Our work is grounded in industry and shaped by relationships. Since 1989, our approach has evolved along a continual dialogue: between projects and people, thinking and making.

The content throughout the booklet sits outside finished products. It captures projects that never made it, details that sparked curiosity, materials in transition, and discussions in progress. Collectively, it reflects the underlying structure of our practice — iterative, occasionally uncertain, and always in motion.

The material bridges four themes: process, thinking, collaboration, and inspiration. These categories are porous and fluid: a prototype as an act of thinking, or a factory as a source of inspiration. What matters is not their classification, but the ideas, questions, and relationships between them.

We place great value on proximity — to materials, to production, to the people we work with and those we design for. This means spending time understanding contexts before attempting to shape them. It also means accepting that progress is rarely linear, and that clarity emerges through cycles of exploration and refinement.

FOTW is not a closed conversation, but an open extension of a continuing dialogue. Only through exchange can ideas be challenged and refined. Excerpts below.

A still from Oscar-winning film, Her. Written and directed by Spike Jonze, it follows the story of Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) falling in love with an AI OS named Samantha (Scarlett Johansson). Set in the near future, it’s a compelling exploration on AI.

For work specifically, it provokes some interesting questions. In this scene, Theodore sits before a screen — suggesting that while interfaces may evolve, visual display will remain a central tool of communication between physical and digital. The absence of a mouse and keyboard is more notable.

Typewriting has been a primary mode of input, shaping work for over a century. To one degree or another, most workers today communicate through these tools. AI opens the possibility to move beyond this, potentially transforming how we understand work as a destination and activity.

Our studio was previously a radio manufacturing facility; the windows are among the last remnants of that past. These latches are a great example of how time affects our relationship with objects.

On first view, they appeared large and functionally flawed. Having lived with them for eight years, we’ve grown to love them. Their size is an expression of their mechanics, a series of swivelling pivots that have a satisfying swing and lock, which you only grow to love through use. Proportion and materiality derive from function, and there are details you can only appreciate with time.

There are several issues with them of course — the fact that they only open 5“ an obvious one — but their charm lies in these quirks.

We love furniture, but we are not limited to it. Prior to this project, we hadn’t worked in lighting for some years — technologies and innovation change rapidly in this space.

Heat isn’t a factor we consider all too often, but it was a defining preoccupation here; leading to rabbit holes in thermodynamics and explorations on how geometry affects the transfer of heat and air. Sometimes, a little naivety can be an asset in these types of challenges.

An inconsequential plaza in Lower Manhattan that most would walk by without a second thought. But for skateboarders, this space is cherished and holds real significance.

It was not designed for skateboarding, but the space has transcended its original intent, evolving into something far more meaningful. It showcases the power and capacity users have to create value far beyond any designer’s intent.

Interestingly, M. Paul Friedberg, the landscape architect behind the design, was also responsible for the Brooklyn Banks — another loved New York skate spot.

We spent two years developing a folding table mechanism for general use across the market. The result addressed functionality issues, reduced footprint, and refined material efficiency — improvements that were hard-won, yet ultimately quite modest. The project was never realised, serving as a reminder that not all problems necessarily justify the effort required to solve them.