Beyond the Brief with Konstantin Grcic and Studio Œ

Konstantin Grcic is a German industrial designer known for his functional approach to furniture and product design. A designer with a functionalist edge, Konstantin studied at the Royal College of Art in London before launching his Munich-based studio, Konstantin Grcic Industrial Design, in 1991. His career includes pieces like the geometric Chair_One for Magis and the utilitarian Mayday lamp for Flos, which won the Compasso d’Oro award. He has also art directed for Italian furniture brand Mattiazzi. Collaborating with brands like Vitra, Muji, and Cassina, Konstantin is known for his deep material knowledge, precision, and a willingness to push the limits of industrial design.

Studio Œ—founded by German designers Lisa Ertel and Anne-Sophie Oberkrome—is all about rethinking the way we make things. With backgrounds from the Karlsruhe University of Arts and Design, the duo takes a process-driven approach, seamlessly moving from furniture to industrial design and conceptual research. They thrive in the in-between space where self-initiated projects meet industrial production. Their work, from the OTO and DOPO furniture collection for Mattiazzi to collaborations within their multidisciplinary FAN Collective, leans into both material innovation and sustainability.

In this conversation, Konstantin sits down with Lisa and Anne-Sophie to discuss balancing creative freedom with industrial production, their furniture collaboration with Mattiazzi, and their time mentoring young designers together at the Hamburg University of Fine Arts.

 Konstantin Grcic: The three of us first met at an exhibition I had in Berlin—a show about my work. Someone mentioned Studio Œ’s Lisa and Anne-Sophie when we were looking for young designers to engage in a conversation. I think it was at the end of the exhibition during a springtime event, where we wanted to invite people for a sort of mini seminar.

We were specifically looking for young designers I hadn’t met before—people coming from outside my immediate circle—to share their experiences and practices. I was sent a list of names, and among them were you two. I was immediately drawn to your work.

I’m often intrigued by work I don’t fully understand at first glance. When I see something unfamiliar it sparks my curiosity. After seeing it a few more times I started to recognize a context, a thread of thought, a logic.

What stood out to me about your practice was the work with furniture, which has always been a central theme for me.  I’m often confronted with the opinion that creating furniture today is outdated, and that designers should focus on other things. But I love furniture—which is why I’m always interested in who’s doing it and in what way. That’s why furniture design remains relevant.

In your work, I saw a strong intellectual and conceptual basis. Your designs stem from an idea—at least, that’s my interpretation—but it’s also linked to how to make it: how to construct something so it becomes a real, tangible object.

At the time most of your pieces weren’t yet in production, but it was clear that your work was conceived with the intention of being reproduced, whether by others or through your own means of manufacturing. They’re not one-offs. That was something I found interesting.

Anne-Sophie Oberkrome: Thanks Konstantin. It’s super nice to hear that from you. I think you described it well. At that time many of our projects weren’t in production yet. After graduating, we didn’t want to just wait for things to happen. We really started to design proactively and find our own platform and framework rather than waiting for a company to approach us with a brief.

That also led to different collective formats we later founded, such as the FAN Collective, comprised of designers who work together and have a shared approach to their work. It was important for us to translate our ideas into something that could eventually be produced.

Lisa Ertel: We still try to keep a balance between self-initiated projects, deeper research, and trying out things that tickle us, in a way—next to commissioned work, which has taken on quite a big part of our daily lives. This self-initiated work acts as a testing ground that allows us to develop ideas that we can later integrate into client projects. It’s a continuous process of learning and refining.

“Our practice is a continuous process of learning and refining.”

Konstantin: That’s a great point, and it’s something I didn’t initially mention but find very important. One of the things that struck me when I first saw your work—and continues to impress me—is its sense of authorship.

I really appreciate projects that carry a distinct personal signature. In design, I often see work that seems focused on fulfilling expectations or doing what others have already done. A lot of designers want to please. There’s a lot of repetition and fewer projects that tell their own story.

What I admire about your work is that it has its own voice. It reflects what excites you, what drives your research. It speaks not only about you as designers but also about your generation and how you engage with today’s design landscape. That kind of perspective is very much needed right now.

We first met about three years ago. In that relatively short time, a lot has happened in your practice. Now you have clients knocking on your doors commissioning you. They probably still don’t give you proper briefings since that’s something still lacking in the industry, but they come to you because they see something in your work that they want to be a part of.

Lisa: It’s interesting—sometimes we have a feeling that clients knock on our doors because they’re drawn to our more unconventional, experimental projects—the ones that aren’t necessarily feasible for industrial production. But then they say, “But don’t make it too arty, please. Try to make it a bit calmer.” That’s something we hear quite often. It’s funny.

Konstantin: I think that’s a product of the time we’re in. I’m not sure how it is in US, but here in Europe there’s a long history of designing for industry—one with radical, progressive, avant-garde projects. But right now the global situation has made everything feel more cautious.

It seems like everyone is playing it safe which makes this a difficult time for design. It’s not the most productive or adventurous period, and I imagine that makes things even harder for young designers. You need an environment that encourages you to push boundaries, but instead you often face hesitation.

That’s why I admire your approach—rather than waiting for opportunities, you take action. You form collectives, create your own projects, and carve out your own path. That’s something I envy. I don’t think my generation approached things in the same way—or maybe we just didn’t have the tools for it. Either way it’s an exciting and dynamic way of working, and you seem very comfortable navigating that space.

Anne-Sophie: For us, there’s a distinction between our commissioned work and our self-initiated projects. The FAN Collective formats we’ve created give us the freedom to explore more artistic directions or collaborate across different disciplines—craft, architecture, and so on. Some of these projects result in one-off pieces or small editions, but they’re always grounded in functionality because that’s where we come from. Those are our roots.

Lisa: And it’s not just about crossing into art—it’s about integrating other fields and perspectives. Our work often expands beyond product design to include exhibition design, communication design, and a broader, more holistic way of approaching projects. So while we still identify as designers, we don’t confine ourselves to industrial design or large-scale production.

Konstantin: That’s an interesting generational shift. When I was starting out, it was just after the ’80s—a time when many designers had moved away from working with industry altogether. I on the other hand, was determined to be recognized as a designer and to send a clear signal that I wanted to work within the industry.

For you though, the definition of “designer” may feel too narrow. Traditionally designers are expected to create products, but design today encompasses so much more. You still call yourselves designers, but it’s natural that your work extends into other areas.

And like you said, Lisa, it’s not just about art—it’s about collaborating across disciplines and working in a way that transcends traditional boundaries. That evolution is a good thing. Over the 30-plus years I’ve been in this field, the meaning of design has expanded dramatically, and that’s exciting.

 Lisa: Yes, and I think a big part of that comes from our education. When we were studying our professors came from such diverse backgrounds—fashion, art, architecture—so we were exposed to different methodologies and perspectives from the beginning. That made it feel completely natural to be open-minded it and see a lot of possibilities in the design field.

 Konstantin: I totally agree. It’s a question we simply don’t ask ourselves. We don’t care to be labeled or categorized. Having said that, with art, it’s kind of critical.

Personally I have so much for respect for what good art is. I know that as a designer, I will never be an artist. Interestingly though, the reverse isn’t always true—some artists venture into design and do quite well. But I rarely see designers successfully transition into being great artists.

That said, we’re not really talking about making art—we’re talking about an artistic, open-minded approach to design. That’s something different.

Anne-Sophie: There are also galleries like Galerie Kreo that are really specialized in design. You’ve worked with them a lot, Konstantin. Would you say that working with galleries provides a different kind of creative freedom—the kind we seek in our collective projects?

Konstantin: Yeah, it really is a free space. Whenever I enter that space or use it, I do so with the intention of bringing something back into the industry. Probably every project I’ve done for Galerie Kreo is something I would love to explore within the industry in a different way. These projects have potential beyond the gallery space, but the gallery provides me with a platform to experiment, to test ideas, and to present them in a way that strengthens my argument when I say, “It works, let’s do it.”

Sometimes these gallery pieces do evolve into industrial products—not identical, but they become the starting point for further development. I think that’s a great journey or evolution. But there are designers who work exclusively for design galleries, and that comes with its own challenges.

When we used to run our design class at the Hamburg University of Fine Arts, I was concerned that some students would end up producing and selling objects in a gallery setting. I really think that’s an easy way out. It avoids confrontation with the reality of the industry.

Of course when we talk about industry, we’re talking about it on many different scales—it could mean making five pieces or five million. But there’s always a reality about it. That’s what initially stood out to me about your work when I first saw it. There was a sense of realness to it. A lot of what comes out of design galleries lacks that.

When working with industry, you’re forced into discussions, dialogue, and many times compromise. And for good reason—design is about problem-solving, while art is about complete creative freedom. But designers working for galleries? It’s different.

Of course you can make anything and find someone that would probably buy it—but that doesn’t necessarily make for interesting design.

I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, but if galleries are meant to be spaces for experimentation, I just don’t see enough of it. I see a lot of pretty objects made of luxurious materials, but they’re not necessarily pushing the boundaries of design.

Lisa: For me personally, product and industrial design came into my life quite late. I didn’t grow up thinking about it as something you could study or pursue as a career. For example in my parents’ home, the furniture was a mix of bulky chairs they found on the street and antique wooden pieces my grandfather, who was a carpenter, restored. If you removed the top of our dining table, you’d find a pool table that my father built underneath.

It was about being hands-on and making things the way he wanted them to be—and the craftsmanship behind it. I didn’t know the names of famous designers. But that hands-on approach, that idea of creating and problem solving interested me. It’s still helpful in the job right now.

“Everyone is playing it safe, which makes this a difficult time for design.”

Konstantin: It almost sounds like a form of hacking culture—finding something and then changing it to make it your own. That’s something that’s super relevant today. Even though it’s not a new way of doing things, it represents a new way of thinking about design.

Even in industrial design, there’s something valuable about designing objects with an open end—where somebody could intervene or “hack” into a commercial product. It comes from this culture of DIY and from a certain set of skills, but it’s also simply an attitude.

Anne-Sophie: And of course DIY experimentation is a part of our process. It depends on how you define it, but for us, it often happens in the transition from idea to physical form—when we start making mock-ups, prototypes, and giving an idea a three-dimensional presence.

That’s when unexpected things happen—when we discover things we didn’t plan for. Those “aha!” moments that occur and lead to decision making. Since we work as a duo, it’s crucial for us to be able to look at something together outside of our own individual thoughts.

 You could compare it to cooking. You have your ingredients, you mix them, season them, and give them your own touch. Then you have to taste it—sometimes it’s too salty, sometimes it turns out unexpectedly great.

That’s the essence of experimentation: trying, adjusting, and sometimes being surprised by the result.

Lisa: Maybe to name one example—when we worked on the OTO family for Mattiazzi, there was already a concept in place. But we really wanted to work with the material, so we spent time in our workshop experimenting with our hand router. That’s how we discovered the detail that now characterizes this piece of furniture.

We never would have envisioned that if we had relied solely on digital spaces and software. It was super important to let the material speak and to try things out hands-on.

 Konstantin: I’m curious—how do you actually work together? Do you have different roles in the process, or is it really fluid? Are you just a kind of dream team?

Anne-Sophie: Of course we’re not always a dream team—that would be boring! But our process is really fluid. There aren’t strict roles where Lisa does one thing and I do another. It’s more of an overlapping structure. When we start a new project, it’s super nice to have both of our brains and hands working together.

We work in parallel but our paths constantly intersect. There’s a lot of discussion, a lot of sharing, and it works because we can be completely open and honest with each other. We’re never afraid to share ideas even if they seem silly at first.

Lisa: I’d say when it comes to research, experimentation, and concept development, we work very closely together. When it gets to execution, we divide tasks more naturally.

Konstantin: And what about research? The beginning of a project is always critical—what’s the first thing you start looking at or pursuing? Do you align on research methods, or do you each go off in different directions and then bring your findings back together?

Lisa: It’s not always the same process. We often start in different directions and then keep talking about what we’re finding. One of us might say, “I found something weird, look at this,” and if the other person likes it, we both follow that path.

Then maybe that leads to something else or connects to a material we’ve been thinking about. It’s really organic. It’s important that we’re constantly communicating so we build one concept together rather than developing two separate ideas and trying to merge them later.

Konstantin: These days I have a studio with collaborators, and I honestly don’t think I could work any other way anymore. But in the very early years of my career I worked completely alone. That was important for me—I needed that solitude. I needed to sit with a problem, to work through things entirely on my own.

Even now in the first fragile moments of a project, I still need that space. But after that I enjoy the exchange—the back-and-forth that happens when you share ideas with others. It strengthens the project. First that exchange happens within my studio, and then it extends to clients, engineers, model makers, and so on.

Design is a collaborative process. That’s why I’m always a bit skeptical of designers who try to do everything themselves—design, production, distribution—keeping total control under one roof. I think it’s important to push ideas out into the unknown and see what comes back. And what comes back always has a bit of a spin to it which forces you to react, refine, and improve. That’s what makes projects stronger, better, and more valid.

That being said, the people you collaborate with matter. I’ve found that random, thrown-together collaborations don’t work for me. I prefer collaborations that are intentional where there’s a clear reason for working together. The goal is to make the project three times stronger with three people, for example, rather than just three people doing the same thing. That wouldn’t make sense.

 Of course, the three of us have worked together as teachers at the art school in Hamburg. That was a really nice experience—we had met before, and then I asked you both to come in and help me teach. It worked really well. I felt like our time teaching together was inspiring, productive, and natural. We never had to sit down and formally define who was responsible for what—it just flowed.

Then we also worked together when I was art director at Mattiazzi. I asked you to design for them—not exactly a true collaboration, but still a form of working together. In that case I was more of a facilitator, opening doors and occasionally guiding things. But ultimately you were doing your own thing, which was the whole point.

Even after just that short initial encounter, I was convinced that both collaborations would work. Your design approach was so interesting, and I saw great potential for your work in the industry. I thought it would be a valuable experience for you—to work with a company, respond to certain conditions, and engage with an external brief rather than just initiating your own projects.

Lisa: We were so excited! Between the teaching and the Mattiazzi project, it felt like achieving two major goals at once.

The Mattiazzi brief was open enough to give us creative freedom but still provided a solid framework. Because we were so excited, at first we got a little carried away—we were over-designing. I remember a conversation where you reminded us to trust our instincts and our way of designing.

That was a turning point. Once we re-centered on what felt right for us, we realized that could also be right for the company. The project became about distilling things down and focusing on the essence of what we wanted to create. Learning to trust our intuition and refine our designs rather than overcomplicating them is something that still influences our work today.

Anne-Sophie: I think it was only possible because we felt trusted and supported by both you, Konstantin, and Mattiazzi. Our first visit there was a great feeling. That’s something you mentioned earlier—the importance of a collaboration feeling right. This one definitely did.

 Konstantin: I remember there being a very rough mockup of three pieces of wood nailed together. In essence, that was already what you ended up creating (Mattiazzi’s OTO collection). But it takes turns—the design process is never a straight line between start and finish. The project was essentially there in the direct gesture you had done without thinking too much. That’s why it was so good.

Design is an intellectual activity—you use your brain to design good things. But the brain can also get in your way. You start to overcomplicate things. I think it comes back to this thing I saw in your work from the very beginning. The idea and activity of making, trying things out, and achieving something physical. Whenever you manage to do that it’s very powerful.

The collaboration actually went so well for the company that we wanted to keep the momentum going. So I asked you to do a second project. That one turned out to be much more challenging than the first—though that’s often the case.

Anne-Sophie: The second project had a much more specific brief. It’s what ended up becoming our DOPO stool. From the start we knew it had to be a barstool, whereas the first project was more open-ended. That changed how we approached the process.

Lisa: The beginning was really fun because we did a lot of fieldwork—testing out different barstools, analyzing what we liked and didn’t like.

We really enjoyed teaching in Hamburg together too because it wasn’t just about teaching—it was about exchanging ideas and discussing interesting topics. Having a large group to share ideas with every week, where both the students and we bring in new topics for discussion, is super fulfilling. It’s exciting to see where those conversations lead over time.

Konstantin: You both brought a perspective that was much closer to the students’ experiences. Since you had only been out of school for a few years yourselves, you could bridge that generational gap. There’s often a 20- to 30-year difference between myself and the students, which can be interesting but also has its limitations. Having you there helped balance that.

While the three of us were aligned on the important aspects—our approach, what we wanted the students to learn—we each came from different angles, which I think was valuable. I really enjoyed our conversations—they helped me through moments when I needed someone to reflect with, make decisions, or discuss ideas.

And honestly, it’s much more fun teaching as a team than doing it alone.

konstantin-grcic.com

studio-oe.com

A version of this article originally appeared in Sixtysix Issue 14.