Our Founder

The way I want to think about it

Singular space is my way to say thank you to everyone that came before and my gift to everyone that comes after.

By the time the first rug was on the loom, I had already spent a year writing a book, two years working with manufacturers in India, a few weeks in Venice learning a craft that city has held unmatched for centuries, and most of my life quietly suspecting that writing and making things were the same instinct in different clothes.

I start with the hardest part of any project. It's how I learn the fastest.

Singular Space began the same way — not with a product, but with the question underneath it: what is actually worth making? I had spent years pulled between writing and materials, treating them as a contradiction. One lived on the page, the other in the hand. I kept waiting for one of them to win. One day I realised they had never been in competition. They were two ways of doing the same thing — trying to understand the world, and trying to add something to it. I decided to stop choosing between them and instead build a home for the second one. A place where the objects could land, be discovered, and stay.

I grew up in Switzerland and studied design and marketing there. A lot of what I love still comes from that foundation: minimalism, geometry, the quiet pleasure of numbers that repeat. I moved to India for two years when I was twenty, worked closely with manufacturers, fell in love with colour and with a culture unafraid of it, and accidentally started my first business — wallets I designed and produced locally, first in leather, then in cork when I decided I didn't want my work tied to the killing of animals. That was the first version of what I'm doing now. I came back more formed, and more open than when I arrived.

The future is blindingly bright

Everything I know, everything I use, everything I'm able to make was handed to me by people from a long time ago. Every idea, every tool, every technique. What an extraordinary gift.

Everything we make at Singular space is slow and deliberate. It's built to last longer than we will. Not because slow is romantic. Because the people who come after us deserve our best work. They deserve to see our love for life captured in our objects.

I think the future of humanity is going to be absolutely incredible. Unfathomably so. Even if not every day feels that way, I'm convinced the best is yet to come. I want the objects we bring to the future to be worthy of their new surroundings.

Every choice we make in how we work — our speed, or the lack thereoff — comes back to this. The people who come after us deserve our best work, and best work takes the time it takes.

Furnish once.

The language of the universe

I'm drawn to the shapes that nature and mathematics return to again and again. Tessellation. Fractals. The way a honeycomb and a galaxy rhyme. I believe these patterns are pleasing to us on a level deeper than taste — something elemental, older than style, more foundational than preference. Something we recognise without being taught.

Most of the objects here begin there. In a pattern the universe already drew.

Studying what has lasted

They've shared space with human beings for centuries. They come from the earth and the living things we share the earth with. They're safe — for your body, for your home, for the world around us.

That's what I want in my life. That's what I work with.

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Materials are the thing I think about most. They're where I feel the work is most alive, and they're the reason I started all of this in the first place. The chance to put my hands on the most fundamental and elemental stuff in existence — to build a life around it, and to offer it to other people — is something I still find hard to believe I get to do.

We name whole epochs of human history after the materials that shaped them. Stone, bronze, iron. Entire millennia remembered by what humans held in their hands, what they hunted with, what they built with, what they wore. I think about that almost every day. The materials we work with carry a weight that nothing invented in the last hundred years can match, because they've been part of the human story since the beginning of it — and in some cases, long before the human story began at all.

Some of them are older than the species that use them. Stone, copper, iron — these come from the planet itself, from a time before anything alive existed to notice them. Others are more miraculous: wool, silk, alpaca, the hardwoods. These only exist because living things made them, and they only exist here. They are not inevitable. They are not universal. They are specific to this particular planet, to this particular arrangement of climate and evolution and deep time, and the fact that we get to work with them at all is something I try very hard not to take for granted.

That's what I want in my life. That's what I work with.