Birmingham-born, Brisbane-based furniture and product designer Carl Holder is one of those rare designers whose work transcends functional boundaries to become pieces of practical sculpture. Holder’s award-winning work graces homes and public spaces across the continent. Having won the coveted Dowel Jones Design from Home award late last year, Australian Design Review (ADR) spoke with Holder to learn more about his process, sources of inspiration, how he knows when a piece is ‘done’, and the unexpected role of environmental context that coalesces into artful pieces of design.
Carl Holder: Growing up in Birmingham (UK) in the eighties, I guess I had two subliminal influences that shaped my path. The Midlands was then the heartland of automotive production — the home of Austin, Land Rover, Jaguar, MG and Aston Martin. My father and grandfather worked in the industry, so manufacturing was around me. However, most locally produced cars were pretty awful at that time.
I remember visiting the National Motor Show with my father. I saw a Porsche up close for the first time and was captivated by its design and how it evoked a completely different emotional response compared to the British cars that I felt were mundane.
My other grandfather owned an antiques shop — more of a junk shop really — filled with furniture and trinkets. I spent a lot of time there and became intrigued by furniture’s tectonics and visual appeal. I recall one piece in particular, a simple moulded plastic Robin Day chair that caught my attention for its beautiful simplicity and use of materials.
Despite these influences, I didn’t understand what industrial design was until high school, where I had an inspirational teacher. He introduced us to books like Design for the Real World by Victor Papanek and the principles of the Bauhaus. I was drawn to the way design combines so many factors and impacts society. It was then I realised that design was something I’d wanted to seriously pursue.
CH: Initially, I thought my response was no and that I’d like to think of my design process as independent of context. But I’d be wrong to say that. Having called Queensland home for 15 years, its laid-back, relaxed feel and openness have definitely shaped my approach. Also, the natural environment has been a big influence and source of inspiration, particularly the quality of the sunlight here in Australia, which is in stark contrast to Birmingham.
Growing up in a country with limited sunshine, I’m still fascinated by the qualities of natural light — the way its colours and intensity shift from subtle to dramatic sometimes in an instant. This interplay of light and shade is something I’ve consciously and unconsciously explored in my work, especially the way light interacts with form and texture.
My design process typically follows two distinct approaches. The first is a more conventional design brief method when working with clients, such as CLO Studios or in my role at Tzannes. It starts with understanding what the desired outcome is to represent, getting to the essence of the design. Of course, I also consider the object’s functionality and materiality, and opportunities through manufacturing processes. This foundational understanding is critical before I pick up a pencil.
From there, I move into ideation: sketching, thinking and 3D sculpting. I often revisit and repurpose past ideas, even those previously rejected, to spark new thinking. My design process is very open and collaborative when designing for others. Developing a relationship and learning from the client, the maker, manufacturer or specialist, and using that knowledge and expertise to shape a product is key.
When creating pieces for myself without a client or a fixed brief or deadline, my approach is more personal and experimental. Here, I build on previous iterations, often crafting rough prototypes by myself. While these projects are freer, they are still guided by my underlying design principles and values.
An example of this process would be the Houseman Table which began as a solution for my own need for a compact entry hall table with hidden storage. Over time this idea evolved into a sculptural piece with a timber base and a spun metal bowl.
I followed a similar process to develop the Flute Table that recently won the 2024 Dowel Jones Design From Home competition. While designing a suite of street furniture for the City of Sydney as part of the Tzannes team, I became fascinated by how sculptural rebates or ‘fluting’ details could influence the play of light on a surface. This fascination heavily informed the design of elements like the Sydney bollard and rubbish bins.
I later distilled this concept into an abstract form for Early Works in Pinewood, a sculptural furniture piece designed to be positioned in different ways. This design language eventually evolved into the Flute Table which features a sculptural leg profile that seamlessly transitions into a fine-edged top.
CH: A great question. For me, an idea is working when it feels as though it’s almost designing itself. That might sound odd, but when the approach is strong and the integrity of the concept is clear, the details seem to resolve themselves naturally.
I aim for an elemental quality in my work, a purity of form and function. Once I feel this balance is close to being achieved, I’m more confident in putting it out there.
CH: There’s absolute cross-pollination. Sculpting — physically or digitally — often inspires furniture forms, while solving functional challenges in product design can inspire other three-dimensional ideas that go on to become something else. My approach and principles remain consistent across all typologies. I think even with my public artwork projects, I’m essentially still designing. Public art is about working to a brief, outcome or budget. I think these parameters are what separate a designer from an artist.
CH: Another very interesting question. I guess I see product (industrial) design as having a broader scope, often focusing on commercialisation and mass production with a universal appeal. This means that sadly many products have relatively short lifespans.
Furniture, however, has the potential to carry a personality, balancing aesthetics, functionality and ergonomics. It can become a cherished object, rich with layers of meaning. I still have some chairs that were my great-grandmother’s, which I use today. Great furniture transcends its function becoming a cultural artefact that reflects values, origin and time. But in saying that, great products can have these qualities too.
For example, the Sydney public bench seat I co-designed with Alec Tzannes and Bruce Chadlowe is technically a product, but its aim was to contribute to the city’s cultural identity. These qualities make objects more likely to endure and be appreciated, and therefore have a longer design life. But yes, furniture and product design in the physical sense do share a common thread.
I have a deep connection to timber, which I trace back to spending time in my grandfather’s antique shop. It’s a material I can manipulate with my limited practical skills and has a timeless appeal. However, stainless steel is my favourite, particularly for public domain work due to its durability and infinite recyclability. Its ability to dematerialise through form and finish is something I find particularly compelling. The Hoop bollard designed for the City of Sydney and employed at the Dangrove Art Facility aims to capture these qualities.
CH: Just by Radiohead.
CH: Seeing the Houseman Table specified for the Judith Neilson Institute of Journalism in Sydney was incredibly rewarding as it was a concept piece for a long time before becoming fully realised. To have it recognised with a Good Design Award in 2024 was particularly gratifying.
Similarly, seeing the Sydney Street Furniture in daily use and knowing it’s part of the city’s fabric always makes me smile.
CH: I greatly admire British designer Ken Grange for the cultural impact of his designs, which have contributed to shaping the UK’s national identity. I’m always drawn to the ‘masters’, Gio Ponti and Axel Einar Hjorth are personal favourites. I also deeply respect the work of Matthew Hilton’s British studio for their beautifully refined, practical and elegant furniture.
CH: I treasure a set of three plywood nesting tables I bought from Habitat in the late 1990s and still use almost every day. They’ve served countless purposes—side tables, seats, children’s dens, goalposts, bedside tables, holding dinner plates and laptops, models and jigsaws and more. Their simplicity, lightweight design and versatility capture the purity of form and materiality that I seek in my own work.