Tag Archives: Side Table

Handy Quietly Makes Furniture Work Harder in Small Spaces

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Furniture can be bad at keeping up with us. A side table works until you move to the couch; a desk setup feels permanent until the living room has to become somewhere to eat, read, or host friends. Handy, a mobile furniture design by Taiwanese industrial designer Hsinhung Chou, takes aim at that mismatch. Rather than asking a room to accommodate another fixed object, it suggests that the useful object should move with the person who needs it.

That’s a more compelling proposition than it might sound when the same few square feet have to do several jobs. You could keep a useful object beside a chair in the morning, shift it toward a workspace in the afternoon, and clear it out of the way before dinner. None of those moments calls for a room makeover. They call for furniture that can adapt without demanding a plan, a toolkit, or another purchase.

Designer: Hsinhung Chou

Chou’s approach interests me because mobility is often treated as an extra feature, the thing a designer adds after deciding what a piece of furniture is supposed to be. Handy puts movement closer to the center of the idea. Its appeal is not that it turns a home into a transformer. It is that it might remove one small friction point from an ordinary day.

Consider the pileup of objects around a couch: the water glass, the book, the charger, the headphones, the laptop you meant to put away. It’s easy to respond by buying another table or a bigger shelf. But the problem isn’t always a lack of furniture. Sometimes the furniture you already have is just in the wrong place when you need it. A piece that can travel with your routine makes that distinction feel obvious.

I like how modest the idea feels. Plenty of home products sell flexibility with a spectacle of folding parts, complicated mechanisms, or names that sound like software. Handy doesn’t need to promise a new way of living to make a case for itself. If the point is to be useful in more than one setting, its success will come from how naturally it slips between them. That is a harder standard than looking clever in a product photo.

Of course, movement alone doesn’t make furniture good. A mobile piece still needs to feel steady when you’re using it, easy to move when you’re not, and pleasant enough to leave in view. Those details decide whether flexibility becomes a daily convenience or just another feature you forget after a week. I’d want to know how Handy handles clutter and tight corners before calling it an answer to every small-space headache. That uncertainty doesn’t undercut the idea; it gives the idea a useful test.

The broader appeal goes beyond square footage, too. A spacious home can be just as rigid as a small one if every corner has been assigned a single purpose. People change activities faster than they change rooms. We work where the light is better, take a call somewhere quieter, or pull a chair closer to a conversation. Furniture that acknowledges those habits feels more in tune with actual life than furniture arranged for a composed picture.

I appreciate the restraint of designing for everyday movement instead of digital connectivity. Handy doesn’t need to track a habit or sync with a phone to be interesting. A physical object might make a home easier to use without asking for attention in return. Design can improve a routine without turning the improvement into an event. The quietest solutions are often the ones we keep using.

Handy won’t eliminate the need for tables, desks, or storage, and I wouldn’t want it to. What it offers is a gentler question to ask before adding another thing to a room: could the thing I need move with me instead? Chou’s design makes that possibility feel less like a compromise and more like common sense. For a home that has to change pace throughout the day, that could be its most valuable feature.

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A Side Table That Actually Hides Books in Plain Sight

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Most side tables are liars. They show up looking clean, then gradually become the household surface nobody planned for: stacked magazines, a charging cable, three remote controls, and that one book you’ve been meaning to finish for six weeks. The table itself never had a real answer for any of it, just a flat top and occasionally a drawer that rattles. The clutter isn’t a behavior problem. It’s a design problem, and most furniture refuses to admit it.

Liam de la Bedoyere, the designer behind Bored Eye Design, built the Nudge Side Table around a different premise. The storage isn’t added to the table. It is the table. A thick cylindrical column of stacked plywood discs rises straight up, and near the top, two large circular platforms sit at slightly different heights, offset from each other just enough to open a horizontal slot between them. That slot fits a book. No drawer, no shelf bracket, no hinge. The gap does the work, and the gap only exists because one disc was deliberately nudged out of alignment with the other.

Designer Name: Liam de la Bedoyere (boredeye design)

The material choice earns its place here. Plywood is not a compromise; it’s a decision. Looking at the cylindrical body of the Nudge table, every individual layer is exposed on the curved surface, running around the column in thin parallel lines like growth rings on a cross-section of a tree. Up close, the texture reads almost geological, warm and stratified, with the natural variation in the pine grain showing through the smooth flat tops of both platforms. From above, the two circles overlap partially in a configuration that looks less like furniture and more like a Venn diagram drawn by someone who actually cared about geometry.

The proportions matter a lot here. The column is wide enough to feel substantial without being squat, and tall enough that the offset platforms land at a genuinely useful height next to a sofa or armchair. The upper disc sits slightly higher and further back; the lower disc projects forward, and the book rests in the slot between them, its spine flush with the edge. From the front, a bright red cover peeking out of the gap adds exactly the kind of color accent the natural pine needs. De la Bedoyere didn’t paint anything or add contrast artificially. He let the objects that live on the table do that instead, which is a confident move.

From certain angles, the silhouette is almost totemic. Two thick circles floating above a ribbed cylinder, slightly misaligned, the book suspended horizontally between them. It photographs like sculpture, but it functions without any instruction required. You look at it and immediately understand where the book goes. That kind of instant legibility is harder to achieve than it sounds, especially when the mechanism is structural rather than applied.

I keep thinking about what this table refuses to include. No joinery hardware buried inside the column. No shelf underneath with a lip to prevent things from sliding off. No rubber feet dressed up in brushed metal. The cylindrical form is self-contained, the platforms are the table, and the offset between them is the storage. Every potential addition was apparently considered and then left out, which is a discipline that most furniture design at any price point genuinely struggles with.

De la Bedoyere has been working through this problem across several pieces now. His Notch table earlier this year carved a vertical slot into a set of solid wooden legs for the same purpose. The Nudge table arrives at a similar conclusion through a completely different construction logic, stacking instead of subtracting, horizontal storage instead of vertical, two surfaces instead of one. Same stubbornness about keeping things elemental, different answer.

Side tables rarely attract this level of structural thinking. They get treated as the afterthought of the living room, bought last and replaced first. The Nudge table argues that the piece sitting closest to how you actually spend your time at home deserves more than a flat top and a prayer. Sometimes the most useful thing a designer can do is move one circle slightly to the left and let the gap speak for itself.

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Your Home’s Newest Resident Is a Tiny Blue Butler

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Furniture, as a category, is not usually meant to make you smile. It holds things, supports things, stores things. Function dictates form, and form gets built around the assumption that your chair or side table should have as little personality as possible. That is the design orthodoxy, at least. The longstanding idea that objects in service of a purpose should quietly disappear into the background, noticed only when they are missing. Liam de la Bedoyere disagrees. And Mini Monsieur is his very persuasive argument.

This concept piece, developed as a personal project at boredeye.design, rethinks the stool and side table as something altogether more alive. Mini Monsieur is a squat, rounded body rendered in an irresistible cobalt blue, with two arms posed differently: one curled against its torso, the other raised high and balancing a flat circular tray. Two swirling embossed brows sit just below the flat crown of its head, giving it the air of a patient, quietly distinguished little servant. If you have ever thought your furniture should have more opinions, this piece has exactly enough.

Designer: Liam de la Bedoyere (boredeye.design)

The butler concept is where the design gets genuinely clever. De la Bedoyere is not just making something cute, though it absolutely is that. The character premise actually explains the function. A butler exists to be present without being intrusive. It waits. It holds things for you. It serves without asking why. Translating that relationship into furniture means the form earns its personality rather than wearing it purely as decoration. The raised tray arm is not a quirky detail; it is a job description made physical.

Functionally, Mini Monsieur works as both a stool and a side table, which makes it surprisingly practical for something that looks like it wandered off a Pixar set. The tray holds a glass, a phone, a book, whatever needs to be within arm’s reach without claiming additional floor space. A scaled render with a seated figure confirms it holds its own proportionally, compact without being precious, sized to actual human use rather than just optimized to photograph beautifully. You could genuinely use this every day.

Where the design earns its real credibility is in the restraint around how far the character goes. No mouth. No eyes. Just those two curled brows and the asymmetrical arms. De la Bedoyere stops exactly where he should, giving Mini Monsieur enough personality to register as a character without crossing into novelty-item territory. That balance is harder to strike than it looks, and it is the reason this concept holds its own in conversation with serious design references. The Dieter Rams book staged on the tray in the renders is not accidental. It is a knowing nod to the idea that rigorous design intent and genuine warmth do not have to occupy separate spaces.

The all-over cobalt blue is also worth pausing on. Monochromatic execution is one of those choices that either elevates a form completely or exposes every weakness in it. Here, it does the former. The single-color treatment lets the silhouette read with full clarity, makes the curves feel more deliberate, and keeps the tray-as-arm reading as part of one cohesive body rather than a tacked-on accessory. One render includes a lone orange version surrounded by a field of blue, the kind of detail that signals a designer already thinking in colorways, editions, and how pieces behave as a family. That level of forward thinking is encouraging.

Whether Mini Monsieur moves from concept to production remains the open question, and frankly it is the only thing standing between this design and a very good home. My genuine hope is that it does, because the market for furniture that takes itself seriously while still being joyful is more underserved than we tend to acknowledge. Not everything needs to be a neutral linen cube or a Scandinavian plank. Sometimes a room benefits from something with a recognizable presence, a little dignity, and one arm already raised to take your drink. Mini Monsieur is already at its post, ready and waiting.

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The Furniture That Grows Like a Fractal

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If you’ve ever watched a fern unfurl or zoomed into the edge of a snowflake, you already understand fractals, even if you’ve never called them that. They’re the patterns nature repeats at every scale, small details that echo the whole. Xubai Li took that idea and built furniture out of it, and the result is one of the more quietly radical pieces of design I’ve come across in a while.

The Fractal System is a set of modular, nestable plywood objects that can function as stools, shelves, or stands, depending entirely on how you choose to arrange them. Each piece is non-directional, meaning there’s no designated top, bottom, or front. You can rotate them, stack them, slot them together, or spread them across a room. The configuration changes, and with it, so does the furniture’s entire personality. A tight cluster becomes a sculptural display unit. A single piece on its own reads as a clean, minimal stool. A sprawling arrangement along a wall becomes something that looks closer to an art installation than anything you’d find at a typical furniture store.

Designer: Xubai Li

Li, who holds an MFA in Furniture Design from the Rhode Island School of Design, was a featured designer at ICFF, and the Fractal System has since earned Silver recognition at both the NY Product Design Awards and the MUSE Design Awards. That’s the kind of trajectory that usually signals a designer to watch, not just a one-off project.

The design’s real appeal, to my eye, isn’t purely aesthetic, though the warm blond plywood with its exposed laminate layers is exactly the kind of material choice that ages well. It’s the philosophy underneath it. Most furniture is prescriptive. It tells you where to sit, where to put your coffee, how to organize your books. The Fractal System does the opposite. It hands you a set of components and essentially says, figure it out. That level of user agency is still surprisingly rare in furniture design, where modularity often comes dressed up in rigid systems and complicated instructions.

The fractal reference isn’t just a clever name, either. Fractals are defined by self-similarity, where the same pattern recurs regardless of scale. Li applies that principle structurally: the more units you add, the more the configuration begins to mirror the logic of a single unit, just expanded. You can see it clearly in the diagrammatic sketches, where each arrangement reads like a variation on the same underlying grammar. It’s rigorous without feeling academic, which is a genuinely difficult balance to strike.

I also think the timing matters. Right now, the design conversation is heavily focused on adaptability. Smaller living spaces, changing households, a collective skepticism toward buying things that only do one thing. The Fractal System fits into that shift without pandering to it. Li wasn’t designing for trends; the work clearly came from a place of genuine conceptual inquiry. The fact that it also happens to answer a real practical need is almost incidental, and that’s often the sign of the best kind of design.

From a collector’s standpoint, this is the sort of piece that rewards attention over time. It doesn’t announce itself loudly. Photographed in a corner with morning light and a ceramic mug balanced on one of the platforms, it looks like the kind of thing someone discovered in a Kyoto studio decades ago. Grouped tightly in a gallery setting, it reads as contemporary sculpture. That range of registers is genuinely hard to manufacture.

Xubai Li’s Fractal System is one of those designs that quietly shifts how you think about the objects around you. Not because it makes a statement, but because it asks a question: why does a piece of furniture only ever have to be one thing? I don’t have a neat answer to that. But I’m glad someone built the question into plywood and let the rest of us sit with it.

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This Side Table Has No Legs: Its Two Storage Units Are the Structure

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Side tables rarely demand much attention. They hold a drink, a lamp, or a book, and that’s essentially all anyone expects from them. The more ambitious ones add a drawer or a second tier, but the core formula stays the same. It’s one of those furniture categories where function has long settled into convention, quietly waiting for someone to rethink the structure itself.

Designer Deniz Aktay has been doing exactly that kind of rethinking through his designs. His latest concept, the Torque High Side Table, takes the structural question seriously, proposing a pedestal that isn’t really a pedestal at all. The table’s support comes entirely from two metal storage units that carry the weight of the design, both literally and visually, stacked and rotated against each other.

Designer: Deniz Aktay

The idea of torque, that mechanical tension created by rotation, becomes the organizing principle here. Each storage unit opens in a different direction, offset against the other to create the visual friction the name implies. It makes the structure feel active, as if the table is caught mid-turn. The two-tone blue colorway reinforces that, with a dark navy upper section against a brighter blue lower.

That rotation also creates something practically useful. Where the two units meet, a small shelf platform projects outward between them, adding a third storage level beyond the two main compartments. It reinforces the visual logic of the twist while giving you somewhere to set smaller objects. Three storage spots from a single structural idea is a tidy outcome for a table of this size.

Books sit naturally in each compartment, held upright in the curved enclosures without needing brackets or dividers. Each section holds a small collection without effort, turning what might otherwise be a purely decorative object into something you’d interact with daily. That balance between use and visual statement is where this kind of furniture concept tends to either land well or feel entirely theoretical.

The storage-as-structure approach means the Torque table looks interesting from every angle. There are no legs, no base panel, and no conventional framing hardware. The two open-faced volumes do all the work, with a circular disc on top forming the table surface and a matching flat disc at the bottom serving as the foot. Everything between them is either storing something or making a structural point.

Aktay has built a body of work around this kind of thinking, concepts that start with a formal problem and arrive somewhere genuinely practical. The Torque High Side Table fits that approach well. It doesn’t need to announce its cleverness because the structure speaks on its own, and anyone who tucks a book into one of the compartments and sets a cup on top will feel the logic in it.

The post This Side Table Has No Legs: Its Two Storage Units Are the Structure first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Side Table That Folds a Bookshelf Into Its Own Top

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Most side tables ask very little of you. You set things on them, they hold those things, and that’s the end of the conversation. The Boca table by designer Deniz Aktay is not interested in that conversation at all.

At first glance, it reads as a straightforward piece: a circular metal top, slim tubular legs bent into a smooth C-shaped base, a warm terracotta finish. Tidy, minimal, easy to place. But look at it straight on and something shifts. The tabletop isn’t flat. Its center section dips downward into a rectangular cavity, creating a hidden pocket between two metal layers. That pocket is sized to hold a book flat inside the body of the table itself. Slide one in from the side and just the spine shows, sitting flush at the edge of the circle like a small geometric tab. No separate shelf. No added structure. The storage is built into the form of the top.

Designer: Deniz Aktay

The engineering behind this is worth slowing down for. Aktay took a single metal surface and pressed a rectangular section downward, folding it into a tray-like recess while keeping the surrounding disc level and usable. The result is a top that functions on two planes simultaneously: the recessed channel holds the book, and the flat surface above holds everything else. A glass of water, a phone, a small candle, all of it sits on the upper layer without interference. The table doesn’t ask you to choose between storage and surface. It quietly offers both at the same time.

From above, the geometry becomes almost graphic. A flat orange circle with a pressed rectangle at its center, two sharp diagonal ridges fanning outward toward the rim of the disc. It has the kind of topography you’d expect from a relief map or an architectural model, a surface that communicates depth and intention before you even understand the function. Even without a book inside, the form holds your attention. The cavity doesn’t disappear when it’s empty; it becomes a compositional detail, a shadow box pressed into the metal.

The color is doing real work here too. That terracotta-to-coral finish isn’t neutral, but it isn’t loud either. It reads as considered, the kind of color that commands a corner of a room without competing with everything around it. Set against the cool silver of the tubular legs, the contrast is clean and deliberate. The legs themselves are worth noting: bent from a single continuous tube into a profile that tapers from wide at the base to narrower at the top, they give the table a visual lightness that balances the solid weight of the metal disc above. The whole piece feels grounded but not heavy.

What makes the Boca table particularly interesting from a design standpoint is how the form and function are genuinely the same thing. The slot isn’t an addition or an afterthought. It’s the result of shaping the top itself differently. The cavity exists because the metal was bent that way, not because a compartment was attached afterward. That distinction matters more than it might seem. Furniture that achieves storage through added components tends to look like it’s carrying its own extra features. Furniture that achieves storage through form tends to look inevitable, like there was never any other option. Boca belongs to the second category.

There are practical limits worth acknowledging. The fixed-width opening suits standard paperbacks and average hardcovers comfortably, but larger format books won’t fit, and anyone with a habit of keeping thick volumes on their nightstand might find it constraining. That’s a real trade-off. But the specificity of the design is also part of its character. It was made for a particular kind of use, and it doesn’t pretend otherwise.

Stuttgart-based furniture designer Deniz Aktay has been exploring this kind of structural problem-solving across his body of work for years, but the Boca table feels like one of his most resolved ideas yet. The fold does everything. The rest just gets out of the way.

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Furniture That Borrows Its Bones From Architecture

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Most furniture design conversations orbit the same fixed points: material choices, color palettes, the eternal debate between form and function. SeongJin Hwang isn’t really interested in that conversation. With the YY Series, his studio TPGF takes a hard left turn and asks a more structural question: what if furniture borrowed its logic directly from architecture?

It sounds like a thought experiment, but the result is a collection of pieces that feel genuinely original. The series consists of two objects, the Y1 side table and the Y6 lounge chair, both built around what Hwang calls a “Y structure,” a truss-inspired configuration that mirrors the load-bearing frameworks found in bridges and buildings. The name isn’t arbitrary. Y1 uses the structure once; Y6 repeats it six times. Simple math, surprisingly compelling design.

Designer: SeongJin Hwang

What makes this interesting isn’t just the aesthetic, though the aesthetic is striking enough on its own. Look at the Y6 chair and you’ll see something that reads almost like a miniature industrial site: bolted steel joints, criss-crossing metal rods, ribbed panel surfaces. It doesn’t look like furniture trying to reference architecture. It looks like architecture that happens to be the right size to sit in. That’s a harder trick to pull off than it sounds.

The truss is one of the oldest structural tools in engineering. Builders have used triangulated frameworks to distribute weight and resist bending since well before modern steel construction, and architects have long made a visual language out of it. Steel bridges, industrial warehouses, airport terminals, concert stages; the truss pattern is everywhere once you start noticing it. Hwang’s premise is that this visual and structural logic belongs in the domestic sphere too, not as decoration, but as genuine engineering applied at a smaller, more intimate scale.

The Y1 side table is the more understated piece. On its own, a single Y structure can’t carry the load a table demands, so Hwang grounds it in a concrete block. The contrast is the point. Concrete is gravity and mass; the steel Y above it is precision and tension. Together they read like a tiny architectural section model that also holds your coffee. The rigor is real, but so is the playfulness.

The Y6 chair scales the idea up and out. Six repeating Y modules form the base and back support, creating a dense pattern of interconnected joints that distributes weight the same way a truss distributes structural stress. From the side profile, the chair looks almost impossibly mechanical, like a piece of stage rigging folded into a sitting position. From above, the bolted tabletop surface turns the ribbed panel into something straight out of an architectural rendering.

The most honest way to describe the YY Series is as furniture made by someone who wasn’t willing to forget what they learned in an architecture program the moment they sat down at a design desk. That’s not a criticism. The tendency to treat furniture and architecture as completely separate disciplines with only occasional, surface-level overlap has always felt a little artificial to me. Buildings and the objects inside them share an ongoing conversation about structure, material, and human use. The YY Series makes that conversation explicit rather than decorative.

Whether these pieces belong in a gallery or a living room is a fair question. The steel and concrete combination isn’t exactly warm, and the mechanical density of the Y6 chair isn’t for everyone’s taste. But that’s part of what makes it worth paying attention to. The YY Series isn’t trying to soften architecture into something livable. It’s inviting you to live inside the logic of architecture directly, bolts, trusses, load paths, and all.

The studio received recognition for the YY Series at the Architecture Madrid Award in October 2024. For a design rooted so firmly in structural thinking, that feels like exactly the right room to be noticed in. The work is worth tracking, and SeongJin Hwang is a designer worth knowing.

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These Ceramic Lamps Look Like 90s Caramel Candy and Stack Any Way

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The interiors most people aspire to these days tend to share a common trait: they’re clean, restrained, and almost aggressively neutral. Scandinavian minimalism, Japandi aesthetics, and muted palettes have dominated home design for years, and while there’s nothing wrong with a well-curated beige room, a lot of modern spaces have started to feel emotionally flat, like showrooms rather than places where people actually live.

That’s where the Caramel collection comes in. Designed by Moscow-based product designer Maxim Tatarintsev in collaboration with Russian brand Svoy Design, this new series of ceramic lighting and furniture takes a very different approach to interior objects. Rather than adding another understated piece to a polished shelf, it reaches back to a simpler, sweeter time, asking whether a lamp or a side table can carry something as intangible as joy.

Designer: Maxim Tatarintsev

Tatarintsev’s inspiration came from a period of deep personal reflection. Amid what he describes as the noise of contemporary life, he looked inward and found his answer in childhood, specifically in the candy that practically every kid growing up in the 90s and early 2000s would recognize. That small, glossy, jewel-toned caramel sweet became both his muse and his design vocabulary, shaping everything from the forms to the color palette.

The collection spans pendant lights, ceiling fixtures, and wall-mounted lamps, all crafted from semi-porcelain, as well as a low-profile side table made from a proprietary composite material. What stands out is the modular approach: each ceramic unit can be combined and reconfigured, letting you stack or cluster them into different lighting arrangements depending on the mood or corner of the room you’re working with.

Think of it like assembling your own arrangement from a jar of sweets. One configuration might call for a single pendant above a kitchen island; another might cluster a few units along the ceiling of a reading nook. The point isn’t to follow a prescribed layout but to put that creative decision in the hands of the person actually living in the space, not just the designer who furnished it.

The craftsmanship behind the lighting is traditional and deliberate. Each piece starts as a slip-cast semi-porcelain form, drying for several days before being fired at 1,100°C inside a muffle furnace. A coat of glaze and paint follows, giving the finished modules their signature smooth, candy-like sheen. It’s a fairly labor-intensive process for what might look like a simple geometric shape, but that’s precisely what gives each piece its quiet depth.

The side table takes a different manufacturing route altogether. Made from a proprietary composite rather than ceramic, it’s significantly more durable and comes in two versions, one for indoor use and one for covered outdoor settings. At first glance, it reads as a low, rounded ottoman, and people will probably be unable to resist using it as a delicious seat instead.

None of that is accidental. Tatarintsev’s stated goal wasn’t to produce pretty objects but to create what he calls “emotional anchors,” pieces capable of sparking a genuine reaction in whoever encounters them. A set of lamps you can rearrange on a whim, a table that moonlights as a seat, and a color palette borrowed from childhood treats make for a collection that gives any room a personality it actually earned.

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4 Upholstered Columns Become a Chair, And One Bends Into a Table

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There’s a particular kind of furniture that makes you stop scrolling. Not because it’s trying to be art, and not because it’s doing anything especially clever with materials or manufacturing. It stops you because it looks like something you’ve never seen before, and then a second later, you completely understand it. Liam de la Bedoyere’s Quad Chair is exactly that kind of object.

The concept is almost aggressively simple. Four upholstered cylindrical columns stand together in a cluster. Three of them are straight, functioning as seats or backrests depending on how you lean into them. The fourth one bends at its base in a tight U-curve, loops back up, and becomes a side table at standing height. The whole thing is covered in a single color of fabric, currently shown in a striking orange-red that does a lot of work in making the form read clearly. Available too in yellow and blue, but the red is the one that landed.

Designer: Liam de la Bedoyere

What I find genuinely compelling here is the restraint. De la Bedoyere could have made this complicated. He didn’t. There’s no mixed material moment, no contrasting leg, no cutout geometry trying to signal craft or exclusivity. The Quad Chair is basically a pipe that got upholstered and brought some friends, and somehow that reads as both completely absurd and completely resolved.

The side table column is the real insight. Furniture that doubles as something else is usually a compromise, some convertible thing that does two jobs adequately and neither one well. But because the column is already structural, already cylindrical, already the right diameter to hold a glass or a book, bending one back up to table height doesn’t feel like a feature. It feels inevitable. A Dieter Rams book propped between the columns in the product photography feels less like a styling choice and more like the designer making a point about what the object is actually for.

The brand behind the project is Bored Eye Design, which is a name that earns more credibility the longer you look at the work. There’s something in the moniker that acknowledges where design ideas actually come from: not from briefs or trend reports, but from a certain restless attention to ordinary things. Four cylinders. One bent. That’s it. You can feel the boredom that preceded the idea.

It’s worth noting this is currently a personal project rather than a production piece. The renders are polished enough that it’s easy to assume otherwise, and the product photography, shot on pale timber floors against clean white walls, is exactly the kind of work that gets picked up by design publications and mistaken for launch imagery. De la Bedoyere is clearly fluent in the visual language of contemporary design brands.

Whether the Quad Chair translates to manufacturing is a different question. The upholstered U-bend is the interesting technical challenge, and how that curve holds its shape over time, under weight, across different uses, is something renders can’t tell you. But as a concept it’s more than compelling. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder why it doesn’t already exist.

Furniture has been having a cylindrical moment for a while now. Puffy, tubular, soft-edged forms have been creeping through interior design for the better part of a decade, a reaction against the hard-cornered minimalism that preceded it. The Quad Chair sits comfortably in that lineage without feeling derivative. It has a specific idea at its center, which is more than can be said for a lot of what’s riding the same aesthetic wave.

The top-down photograph is the one I keep coming back to. Four circular ends of upholstered columns arranged on a light wood floor, looking less like furniture and more like a glyph, or a punctuation mark from an alphabet that doesn’t exist yet. It’s the kind of image that sticks. The kind of object you’d sketch on a napkin and then be surprised, weeks later, to realize it was real.

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Twist This Minimalist Side Table’s Handle, and It Becomes the Lamp

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Side tables and lamps behave awkwardly in small apartments. The drink and book migrate from sofa to armchair throughout the day, but the lamp never seems to be where you need it, and the cable gets dragged across the floor. Most furniture still assumes a fixed layout, even though habits are much more fluid, especially in spaces where the same corner has to function as office, living room, and dining area by Thursday.

Grab & Glow is a portable side table with a clever twist. Its legs pass through the tabletop and continue upward to form a single handle. That handle is the thing you instinctively reach for when you want to move it, so the table, light, and whatever is on top travel together instead of you juggling a tray in one hand and a lamp in the other while trying not to trip over the cord.

Designer: Liam de la Bedoyere

The handle is also the light source. You loosen a small bolt at the edge, rotate the handle, and a hidden light flicks on at the curved end. The same tube that makes the table easy to carry becomes an arm that throws a pool of light onto the surface below, so the gesture of settling in somewhere new and turning on the lamp is literally the same motion, one twist.

The tabletop is a powder-coated metal disc with a slight lip that keeps books and glasses from sliding when you move it. The finish is built for everyday use, resistant to scratches and rings, so it can live next to a sofa, bed, or reading chair without feeling precious or needing coasters. The circular footprint keeps it compact, which matters when you’re threading it between furniture or tucking it under a desk.

Integrated cable management means the power cord runs neatly down one leg, held by discreet clips, and can be wrapped when you need to tidy up. A small cut-out on the tabletop rim lets the plug or a charging cable pass through without getting pinched, so you can route power to the lamp or a laptop without a tangle, even as the table moves around the room throughout the week.

A day with Grab & Glow might start with it acting as a coffee perch in the morning, a laptop stand by the sofa in the afternoon, and then a reading light by the bed at night. The height and handle make it easy to lift without bending much, and the light always ends up exactly where your book or keyboard is because it’s attached to the same object you’re already carrying from room to room.

Grab & Glow treats a side table less like a static piece of furniture and more like a personal tool you carry around the house. By letting the legs pierce the tabletop to become a handle and lamp, and by quietly solving the cable problem, it shows how a single structural idea can make flexible living feel less improvised and more designed, one grab at a time.

The post Twist This Minimalist Side Table’s Handle, and It Becomes the Lamp first appeared on Yanko Design.