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The Hands Behind the Home

  • Writer: studiomique
    studiomique
  • May 21
  • 2 min read

Updated: Jun 4


It started with a tag.


I found a handwoven wicker candle holder at the thrift store here in Amsterdam — beautiful, textured, clearly made with care. I was fascinated by its weave pattern.


The tag was still on it. A small label: Cistelleria Leo, Palafrugell.


I looked them up. What I found was a family of basket weavers in the Costa Brava, working from the same workshop since 1950. It started with Joan Carmona and his wife Leo. For 54 years they wove baskets by hand — from willow, cane, esparto grass, manila — using only natural materials. When they retired, their daughter and son-in-law took over. Today, from their small studio on Carrer Torres i Jonama in Palafrugell, they still weave every piece entirely by hand. They teach workshops. They collaborate with designers and architects. And they carry forward a craft that is quietly disappearing.


I held that object differently after reading their story.


And that's what this post is about.


What if every object in your home had a name? Not a brand name — the name of the person who made it. The family in Palafrugell who wove your basket. The weaver behind the handwoven textile on your custom kitchen bench.

Wicker candle holder handwoven bij Cistelleria Leo in Spain
The handwoven wicker candle holder by Cistelleria Leo I found in Amsterdam

Most of us don't think about our homes that way. We've grown used to filling spaces quickly — scrolling through online stores, choosing what matches, clicking "add to cart." And there's nothing wrong with a beautiful home that comes together fast. But I've noticed something over the years: those spaces often feel finished, yet somehow incomplete. Everything looks right. But nothing really resonates.


I think that's because we've lost the thread between the things we live with and the people who made them.

When you know who made something, you relate to it differently. You don't just place it on a shelf — you give it a home. You notice it more. You care for it more. It becomes part of your story, not just your décor.


This is what bespoke interior design means to me. It's not about luxury for the sake of luxury. It's about intention. It's about choosing a handwoven textile over a factory-made one — not because it's more expensive, but because someone's hands, time, and tradition are woven into it. It's about selecting a piece not because it fits the colour scheme, but because its story echoes yours.


Hands weaving baskets
Photo: courtesy of cistellerialeo.com

In my work, I actively seek out these connections. I look for craftspeople like the family behind Cistelleria Leo — people who care about what they make, not just how it looks, but why it exists. I visit workshops, talk to makers, learn about their process. And then I bring that into the homes I design. Every material has a reason. Every object earns its place.


The result is an interior that doesn't just look beautiful — it feels meaningful. A home where nothing is random, and everything belongs.


Because a home built on craftsmanship isn't just designed. It's felt.

Curious what a bespoke interior built around your story looks like?




 
 
 

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