The desire to design and build is something I probably got from my father. I grew up in the industrious German state of Baden-Wurttemberg in a small village of 750 residents who lived by the mantra Schaffe, schaffe Hausle bauen, or “hard work and diligence pays off.”
That was our mantra too. When my father was in his workshop building or repairing something, my older brother Stefan and I were always there, taking it in. It’s where, as children, we first encountered tools for woodworking and construction. I got my own toolbox quite early, complete with my very first hammer, saw and drill. At the time, I would certainly have been happier with a Game Boy, but looking back, those tools were the first objects that nudged me toward becoming a designer.
About 150 kilometres away from my birthplace, a sign reads, “Deutsche Lederstadt,” signifying that Offenbach am Main is a town where German leather is made. I’ve lived here for half my life, ever since I started studying product design at the Offenbach University of Art and Design. When I arrived in 2001, it seemed like every local family was linked to the leather industry, be it through manufacturing, sales or design. Leather craft was the common thread between individuals, generations and entire neighbourhoods.
Today, however, the leather industry has moved on. World-renowned manufacturers, some who had been producing here for centuries, closed their factories in the 2000s. Around the same time, my university closed its leather workshops and shifted toward digital production. A large, computerized milling machine and 3-D printers took their place.
As the years went on, the city lost its identity. As a result, I made the decision to resist such change and focus my work on keeping craft alive. Unlike many of my peers, who leapt at each innovation, I travelled around Germany, visiting workshops still focused on traditional techniques and producing products in a way that balances the machine and the handmade.
This is how one of my first – and probably most famous – designs was born. The Bell Table is a brass top sitting on a mouth-blown glass base. Both elements come from small manufacturers that have worked the same way for centuries. The base alone contains more than four-and-a-half centuries of knowledge found in a workshop in the Bavarian Forest.
Its craftspeople are my heroes. I show them my sketches and they breathe life into my ideas. At 5 in the morning they’re already at work, standing at the ovens processing molten glass. They blow the honey-like mass into wooden moulds and create fragile, transparent treasures. I love to watch them at work, in small groups and without speaking. Everyone knows exactly when to pick up the glassmaker’s pipe, blow off the glass or open the wooden mould. It is a ballet of art and expertise.
We’ve lost respect for this type of know-how and for the material and time invested in it. We consume far too carelessly in our digital age, devouring products like bags of chips. Design should be an investment, especially in time. When we invest in design, we learn to appreciate it as something to keep for the rest of our lives. When we buy trendy objects, they are often waste waiting to happen.
Years ago, when I made the decision to think longer term in my own practice, I extended the philosophy to selecting which clients and manufacturers I work with. Technology and new materials are still part of the equation, but the decisive factor is the human element.
Another example of this, the Savigny Platz table I designed for Man of Parts, is more than a big table. It’s a sculpture made of wood and a testament to quality, conveying the fine balance between tradition and innovation. The sturdy legs are shaped by CNC routers but then finished by hand. Technology can play a role in craftsmanship, as long as it doesn’t steal the spotlight.
This approach to design and making takes patience. A custom-made carpet takes months to weave and a hand-decorated plate requires many hours under a skilled, steady hand. Unlike in mass production, these objects are created with passion and precision. You can commission the same thing 10 times, but they will all differ in small ways, as individual and thoughtful as the people behind them.