The steel in Sarah Naghawi’s JAWF collection looks caught halfway between a box and a balloon. Surfaces bulge, dip, and crease, giving rigid metal the appearance of something you might squeeze. I like that moment of confusion, especially because the material remains so obviously metallic. Presented at Amman Design Week 2026, the Jordanian designer’s experimental collection explores how pressure can turn stainless-steel sheets into sculptural objects with their own internal spaces.

The problem being explored belongs to the workshop rather than the living room: how to give sheet metal volume, depth, and an interior through the forming process itself. Naghawi uses hydromechanical forming, introducing hydraulic fluid pressure into welded sheet assemblies so the metal expands and deforms. Pressure becomes a shaping tool, pushing the steel beyond its original flat condition. The attraction is that the resulting surface helps define both the object’s exterior and the space within it.

Designer: Sarah Naghawi (photos by ASPIRE Ali Saadi Photography)

That industrial terminology sounds less approachable than the result. Think of the principle of inflation, except the steel permanently retains the deformation created during fabrication. Outward curves and inward hollows remain as evidence of the forces applied to the material. This gives the objects a physical history you can read in their surfaces. The process hasn’t been hidden beneath a decorative finish; its effects supply much of the visual character.

The name helps explain why those hollows matter. JAWF comes from an Arabic word referring to an inner chamber or protected cavity. Naghawi treats that interior space as a starting point for design, with recesses suggesting possibilities for storage and enclosure. I appreciate that emphasis because sculptural furniture can sometimes ask us to admire its silhouette while leaving its practical purpose unresolved. Here, the cavity is central to the investigation, even if everyday usefulness still needs closer examination.

In the exhibition photographs, a tall rectangular piece stands on slender, splayed legs, with three pronounced recesses arranged vertically across its face. Nearby, a horizontal piece stretches across angled supports, its upper surface rising and falling rather than settling into a conventional flat plane. A smaller stacked form brings the same swelling geometry closer to the floor. The family resemblance comes through clearly, but each silhouette gives the pressure-shaped surfaces a different setting.

The reflective finish makes those shapes particularly animated in photographs. Blue from the exhibition floor and bright patches of window light break across the steel, making some edges easy to follow and others surprisingly difficult to locate. To my eye, the pieces sit somewhere between furniture and oversized, crumpled silver packaging. That comparison is affectionate. The familiar shine draws you in, while the uneven geometry prevents the objects from becoming another exercise in polished metallic perfection.

The studio’s balloon reference feels especially useful here. A balloon’s skin and its interior volume develop together under pressure; JAWF translates that relationship into a material that holds the resulting shape. The resemblance stops short of literal imitation, which is a good choice. These aren’t novelty balloons recreated in steel. Their boxy outlines, compressed areas, and deep cavities give them a more awkward, interesting presence. They look like objects negotiating with the force that made them.

I’d want dimensions, weight, pricing, and evidence of everyday usability before treating JAWF as a furniture recommendation. A striking recess doesn’t automatically make a convenient shelf, and an expressive surface doesn’t establish how comfortably an object fits into a home. Those questions don’t diminish the experiment. They establish where the next stage of development would become interesting: translating a compelling material study into pieces whose proportions and functions feel equally considered.

For now, I’m persuaded by the decision to leave the steel’s deformation visible. JAWF gives the eye plenty to enjoy, but it also makes fabrication part of that enjoyment. You can follow a bulge into a hollow and understand that the two belong to the same event. That’s a satisfying reason to look twice, even before deciding where the object might live.

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I’m not a fan of either AC Milan or Inter Milan, but as a football fan, visiting Stadio Giuseppe Meazza, more popularly known as San Siro, is an item on my bucket list. However, time is running out for me to actually do that, as most of the iconic stadium is planned for demolition after its replacement opens. That’s because the clubs are planning Generali Stadium, the future shared home of two of the biggest football clubs in Italy.

Now the proposed design for the 71,500-seat stadium, by architecture studios Foster + Partners and MANICA, has been unveiled. The clubs presented it on October 29, 2026. What’s most striking about the plans is how the X-frame makes the structure itself the architecture. The concrete frame extends from the colonnades, across the facade, and upward to support the roof. Its repeated geometry gives the building its identity while making its structural role visible.

Designers: Foster + Partners and MANICA

According to the clubs, that geometry draws on Italian engineering and the craftsmanship of Milan’s Duomo. The connection is an architectural reference rather than an attempt to reproduce the cathedral. What interests me more is the exposed supporting framework: the stadium’s most recognizable feature also explains something about how the enormous building stands up.

Inside, the focus shifts from concrete to the crowd. Two seating tiers form a continuous bowl around the field, with two steep supporter sections, or Curvas, behind the goals. Each would accommodate approximately 11,700 fans, with seating inclinations reaching 37 degrees. The arrangement is intended to bring supporters closer to the action. For a football fan, that relationship between the stands and the field is more compelling than another impressive exterior.

The double-curved roof also does more than shape the silhouette. The project website says it would incorporate 27,500 square meters of photovoltaic panels, while the clubs describe acoustic engineering intended to intensify the atmosphere. Those are useful ambitions, although the amount of solar electricity generated and the sound of a full stadium can’t be judged from renderings. A dramatic roof isn’t proof of either.

Arrival gets some attention, too. Diamond-shaped entrances would offer glimpses into the stadium before opening onto panoramic concourses with city views. Naturally ventilated colonnades form part of that approach. These spaces give the architecture a role before anyone reaches their seat, although open-looking entrances alone don’t establish how quickly thousands of spectators will actually move through them on matchday.

The plan also extends beyond the ticket gates. The stadium would anchor a 281,000-square-meter redevelopment incorporating public spaces, landscaped areas, retail, and leisure facilities. The aim is to give residents reasons to visit outside matchdays. That’s potentially the most useful part for people who aren’t interested in either club: somewhere to spend time without attending an event. Its everyday value will depend on how much space remains genuinely public and welcoming.

The clubs also promise enhanced accessibility, which deserves attention alongside the dramatic seating bowl. I’d want to know how step-free routes, companion seating, and views when neighboring supporters stand are handled. A designated space is only part of the experience; getting from the entrance to that space matters just as much.

For now, this remains a proposal moving through design and planning. Construction is expected to begin in 2028, with the first match targeted for the 2031/32 season, subject to approvals. That opening target should not be confused with a confirmed deadline for demolishing San Siro.

I can appreciate the logic of designing outward from the supporter sections, even while feeling reluctant about what this replacement means. Bringing fans closer and giving the neighborhood usable public space are worthwhile goals. The harder test will be whether ordinary supporters feel the new building belongs to them. The concrete frame will make the stadium recognizable; the experience of arriving, finding a seat, and watching a match will determine whether people want to return.

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A miniature Eiffel Tower tells you where someone went, but rarely gives you much reason to look closer. I’m more interested in souvenirs that carry a little of a place’s actual history, especially when they earn their space at home. The challenge is giving that history a useful role without polishing away everything that makes it worth preserving.

That’s the appeal of the La Tour Eiffel Diamond Light, designed by A+A Cooren Design Studio with Lagardère x Arteum. Built around a retired fixture from the Eiffel Tower’s sparkling illumination, it turns a piece of lighting infrastructure into a working tabletop lamp. The preserved paint marks are part of the point. Rather than manufacture another miniature monument, the designers have given an actual component a reason to stay switched on.

Designers: A+A Cooren Design Studio and Lagardère x Arteum (LxA)

The iron-alloy base makes the architectural connection without turning the whole object into another miniature tower. Drawing from Gustave Eiffel’s historical blueprints, its arches and cross-bracing reinterpret the structure near the monument’s top. I prefer that approach to a literal replica. You get enough of the tower’s visual language to recognize the reference, while the lamp keeps its own proportions and identity as an object for a room.

In the official photographs, the faceted upper section sits above that open metal framework like an oversized jewel in an industrial setting. The brown finish helps the two parts feel related, despite their different origins. It looks substantial without relying on a large footprint, and the exposed latticework gives your eye somewhere to travel beneath the light.

The lighting modes make the connection to Paris more than visual. One provides a steady warm glow. Another alternates 55 minutes of steady illumination with five minutes of twinkling. A third leaves the lamp dark for 55 minutes before its five-minute sparkle sequence. I’d probably favor the steady setting most evenings, but the timed sparkle has an appealingly specific purpose: it brings the monument’s lighting rhythm into the room, rather than simply making a souvenir flash.

A four-position rotary switch handles the three modes and off setting. That feels appropriate for an object whose appeal is so physical. At roughly 10.4 inches tall and 2.9 pounds, it’s a tabletop piece rather than a floor-standing statement. The specifications list 24 LEDs, and the store describes it as ambient lighting. I’d treat it as a decorative accent, not buy it expecting a reading lamp.

It also improves on an earlier idea in a meaningful way. Diamond of Light editions offered in 2016 and 2017 were collectible objects, not functioning lamps. The 2026 version adds an everyday reason to interact with the preserved component. To me, that’s a stronger design move than simply finding a more elaborate way to display it.

Each of the 500 numbered pieces comes with an official certificate of authenticity and a wooden case. The presentation embraces its collector’s-item status, which seems fair enough here. If the attraction is owning an actual piece of the Eiffel Tower’s lighting, documentation of its origin matters considerably more than another decorative flourish on the base.

The price puts that appeal in perspective. The official store lists it at €990 including VAT, before shipping, with worldwide delivery available. You’re paying for provenance, limited production, and the design work around the reclaimed fixture. As a straightforward lighting purchase, it’s difficult to justify on function alone. As a collectible that also has a place in daily life, the proposition makes more sense.

I wouldn’t want the weathering polished away or hidden behind a pristine cover. Those irregularities are what make the premise convincing. The strongest choice here is giving the old component enough new structure to work in a home while letting it remain visibly old. A souvenir becomes more interesting when its previous life is still allowed to show.

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Crocheted flowers usually belong on a blanket or a cardigan, not in a conversation about lighting. Peiyang (Camille) Li gives them another job with She Blooms in the Dark, a sculptural seating project that combines a woven bamboo armchair with hand-crocheted blossoms that glow after dark. I like the premise immediately: familiar craft doing something unexpected, without needing to look like a gadget.

The problem it addresses is a small but recognizable one: finding a sense of personal space without having a separate room to escape into. Li frames the project around emotional vulnerability and protection. I read that as an attempt to make a seat feel like a boundary, a place where being alone might feel intentional rather than awkward. That’s a worthwhile ambition for a piece of furniture, even before the flowers start glowing.

Designer: Peiyang (Camille) Li

The curved, basket-like bamboo framework partially encloses the sitter, while its open lattice stops short of creating a solid shell. That balance matters. For a shared living room, I’d want a retreat that still lets me feel connected to the room, rather than a miniature booth. The shape suggests that possibility, although an open weave shouldn’t be mistaken for actual privacy. Think of it as a visual boundary, not a substitute for a door.

The glow comes from phosphorescent yarn, described in the project write-up as absorbing daylight and releasing a low-intensity glow in darkness, without electric fixtures. That’s an appealingly direct material choice: the flowers themselves provide the effect, instead of hiding a strip of LEDs underneath. I’m more drawn to that decision than I would be to a color-changing chair controlled through an app. The material gets to carry the surprise, and the premise is easy to understand.

It would be a mistake to treat it as a reading light, though. The published description doesn’t give brightness measurements or say how long the glow lasts. For me, the useful way to understand it is as an atmospheric effect, not a replacement for the lamp beside your favorite book. That distinction actually strengthens the idea. It lets the light remain intimate and decorative, rather than making a practical lighting promise the available information can’t support.

Crochet also makes sense here beyond the novelty of glowing yarn. A flower carries associations with care, growth, and decoration, at least in my reading, and working it by hand adds another layer to that impression. I appreciate that Li hasn’t chosen an abstract luminous panel. The floral language gives the project a slightly storybook quality. It could be too whimsical for a restrained living room, but I wouldn’t want that personality edited out.

That doesn’t mean the chair can promise calm on command. I’m wary of furniture being asked to solve an emotional condition simply because it wraps around a person. A more reasonable ambition is to offer an invitation: sit here, give yourself a moment, let this particular corner have a different purpose. She Blooms in the Dark makes sense to me on that modest scale. It doesn’t need a therapeutic claim to justify its existence.

There are everyday questions I’d want answered before imagining it at home. The published project information doesn’t include dimensions, a price, or purchasing details, and it isn’t enough to judge comfort or upkeep. I’d want to know how the flowers are attached and how you clean around them. Those aren’t objections to a sculptural project. They’re the questions that separate admiring a piece of furniture from deciding where it could live.

Still, I’m glad this chair takes such an idiosyncratic route to a familiar desire. I don’t need every quiet corner to look like a spa, and I don’t need every interesting light effect to arrive with another charger. A bamboo seat dressed in glowing crochet offers a more playful possibility. The appeal is being allowed a little enchantment at home, with enough recognizable craft to keep it from feeling like a special effect.

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