A morning at the Asplund library, again, because the reading room still teaches us more about proportion than any book about proportion. The height of the desk against the height of the stack. The way the daylight falls from the drum and never quite reaches the floor. Twenty visits in and it still edits our own drawings, quietly, on the walk back to the studio.
A slab of Kolmården marble arrived at the workshop. Cooler and greener than the sample the quarry sent, which was cut in July. The room it is destined for faces south-west; the greenness will hold there, against the warm floor, in a way it would not have in a north-facing kitchen. We keep both slabs against the wall of the studio and revisit them at different hours before we commit.
“The city keeps rewriting our references, slowly, one walk at a time.”
Södermalm in the last cold week of March. The light is finally long enough that the studio does not need the desk lamps on at four. There is an argument in the room about a corner detail — how a lime-plaster wall should meet an oak skirting without a shadow gap. We try three drawings; the third one is the one.
A visit to the foundry outside Eskilstuna to see the first cast of the Romanesco leg pulled from the sand. It is heavier in the hand than the model suggested, and the surface holds the granular memory of the mould in a way we had hoped for but not quite trusted. The next revision will thin the leg by two millimetres at the ankle.
Notes from a hotel bar in Copenhagen: warm brass, cool stone, a single low pendant per table, and a room that stays legible after the third glass of wine. We copy nothing from other people's rooms, but we take the temperature of them home.
