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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.

House Svärdsö. Torö. Sweden. 2020.
architect. Trigueros Architecture
interior design. Lotta Agaton Interiors
light design. Aloud
lighting. Occhio Mito series + Sento series
photography. Mikael Lundbad

Light is so much more than something you can turn on with a flip of a switch, or something that cascades into a room from a window. The quality and quantity of light we experience play a major role in our overall well-being, with profound effects on our health, mood and productivity.

This is something that Occhio understands well. The award-winning light makers have been creating a ‘new culture of light’ since 1999, thanks to their cutting-edge designs and commitment to innovation. When it comes to creating atmospheres in spaces with light, Helen Neumann, the company’s Chief Lighting Designer, is at the forefront.

“Few people truly understand the impact and influence light has on aesthetics – interior design, architecture – as well as on our bodies, well-being, and even health,” says Neumann. “It’s a fascinating element, because our evolution is based on sunlight and the atmosphere around our planet. That’s the formula by which human beings evolved, and I find it beautiful to work with.” Neumann studied Interior Architecture and, later, earned her Master of Arts in Architectural Lighting Design. Passionate about the transformative power of light, she has long championed its vital role in enhancing quality of life.

Schön! alive sits down with her to find out more about the impact light has on our well-being, the importance of designing a room with lighting in mind, and more.

Helen Neumann.
Chief Lighting Designer at Occhio

House Svärdsö. Torö. Sweden. 2020.
architect. Trigueros Architecture
interior design. Lotta Agaton Interiors
light design. Aloud
lighting. Occhio Mito largo lusso
photography. Mikael Lundbad

What inspired you to choose a career in lighting design?

When I started my diploma classes for interior design, I didn’t know that lighting design was a profession. I thought it was just a kind of nerdy interest I had in light, luminaires, and how light impacts architecture, spaces, materials, colours and so on. Back in university, I realised that lighting design is a profession, and ever since, I have specialised in this topic.

I did a Master’s in Architectural Lighting Design in Wismar, in the northern part of Germany. The class attracts students from around the world because few universities offer lighting design studies. I have been working as a lighting designer ever since. The reason I’m so interested in light is because its relevance is obvious yet not at the forefront of most people’s minds.

When we go into a hotel, we think about the smells and sounds and how they impact us. We don’t often think about the lighting.

Exactly. It’s astonishing because we are so accustomed to sunlight that we appreciate the different atmospheres and moods it creates. We can describe our emotions that arise with natural light quite well. However, when it comes to artificial light, there’s generally no appreciation for it. It’s just about turning the light on or off, without recognising how it affects our well-being. All people have an inner longing for good lighting, but only a few understand that poor lighting might be why they feel uncomfortable. We can easily detect if something smells good or bad, or if a sound is pleasant or unpleasant, but with artificial light, it’s not as obvious.

Country Estate Lüneburger Heide.
Germany. 1911/2019.
architect. Architekturbüro Hütz
interior design. HONEYandSPICE
light design. HONEYandSPICE
lighting. Occhio
photography. Robert Rieger

It’s like we almost don’t have the vocabulary to describe why the lighting is impacting us. We can say it’s either too harsh or too dark. There’s so much grey area.

Absolutely. I think what people can detect is glare. When something is glaring, they understand it’s uncomfortable, but in terms of light quality, it’s more complex. For instance, the Colour Rendering Index (CRI) is a measure of the quality of light. It measures how naturally the light source reveals colours in comparison to natural light, which has a CRI of 100%. Sunlight comprises all the colours we can perceive so, under sunlight, you can see any colour nuance that exists. Artificial light sources are compared to this standard. If an artificial light has a CRI of more than 90%, it’s very good. If it’s more than 80%, it’s still quite good.

The CRI helps us understand if the light allows us to perceive all the colours in our surroundings accurately. For example, plants should look vibrant green, but if the light lacks certain colours, everything might look flat. Our skin is also a good indicator of light quality. We’re very sensitive to how our skin looks, and our brain can detect if it appears healthy. If you’re under bad lighting, your skin might look greyish.

Do people respond differently to light depending on their age, and is that something you take into consideration?

Definitely. When designing for clients, we try to understand their specific needs and preferences to develop the perfect lighting solution. It’s well-proven that, as we age, we need more light. I’ve noticed it myself; I need much more light to read now than I did before. It’s a recent change for me, within the last year or so, and I still haven’t fully adjusted the lighting in my environment to match my new needs.

I often resort to wearing glasses instead. Perceptions are very individual. What seems bright and strong to one person might feel too dull or dark to another. It’s really about investigating and understanding each person’s unique perception of light when we start a project. This helps us tailor the lighting to meet their requirements and ensure comfort and satisfaction.

What is ‘emotional lighting design’ and why is this such a focus for Occhio?

The main concept of emotional lighting design is – and this differentiates us from other manufacturers – not just making spaces bright, but also creating atmospheres. An important aspect is the control of lighting. Daylight is never static; it changes in brightness, colour temperature and direction throughout the day. By allowing artificial light to adapt to different times of the day, seasons and personal moods, we can make lighting more emotional and responsive to individual needs.

This approach aligns with the concept of humancentric lighting, which is based on the understanding that light affects our well-being and health, not just our ability to see. Emotional lighting design takes this further by personalising it. It’s not just about having a set lighting solution in an office connected to the time of day; it’s about empowering users to adjust the lighting to their personal needs and preferences. We aim to help users identify what they need at any given moment. Do they need bright, cool light for concentration or more relaxed, warm light for a restful phase?

Restaurant Thoru. Munich.
Germany. 2020.
lighting. Occhio Lui pico wall + Mito sfera
photography. Robert Sprang

Do you feel like you need to teach clients to recognise what they need? Is that something you’re aware of when approaching a new design?

We start by talking to the clients and asking questions. By doing this, we guide them to better understand their needs. If someone says they prefer brightness, we dig deeper to show different examples of what brightness can mean. Having good conversations helps clients learn. We don’t aim to teach them outright, as that might be off-putting. It’s more about discovering together the different interpretations of their preferences. This approach can be inspiring and empowering for them and, in consequence, also for us.

Some countries, like Iceland for example, might only get a few hours of daylight. How does this affect one’s day and when one mentally starts the day?

Lighting profoundly impacts our mood and daily routines. In regions with significant seasonal variations in daylight, like Iceland or Scandinavian countries, people often struggle with the lack of sunlight during the winter months. This can lead to various issues, including seasonal affective disorder (SAD), where the lack of natural light disrupts our circadian rhythms and hormone levels.

Villa Starnberg, Germany. 2021.
lighting. Occhio Mito soffito
photography. Bohman + Sjöstrand

Villa Starnberg, Germany. 2021.
lighting. Occhio Mito sfera
photography. Bohman + Sjöstrand

How do you see the future of lighting technology evolving over the next ten years?

I envision lighting becoming more integrated into our daily lives, much like our smartphones or smart home devices. Rather than being just a part of the architecture, lighting will evolve to interact with us on a more personal level.

Currently, we manually control lights to adjust brightness and colour, which is already a significant advancement from traditional halogen lights. The next step is making lighting systems smarter and capable of detecting our needs without manual input. For instance, wearable technology could monitor our pulse and other vital signs to adjust the lighting accordingly: dim and warm light for relaxation, or brighter, cooler light to boost alertness.

Voice control will likely continue to be an integral part of this evolution, though it’s uncertain if it will remain as prominent in ten years. The focus will be on creating systems that can intuitively understand and respond to our needs, enhancing our well-being in ways that are more integrated and less intrusive than today’s solutions. Apart from the technology, we see the future in the idea of light by Occhio. Our customers buy atmosphere, mood and well-being. They will experience the culture of light by Occhio.

Casa de la Luz. Mallorca. Spain. 2020.
architect. Estudio Cano Arquitectura
interior design. Estudio Cano Arquitectura
light design. Occhio
lighting. Occhio Mito sospeso
photography. Robert Rieger

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interview. Kelsey Barnes
special thanks. the team @ Occhio

Held across the entire city of Copenhagen, 3daysofdesign returns this June for its 12th edition, featuring hundreds of exhibitions, product launches, talks, and events. Under the theme KEEP IT REAL, the festival unfolds across eight thematic districts, each offering a unique perspective on contemporary design. Unlike traditional trade fairs, 3daysofdesign is embedded in the urban fabric – events take place throughout the city in showrooms, galleries, cultural institutions, and distinctive architectural spaces, encouraging walkability, exploration, and unexpected encounters.

Now recognized as Denmark’s leading annual design festival, 3daysofdesign has grown significantly since its beginnings in 2013. What started as a small initiative by a handful of local furniture brands seeking to create an informal platform during a quiet period in the design calendar has since evolved into a global design destination.

In conversation with Schön! alive, Festival Director Signe Byrdal Terenziani reflects on the conditions that have shaped this unique event, one rooted in authenticity, human connection, and well-crafted design.

In a moment when abstraction seems to dominate conversations and practices across the Western art and design industries, choosing to KEEP IT REAL feels like a necessary countercurrent. It grounds us, reconnects us to what truly matters. What have you observed in the current design landscape that led you to choose this theme as the thread for 3daysofdesign 2025?

You definitely hit the point of what we want to express through the realness concept, informing this year’s festival. In a time of abstraction and noise, it’s more important than ever to create space for design that invites reflection, care, and connection. We’re living in a time saturated with information, opinions, and endless options. In this context, reflecting on what genuinely matters is essential to navigate a world increasingly shaped by technology. With the rise of AI–ChatGPT, for instance – it’s easy to feel that authenticity and original thinking are being undermined by algorithmic systems built on reproductions of existing data. KEEP IT REAL is a call to designers to create meaningful, personal work that feels grounded and honest.

Where do you see AI playing the most prominent role in designers’ workflows?

From the conceptual stage through to production, AI is a powerful – but also complicated – tool that designers are increasingly incorporating. That’s why we’re dedicating a symposium, AI and I, to this topic. It will bring together leading voices in design to discuss how AI is shaping practice and where it may be taking us. My belief is that while AI can support creativity, it cannot generate something truly new on its own. It lacks emotion. And design, at its core, is an emotional, human-driven response to real conditions. That’s something no algorithm can replicate.

One of the festival’s core value propositions is “consciousness.” Would you say emotional consciousness is part of what you’re aiming to highlight?

Absolutely. Emotional resonance is at the heart of the stories we’re showcasing this year. KEEP IT REAL is about honesty – being honest in how we feel, how we connect, and how we create. We’re interested in work that might be awkward, imperfect, or unconventional, but that stems from passion and genuine human intention. Whether it’s a space or an object, the key is that it’s made by people, for people. On a broader level, to me consciousness in design means presence, intention, and accountability – being aware of the social, environmental, and emotional impact of what we make.

In Denmark, I see many designers embracing this kind of awareness. There’s a strong tradition of valuing quality over quantity, of creating things that are built to last, both in function and cultural relevance. That kind of sustainability goes beyond materials; it’s a mindset. A conscious decision to resist trends and avoid producing for the sake of novelty. Transparency is another vital dimension – knowing how something is made, who made it, and under what conditions. There’s a growing movement, particularly among younger designers, toward more open, collaborative practices that actively involve local communities in the process. Care is an often-overlooked but powerful force in design.

Many designers today are shifting from seeing design purely as problem-solving to treating it as a practice of empathy, considering how a space or object makes us feel, how it supports well-being, and how it fosters connection.

Can you share an example of this kind of real, response-driven design?

One issue that has come up in research, and is very present in Denmark, is loneliness. So we ask: how can design help people feel more connected? Sometimes it’s as simple as designing a long communal table in a café instead of multiple small ones, encouraging spontaneous interaction. Or shaping public seating so that people feel less isolated when alone. These small decisions can deeply impact how individuals experience a space and their place within it.

So design becomes “real” when it reflects societal needs, like the example you’ve given. And keeping it real also means being honest about the direction the world is heading, acknowledging both local and global challenges. The idea of “community” is so present in current discourse, but often it’s used superficially. We forget that healthy communities can’t exist if individuals aren’t well and self-aware. Perhaps we’ve over-emphasized collectivity and overlooked the individual. What’s your perspective on individual agency in design?

I think we sometimes underestimate the power of personal perspective in shaping culture. By staying true to yourself, you give others permission to do the same. And from there, a real community can grow. Not a uniform one, but one that’s built on diversity, empathy, and mutual respect. Individual agency is about originality, responsibility, and emotional presence. It also means being deeply conscious of sustainability – not just environmentally, but socially and culturally. 3daysofdesign is a platform that celebrates this kind of engagement. Designers today aren’t just solving problems – they’re responding with empathy, passion, and care.

Building on that, where does heritage come into play in individual expression? It seems to be another important pillar for the festival.

At 3daysofdesign, we see this individual expression that feels deeply personal but is also rooted in place, culture, and history. It provides resonance. Heritage gives context to creativity and makes the expression even more meaningful. It gives us something to build upon — something to reinterpret for the present. In today’s global design world, we’re constantly drawing from different cultures. But this mix of perspectives only becomes meaningful when it’s grounded in context, not used superficially or just to follow trends. Heritage is about honouring local knowledge and culture while making it relevant for today.

This multiplicity of perspectives is crucial to innovation, especially in sustainable design. How is the theme of “perspectives” addressed within the festival?

The Christianshavn district, for example, will host a variety of exhibitions on materials and new design approaches—clay and seagrass are just two exciting examples being explored. And in District Kultur, we’re presenting Peach Corner, a special exhibition focused on personal perspectives that shape culture. These stories draw on values, traditions, and symbols that bring deeper meaning to design. At Peach Corner, it is a Danish perspective that is represented, but in District Kultur, you will also find voices across generations, from different cultures, connecting the local with the global.

Speaking of the local, how would you recommend international visitors have the best experience of Danish design during the festival?

It’s always a bit tricky to describe your own everyday world, but what’s easy to explain is that in Copenhagen, design is everywhere. From public spaces to the smallest urban details, you’ll find thoughtful, human-centred design integrated into daily life. My advice is to slow down and observe the details. Denmark’s design heritage is incredibly rich and accessible. In our eight new Design Districts in Copenhagen, you will find yourself truly immersed in Danish design heritage just wandering the city.

I’d highlight the Danish Art Workshops – a rare chance to see inside the national workshops usually reserved for professional craftspeople. During 3daysofdesign, it’s open to the public, offering a glimpse into high-level craftsmanship. I’d also recommend Nordhavn – a blueprint for the 5-minute city. Especially the rooftop playground on the parking house. It’s a great example of inclusive design – a beautiful space shared with everyone, not just a select few. It offers a fascinating glimpse into modern Danish design thinking.

My simple advice is to ride a bike, take a dip in the harbour, and pay attention to how navigating through the city works. You’ll quickly notice how the design here is not just for show – it’s lived. It’s real.

Learn more about 3daysofdesign at 3daysofdesign.dk.

portrait photography. Davy Denke
words. Ilaria Sponda