Why we start with the floor

Ask most people where a room begins and they will say the sofa, or the paint. We say the floor. It is the largest surface you own, the one every other object sits on, and the one you feel before you see.

Pattern underfoot does something clever: it gives a room a direction. A herringbone laid towards the window pulls you to the light. A chequerboard holds a hall still. A plain plank floor lets the furniture do the talking, which is sometimes exactly right.

Our own mark is built from the same idea, a square, a circle and a triangle each filled with a diagonal weave. It reads as parquet, as textile, as the slats on a screen, depending on where it lands. That is not a coincidence. It is the thing the work is made of.