Tag Archives: Chair

The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined

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ZHA has collaborated with Spanish design brand Nagami to create the Echo Chair, a 3D-printed seat made from recycled plastic waste. Formerly known as Zaha Hadid Architects, the studio developed the chair through parametric design and large-scale additive manufacturing. Its form is fluid and sculptural, with an arched backrest that extends towards the floor and a seat that curves upwards at the sides.

The two parts look separate at first, but they are printed as one continuous piece. Both surfaces grow from the same structural edge and share the same underlying geometry. One becomes the seat, while the other rises to form the backrest and support.

Designer: ZHA and Nagami

This continuous construction gives the chair a clear sense of logic. The shape is doing several jobs at once: supporting the body, holding the structure together, and defining the overall visual character.

The Echo Chair was developed through an iterative research process at ZHA Lab and manufactured by Nagami, a brand known for its work in large-format 3D printing. The studios used recycled PETG sourced from industrial waste, including single-use medical plastics.

As the chair is printed layer by layer, the process leaves a ribbed texture across its surface. Those lines have been kept visible rather than hidden or polished away. That decision gives the chair much of its character. The texture follows the curves closely and makes the manufacturing process easy to read. It also gives the recycled plastic a more tactile, less generic appearance.

There is something useful in that honesty. The material is not being forced to look like timber, stone or metal. It keeps the visual qualities created by the printing process and uses them as part of the design. The surface does still reference natural materials in a subtle way. Its layered finish recalls mineral formations and carved stone, which helps the chair feel less industrial when placed in an interior.

ZHA and Nagami developed four colourways for the chair: white, black, a white-to-translucent gradient and a caramel tone made using a bio-based cork composite. The colour choices help shift the mood of the design. White makes the form feel lighter and more architectural, while black gives it a stronger, more graphic presence. The translucent version draws attention to the printing layers, and the caramel finish adds warmth to what could otherwise feel like a very technical object.

The caramel version is especially successful because it softens the synthetic quality of the plastic. It feels easier to imagine in a home, hotel lobby or lounge space, rather than only in a gallery or design exhibition. According to ZHA project design director Sebastian Andia, the goal was to turn an abundant and overlooked material into something people would genuinely want to live with. That idea matters because recycled material alone is rarely enough to make a product successful. People still need to like the object, find it comfortable and see a place for it in their environment.

The Echo Chair handles this well. Its sustainable story supports the design, rather than becoming the whole design. The seat’s raised sides create a more enclosed sitting position, while the curved backrest gives the chair a supportive and almost cocooned feel. The shape is expressive, but it still looks usable. Its scale and neutral colour options also make it easier to place than the form might suggest. It has enough presence to work as a statement piece, yet it does not depend on bright colour or decoration to stand out.

The 3D-printing process allows the chair to be produced without visible joints or separate components. This gives it a seamless appearance and keeps the connection between the digital model and final object very direct.

That connection is one of the strongest parts of the project. The manufacturing process does not sit behind the design. It shapes the design. The ribs, curves and continuous structure all come from the same production method. Each part of the chair feels related because it has been developed through the same system.

The Echo Chair continues ZHA and Nagami’s existing collaboration. Nagami launched its first collection of 3D-printed chairs in 2018, which included two designs by the architecture studio. Their latest project shows how much more refined large-scale 3D printing has become. The chair feels less like a technical experiment and more like a finished product with a clear place in contemporary interiors.

The Echo Chair is currently on display as part of London Creates at The Truman Brewery. What makes the chair interesting is the way it brings together material, form and manufacturing without overcomplicating the idea. Recycled plastic is treated as a starting point for the design, rather than something that needs to be disguised.

The post The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined

Posted on by

ZHA has collaborated with Spanish design brand Nagami to create the Echo Chair, a 3D-printed seat made from recycled plastic waste. Formerly known as Zaha Hadid Architects, the studio developed the chair through parametric design and large-scale additive manufacturing. Its form is fluid and sculptural, with an arched backrest that extends towards the floor and a seat that curves upwards at the sides.

The two parts look separate at first, but they are printed as one continuous piece. Both surfaces grow from the same structural edge and share the same underlying geometry. One becomes the seat, while the other rises to form the backrest and support.

Designer: ZHA and Nagami

This continuous construction gives the chair a clear sense of logic. The shape is doing several jobs at once: supporting the body, holding the structure together, and defining the overall visual character.

The Echo Chair was developed through an iterative research process at ZHA Lab and manufactured by Nagami, a brand known for its work in large-format 3D printing. The studios used recycled PETG sourced from industrial waste, including single-use medical plastics.

As the chair is printed layer by layer, the process leaves a ribbed texture across its surface. Those lines have been kept visible rather than hidden or polished away. That decision gives the chair much of its character. The texture follows the curves closely and makes the manufacturing process easy to read. It also gives the recycled plastic a more tactile, less generic appearance.

There is something useful in that honesty. The material is not being forced to look like timber, stone or metal. It keeps the visual qualities created by the printing process and uses them as part of the design. The surface does still reference natural materials in a subtle way. Its layered finish recalls mineral formations and carved stone, which helps the chair feel less industrial when placed in an interior.

ZHA and Nagami developed four colourways for the chair: white, black, a white-to-translucent gradient and a caramel tone made using a bio-based cork composite. The colour choices help shift the mood of the design. White makes the form feel lighter and more architectural, while black gives it a stronger, more graphic presence. The translucent version draws attention to the printing layers, and the caramel finish adds warmth to what could otherwise feel like a very technical object.

The caramel version is especially successful because it softens the synthetic quality of the plastic. It feels easier to imagine in a home, hotel lobby or lounge space, rather than only in a gallery or design exhibition. According to ZHA project design director Sebastian Andia, the goal was to turn an abundant and overlooked material into something people would genuinely want to live with. That idea matters because recycled material alone is rarely enough to make a product successful. People still need to like the object, find it comfortable and see a place for it in their environment.

The Echo Chair handles this well. Its sustainable story supports the design, rather than becoming the whole design. The seat’s raised sides create a more enclosed sitting position, while the curved backrest gives the chair a supportive and almost cocooned feel. The shape is expressive, but it still looks usable. Its scale and neutral colour options also make it easier to place than the form might suggest. It has enough presence to work as a statement piece, yet it does not depend on bright colour or decoration to stand out.

The 3D-printing process allows the chair to be produced without visible joints or separate components. This gives it a seamless appearance and keeps the connection between the digital model and final object very direct.

That connection is one of the strongest parts of the project. The manufacturing process does not sit behind the design. It shapes the design. The ribs, curves and continuous structure all come from the same production method. Each part of the chair feels related because it has been developed through the same system.

The Echo Chair continues ZHA and Nagami’s existing collaboration. Nagami launched its first collection of 3D-printed chairs in 2018, which included two designs by the architecture studio. Their latest project shows how much more refined large-scale 3D printing has become. The chair feels less like a technical experiment and more like a finished product with a clear place in contemporary interiors.

The Echo Chair is currently on display as part of London Creates at The Truman Brewery. What makes the chair interesting is the way it brings together material, form and manufacturing without overcomplicating the idea. Recycled plastic is treated as a starting point for the design, rather than something that needs to be disguised.

The post The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined

Posted on by

ZHA has collaborated with Spanish design brand Nagami to create the Echo Chair, a 3D-printed seat made from recycled plastic waste. Formerly known as Zaha Hadid Architects, the studio developed the chair through parametric design and large-scale additive manufacturing. Its form is fluid and sculptural, with an arched backrest that extends towards the floor and a seat that curves upwards at the sides.

The two parts look separate at first, but they are printed as one continuous piece. Both surfaces grow from the same structural edge and share the same underlying geometry. One becomes the seat, while the other rises to form the backrest and support.

Designer: ZHA and Nagami

This continuous construction gives the chair a clear sense of logic. The shape is doing several jobs at once: supporting the body, holding the structure together, and defining the overall visual character.

The Echo Chair was developed through an iterative research process at ZHA Lab and manufactured by Nagami, a brand known for its work in large-format 3D printing. The studios used recycled PETG sourced from industrial waste, including single-use medical plastics.

As the chair is printed layer by layer, the process leaves a ribbed texture across its surface. Those lines have been kept visible rather than hidden or polished away. That decision gives the chair much of its character. The texture follows the curves closely and makes the manufacturing process easy to read. It also gives the recycled plastic a more tactile, less generic appearance.

There is something useful in that honesty. The material is not being forced to look like timber, stone or metal. It keeps the visual qualities created by the printing process and uses them as part of the design. The surface does still reference natural materials in a subtle way. Its layered finish recalls mineral formations and carved stone, which helps the chair feel less industrial when placed in an interior.

ZHA and Nagami developed four colourways for the chair: white, black, a white-to-translucent gradient and a caramel tone made using a bio-based cork composite. The colour choices help shift the mood of the design. White makes the form feel lighter and more architectural, while black gives it a stronger, more graphic presence. The translucent version draws attention to the printing layers, and the caramel finish adds warmth to what could otherwise feel like a very technical object.

The caramel version is especially successful because it softens the synthetic quality of the plastic. It feels easier to imagine in a home, hotel lobby or lounge space, rather than only in a gallery or design exhibition. According to ZHA project design director Sebastian Andia, the goal was to turn an abundant and overlooked material into something people would genuinely want to live with. That idea matters because recycled material alone is rarely enough to make a product successful. People still need to like the object, find it comfortable and see a place for it in their environment.

The Echo Chair handles this well. Its sustainable story supports the design, rather than becoming the whole design. The seat’s raised sides create a more enclosed sitting position, while the curved backrest gives the chair a supportive and almost cocooned feel. The shape is expressive, but it still looks usable. Its scale and neutral colour options also make it easier to place than the form might suggest. It has enough presence to work as a statement piece, yet it does not depend on bright colour or decoration to stand out.

The 3D-printing process allows the chair to be produced without visible joints or separate components. This gives it a seamless appearance and keeps the connection between the digital model and final object very direct.

That connection is one of the strongest parts of the project. The manufacturing process does not sit behind the design. It shapes the design. The ribs, curves and continuous structure all come from the same production method. Each part of the chair feels related because it has been developed through the same system.

The Echo Chair continues ZHA and Nagami’s existing collaboration. Nagami launched its first collection of 3D-printed chairs in 2018, which included two designs by the architecture studio. Their latest project shows how much more refined large-scale 3D printing has become. The chair feels less like a technical experiment and more like a finished product with a clear place in contemporary interiors.

The Echo Chair is currently on display as part of London Creates at The Truman Brewery. What makes the chair interesting is the way it brings together material, form and manufacturing without overcomplicating the idea. Recycled plastic is treated as a starting point for the design, rather than something that needs to be disguised.

The post The Echo Chair Makes 3D Printing Feel Refined first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Sculptural Rocking Chair That Started as a Single Idea

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Most furniture design starts with a question: How do people sit? Aleks Forystek Studio started with a completely different one. What happens when a heavy sphere presses into a structural loop? The answer, it turns out, is a chair. But not just any chair. It’s Dooal, and it might be the most conceptually satisfying piece of furniture I’ve seen this year.

The premise sounds almost too simple. A sphere meets a loop. The loop yields under the weight, compressing and curving into a form that becomes, all at once, a backrest, a seat, a leg rest, and a rocking base. One gesture, one cause-and-effect sequence, and suddenly you have a fully resolved object. The audacity of that economy is hard not to admire.

Designer: Aleks Forystek Studio

I’ll admit my first instinct when I saw the images was purely aesthetic. The black and white photography does everything right. The curves catch light in a way that makes the chair look more like a cast sculpture than a functional object, and the close-up shots reveal a fine-lined ribbed texture that layers real depth onto an already commanding silhouette. Shot in near-darkness, Dooal looks cinematic. It has the kind of presence that makes you stop mid-scroll and just sit with it for a moment.

But the longer I looked, the more the concept started doing something to me. Forystek’s Chicago-land studio describes its work as committed to “destabilizing the familiar,” and that phrase lands differently once you understand the logic behind Dooal. The chair is familiar enough, a seat you can rock in, a shape the body immediately recognizes. Yet the process that created it is almost foreign to how we typically think about furniture. No separate components engineered together. No piece-by-piece assembly of form and function. Just a single physical interaction, preserved.

That’s a philosophical statement as much as a design one. The studio’s whole methodology centers on finding the latent potential within ordinary objects, pushing past the surface of what something is to explore what it could become when a single variable changes. With Dooal, that variable is weight. Pressure. The simple, undeniable force of a sphere doing exactly what gravity asks it to do.

What makes this feel significant right now is the context we’re sitting in. We live in an era of maximal complexity, where products get layered with features, materials compete for attention, and design often signals effort rather than intelligence. Dooal does the opposite. It argues that constraint is where creativity actually lives. That stripping a design down to one decisive action can produce something richer and more resolved than a process built on a dozen competing decisions.

And it’s not just theoretical. The rocking chair is one of the oldest, most human pieces of furniture we have. It exists in farmhouse porches and modernist living rooms with equal ease. It’s comfort distilled into motion. The fact that Dooal arrives at that form through a logic of compression rather than craft tradition feels both subversive and strangely inevitable. Like the chair was always there, waiting to be discovered rather than designed.

That sphere at the base of the loop is easy to overlook in the photographs. It’s small, nestled low, nearly swallowed by shadow. But without it, none of this exists. It’s the cause the entire object is an effect of, and the fact that it remains visible in the final form is a choice that rewards people who look closely. That kind of embedded storytelling, where the origin of an object is literally written into its body, is rare in furniture design. It elevates Dooal from chair to argument.

Aleks Forystek Studio is not a household name yet. But Dooal is the kind of work that earns attention quietly. Not because it’s loud, but because it’s precise. Because it asks a stubborn, specific question and then answers it completely. Whether you care about objects for their beauty, their ideas, or the story behind them, this chair has all three. And it got there with one moment of contact.

The post The Sculptural Rocking Chair That Started as a Single Idea first appeared on Yanko Design.

Japanese Designer Built Furniture With No Glue or Screws

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Most furniture is held together by things you can’t see. Mortise-and-tenon joints, steel brackets, wood glue applied in generous amounts before being clamped overnight. The craft of traditional joinery is genuinely impressive, and furniture historians will rightly tell you it’s one of the oldest engineering feats in human history. But a Japanese designer named Tact Inoue just asked a simple question: what if you didn’t need any of that?

His answer is Mocky, a furniture series that throws out conventional joinery entirely and replaces it with heat, pressure, and the natural behavior of a material most people walk past every day without a second thought.

Designer: Tact Inoue

The material in question is artificial wood, specifically the kind composed of wood flour and resin, commonly used in outdoor decking. It’s not a glamorous material by any stretch. You’ve probably seen it on a boardwalk, a backyard patio, or a poolside deck. It blends in, does its job, and gets credited with being “low maintenance.” Tact Inoue looked at that material and saw something different entirely.

Because of its resin content, artificial wood can be heated until it softens. Inoue takes that softened state and presses the components together using a 20-tonne press machine. The heated surfaces fuse, adhering to each other as they cool. There are no fasteners, no glue, no mortise-and-tenon joints. The connection is the material itself. What comes out the other side looks nothing like what you’d expect from anything made of wood: warped surfaces, irregular joints, organic protrusions where two pieces met and merged under pressure.

And the thing is, it looks extraordinary. The imperfections are the point. Inoue isn’t treating the irregularities as flaws to be corrected before the piece ships. The warping and distortion that happen during the heat-pressing process are built into the design language of Mocky from the start. Irregularity is an active part of the making, not an accident of it. Each joint emerges from the behavior of the softened material rather than from a pre-drawn spec sheet. That’s a genuinely different relationship between designer and material, one where control is shared rather than total.

One of the standout pieces in the series is a bench that requires no aprons or stretchers to hold it together. The seat is made of two completely independent components that bond entirely through the fused connection. From a structural standpoint, that’s remarkable. From a visual one, it’s striking in the best way: a piece that looks grown rather than built.

That distinction matters. So much furniture design right now falls into one of two camps: aggressively minimal, where the process is hidden and the object looks like it appeared fully formed, or intentionally handmade, where visible effort is treated as the point. Mocky doesn’t fully belong to either. The process is visible, but it isn’t precious. The irregularity is intentional, but it isn’t decorative for its own sake. It reads as material honesty, which is a rarer quality in furniture than we might assume.

Inoue is also making a quieter argument about what artificial wood is for. It has spent its entire commercial life as a substitute, a stand-in for timber that doesn’t want to rot on your deck. Mocky pushes back on that framing. When you stop treating artificial wood as a replacement for something better and start treating it as a material with its own specific properties, it turns out it can do things natural wood never could. You cannot melt a solid oak leg into a joint. You cannot fuse cherry wood planks into each other using pressure alone.

That shift in perspective, from material-as-substitute to material-on-its-own-terms, is what makes Mocky feel genuinely interesting rather than just visually surprising. It’s a reminder that designers often do their best work not when they reach for the expected material, but when they ask what a rejected or overlooked one is actually capable of. The answer, in this case, is quite a lot.

The post Japanese Designer Built Furniture With No Glue or Screws first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Plywood Chair That Becomes a Castle in 2 Moves

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Plywood chairs are everywhere. You’ve seen them stacked in cafes, pulled up to dining tables, photographed on every other design account you follow. They’re functional, they’re affordable, and they’re largely forgettable. So when Irish furniture designer James Murphy sat down to create one for his university final project, the logical thing would have been to make something clean and well-proportioned and move on. Instead, he made a chair that unfolds into a castle, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

The Casul chair is a children’s seat that, in just two moves, transforms into an abstract plywood castle with battlements, shelves, and enough narrative potential to fuel an entire afternoon. In its closed form, it has the neat, compact profile of a small throne. Flip the seat panels open, fold the legs out to the sides, and suddenly you have something that looks like a doll’s house crossed with a medieval fort. The panels that held the seat become shelves. The window cutouts in the backrest align with the fortifications. The whole thing opens up the way good architecture does: logically, inevitably, like it couldn’t have been designed any other way.

Designer: James Murphy

Murphy’s path to this project is worth noting. He began as a furniture designer, then did a work placement at Lego during university and came back with a new obsession. “Designing products for children is just really fun and rewarding,” he said. His final-year brief became a mission to marry both interests, and also to address something a lot of parents quietly worry about: how to pull kids away from screens without making it feel like a punishment.

The design references he leaned on are genuinely interesting. He looked back at post-war transformable children’s furniture, particularly Hans Brockhage’s Schaukelwagen from the 1950s, a rocking chair that flips into a toy car. That piece had a real ingenuity to it, born from an era when materials were scarce and cleverness was a necessity. Murphy borrowed the spirit of it but updated the logic entirely. The castle setting was a deliberate choice: gender-neutral enough for any child, open-ended enough for any game.

The engineering behind it is more nuanced than it looks. The jigsaw joints cut into the wooden seat panel interlock to keep the chair stable during use, but release easily to form the castle’s outer walls. Specialized friction hinges hold the opened panels at whatever angle the child wants, while also preventing fingers from getting caught. Triangular buttresses at the back keep the whole structure from tipping, and the combined weight of the piece means younger kids can’t accidentally knock it over. Murphy tested a remarkable number of hinge types to get the movement right. “I didn’t even know there were that many types of hinges,” he admitted, which tells you more about the obsessive detail of the process than any portfolio description could.

Two versions exist. One is finished in chalkboard paint, so children can redecorate the castle walls as often as they like. The other hides foam swords under the seat and cushions that convert into shields, the kind of detail that makes you realize this was genuinely designed with play behavior in mind, not just aesthetics. Both discoveries came partly from play-testing with real children. A girl who kept wanting to draw all over the clean plywood prototype was the reason the chalkboard version exists. The same test sessions turned the castle into a unicorn cafe, a besieged fort, and Bowser’s Castle from Super Mario, which is probably the most useful design feedback any furniture designer has ever received.

The Casul chair has since won one of the top prizes at London’s New Designers showcase, and it deserves the recognition. Good children’s design is harder than it looks, because the standards are unforgiving. Kids don’t pretend to like things. If a toy doesn’t hold their attention, it’s on the floor in ten minutes. The fact that Murphy’s chair passed that test, across multiple children and multiple imaginary worlds, tells you everything about how well he understood the brief.

The post The Plywood Chair That Becomes a Castle in 2 Moves first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Folding Chair That Looks Great and Sits Terribly

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At some point in our collective design consciousness, we collectively decided that a chair could be aspirational. Not just functional. Not just well-made. Aspirational. And Nor Casa’s folding chair, recently described as “flawed but Instagram-friendly,” is basically a case study in exactly that shift.

The chair is striking. The kind of thing that stops your scroll on a Tuesday afternoon when you’re supposed to be answering emails. It has the visual language of something you’d find in a curated boutique hotel lobby or a design fair in Milan: clean lines, considered proportions, the kind of silhouette that photographs beautifully against a white wall or a sunlit concrete floor. Nor Casa, positioned as a distributor rather than a heritage design house, knows their audience. They’re selling a look, and the look lands.

Designer: Nor Casa (distributor)

But here’s where it gets interesting. “Flawed but Instagram-friendly” is a phrase that deserves unpacking, because it points to what usually gets compromised when form takes the lead over function: structural integrity, seat comfort, longevity, the kind of quiet durability that makes a chair worth keeping for twenty years instead of two seasons. And I’ll be upfront about where I personally stand. I would rather sit comfortably in an unremarkable chair than perch awkwardly in a beautiful one. A chair’s first job is to hold you well. Everything else is a bonus.

Folding chairs have always occupied an awkward rung in the design hierarchy. They’re the furniture world’s equivalent of the understudies: useful, necessary, but rarely celebrated. The good ones tend to be purely utilitarian, the kind you pull out of a closet for extra guests and fold back up with relief when everyone goes home. The beautiful ones have historically been expensive design objects, carved out of rare wood or engineered with mechanisms that cost as much as a small appliance. Nor Casa seems to be attempting a middle path: a folding chair that photographs like the former and costs closer to something accessible.

That balance is genuinely hard to get right. The chair may wobble. The finish may not hold up the way the images suggest. The folding mechanism might feel less elegant in person than it does in a product shot with perfect lighting and a muted background. These are not small concerns when you’re buying something meant to be sat in repeatedly by actual human beings. And yet, I find the effort worthwhile to discuss, even if the execution doesn’t fully deliver.

We are living through a moment where design fluency has become democratized in a way that would have been unthinkable thirty years ago. Millions of people who aren’t interior designers or architects now have an eye trained by years of scrolling through design accounts, renovation reveals, and aesthetic-obsessed content creators. They know what a good chair looks like. They want to live with beautiful things. The demand Nor Casa is chasing is real, and it didn’t come from nowhere.

The issue is that visual aspiration without material honesty is a shortcut that tends to disappoint. A chair that performs flawlessly in a photo but creaks under pressure the first time a real person sits in it is not just a design failure. It’s a trust failure. And once a brand earns that reputation, it’s very hard to unlearn.

So I’d say this to anyone tempted by the Nor Casa chair: go in with eyes open. If you want it for the way it looks in a corner of your apartment, on a terrace, in the background of every call you take from home, it might genuinely deliver that. But if you need it to hold up under daily use, to last, to justify itself beyond aesthetics, do your homework before you check out.

For me, the choice is simple. Give me the chair I can sink into for hours without thinking about it. The prettiest chair in the room is only as good as the conversation you can have sitting in it. And that conversation gets very short, very fast, when your back starts to ache.

The post The Folding Chair That Looks Great and Sits Terribly first appeared on Yanko Design.

A Stool, a Bookstand, and a Small Monument to Stillness

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Guided by geometry, symmetry, and a quiet reverence for material, the Bookchair by Cass Saldanha sits somewhere between furniture, object, and architectural study. At first glance, it appears to be a stool. Look again, and it becomes something more deliberate: a sculptural support for an open book, a small monument to stillness, and an invitation to slow down in a world that rarely does.

The form is immediately striking. The Bookchair is not designed around softness or visual excess. Instead, it relies on precision. Every angle feels measured, every junction intentional, every line part of a larger geometric rhythm. Its silhouette carries the clarity of modernist thinking, but without feeling cold or overly industrial. There is warmth in the way the structure opens itself up, almost like a small piece of architecture scaled down to the size of a domestic object.

Designer: Cass Saldanha

The design takes inspiration from Lina Bo Bardi, the Italian-Brazilian architect and designer whose work often balanced modernist rigor with Brazilian vernacular traditions, craft, and cultural honesty. That influence can be felt in the Bookchair’s refusal to separate structure from expression. Like Bo Bardi’s furniture, it does not treat utility and beauty as opposing forces. Instead, it allows function to become the source of sculptural character.

The Bookchair can be used as a normal stool, with its 18-inch height giving it a clear seating function. But its more poetic role is as a book display. Designed to cradle an open book, it transforms reading into a visual and spatial experience. A book placed on it does not simply rest there; it becomes part of the composition. The chair almost frames the written word, turning a casual object into a moment of attention. In this sense, the Bookchair is less about storage and more about pause. It asks the user to notice the book, the object, and the act of reading itself.

Materiality plays a major role in grounding the design. Crafted from solid white oak and European walnut, the piece balances tonal warmth with structural depth. The contrast between the woods gives the form a quiet richness without distracting from its geometry. At the center, an oak disc anchors the design, distributing force at the point where the three angled legs converge. This detail is both functional and visual, acting almost like a joint in a building or the keystone of a miniature structure.

The engineering is equally thoughtful. Four 1/3-inch brass rods are used as discreet tension relievers at key junctions, adding stability without interrupting the purity of the form. They are not decorative in the obvious sense, yet their presence adds another layer of refinement. The brass subtly acknowledges the forces moving through the object, making the structure feel honest rather than hidden.

Each surface is hand-finished with natural oils, giving the wood a matte, luminous quality. This finish preserves the tactile essence of the material, allowing the grain, tone, and texture to remain central to the experience. It is a piece that seems meant to be touched as much as seen.

What makes the Bookchair compelling is its ability to hold multiple identities at once. It is a stool, but not just a stool. It is a bookstand, but not merely a display piece. It is functional, but its function feels almost ceremonial. By combining modernist clarity, Brazilian design sensibility, careful joinery, and sculptural restraint, the Bookchair becomes an object to use and contemplate. The Bookchair offers something quieter and more enduring, demonstrating how design can create rituals through even the smallest gestures. A place to sit. A place to rest a book. A place to pause.

The post A Stool, a Bookstand, and a Small Monument to Stillness first appeared on Yanko Design.

When Tokyo’s Fallen Branches Become Furniture You Can’t Ignore

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I’ve spent a fair amount of time looking at furniture that claims to be inspired by nature. Most of it amounts to a curved line here, a wood grain there, and a press release about sustainability that reads like it was written by a committee. So when I came across Uneri, a furniture collection by Tokyo-based studio Sotanaka, I actually stopped scrolling. Because the first thing you notice isn’t what it’s made of. It’s the way it looks like it’s still alive.

The collection consists of five pieces: a low oval coffee table, a side table, a taller stool, a second side table, and a chair. Each one is finished entirely in matte black enamel, which is the first bold design decision worth talking about. The black unifies the raw, knotted branches into a single coherent visual language without erasing what they are. If anything, the dark finish makes the texture more legible. Every knot, every fork, every irregular bump reads clearly against the clean white backgrounds Sotanaka photographs them against. You see the material in full.

Designer: Sotanaka

The contrast built into each piece is the thing that makes Uneri so visually arresting. The tops, whether they’re seats, table surfaces, or the chair’s small round backrest, are smooth, flat, and geometric. They sit like quiet punctuation marks above a tangle of branches that look like they’re mid-conversation. That tension between the polished surface above and the wild structure below is deliberate and it works remarkably well. The flat planes give your eye a place to rest. The branches give it somewhere to wander.

Look at the low coffee table up close and you start to understand the complexity of what Soichiro Tanaka, the designer behind Sotanaka, is actually building. The branch framework underneath the oval top isn’t a simple four-legged base. It’s a web of camphor and Zelkova branches crossing, overlapping, and angling in different directions. Some branches run horizontally as stretchers. Others curve upward to meet the top. The intersections where they meet are hand-cut joints, each one filed and chiseled to fit the exact curve of that particular branch. No two joints are the same because no two branches are the same. The structure looks chaotic from a distance and almost impossibly precise up close.

The chair might be the most confident piece in the collection. Seen from the side, the branch that forms the chair’s back leg continues upward in a single sweeping line before splitting to cradle the small circular backrest. It reads like a gesture more than a construction method, like the branch decided on its own to become a chair. From the front, the seat’s oval plywood panel floats above a lattice of crossing branches that form the legs and the lower frame. The enamel finish catches light differently across the curves, giving the structure a quiet depth that photographs don’t fully capture but hint at strongly.

The name Uneri translates from Japanese as an undulating, surging wave, and once you know that, you can’t unsee it. The branches don’t just cross and connect. They move. The low table’s base surges outward. The stool’s legs splay and curve with the same energy as roots pushing through soil. Tanaka developed his own joinery system specifically for this collection, one that lets the branches lock together without forcing them into shapes they don’t naturally want to take. The result is furniture that looks kinetic even when it’s standing still.

Uneri was presented at Three Days of Design 2026, and it deserves the attention it’s getting beyond that context. The pieces work as furniture, genuinely functional chairs and tables, but they also function as a study in what happens when a designer resists the urge to domesticate his materials. Most furniture design begins by taming wood, cutting it into boards, smoothing away everything irregular. Tanaka does the opposite. He finds where the irregularity is most interesting and builds around it.

The matte black finish is the one concession to control in an otherwise unruly collection, and even that reads less like an attempt to civilize the branches than a way to let them speak louder. Uneri doesn’t whisper nature into a room. It drags it in, whole and unapologetic.

The post When Tokyo’s Fallen Branches Become Furniture You Can’t Ignore first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Chair That Came From a Single Obsessive Question

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Most chair designs start with ergonomics, or materials, or a client brief. Emad Lajevardi started with a question. What if a single line could remain free and independent, yet still become the entire structural body of a chair? That question alone could have lived quietly in a sketchbook. Instead, it became the Stitch Chair, and it’s been impossible to look away from ever since.

Lajevardi is a designer and architect with Persian roots, now based in Frankfurt, Germany. He launched his independent studio in late 2023 with a clear focus on furniture design, and the Stitch Chair, completed in 2025, already reads like the work of someone who has been thinking deeply about the relationship between line, structure, and space for a very long time. The chair made its public debut at SaloneSatellite 2026, the prestigious platform for emerging designers under 35 held alongside Milan’s Salone del Mobile, where it was spotlighted by Interior Design magazine as one of the standout pieces of the entire fair.

Designer: Emad Lajevardi

That kind of early recognition is meaningful. SaloneSatellite has been the launchpad for some of the most respected names in contemporary furniture design, and being noticed there at the 27th edition, among over 700 designers from 43 countries, is not a small thing. But once you see the Stitch Chair, the attention makes complete sense.

The concept is elegant in its premise. A single rhythmic thread, rendered in steel tube, weaves continuously to form the seat and backrest within a circular geometry. The loops don’t just carry the visual interest; they create the ergonomic angles and the prominent armrest handles that make this a chair you actually want to sit in, not just look at. Thin steel sheet panels anchor the seat and backrest where they need to be, grounding the composition just enough without breaking the visual language of the piece.

The result is a chair that looks completely different from every angle. Head-on, it reads as playful, almost architectural, with its symmetrical loops and squared seat. From the side, it becomes something closer to a drawing, a study in curves and planes that feels weightless despite being made entirely of metal. From behind, it takes on an almost abstract quality, the backrest panel seeming to float above the looping geometry below.

What Lajevardi has done is resolve a tension that most designers avoid entirely. Steel is a rigid, industrial material. A single continuous line implies motion and spontaneity. Getting these two ideas to coexist without one undermining the other is genuinely difficult, and the Stitch Chair does it without appearing to try. That ease, that studied nonchalance in the execution, is usually the mark of a very considered design process.

The color choices deepen the experience. The glossy ruby-red version is bold, almost theatrical, the kind of piece that anchors a room from the moment it enters. The cobalt blue reads differently, cooler and more sculptural, closer to something you’d find in a gallery than a dining room. Both feel intentional rather than decorative, as if the color is part of the argument the design is making about what furniture can be.

I think the Stitch Chair sits comfortably in a lineage of furniture that refuses to separate function from sculptural ambition. You can trace that thinking through Ron Arad’s early bent steel works, through the playful rigor of Konstantin Grcic, through the structural poetry of designers who insist a chair can carry a point of view. Lajevardi’s contribution to that conversation is that he started with a question rather than an answer, and the honesty of that starting point shows in every loop and curve.

Furniture design is having a genuinely exciting moment right now, with a new generation of designers treating the chair not as a solved problem but as open territory. The Stitch Chair is proof that the most interesting work still comes from the simplest, most stubborn kind of curiosity. What if just one line was enough?

The post The Chair That Came From a Single Obsessive Question first appeared on Yanko Design.