward through the core of the cylinder and out through those vents. The gap between the fan and the terracotta wall is a precisely considered 28mm, enough to let air move through efficiently without overwhelming the passive cooling effect. The fan, however, is entirely optional. A small round controller sits on the floor at the end of a cord, but if you choose not to use it, MALU still works. It simply breathes on its own.

Posch completed MALU as her master’s thesis in Eco-Innovative Design at FH Joanneum in Graz. What she produced is a system that reframes the entire premise of modern cooling. Rather than asking how we make air conditioners more efficient, she asked whether we were solving the problem correctly in the first place. Historically, cultures across North Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia had already developed brilliant answers to that question, using clay, wind, and water to create comfortable spaces long before a single refrigerant was ever synthesized. MALU picks up that thread.

The irony of conventional air conditioning is by now well-documented. It cools your room while heating the planet, running on electricity that often comes from fossil fuels and using refrigerants with a warming potential thousands of times more potent than carbon dioxide. The more temperatures rise, the more we rely on AC; the more we rely on AC, the more temperatures rise. MALU does not claim to be a plug-and-play replacement for industrial HVAC systems, but it offers something the industry has largely forgotten: a way of thinking about comfort that does not come at the environment’s expense.

The material choices feel intentional beyond aesthetics. The terracotta body and wooden stand can be separated, repaired, and recycled independently. So much of our technology is designed around obsolescence. Cooling systems break down, become incompatible with updated refrigerant standards, or simply get swapped out for the next model. MALU is the opposite of that impulse. It is the kind of object you could understand, maintain, and eventually pass along.

MALU was recognized as a finalist for the Green Product Award 2026 and received a Special Prize for Design Concept at the Staatspreis Design 2026, Austria’s national design award. It is the kind of recognition that suggests the design community is genuinely warming to ideas that favor restraint over complexity, and that feels like a cultural shift worth paying attention to.

For those of us who have spent summers stacking fans in front of open windows and calling it a strategy, MALU is a genuinely exciting proposal. It will not cool a packed open-plan office on a 40-degree day, and it is not trying to. But as a rethinking of what personal cooling can look like in a hotter, resource-constrained world, it is one of the more compelling designs to come across my radar this year.

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Bowers & Wilkins Spent 60 Years on These Speakers. It Shows.

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Most brands celebrate a 60th anniversary with a retrospective book or a limited-edition colorway. Bowers & Wilkins celebrated theirs by unveiling what may genuinely be the most advanced loudspeaker range they have ever made. The 800 Series Diamond D5 arrived with that kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t need fanfare to make its point, even if it was announced to considerable fanfare.

I’ve always believed that truly great audio equipment occupies a strange place between technology and sculpture. The 800 Series has lived in that space for decades. It’s the kind of speaker you find in professional recording studios around the world, at Skywalker Ranch where teams have mixed and mastered legendary film soundtracks, and also in the living room of the person who just needs the room to sound exactly right. That dual citizenship, professional and deeply personal, tells you everything about what Bowers & Wilkins has been building toward.

Designer: Bowers & Wilkins

The D5 is the fifth generation of the Diamond series, and the tagline “60 years in the making” isn’t marketing hyperbole. It’s a mission statement rooted in John Bowers’ original True Sound philosophy: nothing added, nothing taken away. Every generation of 800 Series starts from the same question: what stands in the way of the music? The answers keep evolving. The ambition stays constant.

The range includes seven models, from the compact 805 D5 stand-mount to the flagship 801 D5 with its twin 10-inch bass drivers. The iconic Turbine Head, that distinctive aluminum sphere housing the midrange driver in complete acoustic isolation from the bass section, remains one of the most recognizable silhouettes in audio design. It was bold when it debuted, and it’s still striking today. It’s been refined here, not rethought, and I think that’s the right call. Some shapes earn the right to stay.

What’s new in D5 runs much deeper than the surface. The Space Frame Bracing system introduces parallel aluminum rails bolted directly to the rear Matrix cabinet bracing, making the enclosure significantly stiffer and mechanically quieter than its predecessor. A revised aluminum top plate, with thicker ribbing and updated decoupling mounts, better supports the Turbine Head and Solid-Body-Tweeter assemblies. The crossover components have been moved entirely outside the cabinet, mounted on aluminum rails at the rear, which eliminates internal air pressure fluctuations from affecting crossover behavior. As an added benefit, natural convection keeps those components running cooler during extended listening.

The Diamond Dome tweeter gets a new grille mesh, first developed for the acclaimed 801 D4 Signature, that’s more acoustically transparent while still protecting the dome. The result is better off-axis performance and noticeably improved resolution. Every midrange and bass driver across the range has also been upgraded with lower-distortion motor systems derived from Signature-grade components. That’s not a minor tune-up; that’s serious trickle-down engineering from the very top of the catalog.

Aesthetically, the D5 introduces four new finishes: Stealth Black, Warm White, Light Walnut, and Dark Walnut. The paint has been upgraded for greater depth and durability, and the design detailing across every surface, from the spine to the plinth to the drive unit pods, has been refined. These are speakers handcrafted in Worthing, UK, and they carry that provenance visibly. Luxurious isn’t too generous a word.

Where I land on all of this is that the 800 Series Diamond D5 represents something genuinely uncommon in a market crowded with premium pricing and thin justification: a product that earns its position through accumulated expertise and genuine craft. There’s real, demonstrable engineering here, the kind that takes decades to develop, and Bowers & Wilkins isn’t shy about showing their work. The D5 range is scheduled to ship in fall 2026, and the anticipation feels entirely warranted.

Sixty years of obsessive refinement, applied to a speaker that takes the living room as seriously as a professional studio, will do that. When the engineering is this thorough and the design this considered, the only question left is how loud you want to play it.

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Aironox GO Just Made the Hotel Room Iron Obsolete

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We all know the ritual. You arrive at a hotel after a long flight, unzip your suitcase, and the outfit you were going to wear to dinner looks like it lost a fight with a dryer ball. You eyeball the iron sitting in the corner of the room. It’s coated in someone else’s starch residue. You spend twenty minutes trying to remember how to use the ironing board. You burn the sleeve. I’ve been there. You’ve been there. We’ve all been there. That’s exactly the scenario Aironox designed the GO to solve, and it does it in a way that still feels a little like a magic trick until you understand how it works.

The Aironox GO is the compact travel version of the brand’s original automatic garment care system. The idea behind it is refreshingly simple: you hang your garment over a balloon-style attachment, press start, and the machine pumps warm air through the fabric while you do literally anything else. Shower. Pack. Scroll your phone. The garment inflates slightly, the warm airflow works through the wrinkles, and in about 8 to 12 minutes, you’ve got something wearable. No ironing board. No steamer. No wrestling with a hotel iron that’s been sitting in a cupboard since 2009.

Designer: Aironox

I’ll be honest: the first time I saw the original Aironox Home model, I had questions. The concept of a fabric-inflating balloon machine sounds like a prop from a science fiction short, not a real appliance you’d unpack in a hotel room. But the more you look at how it actually works, the more it starts making sense. Ironing has always been a tactile, hands-on task, and we’ve somehow accepted that for decades without stopping to ask whether there was a smarter way to do it. The Aironox GO is essentially the first product brave enough to ask that question out loud while also being small enough to fit in your carry-on.

The GO is a scaled-down, portable version of the Aironox system, specifically built for travel. It’s dual voltage, which means you can take it internationally without blowing anything up. It works with both shirts and trousers via separate attachments, and the balloon itself has adjustable side zips to accommodate different garment sizes. The brand says it handles everything from small to XXL, which is either very ambitious or genuinely thoughtful design, depending on how it performs with your particular wardrobe.

What the GO isn’t is a miracle worker. It’s not going to replicate the sharp crease of a professional press, and it won’t replace a full garment steamer for delicate fabrics that need careful handling. The Aironox Home model has more power; the GO has been built specifically around portability and travel use, which means some trade-offs come with that. The specs won’t match a home unit, and the brand is upfront about that. Knowing what a product is built to do, and what it isn’t built to do, is a big part of making a good purchasing decision. At least Aironox isn’t overselling this one.

The GO sits squarely at the intersection of practical travel essential and the kind of thing you didn’t know you wanted until someone showed it to you. For frequent travelers, particularly those who move between business meetings and events, it’s a compelling case. For the occasional holiday traveler who packs one nice outfit and hopes for the best, it’s a more personal call.

The wider design story here is worth noting, though. Aironox is part of a growing category of products rethinking domestic tasks not through incremental upgrades, but through a complete reimagining of the process itself. Removing the ironing board from the equation entirely, making garment care something the machine handles while your attention is elsewhere, is a genuinely different approach. Whether the execution fully delivers on the promise at scale is a fair question. But the idea? The idea is good. And sometimes, that’s exactly where it all starts.

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The Architects Who Want to Grow Buildings From Bacteria

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Concrete is everywhere. It’s in the walls you’re staring at right now, the floors under your feet, the skyline you pass every morning on your commute. It’s the most widely used construction material in the world, and it’s also one of the most environmentally damaging ones we have. Cement production alone is responsible for roughly 8% of global CO2 emissions, a figure that tends to get quietly buried under louder conversations about cars and plastic straws. That imbalance has always struck me as odd, and worth talking about more.

So when a team of six researchers and designers from the Technion, Israel Institute of Technology, presented CyanoCement to the world, it stopped me mid-scroll. Not because it felt like a minor improvement on what already existed. Because it framed the problem differently. It asked whether a building material could do something more than just cause less harm, whether it could actually participate in solving the problem it had always been part of.

Designers: Perla Armaly, Yuval Berger, Lubov Iliassafov, Keren Rosenblau, Yechezkel Kashi, Shany Barath

CyanoCement is a 3D-printable biocement made with cyanobacteria, tiny photosynthetic microbes that have been around for billions of years. They’re among the organisms responsible for producing Earth’s first oxygen-rich atmosphere. That’s not a throwaway fact. These are ancient, extraordinary little things, and the Technion team, Perla Armaly, Yuval Berger, Lubov Iliassafov, Keren Rosenblau, Yechezkel Kashi, and Shany Barath, figured out how to make them a functional part of the construction process.

Here’s the mechanism: the cyanobacteria use photosynthesis to bind minerals and precipitate calcium carbonate, forming a solid material without any of the high-heat, high-emissions processes that traditional cement requires. The part that genuinely surprised me was that the material doesn’t stop capturing CO₂ once production is done. It continues to pull carbon from the air after it’s been formed and installed. Not just a lower-impact alternative to concrete, but a material that actively works against the problem.

The team designed it specifically for non-load-bearing architectural elements, facades, interior panels, decorative structures, which keeps the project grounded and credible. I respect that kind of restraint. The sustainable design space has a well-documented tendency to oversell, to position a concept-stage material as a revolution before the science has caught up. CyanoCement doesn’t do that. It knows what it is right now, and what it is right now is genuinely impressive.

Then there’s the color. The material is green, not because of any coating or pigment, but because of the living organisms inside it. That green is a biological signal, a visual confirmation that the cyanobacteria are alive and active. I’ve seen a lot of sustainable products that ask you to trust the environmental benefit, buried somewhere in a lifecycle assessment document. CyanoCement makes it visible. The building itself tells you it’s working. That’s both smart design and, I’d argue, a kind of integrity.

The project came out of the Disrupt Design Lab at Technion’s Faculty of Architecture and Town Planning, developed in collaboration with the Applied Genomics Lab at the Faculty of Biotechnology and Food Engineering. Architecture and biology don’t typically share a lab, let alone a design philosophy. The fact that this team brought those two disciplines together into something coherent, functional, and visually compelling is its own accomplishment, separate from the material itself.

CyanoCement was recognized by the Green Product Award, which has a strong track record of identifying work that actually moves the needle rather than just speaking well in press releases. The project earned that recognition, not just for good intentions, but for the depth of research behind it and the clarity of its design logic. The more you learn about how it works, the more convinced you become.

We talk a lot about the future of architecture being green, solar panels on rooftops, recycled steel, passive ventilation. All worthwhile. But CyanoCement is asking something a little more radical: what if the walls themselves were alive? What if building something meant contributing to the atmosphere rather than depleting it? That’s the question I can’t stop thinking about. And once you know it’s being asked, I suspect you won’t be able to stop either.

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A Designer Just Turned His Memories Into Chairs You Can Sit In

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The chair is probably the most taken-for-granted object in any room. You pull one out, you sit, you get up and push it back in. That’s the full extent of the relationship most of us have with it, a transaction so unremarkable it barely registers. So when a designer decides to treat the chair as a kind of autobiography, carved out of wood and layered with personal memory, it forces you to rethink that entire casual dynamic in a way that feels both unexpected and long overdue.

Chilean designer Camilo Huinca, who works under the studio name ONLYJOKE, has built a collection of sculptural wooden chairs that are less about sitting and more about telling. Titled Personal Histories, the work transforms familiar furniture forms into autobiographical portraits. Faces emerge from backrests. Figures are carved directly into seats and tabletops. Painted motifs trace emotional landscapes into the grain of the wood itself. These aren’t decorative touches you might overlook at first glance and appreciate later. They’re the whole point, present and insistent from the moment the piece comes into view.

Designer: Camilo Huinca

What Huinca is doing feels significant because furniture has long occupied this uncomfortable middle ground between design and art, never quite allowed to be taken seriously as either. Functional objects are expected to serve a purpose without demanding interpretation. Huinca rejects that, quietly but firmly. Each chair in Personal Histories carries a title with real weight: Rider on a Broken Horse, Partes Rotas (Broken Parts), Confluencia. These aren’t whimsical names assigned after the fact. They’re structural to the work itself, the same way a painting’s title can shift how you experience everything inside the frame. You come to each piece already oriented.

The material choice matters here, too. Wood carries time in a way that metal or plastic simply doesn’t. You can feel the decisions made in it, the places where the carver lingered and the places where they moved fast. Huinca draws on memories of summers spent in rural Chillán, Chile, and that rootedness in a specific place and biography gives the pieces an authenticity that’s hard to manufacture. The apple-shaped sculpture sitting atop one of his benches, the carved motifs, the exposed hardware, the layered paint: none of it reads as arbitrary. It reads as accumulated, like a life condensed into joints and grain and surface.

The chairs are also built through a modular system that allows them to be assembled and disassembled, which becomes more interesting when you consider how memory itself works. Nothing is permanently fixed. What you carry from your past doesn’t stay the same shape forever, and the fact that this furniture can be taken apart and reassembled feels less like a practical design consideration and more like a philosophical statement embedded quietly into the construction.

The inevitable question is about function. Can you actually sit in them? I’d like to think so, because the idea of using a piece of furniture that was carved from someone else’s grief or joy or the heat of a rural Chilean summer introduces an intimacy that most objects never manage to create. You wouldn’t just be in a room with the work. You’d be in direct contact with it, which is a different thing entirely.

The debate over whether furniture belongs in the gallery or in the home has been going on for decades. Designers like Ron Arad, Studio Job, and Nacho Carbonell have all pushed at that boundary in their own ways. But Huinca’s contribution feels distinct because the storytelling is so specific and so grounded in personal biography rather than formal experimentation. This isn’t furniture that gestures broadly toward concept. It’s furniture that insists on autobiography, that makes the personal structural and the structural unmistakably personal.

You walk away from Personal Histories with the nagging sense that every chair you’ve ever owned has been holding out on you. That the objects we press our bodies against daily could have been carrying so much more all along, and we simply never thought to ask.

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1 Cork Frame Just Solved the Sticky Note Problem for Good

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Every once in a while, a design comes along that makes you wonder why it didn’t exist sooner. Contour, by Budapest-based industrial designer Adam Miklosi, is exactly that kind of object. It’s a corkboard for your monitor, and no, I didn’t realize I needed one until I saw it.

The concept is straightforward. Contour attaches to an iMac and sits about 20mm behind the plane of the screen, creating a slim frame of natural cork that lives at the periphery of your display. It’s not trying to take over your desk or demand attention. It’s just quietly there, ready to hold a note, a reminder, a printed photo, or whatever small piece of the physical world you want to keep close while you work.

Designer: Adam Miklosi

I’ll admit my first reaction was mild skepticism. Sticky notes have been doing this job for decades, and they don’t require a dedicated product or any installation. But the more I thought about it, the more Contour started to make sense in a way that sticky notes never quite do. The problem with sticky notes on a monitor bezel is that you’re always fighting the format. The adhesive strip dictates placement, the neon yellow screams at you, and after a few days, they curl at the corners and look like your workstation gave up on itself. Contour eliminates the visual chaos without eliminating the function.

Miklosi frames the piece as more than just a note-holder. His description positions it as a monitor-mounted focus screen designed to create calmer, more personal workspaces. The idea is that the cork border, sitting just slightly behind your screen, helps block out ambient movement and background activity without fully closing you off from your environment. Whether you buy into that framing completely is up to you. I think calling it a focus screen might be stretching it, but the underlying instinct is worth taking seriously: the visual noise around a screen matters, and a warm ring of cork does read as quieter and more intentional than bare plastic or the aggressive glow of multiple open windows.

There’s also a material conversation happening here that deserves some attention. Cork has been having something of a design moment for a while now, showing up in furniture, accessories, and architectural applications as a sustainable, tactile alternative to synthetics. It’s warm, slightly textural, naturally antimicrobial, and it ages well. For a product designed to sit inches from your face for eight hours a day, those qualities aren’t trivial. Contour isn’t just a functional object. It’s a considered one, and the choice of cork over, say, plastic or silicone changes the feeling of the thing entirely.

Miklosi is producing Contour through Corkway, a B2B manufacturer specializing in cork objects that partners with designers as project-based fabricators or development partners. That kind of intentional, small-scale production relationship often shows up in the quality and specificity of the final object, and I’d expect Contour to carry that same sense of care.

Does it solve a problem most people would call urgent? Not exactly. Your desk isn’t going to fall apart without it. But design doesn’t always have to be emergency-level necessary to be worth caring about. Sometimes the best products are the ones that make a small, familiar friction disappear so quietly you barely notice the moment it’s gone. The sticky note that used to curl off your monitor bezel at 3pm is now a pinned index card on a clean strip of cork. That’s a minor upgrade, technically. But it’s the kind of minor upgrade that changes the texture of your day in ways that compound over time.

Contour sits at the intersection of analog and digital in a way that feels genuinely thoughtful. It’s not trying to replace your technology or make a statement about screens. It’s just making peace with the fact that some of us still need a little bit of physical, tactile space right next to all that glass and light.

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The Modular Table That Actually Works for Public Spaces

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A table is arguably the most taken-for-granted object in design. Four legs, a flat surface, repeat. We have been manufacturing and sitting around tables in essentially the same configuration for centuries, and most of us have never once stopped to ask whether the table itself is actually working for us. Fengfan Yang clearly did.

Yang is a Stuttgart-based industrial designer who recently collaborated with Danish furniture brand +Halle on a project called Hang On, and the result is one of those rare designs that makes you feel a little embarrassed for not questioning it sooner. The concept is deceptively simple: strip the table back to its most essential structural elements, then let everything else hang. Literally.

Designers: Fengfan Yang + Halle

The premise behind Hang On is that the conventional table carries a lot of unnecessary baggage. Fixed components, bulky frames, surfaces that are either too large or too rigid for the spaces they occupy. Anyone who has ever tried to clean under one in a busy canteen, or rearranged furniture at a festival venue, or watched an airport food court struggle to seat an unpredictable surge of travelers knows exactly how inflexible the standard table can be. Yang noticed this, and instead of making a prettier version of what already existed, he went back to the architecture of the object itself.

The system works through an extruded profile structure, where the table’s add-ons, things like tabletop surfaces and functional accessories, simply hang onto a core frame. Assembly is quick, disassembly is just as fast, and the whole setup is customizable depending on what a space actually needs at any given moment. That “hanging” action is not just a clever name. It is the entire design logic, and it holds up beautifully.

What makes Hang On genuinely exciting is not the novelty of modularity, because modular furniture has been a design buzzword for years. It is the specificity of the problem Yang chose to solve. This was never meant to be a living room conversation piece or a collector’s item. It was designed for the messy, high-traffic realities of restaurants, markets, airports, canteens, outdoor festivals, and shopping centers. Spaces that demand flexibility, easy cleaning, and fast reconfiguration. Public furniture has historically been treated as an afterthought, chosen for durability over intelligence. Hang On treats it as a design challenge worth solving properly.

The collaboration with +Halle makes sense here. The Danish brand has a reputation for thoughtful, durable furniture built for communal environments, and that sensibility aligns well with Yang’s approach. The extruded profile construction also means the piece is cost-efficient to produce and more sustainable than a comparably functional table that relies on complex manufacturing. The design was longlisted for Dezeen Awards 2025 in the furniture category, which tells you that the broader design industry has taken notice.

What speaks most loudly about Hang On is the restraint of it. Designers are often tempted to make their mark through addition, by piling on features or leaning into visual drama. Yang did the opposite. He removed, simplified, and reduced until what was left was just the logic of the thing. The name is both a literal description and, depending on how you read it, a small instruction to pay attention.

Public space design rarely gets the careful, considered treatment reserved for residential or high-end commercial interiors. We tolerate wobbly café tables and undersized airport counters because we have always tolerated them. Hang On is a quiet argument that we do not have to. That the furniture serving crowds of strangers every day might actually deserve the same level of thoughtful design as anything you would put in your own home. And that sometimes, reimagining something as fundamental as a table starts simply by asking why it was built that way in the first place.

The post The Modular Table That Actually Works for Public Spaces first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Hague Just Turned Air Into Its Most Exciting Museum

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The Hague is not the first city you’d expect to reinvent what a museum looks like. But from May 22 to June 21, 2026, it might just be the most interesting one. BlowUp Jubilee, the fifth anniversary edition of BlowUp Art Den Haag, has filled the city’s historic Museum Quarter with 24 inflatable artworks from some of Europe’s most creative designers, and the result is one of the more quietly radical things happening in public art right now.

I want to start with the obvious, because the obvious is actually the point: these things are enormous. Steve Messam’s Crested rises above The Hague’s tree line as a vivid red spiked headdress. Studio Job sends an oversized cooking pot drifting across the Hofvijver. Marcel Wanders contributes a cluster of giant reflective Eggs that sit near centuries-old civic squares and somehow look completely at home. The sheer scale is part of the experience, but so is the material. Seeing something so large made of something so inherently light creates a kind of visual dissonance that’s hard to explain until you’re standing in front of it.

Designers: Various

Inflatable art has a reputation problem. For most people, that word conjures balloon animals or the kind of thrashing tube men outside car dealerships. What BlowUp Jubilee does is force a total rethinking of that association. When a floating cooking pot makes you stop mid-walk and laugh before you even think to analyze it, something worthwhile has happened. The best public art doesn’t ask you to be prepared. It just catches you off guard.

The whole exhibition started in 2022 as part of BinnenhofBuiten, an initiative by The Hague & Partners, commissioned by the municipality while the Binnenhof, the Netherlands’ historic political complex, undergoes major renovation. The closure could have left the area feeling hollow. Instead, curator Mary Hessing turned the absence into an opportunity, building a cultural walking route through the Museum Quarter that gave people a reason to keep moving through the neighborhood. What began with six artists has grown into a full five-year survey, with earlier works returning alongside new commissions.

The artist list for this jubilee edition is genuinely varied. Raw Color brings graphic precision with Compressed Cylinders, Studio Ossidiana’s Softshell settles into its surroundings like something halfway between a creature and a building, and Studio Mieke Meijer’s Airboretum reinvents the idea of a tree entirely. Larissa Ambachtsheer’s Keep Me in Balance and Adrianus Kundert’s My First Inflatable lean into a lighter register. One of the most compelling additions is 21-year-old Eugenie Boon, whose piece Koncha pa Dilanti draws from her Curaçao heritage, filling an inflatable with scenes from the island’s food, parties, and community life. It’s a reminder that this format, when used thoughtfully, carries real cultural weight.

The question of access runs through everything BlowUp Jubilee does, and I think it’s the most underrated part. A museum asks you to go to it. This exhibition is simply there, spread across parks, along Lange Voorhout’s tree-lined stretches, near canals and building facades, and even inside a train station. You don’t buy a ticket to see Studio Job’s cooking pot. You just happen to look up on your way somewhere else. For anyone who finds gallery spaces quietly intimidating, that changes the entire relationship between a person and public art.

It also says something useful about how cities can respond to disruption. The Binnenhof renovation is an inconvenience, spatially and symbolically. BlowUp Art was the response that asked: what if we made the disruption into something worth seeing? Five years in, that bet has clearly paid off. By June 21, all 24 installations will be packed up and deflated, the whole spectacle compressed back into storage. Inflatable art lives on borrowed time by design. But the case BlowUp Jubilee makes for public art that is joyful, free, and genuinely oversized has a staying power that the materials don’t. Sometimes a museum doesn’t need walls. Sometimes it just needs air.

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