Erwan Bouroullec and his creative world between Paris and the French countryside

14 March 2025

Erwan Bouroullec has embarked on a new chapter in his professional career, a chapter that reflects adulthood and maybe the desire to trace a personal path, after a long stretch traveled side by side with his brother Ronan.

And so Erwan has inaugurated his new studio in Paris but at the same time, he has renovated an old granary “La Grange” in Burgundy, his homeland, with the help of the design studio LV Architects. Roots and nature on the one hand, contemporary life on the other, are therefore the two points of reference around which the designer is building his future.

How do you find a balance between the complexity of nature and the essential forms of your work? 

Everyday objects and nature can’t truly be compared, but both are always building an environment. What we can learn best from nature is that everything is interconnected, creating a balanced landscape. Design, however, has its pros and cons. One of its strongest cons is that contemporariness often pushes for a kind of tabula rasa—a stark break between the old and the new. 

I sometimes feel we’ve gone too far in our pursuit of novelty, leading to unbalanced environments. For example, here in Paris, most restaurants and shops are refitted every five years because people are no longer attracted to them—they need “something new.” But can you imagine a forest being refitted every five years? 

As a designer, I always consider that any design will exist in an unknown future environment, so it must be adaptable and respectful of what’s already there. In a home, everything evolves layer by layer over time. But in other spaces, like workplaces, the need to signal change often results in monolithic environments—places that neither welcome the past nor travel into the future. These spaces are designed to exist only for a brief moment. 

What’s your vision for this new phase of your work life? 

I’ve become an older designer, and with that comes a deeper understanding of the nature of this work. At the same time, I’ve become less attracted to the overly communicative aspects of the job. I now enjoy the simplicity of the practice: designing parts of our everyday reality while respecting the manufacturer and the user. 

Design is fundamentally about producing something that makes money while serving its purpose for the end user. It’s simple, yet in today’s world, this balance is often mishandled. My goal is to be creative when needed and quiet when needed.  

These days, it feels like the world is increasingly imbalanced. With the companies I’ve worked with for years, we’re striving for simpler, more effective outputs. 

What do we really need in our homes, and what are your priorities when designing a new piece of furniture? 

Most items in a home—seating, tables, storage, beds—are based on very old typologies, evolving over a long time. That’s why design is a Darwinian process: whatever you create must connect to the past while integrating the necessary contemporary attributes. Each new item becomes part of a longer history, beyond the designer’s control. 

That said, one factor is always current: good manufacturing. Today, what we need most are objects that are relevant in terms of production and materiality. We’re surrounded by products that are poorly made or dishonest about their materials. 

In our homes, we need objects that clearly express what they’re made of, their purpose, and their manufacturing context. This approach is similar to organic farming: creating things at the right time, in the right place, without overprocessing or conforming to a superficial commercialization process. 

This mindset has influenced my work. I now design simpler, less communicative pieces. Innovation is still important but needs to be subtle and focused on solving the right questions. 

What does “La Grange” mean to you, and what do you love about it? 

I was born and raised in the countryside, so “La Grange” feels very natural to me. It’s also a superb environment for thinking and working. I’m fascinated by nature and by life outside megacities. What I love most about the countryside is its simplicity. There are so many opportunities to live with a lighter footprint. In cities, you can’t interact with your environment: everything is private, streets are impermeable, and living spaces limit your ability to take action. I

n the countryside, it’s the opposite—needs are driven by the place, the weather, and available resources. Modern cities could learn a lot from this setup. I remember someone telling me that when they were young in the 1960s, there was no waste collection at their home—everything was managed on-site. That’s the kind of self-sufficiency we should aim for. Yet, our hyperactive, highly connected systems are increasingly preventing us from achieving simple, sustainable solutions. 

Could you tell us more about the Arba chair you designed for Raawii? 

The Arba chair was a very happy project, designed and developed quickly. “Quickly” in this case means working with focus and efficiency. There was an initial idea, but the real magic happened during three days of prototyping at “La Grange.” We worked with the tools and materials we had available, creating a positively constrained setup.  

This is why Arba feels so direct and transparent. It’s easy to understand the materials and key manufacturing points. It’s simple to the eye—your brain intuitively welcomes it. That doesn’t mean Arba lacks its own paradigm. It’s designed to be lightweight, dynamic, and colorful, with thoughtful details that make it a comfortable companion. We considered every factor: price, transportation, minimal material use. These constraints became the motivation for creativity. Designing Arba was like solving an equation with elegance, which to me is the essence of the creative process.

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