A Minimalist Architect’s Chair Collection
Editor Sunjin Kim | Photographer Miyeon Jeon
Piero Lissoni’s apartment, just 10 minutes from the Lissoni & Partners office in Milan, fully embodies his idea of “comfort.” A white Grand Confort sits at the heart of the building, which was designed by disciples of Le Corbusier. Together with pieces collected over several decades, his home collection quietly reveals Lissoni’s design philosophy.
This interview is featured in Issue 4 ‘Fauteuil Grand Confort’.
I know you’re always traveling around the world. How have you been lately?
I just got off a long flight from New York to Milan today. It’s 4 a.m. in New York right now, so I’m pretty tired. (Laughs) As always, I’m preparing a lot of new products for Milan Design Week and working on architecture projects around the world at the same time. Guangzhou, Tokyo, Miami, Mexico City, Saudi Arabia, São Paulo, the United Arab Emirates, Israel. There are too many to list.
That’s amazing. How often do you have to fly to keep up with it all?
I’d say I spend half the year in Milan and the other half in different parts of the world. Jet lag is still hard every time, though. (Laughs)
It feels very calm and peaceful here. How long have you lived here?
About four years. This was the first building designed in Milan by two architects who had worked under Le Corbusier in France in the 1950s before moving here. I redesigned the entire interior. I opened up every room with large windows, so the natural light is really beautiful. The space is always full of light, so most of the time I don’t turn the lights on, just like now. It’s in the center of Milan, close to the Duomo and Montenapoleone, but it’s surrounded by parks and has a private garden, so it’s a lovely place to spend quiet time with my family. In summer, everything is green.
I’m curious about the renovation. Was there anything you focused on in particular?
The biggest feature is that I removed almost all the walls and doors. I divided the spaces with glass display cabinets or opaque sliding doors. Another key point is that I widened the windows facing the terrace so they reach all the way to the floor, connecting the garden and the interior at a natural level. When I design a space like this, connectivity matters most to me. It’s a process of removing “architectural noise.” The same goes for designing sofas and chairs. I think designs with tall backrests or a lot of height create “visual noise” in a home. Simple, understated design is ideal.
Minimalism is the word most associated with you, but you’ve also created many colorful, experimental products. So it’s surprising that your walls are completely white.
I’m a huge fan of color, but I don’t think I’m particularly good at controlling it. White is where I return when my experiments with different colors and new patterns fail. I come back to a few different whites or dark grays. All the walls in my office are white, too.
Throughout the house, there’s furniture of various nationalities and styles, from Poul Kjærholm and Donald Judd to Hans Wegner. Do you enjoy collecting?
My wife, Veronica, and I have each been collecting for decades. Italian design, Nordic design, 1950s design, even the first chair I bought as a university student. Every piece in the collection has had an important influence on me as a designer. They’ve followed me for a very long time, from one home to the next. I also collect art, books, glass bottles, and crafts. Sometimes I lose things or forget where they are, but they’re practically part of my life, so I never throw them away lightly. There are my great-grandmother’s old glasses filling the kitchen shelves, a Japanese painting my father gave me, and things I’ve picked up while traveling in Venice, Paris, New York, and elsewhere. It’s like making a mille-feuille. You layer one story on top of another, and you keep repeating it.
Maybe that’s why it feels like a very carefully built collection. Is there a secret to how you combine and arrange everything?
The sofas, chairs, tables, kitchen, beds, and bookshelves were all chosen separately, yet they work well together. There are pieces from many brands, such as Cassina, B&B Italia, Porro, Boffi, and Kartell, but in terms of design, they’re suspiciously harmonious. It’s usually hard for such different products to blend naturally. But because every design is excellent, I think the sense of freedom that comes from combining different elements really comes through. I only feel true comfort with timeless design. Not the comfort of sitting, mind you. (Laughs) I also like to buy chairs in pairs and place them side by side. Frank Gehry’s Cross Check armchair and Charles & Ray Eames’s La Chaise are the exceptions.
Let’s talk about the Fauteuil Grand Confort. When and how did you buy the one in your living room?
I bought it at the Cassina store in Milan around 1992. It always amazes me that it was designed nearly 100 years ago. If you look at photos of the Pavillon de l’Esprit Nouveau, which Le Corbusier designed for the International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts in Paris, the original Fauteuil Grand Confort was white. So naturally, I chose white too. I’ve long admired the work of Le Corbusier, Pierre Jeanneret, and Charlotte Perriand, and I think the Fauteuil Grand Confort in particular is an iconic design that defines the very idea of an armchair. It’s extremely beautiful but also quite uncomfortable, and that’s exactly why I fell in love with it. I have four of them at my house in Tuscany, too.
The name Fauteuil Grand Confort itself means “great comfort,” so it’s interesting that you see it as an uncomfortable but beautiful design.
Function matters in design, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. (Laughs) I choose chairs the way I’d choose a partner, and the Fauteuil Grand Confort is a partner that makes me happy just by looking at it. The grand modèle, with its wide seat, is especially beautiful because it’s bigger, flatter, and lower. The proportions are perfect.
Is the beauty you see in the Fauteuil Grand Confort related to its “architectural” qualities?
Yes. The spaces architects create, and the furniture within them, are special. I’ve designed products for many brands, but I never know what kind of environment they’ll end up in or how they’ll look there. From that point on, it’s out of my hands. In that sense, industrial design is somewhat disconnected. Furniture designed by architects, on the other hand, clearly has a consistent “code.” That’s why I think it’s far superior. The Fauteuil Grand Confort is no exception. I always try to bring that sensibility into my own work.
What exactly does it mean to sense that architectural sensibility and reflect it in your work?
People talk about things like the “golden ratio,” but I believe a sense of beautiful proportion exists naturally in my eyes and in my soul. Of course, I do complete houses and furniture based on precise calculations. But what matters more is connecting the interactions between space, people, and the environment. When I design a building, I consider how it meets its surroundings. When I design furniture, I consider the many human activities that a space mediates. Architecture has to solve a range of structural constraints, while furniture allows a more dynamic approach. Still, both are based on the human scale. And that process becomes a way for architects to express how they think. Think of modernist architects like Le Corbusier and Mies Van Der Rohe. They built vast, empty buildings and then became creators of new forms to fill them. In the process, I think furniture also becomes part of each architect’s own language, a kind of “architectural alphabet.”
You were born in Milan, studied at the Polytechnic University of Milan (Politecnico di Milano), and have worked steadily with Italy’s long-established design companies. How have these experiences shaped you?
Italy, and Milan in particular, has a well-established production system that makes craftsmanship and high quality possible. That’s because, over many years, countless artists and technicians have built an ecosystem for creating great design. When I was at university, I learned from and worked with many design studios, factories, and artisans. My professors always encouraged us to get out of the classroom. Every Italian design brand is like a person with its own character. They may look similar, but each has its own techniques, processes, attitude, spirit, and taste. I think this diversity is why Milan still functions as a center for everything, from materials and research to design, fashion, photography, graphics, and food. And I’m not saying that because I’m a nationalist or a chauvinist!
Who are the most important figures for you among Italian architects and designers?
There are too many to count. From Piero Portaluppi and Giuseppe Terragni to Marco Zanuso, Achille, Livio, and Pier Giacomo Castiglioni, Vico Magistretti, and Anna Castelli Ferrieri, all the way to Ettore Sottsass, Aldo Rossi, and Renzo Piano.
After taking up a professorship at the Royal College of Art in London, the Italian-born Vico Magistretti actively drew on elements of British culture in his design. Do you also bring the influences of your global projects into your work?
Of course. I prefer things that are slightly contaminated to things that are completely pure. My designs go into and come back out of many places, including China, Japan, Africa, India, Milan, and New York, and each time they absorb a little of the local culture. In fact, if you’re European, you experience cultural exchange from birth. More than 60% of the staff at my Milan office weren’t even born in Italy.
Which cities do you visit to work, rest, and find inspiration?
As you’ve probably noticed from our conversation, I’m quite a workaholic. I can work flexibly anywhere in the world. But even on business trips, I try to make time to visit museums and experience the local culture. Right now, though, I have projects in four cities in China, so when I go there, I do nothing but work without a break. (Laughs) Where I go to relax changes every time. Near Milan, I sometimes stay in the Santa Maria Mountains or go to the beach at Forte dei Marmi. But if I had to pick just one city, it would be Venice. I think the city made entirely of water in Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities is just like Venice. It’s fantastically beautiful, close enough to Milan to be convenient for work, and a great city for walking. The rhythm of life in Venice suits me well, so I naturally spend a lot of time there.
Want to dive deeper?
Issue.04 Fauteuil Grand Confort
The greatness of the Fauteuil Grand Confort, designed in 1928 by Le Corbusier, Pierre Jeanneret, and Charlotte Perriand, does not lie simply in comfort. It became an icon of modernity through the then-novel concept of the chair as a 'machine for sitting' and the innovative use of tubular steel, the most advanced material of its time. Its form borrows the vertical and horizontal elements, modular concepts, and piloti structures familiar from Le Corbusier's architecture, recalling his assertion that a chair is architecture. In the Fauteuil Grand Confort, machine-pure form, the discipline and order born of a simple structural system, and the interplay between them come together in rich beauty—a truly great chair.
