A Conversation with Pietro Franceschini: Crafting Design That Feels Like Collectible Art

There is something arresting about Pietro Franceschini’s work that makes you stop, lean in, and ask: How did this come to be? Whether it’s a monolithic stainless steel chair that dares you not to sit or a dreamlike table that feels born of mythology, his objects provoke emotion before function. On a late afternoon call, we dove into the questions that rarely get asked and got answers that reminded us why great design always starts with great conviction.

Pietro, your work immediately reminded me of an exhibition I saw during Lagos Design Week, it was kind of a combination of metal, ceramics, and glass from across Africa. But your use of wood and unexpected forms felt…different. More dynamic. Where does that spirit come from?

Pietro: Thank you, that means a lot. I think it’s the collision of histories that shaped me. Growing up in Florence, I was surrounded by beauty that felt eternal. Buildings that had been standing for centuries. There was a reverence for history, for architecture. It made me deeply analytical, but it also made me feel creatively blocked. The academia there was conservative. Trends were taboo. You were taught to master, not to express.

So Florence was your foundation. But when did you start carving your lane?

Pietro: New York changed everything. When I moved there, it was like someone turned the lights on. Suddenly, I was free to experiment. The city’s energy taught me to take risks, to follow intuition. I began joining the analytical training I got from Florence with the freedom New York gave me. That amalgamation became my design language, you can call it intellect meeting impulse.

That balance is so clear in your pieces, refined but also rebellious. At what point did you stop designing for objects and start building a language?

Pietro: From the very beginning. I didn’t come into design through furniture, I came through architecture. When I finally pivoted to design, I wasn’t interested in just making a chair or a table. I was obsessed with the story. My first collection, Olympus, was mythology-inspired. It wasn’t about function, it was about feeling. Atlas, Medusa, Automaden, they were not objects, but symbols.

That brings me to one of your most fascinating works, Six Variations on Stainless Steel. Six chairs, each bold and unapologetically uncomfortable.

Pietro: One viewer asked why anyone would want to sit on one. [Laughs] I said, “You don’t have to sit on it. ” The piece wasn’t about comfort. It was about contamination taking a traditional Josef Hoffmann chair and mutating it through my lens. That’s the thing with design, it doesn’t always need to serve. Sometimes it needs to be questioned.

And yet your signature is not just about provocation. There’s a sense of play, of proportion and scale that feels almost mischievous.

Pietro: Definitely. I’d describe my aesthetic as primitive, sculptural, and playful. I like to unsettle the eye. Oversized legs, off-kilter surfaces… They challenge what people expect from furniture. I want my pieces to surprise, even confuse a little. That moment of uncertainty is where imagination begins.

Speaking of imagination, you’ve spoken about “digital surrealism” before. What does that mean to you?

Pietro: It started during the pandemic. I couldn’t fabricate my designs, so I collaborated with digital artists to bring them to life. But instead of sterile 3D renders, I wanted these pieces to exist in hyperreal, surreal landscapes, places that felt familiar but otherworldly. A chair in a dreamscape. People would see these images and ask, Is this real? That ambiguity, that pause, is powerful. It expands what an object can be.

Beyond aesthetics, what’s the emotional engine behind your work? What do you want people to feel?

Pietro: I want them to be pulled into a world. To see beyond the surface. For example, my recent collection in rattan started with material exploration. But once we shaped it, we realized it resembled licorice wheels from Haribo. So now the entire black collection is named after that. It’s playful, but also rooted in memory. For me, meaning can come before or after the design, it doesn’t matter. But meaning must be there.

And what’s your design process like? Do you begin with story, material, or shape?

Pietro: Usually, I start with research. I need conceptual clarity. Then I proceed into form-finding, digitally. I don’t sketch. I build 3D models, one shape morphing into another, until something clicks. But sometimes, it’s the opposite. I just play, and the story comes later. Either way, there has to be a narrative backbone. Without it, it’s just furniture.

That storytelling translates. There’s no way to come across your work and not feel something. It’s cinematic, almost like a dream sequence.

Pietro: That’s very intentional. I want my objects to live in your imagination long after you’ve seen them. Not just as functional pieces, but as emotional triggers.

Do you ever imagine characters using them? Do you design with personas in mind?

Pietro: Not explicitly, but I love the question. Sometimes, in retrospect, I realize a piece was meant for a certain kind of person. Someone who embraces ambiguity. Who isn’t afraid to feel slightly uncomfortable? That tension is where connection happens.

You’ve mentioned “going beyond” in previous talks. What does that mean to you now?

Pietro: It’s a mindset. In design, there’s always the temptation to dial it back, to make something more palatable. But I’ve learned to resist that. If the idea wants to go all the way, let it. Don’t trim the edges for approval. Go beyond. Commit fully. That’s where originality lives.

That reminds me of artists who refuse to dilute their vision for clarity’s sake. Do you ever worry your work will be misunderstood?

Pietro: I embrace misunderstanding. Ambiguity is an engine for creativity. Hybrid forms, weird proportions, designs that live between art and utility, they challenge taste. And taste is something you build over time. Misunderstanding is often just the beginning of appreciation.

Final question, if someone owns a piece of your work, what does that say about them?

Pietro: That they’re curious. That they’re not afraid of boldness. Maybe that they’re a little wild. [Smiles] Or that their architect isn’t boring.