It started out as a literal thing. Being fascinated by the northern lights and nebulas, how light travels. Then when I was looking at the grain in the wood it also looks like a psychedelic pattern and by adding colour to it you’ll never look at wood the same again.

I had a clear vision of how I wanted it to look but actually achieving the end result turned out to be really tricky. I spent a year—my last year at the RCA in London—developing that technique by mixing my own stains. I tried all these different processes and just couldn’t get it right and almost gave up.

It was a transformation from what I had been doing. After cabinetry school I moved to Stockholm to attend Beckmans. I knew I had the skills in the craft, but didn’t know the design element. I spent my time there talking to all the students and I was really into the conceptual fashion of the moment—Margiela painting everything white—the anti-design movement, using standard fonts but using them in an elevated context. I was making simple furniture and painting everything white with a brush to take the attention away from the material. I was so fed up and bored by the cool and sleek Nordic design. I couldn’t relate to it at all. By making really simple stuff and painting it white, the design and shape could be the essence. That was the starting point. ¶ Then later at the RCA it was very experimental. The atmosphere there was right, but also very challenging—the criticism was very harsh. One teacher even told me that anyone could do what I was doing, which was sort of the point. Then I started experimenting with colours but I came to a dead end when I couldn’t achieve what I wanted. Then one night I was at a party and there were these beautiful, colourful garlands hanging from the ceiling and they fell down and got soaked, so they started dropping pigment and it was impossible to get the stains out from the wooden tops. And I think that it is my practice now, to dig where I stand. And it was that simple, I started using garlands.

Everything was process-based design back then and this was too simple that I was ashamed to admit it. The story I was telling everyone was that I had been experimenting with stains and people thought I had somehow discovered this amazing process.

I used to be so ashamed about the simplicity of it all. But then I realised that after a year the colour fades, which wasn’t intentional. So now I use pigments, I make my own colours. Every now and then I get a wave of students asking me about the process.

I’m in a sweet spot at the moment, balancing Joy Objects—a furniture company that I started with three friends—with experiences that you can’t take home with you. Joy has become my space to create things that people can bring home. My personal work has always had a functional element, but Joy has an even clearer mission statement: “Everyday objects for everyday use”. It might sound like a no-brainer, but for me it was a revelation: creating chairs that are affordable and accessible, without compromising on design, and creating a brand around it that still feels like me. I’m super proud of that. 

It must be the Joy chair. It’s the essence of everything I’ve been doing. It’s so direct and straightforward, but it also has something else to it. In a way it’s like a sandwich, with different ingredients, materials and colours, so it can keep evolving. It’s also becoming a system, so it can transform to other pieces of furniture, like tables, stools, benches and storage units.

It’s a safe zone, somewhere to be private. Where you don’t care about anyone else.

I cook food. All types of stuff, nothing fancy. I enjoy doing everyday tasks, like doing dishes—all the things you feel like you have to do.

The first one is called Glada Hörnan, my local pizzeria—“Joy Corner”—that place is amazing. And then this Colombian cafe called Kaffe Express Colombia.

She went to Konstfack and I went to Beckmans—we met at a party. I saw her once and just immediately knew. Apparently she saw me at a different event and thought the same, but someone told her I was taken. We were pursuing each other, trying to make it happen.

We have the same type of humour. We laugh a lot. We have a lot of fun just hanging out together.

It’s great, we talk a lot about our projects. I couldn’t do what I do now without her. There’s a constant dialogue. We talk about work all the time, but in a fun and challenging way.

To allow for things to take time. I was so impatient before, still am, I was always rushing to the next project. Through her I learned to be meticulous and make the best out of something and really work out the details thoroughly.

She has the worst morning mood, which I blame Bodil for. She’s incredibly creative, which I think she also got from Bodil, because I don’t feel like I’m creative. Bodil and Karin can sit and draw and make up stories together. I enjoy watching them.

I don’t feel like I’ve changed. I’m still the same, but now I have a family. We listen to a lot of music together. She likes everything I like, like punk rock, heavy metal and rap. The music should be loud. Sometimes I wake up them with a song and she’ll ask me what song it is, asking who it’s by, really listening.

Probably The Diamond Sea by Sonic Youth!

This exhibition catalogue from a Peter Shire show. He made a really nice drawing and dedication in it for me. It means a lot to me. But actually, my favourite thing by far is this tiny ceramic thing that looks like a horse to me, but Karin, my daughter, claims it’s a camel. It’s decorated with flowers. It has a container on the top. It looks like an ancient incense holder. It looks weird, strange and cute at the same time. That might have been my dearest thing until it broke. But I kept the scraps.

Twice, they were both by chance. The first was my Ettore Sottsass table that I found at Myrorna in Ropsten. They had it as a display table and had covered it with a table cloth and a bunch of glassware. I also found an Axel Einar Hjorth piece—this was way before the hype—immediately when I saw it I noticed how geometric, clean and brutal it was. It looked like something a farmer had made out of necessity. It was just so obvious, in a way.

In Denmark, the design world is limited from them being too proud of their heritage, so everyone is held back and doing the same thing. Whereas in Sweden we don’t have that many masters to dictate the work. But it’s hard to create work in Sweden, because it almost feels like culture is despised here. Design is both culture and tradition, and the economy and mindset in Sweden holds it back by only considering the numbers.

When someone is trying to do something new, people first pay attention to it, but as soon as it loses momentum, people lose interest and are very critical of it. That’s why it’s so important to me to try and make timeless things. Stuff that works well, make sense, is sturdy and durable. I just want them to say it’s a great fucking chair! ✿