Meet the Designer: The Lewin Oak Desk

We sit down with Alex, one of the designers behind many of our pieces, to talk about the making of the Lewin Oak Desk, the details he stores away for later, and why designing something simple often involves rather a lot of thought.

There is something rather appealing about a desk that does not immediately announce itself as one.

That was Alex’s starting point for the Lewin Oak Desk. He wanted it to be useful, naturally, but not to bring the feeling of an office into the room with it. “I wanted to create something that felt calm and quietly useful,” he says. “A desk that didn’t feel overly office-like or formal, but something that could sit comfortably within a living space.”

We already have the larger Stanton Writing Desk in the collection, so part of the thinking was around creating something more modest in scale. A piece that might find its way into an alcove, a bedroom or a corner that has never quite known what to do with itself.

From there, the process became less about one big idea and more about a collection of smaller ones. “I tend to think of the Lewin desk as coming from a collection of things I’ve absorbed over time,” Alex says. He is always noticing details. On supplier visits, during photoshoots, in old furniture and interiors. Most are simply stored away somewhere, without any particular plan for them. One that stayed with him was an antique dining table spotted during a shoot in the Cotswolds, particularly the simplicity of its tapered leg. There were also the lighter, slightly Gustavian influences already appearing in pieces such as our Amelie Dining Chair.

Rather than reproduce those references literally, Alex used them as a starting point. You can see traces of them in Lewin’s tapered legs, reeded drawer fronts and pale oiled oak, but everything has been softened and simplified for the way we live now.

The earliest sketches already contained much of the finished desk, although there was rather more going on at first. “The early sketches had the core idea in place, but the detailing was more pronounced,” he explains. “As it developed, it became more about refining and holding back.”

Originally, the legs were reeded too. It worked on paper, but once the design began to come together, Alex felt the detail was better kept to the drawer fronts. The side profile changed too, eventually settling into a smoother, simpler curve. Even the knobs were considered carefully, then deliberately kept understated.

It is the sort of work that becomes almost invisible once a piece is finished. A line softened here. A detail taken away there. Something noticed years ago suddenly finding its place. “There’s always been a sense of softness and restraint in our pieces,” Alex says. “So this was really about evolving that rather than changing direction.” That continuity matters. New pieces should feel fresh, but also as though they belong naturally among the things that came before them. Ideas are allowed to develop slowly, passing from one design to another rather than each piece beginning from scratch.

It is also why Alex finds it difficult to choose one favourite part of the finished desk. “What I love most is how all of the smaller details come together,” he says. “There isn’t one element that stands out.” Perhaps that is the best way of understanding Lewin, and Alex’s approach more generally.

The finished piece looks simple. Calm, even. But behind that simplicity are sketches, references, revisions, conversations and a surprising amount of thought about things most of us may never consciously notice.

Which is rather the point.

Good design does not always need to announce the work that went into it. Sometimes it simply needs to feel right.