Why We Named It the Reshaping Collection

Every piece in the Reshaping Collection begins as something that already existed — and already mattered.

That is not a marketing statement. It is a material fact. The paper in Threshold, in Soleil, in Galets — the paper that forms the structural body of every piece — was pattern paper. Working documents from years of design practice in fashion. Sheets marked with grain lines, notches, cutting instructions. The technical language of garments that were made, worn, and moved on from.

The paper was not.

What comes with you.

When a studio relocates — really relocates, across countries and continents — the first question is always what stays and what goes. The practical answer is almost always: less than you think. Furniture can be replaced. Objects can be found again. But the working materials of a creative practice are different. They carry something that is difficult to name and impossible to recreate.

The materials from the fashion business came with us. Pattern paper, yes — but also fabric lengths, yarn, beads, wire, the physical inventory of years of making. From the United States to Canada, from Canada to Finland, from Finland to Spain. Not because any of it was precious in a conventional sense. But discarding it felt wrong in a way that was worth paying attention to.

Finland added its own layer. Temporary storage there meant metal rods — the kind used for modular shelving and hanging systems — that were bought for a home that was always going to be temporary. When Palamós became the destination, the rods came too. Not out of sentimentality. Out of the same instinct: these are materials. Materials do not expire.

In Palamós, in the studio at Plaça de la Vila, the question eventually became direct: what do these materials want to become?

"Forat," Vessel Form, showcasing an intricate hand-layered paper technique with a mineral finish.

Why reshaping and not recycling

The word recycling implies a reduction — a material being broken down and reconstituted into something lesser or merely equivalent. The paper is not broken down. It is not pulped or processed. It is used as it is, layer by layer, in its original form, carrying its original markings.

The patterns are still inside the pieces. You cannot see them — they are buried under layers of binder and mineral finish. But a dress pattern is inside Threshold. Sleeve pieces are inside Galets. The geometry of a collar is somewhere inside Soleil.

Reshaping is more accurate. The material is not recycled. It is redirected. Given a different destination than the one it was made for, without losing what it already was.

That distinction matters to us because it changes the relationship between the maker and the material. We are not starting from scratch. We are continuing a conversation that the material began somewhere else, in a different discipline, in a different country, and bringing it to a conclusion that neither of us could have predicted at the start.

What the studio taught us

The studio in Palamós is 34 square meters. Between a bookstore and the church, across from the port, in a town that is small enough to know everyone and large enough to have the sea.

Working in a small space with physical materials is a specific kind of discipline. There is no room for accumulation, for half-finished experiments that can be pushed to a corner and returned to later. Every piece in progress occupies real space. Every decision has a consequence that is immediately visible.

This constraint turned out to be generative. The collection grew slowly because it had to — each form considered carefully before the next one began. And that slowness is in the work. You can feel it when you hold a piece. There is no evidence of rushing.

The architectural training also changed how the objects were approached. An architect does not design a wall. An architect designs what a wall does — how it holds light, how it relates to the floor, how it creates the conditions for the human experience of the space it encloses. The Reshaping Collection pieces were designed with the same thinking. Not as decorative objects but as spatial participants. Things that change the room they are in, however slightly, by being present in it.

What the collection is becoming

Paper was the beginning because paper was what we had most of. But the logic of the collection — materials that already existed, redirected into permanent form — opens naturally into other territories.

Fabric was next. Then cord, yarn, metal. Each with its own structural behavior, its own surface qualities, its own relationship to light. The collection has grown into these materials the same way it grew into paper — through experiment, failure, refinement, and the particular satisfaction of a form that finally holds.

What will not change is the constraint. Nothing will be bought for the purpose of making something else. Every material that enters the Reshaping Collection will have already been something. Already carried a history. Already been part of a different story that was not quite finished.

The collection exists to finish those stories.

The Reshaping Collection is available in the studio in Palamós and online. Each piece is one of a kind — and some exist only here, and only now.

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