Beyond perfection: Sophie Dries on beauty, craft, and playfulness

Danielle Pender: You’ve talked in the past about how, at a young age, you wanted to work with your hands. What was it about the sensation and process that stuck with you? 

Sophie Dries: Funny story — I never actually planned to be an architect! As a kid, I was fascinated by chemistry and archaeology. It wasn’t obvious that I’d end up in design, but looking back, I see how those early interests still influence my work. When I’m in the workshop, working with glass or ceramics, it feels a lot like chemistry — mixing materials, applying heat, and seeing how they transform. And my love for archaeology connects to my obsession with pure organic shapes. Now, when I go to Murano and see molten glass change state through fire and different processes, it still feels like magic. That’s what drives my work — experimentation, pushing materials in unexpected ways, and finding new textures and combinations. I love working with materials that weren’t necessarily meant to go together. 

I love how you talk about experimentation and how this guides your process rather than starting with a final product in mind. 

It always starts with visiting the workshop. I observe the craft and let curiosity guide me. I ask, “What happens if we try this?” We start with samples, sketch ideas, and only then do we shape the final function or form. It’s a very organic process. 

Who have you been working with recently? 

I’ve been working with glassmakers in Murano, experimenting with incorporating minerals into glass. I’m obsessed with minerals — it connects back to archaeology and geology. They’re natural wonders, endlessly fascinating. Right now, I’m also experimenting with metals. Recently, I launched a series of mirrors in New York that are made of polished inox combined with bronze welding for the frame. I’m a bit obsessed with showing the scars, or what is supposed to be hidden or erased and making that beautiful. 

It’s really refreshing that you embrace imperfection and the unexpected. 

Yes, I think perfect objects aren’t always the most beautiful. Especially in design, where so much is mass-manufactured, people crave uniqueness — pieces that carry a sense of mystery and the imprint of the person who made them. When I create residential projects, I love educating clients on why imperfection is valuable. A handmade piece has soul; it doesn’t look like it was churned out by a computer.

Do you think the demand for craftsmanship and tactile design is growing in our hyper-digital world? 

Absolutely. We’re lucky because craftsmanship is becoming more important than ever. In a world dominated by screens and AI, people crave sensory experiences. That’s why food has become such a cultural focus — it’s something digital can’t replace. It engages all the senses and brings people together. The same applies to craft and furniture. We can live through our phones for many things, but I think people are realising how much they miss touch — physical interaction with objects. That’s why my designs emphasise tactility, texture and organic shapes. We’re surrounded by abstraction and immateriality, but materiality — whether in design, food, or live music — creates real human connections. 

How much does storytelling factor into your work? 

Storytelling plays a big role, especially when working with private clients or collectors. It's essential to help them understand the uniqueness of the pieces. For instance, when you're buying a handmade table, it's important to know that it won’t look exactly like the one in the showroom photo because it’s being made specifically for you. The material, like wood, is alive, so it will react to the humidity in your house, causing it to crack or shift. It's natural, and it's beautiful. I only work with natural materials — wood, metal, glass — things that, as they age, develop a patina that makes them even more beautiful. This is different from working with synthetic materials. I always want my clients to see these pieces as heirlooms — things that will last, that they can pass down to their children or even sell at auction, rather than items you throw away after a few years. 

Being open to experimentation means being open to failure. Can you talk about the idea of failing better? 

Try Again. Fail Again. Fail Better is a Samuel Beckett quote, but I completely agree with it. When you experiment, you're open to discovering things you weren't looking for. Sometimes, you don’t find what you were after, but in the process, you uncover something even more interesting. There’s a lot of value in that randomness and magic, which is often missing in today’s perfection-driven culture. 

Have there been any specific examples of projects where failure or those "wonderful accidents" led to something new or unexpected? 

Yes! One memorable example is a project I worked on with a ceramicist I’ve collaborated with since the beginning of my practice. We started with black ceramics, which worked well. But then I decided to try white porcelain. Porcelain is much more fragile, so we broke a lot of pieces during the firing process. After many broken pieces, I met a woman who practices Kintsugi, the art of repairing broken ceramics with gold. We decided to repair those pieces, and they turned out to be extremely unique. It was a failure that turned into something beautiful.

That’s such a great story. 

The limitations of ceramics and those failures, especially when working with high-temperature minerals, led me to glass which has become one of my favourite mediums now. I’ve been incorporating Mica, a mineral with small, layered leaves, into glass. For a year and a half, we experimented with different techniques — some pieces broke, others created gas bubbles — but we weren’t sure we could even incorporate the mineral into the glass in a way that would work long-term. Eventually, we succeeded and created beautiful vases, lamps, and sculptures, using Mica sheets. For me, that’s the most exciting part — the collaboration, the exchange of ideas, and seeing something new unfold right before your eyes. 

You’re influenced by the Arte Povera movement — can you tell me more about why this resonates for you? 

Yes, for me, there’s a fascination with using non-traditional materials. As an interior designer, I often work for privileged people who can afford luxurious materials, but I love mixing these with what we might consider "humble" materials. It’s a bit like Jean-Michel Frank’s paradox: he worked for some of the wealthiest people in the 1930s but used simple materials like reclaimed glass or plaster. I love using materials that aren’t traditionally seen as valuable and combining them in unexpected ways. I like to play with that in a rebellious way. I think fashion does this; people mix conceptual collection pieces with basics, and it’s still very classical. For me, it’s about that contradiction. 

You’re also a collector. How has this played into your design work or vice versa? 

I’m passionate about surrounding myself with pieces that mean something to me — especially from other designers or artists of my generation. One of the first pieces I ever bought was a prototype from Max Lamb. I also like to support emerging talents like Ana Karkar, Anastasia Bay or Wendy Andreu. I love collaborating, sharing, and supporting fellow creators. It’s all about community and collaboration, not ego, so when I’m working on a project, I always like to bring people along or discover new voices and share them with the world.  

That’s reassuring to hear. You’re also influenced by Gaetano Pesce, whose work is so joyful and playful. Is that attitude important in your work? 

Absolutely. I love his work. I think design should be fun and accept randomness in the making (referring to his collection, Nobody’s Perfect). There’s so much value in what we do, but we’re not social workers. We’re not saving lives; we’re creating beautiful things, so it’s important to remember that we don’t have to take ourselves too seriously. Life should be joyful, and I want to reflect that in my work. 

What passions do you have outside of design and your work? 

I’ve always been interested in fashion — it’s kind of like design in that it explores different realms and connections. My husband is an artist, so we travel a lot, which ties into both our work. We’re also gourmands, we love trying out new food experiences. We just visited San Sebastián, which is one of the best places in the world to try experimental cuisine. We visited Chilida Leku sculpture park, had an experimental dinner at Mugaritz, and ate delicious local food at Gerald's. I find it fascinating how chefs, like designers, communicate through their work — it’s another language, it’s very generous and shared directly with the senses. It’s something you can’t digitalise and I love that. 

It seems like you have such an inspiring approach to life — to stay open and experimental. What’s next for you? 

I am designing an art Gallery in Tokyo, and all the furniture is handmade in a wabi-sabi spirit version of my current line. In New York, The Styx line in Inox and bronze is a collection of mirrors that will extend to other items this Spring. Soon, I’m launching my first collection of raw linen curtains in collaboration with a French manufacturer. It’s all made in the north of France, a region which still has a textile craftsmanship industry. We’ve been testing the weaving of the material for over a year now, so I’m really excited. And, of course, Salone del Mobile Milano is taking place in April — always a great time to connect with the design community — it’s like a family reunion.