The first thing you notice is the yellow. Not a soft, hedging yellow, but a full-commitment, matte, warm yellow that coats every millimeter of the piece without apology. Then you notice the shape. A long, arching neck. Two sturdy legs. A horizontal head that doubles as the light source. Duke, the table lamp designed by Liam de la Bedoyere of Bored Eye Design, is a duck. More precisely, it’s a duck drawn by someone who decided that one continuous tube was all they needed.

That’s the central idea, and it’s worth sitting with. De la Bedoyere’s design vocabulary here is essentially a single rule: take a tube, bend it, and let the animal emerge from the bends. No additional elements, no decorative flourishes, no mixed materials. Just the tube, its curves, and the form they describe. The result is a piece that communicates immediately. You read it as an animal before you register that it’s a lamp, which is the correct order of things.

Designer: Liam de la Bedoyere

Up close, the construction rewards attention. The tubular sections connect in visible segments, and those joints give the piece a modular, almost architectural quality that tempers the playfulness with something more considered. The bends themselves are generous and smooth, with a radiused curve that keeps everything feeling soft rather than rigid. The head is a cylinder open at the end, functioning as the spotlight, and that detail is quietly clever. The light doesn’t interrupt the form. It completes it, pointing forward from the duck’s snout like the whole thing was always meant to do exactly this.

The base is a flat circular disc, minimal and low to the surface. Two legs rise from it and immediately branch into the body, giving the lamp a planted, grounded stance that stops it from reading as fragile. And then there’s the cord, a braided yellow cable that matches the body exactly, looping out near the base. Most designers treat the cord as a problem to solve or something to hide. Here it’s an afterthought that became a feature, trailing away from the lamp like a tail. It’s one of those small decisions that reveals how thoroughly this design was thought through.

The monochromatic yellow does something important for how the silhouette reads. By removing any tonal contrast within the piece itself, the animal form becomes purer and more immediate. Your eye traces the outline rather than getting pulled into detail, which is exactly what you want from a lamp that’s also functioning as sculpture. The color also travels. Looking at Duke placed against warm wood, concrete, white walls, and natural linen, it doesn’t clash with any of them. Yellow at this saturation and matte finish is warmer than it is aggressive, and it reads more like a material choice than a color choice.

The design is also genuinely versatile, which isn’t something you can say about most statement objects. Duke works in a child’s bedroom because it looks like a toy. It works on a bookshelf or a credenza in an adult living space because the construction is clean and the form is abstract enough to read as sculptural. Place it next to a magazine on a coffee table and it looks like something you’d find in a design gallery. That range of contexts isn’t accidental. It comes from the clarity of the underlying concept. When a design is resolved at the idea level, it adapts.

What makes Duke feel significant beyond its charm is that de la Bedoyere is clearly developing a language, not just making individual pieces. The Flamingo Lamp came first, and the same logic runs through both, which means the interest is in the system as much as the object. A lamp collection built entirely on the premise of one continuous tube tracing an animal is a genuinely interesting editorial position for a designer to take. It’s a constraint that produces rather than limits, and that’s the kind of thinking that tends to produce lasting work.

Duke doesn’t try to do many things. It tries to do one thing very well, and in design, that’s harder than it sounds.

The post A Duck, Some Bent Tubes, and the Most Charming Lamp of 2026 first appeared on Yanko Design.

Most lamps just sit there. They do their job, emit their light, and fade into the background of a room. Mirei Monticelli’s lamps are the kind you keep looking at.

The Milan-based Filipina designer has built her practice around a single material: banaca, a woven textile made from the fibers of the banana-abaca plant, harvested by hand on the island of Catanduanes in the Bicol region of the Philippines. It’s not exactly the kind of material you’d expect to find at the center of a glossy Milanese design studio, and that’s exactly the point.

Designer: Mirei Monticelli

Monticelli studied at Politecnico di Milano, earning her Masters in Design and Engineering, but her roots have always pulled her back to the Philippines. Her mother, celebrated fashion designer Ditta Sandico, actually pioneered the banaca textile itself, a blend of banana and abaca fibers that is both remarkably durable and incredibly malleable. Working with renowned rattan designer Kenneth Cobonpue also shaped her early understanding of how natural, traditional materials can carry enormous aesthetic power. In 2019, she founded Studiomirei, and by the end of that same year, her Nebula lamp had already won the Salone Satellite Award at Milan Design Week.

Since then, she has used banaca almost exclusively for her lighting pieces, and the results are genuinely hard to categorize. They hover somewhere between sculpture and utility, between craft object and fine art. When light passes through the woven fibers, the pieces seem to breathe. The way the material catches and filters illumination gives each lamp a softness you don’t usually expect from a functional object. The forms manage to feel both ancient and completely contemporary.

The newest work carries that same visual language forward. Biomorphic shapes, swells and folds that recall sea creatures, coral reefs, and natural formations, seem to suspend mid-motion. The organic quality of banaca lends itself to this perfectly. Unlike glass or metal, the material doesn’t impose rigidity; it holds form while still suggesting movement. Looking at them, you get the sense that if you turned the light off, the shape might slowly release and unfold.

The material story goes deeper than aesthetics, and it’s the part that tends to get overlooked in design coverage. Each lamp is the result of an entire chain of human hands. Farmers in Bicol harvest the banana-abaca trunks by hand when the plants reach maturity. The fibers are extracted, brought to the community, and woven by artisans using techniques passed down through generations. By the time a finished lamp reaches a room in Milan, it carries the labor and heritage of an entire province in the Philippines.

Monticelli has said explicitly that her studio works at the intersection of sustainable materials, craft, technology, and community empowerment. It sounds like a mission statement, and maybe it is, but the work itself proves it isn’t just positioning. The banaca lamps are not mass-produced. They are made to order, with lead times that reflect the reality of handcraft. Customizable in size and color, they are objects you commission with intention rather than objects you add to a cart.

A real tension exists in sustainable luxury design between the genuine and the performative, and it’s worth naming. Many brands talk about ethical sourcing while scaling in ways that hollow out what made the material meaningful in the first place. Monticelli’s studio, still rooted in direct relationships with the farmers and weavers of Bicol, has navigated that tension well. The limited production isn’t a constraint; it’s the whole point.

The design world loves a good material story, and banaca has a genuinely good one. A plant grown on a remote Philippine island, harvested by hand, woven by a community of artisans, shaped by a designer navigating two cultures, and ultimately glowing softly in rooms that could not be further from the landscape that produced it. That kind of distance, traveled with integrity, is what turns a lamp into something worth writing about.

The post Woven by Hand in the Philippines, Sold in Milan first appeared on Yanko Design.

Desks have gotten more crowded. Between the laptop, the monitor, the phone, and whatever Bluetooth peripherals have accumulated over the past few years, keeping everything charged without making a mess has become its own challenge. Power strips have always been the go-to solution, but most still end up on the floor or behind furniture, at the end of a cable that creates the very clutter it was supposed to fix.

Anker’s Nano Power Strip (10-in-1, 70W, Clamp) approaches that problem from a different angle, quite literally. Instead of sitting on a surface or hiding under a desk, it clamps onto the desk edge, putting 10 ports right where they’re actually useful. First unveiled at CES 2026 and now available in the US for $69.99, it aims to reduce the mess that most power strips quietly make worse.

Designer: Anker

The clamp structure sits on either side of the desk edge, with ports distributed across its upper and lower sections. Six AC outlets handle the larger plugs, while two USB-A and two USB-C ports take care of smaller devices. Splitting the ports between two zones keeps things from crowding on one side, a small but practical detail that makes the strip feel properly considered rather than just generously stocked.

The USB-C charging capability is where the performance stands out. A single USB-C port can deliver up to 70W, enough to run a MacBook or most other laptops without needing a separate wall adapter. That output relies on GaN technology, which keeps the strip slim at just 0.75 inches thick despite the power output, and avoids the extra heat and bulk that older charging components tend to generate.

Installing it takes seconds. The adjustable clamp fits desk edges between 0.6 and 1.8 inches thick, covering most standard desks, and locks in firmly enough for one-hand use. That might sound like a minor detail, but plugging in a cable while the strip shifts around is exactly the kind of daily irritation that compounds. A stable mount means you’re not bracing the strip with your other hand every single time.

Anker also built in 1,500J of surge protection, along with a smart overload mechanism that includes a reset button. When it trips, the button pops out to cut power instantly. Press it again, and it’s back to normal. It’s a simple failsafe, but a useful one on a strip mounted at desk height, where a sudden power surge or overloaded circuit could easily go unnoticed until something stops working.

Anker markets it for gaming and office setups alike, and it’s easy to see why. Gaming desks accumulate powered accessories faster than most, from peripherals to controllers to headset chargers. The dual-zone layout helps spread those cables rather than pile them in one corner, and the 0.75-inch profile doesn’t take up surface space or interfere with the kind of clean, organized desk that people actually put effort into building.

Cable clutter isn’t going anywhere, but it can at least be contained. The Nano Power Strip doesn’t reinvent the power strip so much as it rethinks where one should live. At $69.99, it’s a reasonable ask for 10 ports, 70W of GaN-powered fast charging, and a desk-mounted solution that keeps the tangle off the floor and closer to where it actually gets used.

The post Anker’s $70 Power Strip Clamps to Your Desk, Keeps Cables Off Floors first appeared on Yanko Design.

Most upholstered furniture is essentially furniture under stress. Fabric gets stretched, stapled, pulled taut, and forced into submission over rigid frames. It is, fundamentally, a question of control. Danish designer Lærke Ryom looked at that process and decided to do the opposite. Her debut solo exhibition, Raiments, now open at Innenkreis gallery in central Copenhagen, is built entirely around that single act of refusal.

The collection includes a daybed, a chair, a bench, table lamps, a floor lamp, and wall lamps, all presented in soothing cream and chocolate-brown hues. The palette is calm and considered, which makes sense. These are pieces that ask you to slow down and look closely, because the detail is where the story actually lives.

Designer: Laerke Ryom

The daybed is probably the clearest expression of the concept. Long, low, and dressed in Kvadrat wool with visible quilting stitches running across its surface, it reads more like a made bed than a piece of showroom furniture. The fabric is not pulled over the form but rather allowed to settle onto it, the way a well-cut linen drapes over a body. The powder-coated steel frame beneath does its structural job quietly, without announcing itself.

The bench follows a similar logic. Compact and precise, it carries the same quilted wool surface and the same twill weave edge banding that appears across the collection. That edge band is a detail worth pausing on. Ryom chose it specifically because twill weave is a technique rooted in clothing and home textiles rather than furniture. “It places the upholstery pieces somewhere in between,” she has said, “adding to the feeling of a tailored piece rather than upholstery.” It is a small choice with a large effect on how the finished object feels.

The chair, built on an aluminium frame rather than steel, is the lightest piece structurally, and it shows. It sits with a kind of ease that heavier upholstered chairs rarely manage. The wool covers it without gripping it, and the stitching adds just enough surface interest to reward a second look without demanding one.

The lighting pieces are where the tailoring metaphor gets genuinely interesting. The floor lamp and table lamps, both on powder-coated steel bases, incorporate fabric shades that are constructed the same way as the seating pieces, draped and stitched rather than stretched and glued. The wall lamps, built on stainless steel bases, carry the same approach. Seeing the textile treatment applied to lighting as well as furniture makes the collection feel like a genuine system of thinking rather than a one-off experiment. Ryom is not just applying a technique to a single object type. She is testing a philosophy across an entire interior.

Underlying all of it is a material choice that matters. The Kvadrat wool she selected deliberately lacks visible weaving, which gives the stitching room to become the primary surface detail. The quilting is not decorative in a fussy sense. It is structural and honest, doing exactly what it appears to do, which is hold the fabric in place without adhesives or staples. The result is upholstery that can be disassembled, repaired, and eventually recycled. The clothes metaphor is not just aesthetic. It is practical in the most direct way possible.

Ryom, born in 1995 and working out of The Factory for Art and Design in Copenhagen’s Amager district, has been exploring alternative upholstery techniques for several years. Raiments feels like the point where that exploration becomes a fully formed position. The pieces are not minimal for the sake of it. They are restrained because restraint is what the concept requires. Every choice, from the aluminium chair frame to the stainless steel wall lamp bases to the twill edge banding, is in service of the same idea: that furniture should be dressed, not wrestled.

Whether or not that idea changes how people think about upholstery at large is probably too early to say. But Ryom has made a collection that is hard to look at and then go back to thinking about furniture the old way. That, for a debut solo show, is more than enough. Raiments is on show at Innenkreis, Herluf Trolles Gade 28, Copenhagen, through 23 May.

The post Forget Upholstery: Lærke Ryom Tailors Furniture Instead first appeared on Yanko Design.

The interiors most people aspire to these days tend to share a common trait: they’re clean, restrained, and almost aggressively neutral. Scandinavian minimalism, Japandi aesthetics, and muted palettes have dominated home design for years, and while there’s nothing wrong with a well-curated beige room, a lot of modern spaces have started to feel emotionally flat, like showrooms rather than places where people actually live.

That’s where the Caramel collection comes in. Designed by Moscow-based product designer Maxim Tatarintsev in collaboration with Russian brand Svoy Design, this new series of ceramic lighting and furniture takes a very different approach to interior objects. Rather than adding another understated piece to a polished shelf, it reaches back to a simpler, sweeter time, asking whether a lamp or a side table can carry something as intangible as joy.

Designer: Maxim Tatarintsev

Tatarintsev’s inspiration came from a period of deep personal reflection. Amid what he describes as the noise of contemporary life, he looked inward and found his answer in childhood, specifically in the candy that practically every kid growing up in the 90s and early 2000s would recognize. That small, glossy, jewel-toned caramel sweet became both his muse and his design vocabulary, shaping everything from the forms to the color palette.

The collection spans pendant lights, ceiling fixtures, and wall-mounted lamps, all crafted from semi-porcelain, as well as a low-profile side table made from a proprietary composite material. What stands out is the modular approach: each ceramic unit can be combined and reconfigured, letting you stack or cluster them into different lighting arrangements depending on the mood or corner of the room you’re working with.

Think of it like assembling your own arrangement from a jar of sweets. One configuration might call for a single pendant above a kitchen island; another might cluster a few units along the ceiling of a reading nook. The point isn’t to follow a prescribed layout but to put that creative decision in the hands of the person actually living in the space, not just the designer who furnished it.

The craftsmanship behind the lighting is traditional and deliberate. Each piece starts as a slip-cast semi-porcelain form, drying for several days before being fired at 1,100°C inside a muffle furnace. A coat of glaze and paint follows, giving the finished modules their signature smooth, candy-like sheen. It’s a fairly labor-intensive process for what might look like a simple geometric shape, but that’s precisely what gives each piece its quiet depth.

The side table takes a different manufacturing route altogether. Made from a proprietary composite rather than ceramic, it’s significantly more durable and comes in two versions, one for indoor use and one for covered outdoor settings. At first glance, it reads as a low, rounded ottoman, and people will probably be unable to resist using it as a delicious seat instead.

None of that is accidental. Tatarintsev’s stated goal wasn’t to produce pretty objects but to create what he calls “emotional anchors,” pieces capable of sparking a genuine reaction in whoever encounters them. A set of lamps you can rearrange on a whim, a table that moonlights as a seat, and a color palette borrowed from childhood treats make for a collection that gives any room a personality it actually earned.

The post These Ceramic Lamps Look Like 90s Caramel Candy and Stack Any Way first appeared on Yanko Design.