Materials in office design: more than just acoustics

What struck me was that many of these panels and surfaces remain abstract. You see beautiful color variations, geometric patterns, and calm textures. This isn't a lack of creativity, but rather a logical design choice.

Material manufacturers design their products for broad applicability. After all, a panel must work just as well in a modern office interior design in Rotterdam as it does in a university hall or a boutique hotel. Here, neutrality is a powerful tool.

But as I walked there, surrounded by all those perfect, abstract samples, a different question came to mind: What actually happens when such a material lands in a specific space?

Most of the materials I saw are ultimately destined for the real world: offices, public buildings, and healthcare facilities. These spaces are rarely neutral. They possess their own history, belong to specific sectors, and carry unique identities—an idea that, historically speaking, is not new at all.

Consider a recruitment agency fully focused on the energy sector. It exists in a completely different world than a high-tech biotech company or a pragmatic logistics organization. Yet, in their interiors, you often see the exact same materials in office design being used.

This isn’t necessarily a mistake, but it did trigger a thought. The material itself is not responsible for translating the context; that responsibility lies with the designer.

The interesting question for effective office interior design, then, is not: "Why don’t these materials tell a story?" The real question is: "How can we apply a material in such a way that it subtly resonates with the context of the space?"

This never has to be literal. We don’t need to print illustrations on walls to show what a company does. Instead, a reference can be hidden in the form, the rhythm of the installation, or the ruggedness of the texture. A panel can remain completely abstract and still evoke something that perfectly fits the culture or environment of an organization.

Something else struck me: the gap between innovation and reality. The fair is filled with stunning prototypes and new fibers, but the road to the actual construction site is long. Certification, production costs, and the risk-averse culture within the building industry mean that many beautiful concepts never truly reach the market. Innovation is only the first step; actual application in a building is a craft in itself. This is precisely why materials in office design are increasingly evaluated not just for being new, but for their ability to retain value and be reused.

When I lay my observations side by side, I see a compelling tension. On one hand, we have materials designed for the broadest possible application. On the other, we see that organizations increasingly long for a unique identity—an office that feels like 'home' and breathes their culture.

The essence of our craft lies between these two worlds. The question is not just which material we select from a catalog, but what happens when that material becomes part of a specific context.

Materials do not have to tell a story on their own. But the moment they begin to shape a space, it only truly becomes interesting when they dare to reveal something of that place. In my studio, I translate existing material streams into wall panels that can fulfill exactly that role within a room.