Danh Vo
Curiouser and Curiouser
Words SUBIN ANDERSON
Photography LUDOVIC BALAY
SUBIN ANDERSON: I’m struck by the way your furniture designs often carry a quiet yet vivid sense of character, especially in the supporting elements like chair legs, table bases, or lamp stands. They look quietly theatrical, almost like characters in a silent play, poised, expressive, and full of subtle personality.
PIERRE YOVANOVITCH: I conceive each piece as a character in its own right. The legs of my furniture pieces are somewhat like the foundations of this personality. I see them almost as limbs that anchor the object to the ground while giving it a sense of movement.
I’m very interested in the idea of contained tension: how a curve can suggest a gesture, a tilt of the head, a moment of anticipation, without ever tipping into caricature. This is where the discreet theatricality you refer to takes shape: it’s not a theater of words or effects, but of postures, textures, and silences. I like the object to tell a story without speaking.
Pieces like Monsieur Oops and Madame Oops play with this idea of silhouette, almost like projected shadows — they are both familiar and enigmatic. It’s a balancing act between function, form, and emotion.
SA: Thinking about how you encompass both interior architecture and furniture design, what kind of elements have the strongest ability to transform the atmosphere of a space?
PY: From my perspective, two elements have a particular ability to shift the atmosphere of a space: art and fireplaces.
I choose artworks carefully, not just for their aesthetic, but for the dialogue they create with the architecture. A piece can bring tension, softness, or rhythm to a room. It becomes part of the narrative.
Fireplaces also play a key role. I often design them as central elements within a space. Through their scale, material, and form, they structure the room and create a sense of gravity and warmth.
Both art and fireplaces contribute to the identity of a project. They ground the space and give it a sense of presence.
SA: Given that your projects are so carefully tailored to each client and context, how does your approach to color and pattern evolve from one to the next? Have there been shades or combinations you once resisted that now feel essential to your palette?
PY: It’s true that each project requires a very specific approach, especially when it comes to color and pattern. I always treat them as narrative tools, rather than purely decorative elements in the superficial sense of the term. Their purpose is to tell a story that aligns with the place, its history, its light, and above all, with the personality of those who will live there.
My sensitivity to color is deeply rooted in my connection to art, and particularly to painting. During a trip to Milan, I rediscovered the work of Felice Casorati, whose command of color left a lasting impression on me.
Over time, my approach to color has evolved. Where I once instinctively gravitated toward natural palettes, I now allow for more contrast. Shades I might previously have dismissed — a cobalt blue, a deep olive green, or a faded pink — have since found their place, as long as they are thoughtfully integrated into the whole.
These are sometimes bolder choices, which call for real dialogue and collaboration with the client. It’s about guiding them, sharing a vision, and showing how these combinations make sense within a given context. This work, often invisible because it blends so seamlessly into the space, is essential to giving a place genuine longevity.
SA: You draw deeply from music, opera, art, and fashion, allowing these creative worlds to intersect within your work. How does this dialogue between disciplines shape your design narrative?
PY: I’ve always drawn inspiration from art in all its forms — music, opera, theater, fashion, painting… These disciplines evoke emotions without needing to explain everything. They awaken more than they demonstrate, and that’s precisely the quality I seek to bring into a space.
Each artistic encounter that moved me has pushed me to explore further, a discipline, a movement, or an artist’s work.
These exchanges between creative worlds continue naturally. For example, I collaborated with Claire Tabouret, who reinterpreted one of my armchairs and painted the chapel of Château de Fabrègues, which I restored. That place perfectly embodies the dialogue between art, architecture, and memory.
This same spirit shapes the Pierre Yovanovitch Mobilier galleries in Paris and New York. They aren’t just spaces for showing furniture — they regularly host artworks that resonate with the pieces on display. It creates a kind of creative tension, prevents routine, and keeps the eye alert.
I keep looking for that energy in everything around me — exhibitions, concerts, contemporary works. Inspiration often comes from intersections, from subtle shifts in perspective. It’s these points of friction that allow me to tell stories differently.
SA: And building on your deep connection to opera, which you’ve explored not only as an avid listener but also through your stage designs for projects like Rigoletto at Theater Basel and Le Nozze di Figaro. If someone were attending their very first opera, what would you recommend as a perfect introduction?
PY: For someone attending their very first opera, I would recommend Tosca. It’s dramatic, accessible, and musically rich, with a strong narrative and emotional intensity that draw you in right away. It’s a striking example of how music and staging can come together to create a truly immersive experience.
SA: Your projects are so deeply intertwined with the work of master artisans. How do you approach nurturing traditional craftsmanship today? And conversely, what insights or inspiration do you hope to gain from emerging makers as the practice of craft continues to change?
PY: Craftsmanship is essential to my work. I never design a space or a piece of furniture without thinking about the gesture, the material, and the hand that will bring it to life. From the beginning, I’ve been drawn to the precision and intelligence behind each detail, and to the dialogue between head and hand.
That’s why we acquired the Manufacture d’Argentat, a carpentry and cabinetmaking workshop in Corrèze. It’s a place of transmission and experimentation where we train young artisans and develop new pieces for the Pierre Yovanovitch Mobilier collection. The idea is not just to preserve know-how, but to activate it by connecting it to contemporary design and giving it space to evolve.
Over time, I’ve also built relationships with independent artisans whose work resonates with my approach. One example is the ceramicist Armelle Benoit. I had a real connection to her work, which is now part of many of our interior architecture projects and furniture pieces. Her approach to material, texture, and form speaks to something both grounded and experimental, and brings a unique presence to each space.
To me, craftsmanship stays relevant when it stays in motion — when it questions, adapts, and finds new expressions in today’s world. This back-and-forth between heritage and invention is, in my opinion, what gives craftsmanship its relevance today. It’s not about freezing a heritage, but about allowing it to breathe, evolve, and remain alive.
<Read the full interview from Issue Nine>
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