It’s hard to remember to pause and reflect in a world that’s inundated with distractions. But learning how to pause is exactly what encouraged Danish designer Lise Vester to create something quietly radical: a bench that invites us to stop, look up, and reconnect. Crafted in Denmark for Danish brand Muuto and inspired by the natural curve of the body, the Dream View Bench’s smooth, sky-facing form is designed to support both solitude and shared presence, encouraging new perspectives through the simple yet powerful act of gazing at the sky.
Vester’s approach to design is deeply rooted in sensory experience, empathy, and care. Influenced by principles of neuroaesthetics and healing architecture, her work explores how objects and spaces can nurture mental and emotional well-being. The Dream View Bench, made of brushed stainless steel that reflects the shifting light of the sky, is a manifestation of this ethos: grounded in function, yet poetic in expression.
Funnily enough, this piece was not initially born in a studio. It began by the sea, where Vester traced her body’s natural posture into the sand and began shaping the first contours of a design that would take months of refinement, testing, and research. From inviting people to share personal reflections on the sky to prototyping with diverse body types, Vester embedded inclusivity and human insight into every curve.
In this conversation with Schön!, Lise Vester shares the story behind the bench, her path into design, and why she believes beauty, empathy, and emotion must be central to how we shape the world around us.
What drew you to pursue a career in design, and how has your journey shaped your approach to creating sensory-focused pieces?
I’ve always been curious and creative – playing music, trying different sports, and exploring ideas through making. But I didn’t set out with a clear plan to become a designer. After taking one and a half gap years, I chose to spend six months at Krabbesholm Højskole in 2014, studying design. It was a gut decision – a place where I could explore both my creative drive and my fascination with people.
What I didn’t expect was to find something that felt truly meaningful: an intersection between design and healthcare. Discovering neuroaesthetics and Healing Architecture opened my eyes to how environments affect our emotions, our recovery, and even our sense of dignity. I became fascinated by how design could be a tool for care – beyond functionality – a way to show empathy through form, light, and material. That realisation has shaped everything I’ve done since.
Can you tell us about a key moment or project in your career that significantly influenced your design philosophy?
A pivotal project came early, during my bachelor’s degree, when I worked on a design brief focused on dignified care. It explored how people with disabilities or terminal illnesses often encounter environments filled with medical aid products that are cold, impersonal, and stigmatising. This challenged me: why shouldn’t design for care be beautiful? Why should aesthetics stop at the hospital door?
That led me to revisit the hospice where my aunt spent her final days. I had been there as a high school student when she passed, and four years later, I returned as a design student, full of questions. I interviewed staff, family members, and therapists connected to the hospice to understand what made that space feel so different – so warm and human, even in the face of grief. It was my first real exploration of sensory and emotional design, and it showed me how empathy, research, and beauty can coexist. It has shaped the values I bring into every project since.
How has growing up and working in Denmark influenced your view on the relationship between design, nature, and well-being?
I grew up in western Denmark, right by the Limfjord, not far from the North Sea. Nature was always part of my every day – long walks by the water with my mother, watching the horizon, collecting fossils, watching my parents hunt and fish. It taught me to slow down, observe, and appreciate silence and space.
Later, moving to Copenhagen, and then to London for my master’s, brought contrast – urban rhythms, endless possibilities, and, during COVID, isolation. That time in lockdown, when the city shrunk to the size of my apartment, really shifted my perspective. I remember how people, especially children, began drawing rainbows and taping them in their windows for others to see – simple, colourful gestures meant to spread hope and solidarity. They were signs of compassion, both for one another and for frontline healthcare workers.
At the same time, public health data in the UK showed that walking in nature became one of the most important ways people coped with lockdown. Many reported feeling more grounded, connected, and appreciative of their natural surroundings. This return to nature wasn’t just physical – it became an emotional and psychological anchor.
I began asking: how can design offer a sense of connection and comfort when everything feels uncertain? How can it help people reconnect to their own inner landscape? That’s where nature reentered my work. I started looking at the sky not just as a view, but as a universal surface – accessible to everyone, everywhere, as long as we remember to look up. The Dream View Bench grew from that: an invitation to pause, look up, and reconnect, even in the middle of a busy city.
Before creating the Dream View Bench, were there particular designers, movements, or experiences that inspired your focus on form, function, and emotion?
Definitely. I’m deeply inspired by the Light and Space movement from 1970s California – artists like James Turrell and Helen Pashgian – and of course Olafur Eliasson – who work with perception, light, and sensory immersion. Their work doesn’t just show you something – it makes you feel it and paves the way to new worlds.
At the same time, I’d been working with healing design principles for some years, drawing from neuroaesthetics and evidence-based design. But when I started therapy myself during the pandemic, I was introduced to cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT). That experience stayed with me. I learned how small, intentional interventions – like pausing to reflect, doing something new, or shifting your focus – can disrupt negative thought spirals and open up new perspectives.
That idea of giving people gentle tools – subtle nudges that help them reconnect with themselves – really influenced the Dream View Bench. It’s not just a piece of furniture. It’s an invitation to pause, to breathe, to realign.
The Dream View Bench encourages people to pause and look at the sky. Why do you think it’s important for design to inspire moments of reflection and daydreaming?
We live in a world that constantly demands our attention. Screens, schedules, noise – and so many pressing crises – it’s rare that we’re invited to simply do nothing. But daydreaming is essential. It’s a mental reset where the Default Mode Network in the brain lights up. It helps us process emotions, spark new ideas, and build emotional resilience.
Design can help create those moments. A certain posture, a material, a colour, a change in perspective or light – these elements can gently guide our behaviour and state of mind. With the Dream View Bench, I wanted to design a mental tool, not just a physical object. A way for people to stop, lean back, and let their thoughts drift – using the sky as a canvas for imagination, memories, or simply stillness.
Can you share more about the initial inspiration you felt while sitting by the sea and how that environment shaped the bench’s final form?
The concept really crystallised through a quote by neuroscientist David Eagleman in my research:
“Everything the brain interprets, it interprets in context. (…) When we are looking directly up at the sky and we are missing our normal frame of the horizon and the cityscape, we are just seeing the light itself. What that causes is an out-of-context experience where we feel like we are now part of that atmosphere. We are tied right into that.”
Looking up at the open sky gives a profound sense of calm – a mix of gravity and weightlessness. That bodily sensation, of being grounded yet mentally floating, became the core of the bench’s form.
As part of my research, I invited people to take a photo of the sky and then write down a feeling, a thought, and an action. I also asked them to sketch their own imaginary “Dream View” and respond to questions like: “What does it make you feel, think, and want to do?” and “What does it bring you closer to?”
What emerged was deeply personal. The drawings revealed reflections on happiness, values, and life priorities. For many, connection to nature was central – it made them feel free and relaxed, and also more connected to themselves. Even the drawings expressing frustration or negative emotions often held constructive energy – desires for self-care and visions for societal change.
I also asked participants about their relationship with the sky. Through questions like “What does the sky make you think and feel? What does it give us?” I received profound statements, thoughtful reflections, and personal insights. These contributions felt like gifts – powerful, hopeful, and full of emotional resonance. They helped shape the soul of the Dream View Bench.
You tested the bench with people of different heights during development. What were some surprising insights or adjustments that came from this inclusive testing?
Inclusivity was key. I tested the Dream View Bench with men and women of different heights and body types. What surprised me was how even small variations in back completely changed the experience of the backrest comfort and gaze direction.
That led me to carefully refine the posture so the sky-viewing gesture felt natural for as many people as possible. We also considered how the curvature supports the spine and where pressure points hit. These micro-adjustments helped make the design more universally inviting – still poetic, but physically grounded. The only straight parts are where the body doesn’t touch the bench. This makes it look like a lifted wave or a cloud floating in the sky.
The Dream View Bench has a sculptural, almost playful aesthetic. How do you balance artistic expression with functionality in your designs?
For me, function and emotion are never separate – they support each other. I’m most inspired when asking questions not just about function, but about how the object relates to us and touches us emotionally – through our senses and mind, or even socially or spiritually. A bench can be beautiful, but if it doesn’t feel good to sit on, it won’t be used. And a highly functional object can fall flat if it doesn’t speak to us emotionally.
With the Dream View Bench, I approached it like a piece of public art or a sling that people can physically inhabit. It has a sculptural presence, but every curve is intentional – responding to the body, the sky, and the surrounding space. I always try to design with care: for the user, the context, and the atmosphere the object creates.
Learn more about Muuto at muuto.com.
