There's a type of project that repeats itself more often than it seems.
The client arrives with a clear reference, they've seen it in a project they liked, in a magazine, at a trade fair. "It's this one," they say, "I want this one." Most of the time, that's where the discussion ends. The piece fits, it gets installed, and the project moves forward without further ado. The catalog does what it's supposed to do: deliver a good, already-proven answer.
But there are projects where that piece doesn't fit. The ceiling height isn't the same as in the photo that won the client over. The ceiling has installations that dictate where anchoring is possible. The color temperature clashes with the rest of the space. Or the power and beam angle won't do what that point of light needs to do there.
That's when the work changes.
It's no longer about manufacturing the piece that was requested, but about asking what the client was really looking for when they chose it. Sometimes the answer has nothing to do with the lamp itself, but with an atmosphere they saw somewhere else and want for their home.
This happens often with low ceilings: the piece the client brings was designed for a much higher ceiling than the one they have, and hanging it as-is would be a mistake visible from the front door. In these cases, the team ends up developing a more compact version, with a different optic, to compensate for the lost distance. It's not the lamp from the photo. But it achieves what that photo promised.
The conversation needed to get there isn't always comfortable. You have to explain why that exact piece won't work without it sounding like you're questioning the taste of someone who already had a clear idea. And that's not what it is: it's translating that idea into the real conditions of the space.
The catalog is still, almost always, the right starting point. It's just that sometimes the path to the final piece is longer than it seemed at first.
— HER Team