Living in wool, velvet, and brass.

A material is never alone. It speaks with the walls, the light, the daily passages. Each piece in an interior is an encounter — between a velvet that drinks the light and a brass that returns it, between a wool that softens the step and a parquet that keeps its memory.

Composing a tactile palette begins with silence. Walking the room, touching the walls, listening to the sound the space makes when one paces it. Then placing, in layers: a large piece of wool on the ground, a velvet that warms a seat, a detail of brass as a punctuation, like a piece of jewellery.

The golden rule, if there is one, holds in a few words: fewer materials, more variations. Three textures that answer one another are worth more than ten that agitate. The house is built by subtraction.