Experimentation, Collaboration and Creative Challenges
a conversation with William Brand, creator and sculptor
On never-ending experimentation
If you walk through our atelier, you’ll see something that looks almost stubborn: we keep going back. Not because we’re unsure, but because the last five percent is where an object either becomes itself or forever remains a simple decoration. This is something I’m sure every artist recognises: that moment when something looks pretty but has no backbone. I can’t stand that.
So we tweak. We correct. We tighten the line. We change the tension of a curve ever so slightly. We test what a surface does when the light drops in the evening. And I don’t mean in theory. I mean: I sketch, sculpt, build a prototype, we hang it, switch it on, look again. If it doesn’t work, it’s back to the workshop.
That’s why we work the way we do. Design, prototyping, and crafting sit under one roof so that the object can be judged in real conditions, not as a clean image on a computer screen. Light doesn’t live on a screen anyway. It lives on skin, on stone, on timber, on glass, on fabric.
So experimentation isn’t novelty for its own sake. It’s clarity. It’s perfecting the medium so nothing distracts from what the object is meant to do. I know we’ve reached the right point when it feels resolved — when nothing can be taken away without weakening it, and anything added would dilute its clarity.
The glasswork, the forging, the joints, the balance, even the finishes: these are not decorative decisions, they’re artistic, structural decisions based on our principles and values. High gloss can pull the room into the object and sharpen contrast. Satin holds light; it quiets it, softens it, makes it more architectural. That’s why we’re strict. If a finish starts fighting the proportions or turns the object into an accessory, we stop.
When we introduced the Silver Satin finish last year, it wasn’t a “new option.” It was a character of light I wanted to exist in this world: a silver with restraint, refined rather than sharp, that sits calmly with stone, timber, textile, and still carries depth when the room is dimmed. We tested primers, textures, pigments, protective layers until it behaved exactly how we wanted.
And then there is Bronze Dark Patina, which is a finish with its own life. It’s applied by hand, so no two surfaces are identical, and that’s the point. In a real interior, it gains nuance. It absorbs light differently over time, deepens, and becomes part of the atmosphere rather than a fixed statement.
On co-creating
Co-creation only becomes interesting when the other side has conviction. The collaborations that stay with me are the ones where the partner has a strong vision and the courage to commit to it. Not performative confidence, but real decisiveness. That’s a challenge, and I mean that as a compliment. Because when you’re sitting across from someone who actually knows what they want, that’s where it becomes energising, because the conversation is no longer about options. It’s about decisions.
A strong counterpart brings their own discipline into the room — a building’s logic, a design grammar, a collector’s eye. Suddenly, “beautiful” isn’t enough. The object has to be right. And when it’s right, it doesn’t compete for attention, and it doesn’t apologise for its presence either.
The Orpheus Nymphenburg collaboration is a perfect example. It brought two traditions into a single language: our sculptural approach to light and Nymphenburg’s porcelain craft. Porcelain doesn’t tolerate gracelessness. It demands restraint and precision, and that pressure made Orpheus truly bloom. That’s what I look for in collaboration: not compromise, but a new, higher standard.
That’s also how I think about custom work. It’s not about “everything is possible.” Technically, a lot is possible. But I’m not interested in the technical possibility if the result is visually weak. Custom only matters if it becomes more right.
Proportion, balance, rhythm, structural logic, character — those are non-negotiables. Not because I’m difficult, but because I’m responsible for what leaves the atelier. I’m not going to attach my name to something I wouldn’t want in my own space.
With Orpheus, there’s another layer all art lovers respond to: the option to create the object around a stone or mineral with personal meaning. But again — it’s not “bring anything, and we’ll make it work.” We curate what truly works structurally and aesthetically, and then we compose the light to reveal the stone with respect. When it’s right, it has the presence of a museum object — not because it belongs behind glass, but because it can hold its own alongside art. It has authorship, material truth, and permanence.
And I’ll be honest: we tend to attract people with strong opinions. I think that’s great. If you’re decisive, good — bring it.
On adaptability
Adaptability isn’t unlimited variation. It’s judgement. It’s deciding what belongs, and what doesn’t. What matters isn’t scale or spectacle, but harmony.
The real dialogue happens between the architecture, the designer shaping it, and our atelier. When it works, the lighting doesn’t feel “added.” It feels integrated, like it belongs to the room’s logic rather than something bolted on at the end.
Too often, standard lighting is scaled by catalogue rather than by architecture. That’s why you see so many objects which are technically correct but emotionally wrong. It looks fine in a clean product photo, then you install it, and the room doesn’t breathe.
This is why I design with composition in mind: how elements can be scaled, repeated, rebalanced, and arranged to suit a volume and a viewpoint. Often, the strongest solution isn’t one big gesture. It’s a composed installation — multiple parts arranged to follow the architecture, to carry rhythm through a space, to make a light feel intentional.
And this is where the real arguments happen — the good kind. Details become decisive. A few centimetres can change whether an object reads elegant or heavy. Shift one element, and the whole composition can move from composed to nervous. That’s because you’re not only dealing with form — you’re dealing with shadow, reflection, balance, and how the eye reads gravity. A small adjustment can change the centre of mass, the cadence between elements, and the way highlights travel across a wall. You don’t always see it immediately, but you feel it.
That’s why we stay involved from concept through to installation. Not to control the process, but to own and protect the final result, to make sure the object truly becomes itself.
Create together with William Brand
Together, let us bring the magic of sculptural lighting into your space. Reach out today to begin co-creating, working hand in hand with William to translate your dreams into handcrafted reality.