Reincarnation Collection

An early exploration of how design can create new value without erasing what already exists.

Experimental Designer / Entrepreneur

In the early 2000s, recycling was not yet a mainstream design concern. Sustainability had not reached the level of urgency or visibility it has today, and for many designers it remained outside the core of the design agenda.

At the same time, artists, designers and thinkers were already questioning consumer culture, limited resources and the consequences of constant production. These questions were becoming increasingly important to me.

I was interested in moving beyond the conventional idea of recycling as simply recovering raw material for industrial use. Could design give an existing object a second chance without erasing its first life? That became the central question behind the Reincarnation Collection. I developed Reincarnation independently, using the collection as a way to test these ideas through real objects rather than leaving them as a theoretical position.

The idea gradually developed around the notion of reincarnation. Rather than treating a discarded object as anonymous material, I wanted to understand what it had been, how it had been used and which memories or cultural associations were already embedded in it. The role of the designer was then to propose a new life that responded to that existing identity.

This echoed the idea of reincarnation in Eastern philosophies: the object continues to exist, but in another form and with another purpose. Its previous life is not erased. It becomes part of its new identity. The design process therefore began with interpretation rather than invention.

In one series, used beer bottles were cut at the neck and their bases decorated with patterns inspired by Bohemian crystal. After a final polishing process, the bottles became whisky glasses. Within one object, two very different worlds came together: the industrial batch number of a mass-produced beer bottle and the visual language of highly crafted crystal. The previous life remained visible, but its value and meaning had changed.

Another series, Seatbag, transformed old suitcases into seating. In their first life, these objects had been designed for movement. In their second, they were given a quieter and more stationary existence. By opening a suitcase to the angle of a backrest, adding upholstery and introducing legs or a rocking structure, each could become a lounge chair or rocking chair.

These transformations showed that reuse could create not only environmental value, but also narrative, familiarity and a stronger emotional connection with the user.

The experiments became important to me not only as exercises in reuse, but also as a different way of approaching creativity. Instead of beginning with a blank sheet, the designer had to respond to what was already there: its form, history, limitations and cultural associations.

I also noticed how quickly these objects connected with people. Because the original objects were familiar, viewers could immediately recognise their previous lives and understand the transformation. Familiarity reduced the distance between the designer, the object and the audience. That made the design process more accessible and, in a sense, allowed people to become participants in the story rather than passive observers.

Existing materials and discarded objects could become sources of differentiation, storytelling and renewed value. Long before circularity became a mainstream corporate priority, the project helped shape a belief that has stayed with me: responsible resource use can strengthen desirability rather than diminish it.