Quin Philipp is the founder of Odysii Design, a furniture studio built around a single idea: designing for disconnection. His pieces, like the 000E side table and the 8B coffee table, pair sculptural plaster forms with integrated warm lighting (placed below eye level) and wooden dimming knobs, turning the simple act of softening a room into a ritual. Every piece is hand-finished, made with cherry wood that deepens from pale salmon to rich amber over time. Their furniture is built to encourage mindfulness rather than distraction and to age gracefully with the people who live with it.

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Designing for Disconnection

My furniture is born from an ideal vision of the future.

I've spent years studying the history of industrial design, from the optimism of mid-century modernism to the radical experimentation of the Space Age. Despite their differences, these movements share a common thread: great design responds to the needs of its time. Those needs may be physical, emotional, or cultural, but the purpose of design has always been to help people live better.

Today, I believe our greatest unmet need is attention. For the first time in history, our attention has become a commodity. Algorithms compete relentlessly for it; digital devices follow us into every room of the home; and moments of quiet have become increasingly rare. We are more connected than ever yet often less present in the spaces we inhabit. I believe one of the defining design challenges of our generation is creating environments that help people disconnect from this constant psychological intrusion.

Odysii Design is my exploration of that idea. Rather than treating furniture as a passive object, I see it as something capable of shaping behavior, influencing mood, and encouraging a different way of living.

Designing Through Function

The integrated lighting found in pieces like the 000E and 8B often surprises people, but it serves a purpose beyond aesthetics.

Light is one of the strongest regulators of our circadian rhythm. During the day, blue-rich sunlight suppresses melatonin and promotes alertness. As evening approaches, light becomes warmer and dimmer, allowing the body to begin transitioning toward rest. Modern life interrupts that cycle. Bright overhead LEDs and digital screens continue exposing us to blue-rich light long after sunset, making it harder to unwind. The lighting in my furniture is designed around the opposite principle. Warm, low-intensity light positioned below eye level recreates some of the visual qualities of evening light, helping create an atmosphere that feels calmer, softer, and more restorative.

Interaction is equally important. Rather than hiding the controls behind a plastic switch, I use a handcrafted wooden dimming knob. Turning it on requires a small but intentional action. That brief interaction becomes a ritual, a conscious decision to slow down, soften the room, and transition away from the constant stimulation of the digital world.

Designing Through Form

Not every design decision serves a practical function. Some exist to shape emotion. The Danish idea of hygge is difficult to translate directly because it describes a feeling more than a definition. It’s like sitting beside a fireplace with a record spinning on the turntable. It’s brewing your favorite tea while a sleeping dog is curled up beside you. It’s the warmth that follows a second glass of wine. These moments invite us to experience the world through our senses rather than through a screen. They remind us to be present.

The Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi offers another influence. It celebrates imperfection, transience, and the quiet beauty of things that change over time: the shadows cast by moving leaves; the worn edges of stone steps; the crack in the Liberty Bell; the gray fur around an old dog's muzzle; the patina of an object that has been loved for decades. That philosophy shapes both the materials I choose and the way I finish them.

Every piece is hand-finished, leaving subtle traces of the maker rather than striving for machine perfection. I work almost exclusively with cherry because it continues evolving long after it leaves my workshop. Exposure to light gradually transforms it from a pale salmon color into a rich amber brown. Like the people who live with it, the furniture records the passage of time.

A Different Future

Every design decision I make exists to support the same goal: to create furniture that encourages mindfulness rather than distraction; to design homes that feel like places of refuge instead of extensions of the digital world; to build objects that age gracefully, invite interaction, and remind us to slow down.

Before I started Odysii Design, I worked in entertainment marketing. This gave me an experience with digital marketing tools and branding. Knowing what works in a competitive consumer market (such as furniture) has been a huge help; knowing how to get in front of the right customers is half the battle of owning a business. On the technical side, I spent the first three years of my design journey working for bespoke and industrial furniture manufacturers. This allowed me to see both large-scale and small-scale operations in this industry. I’ve been able to implement industrial shop techniques and philosophies in my shop while still maintaining a hands-on connection to the work like in a bespoke studio.

A large hurdle I had to overcome in the design process was finding the right material for the sculptural forms I wanted to achieve. Ultimately, I settled on using XPS foam because it was cheap, lightweight, and surprisingly strong. Two-inch sheets could be easily machined on my CNC into the parts I needed. The only issue with XPS is that it’s a plastic derivative, meaning that it’s not biodegradable. Every machined part had excess material that I felt guilty about wasting.

The solution came from finding a meaningful use for the material that would otherwise be discarded. Instead of focusing only on the finished furniture pieces, I began studying what remained after each component was cut from the foam. Those leftover voids, the "negative space" of the machining process, became the starting point for new designs. By using the scraps from one product to create another, I could machine two distinct furniture pieces from the same stock. That’s how the 8B coffee table was born.

I think some people might find the lighting to be a gimmick, but it actually has a very unique function that makes my furniture pieces so distinct. Light has a profound influence on our circadian rhythm, the internal clock that regulates our sleep-wake cycle. During the day, blue-rich sunlight suppresses melatonin and promotes alertness. As the sun sets, the spectrum shifts toward longer wavelengths while overall light levels decrease, allowing the body to gradually transition into a state of rest.

Modern environments often interrupt this process. Bright overhead LEDs and digital screens emit significant amounts of blue light from above, extending the visual cues of daytime well into the evening and delaying the body’s natural transition toward sleep.

The lighting integrated into my furniture is designed around the opposite principle. It uses warm, low-intensity illumination positioned below eye level to recreate some of the visual qualities of sunset. Rather than competing with the body’s natural rhythms, it helps create an environment that encourages relaxation and signals that the day is coming to a close. It’s a small detail, but it’s one intended to make a space feel calmer, softer, and more restorative.

One decision I wrestled with was whether to seal the final plaster finish. A sealant would certainly improve water resistance and offer additional protection against everyday wear. But it would also make the surface far more difficult to repair if it ever became scratched or dented.

In the end, I chose repairability over durability. Every piece ships with a small tin of the same plaster used in its construction, allowing the owner to repair minor imperfections themselves. A small amount of plaster, time to dry, and light hand-sanding are all that’s needed to blend most blemishes back into the surface.

That choice reflects a broader philosophy behind my work. I don’t believe furniture should remain pristine forever. It should be able to age gracefully and continue to evolve with the people who live with it.

While developing the 000E side table, I questioned the design more times than I can count. It was the first project that fully embraced my own design language, moving away from familiar forms into something much more organic and unconventional. Because of that, every prototype felt like an experiment. Even now, every time I build another 000E, I find something to refine, whether it’s the manufacturing process or a subtle adjustment to the form itself.

The greatest challenge wasn’t shaping the piece but developing a finish durable enough for everyday use. My earliest prototypes relied on PVA glue and fiberglass mesh tape beneath the plaster, but the results were inconsistent and lacked strength. It wasn’t until the third iteration that I discovered a solution: reinforcing the Marmorino plaster with chopped fiberglass. By distributing the fibers throughout the plaster, the material gained significantly greater tensile strength, making the finish resilient enough for daily use while preserving the soft, stone-like appearance that first drew me to it.

That experience reinforced an important lesson for me. Good design isn’t just about finding the right shape. It’s about understanding the materials deeply enough to push them beyond how they’re traditionally used.

Two designers have had the greatest influence on my practice: Dieter Rams and Luigi Colani. Their philosophies could hardly be more different, yet both have become essential voices in my creative process.

Rams represents discipline. Through his work at Braun and his “Ten Principles of Good Design,” he argued that design exists to serve people. Here’s one of his most well-known statements: “Indifference towards people and the reality in which they live is actually the one and only cardinal sin in design.” Rams’ work reminds me that design should be logical, useful, and considerate. Whenever I develop a new piece, there’s a practical voice in the back of my mind asking difficult questions: Can this be manufactured consistently? Are the materials responsibly sourced? Will the margins support the business? Does the object genuinely improve someone’s life? That is Dieter Rams speaking.

Colani is the opposite voice. His work is sensual, organic, and unapologetically experimental. He often described himself less as a designer than as a “3D philosopher,” someone interested in exploring possibilities rather than following convention. If Rams tells me to think about the user, Colani tells me to forget the user for a moment and simply create. He encourages intuition over analysis and believes people often don’t know what they want until they’re shown something they couldn’t have imagined themselves.

The tension between those two philosophies defines my own process. I don’t begin by asking how to manufacture a product as efficiently as possible. I begin by pursuing the most compelling idea I can find, allowing myself the freedom to explore without restraint. Only afterward do I invite Rams back into the room to challenge the work, refine it, and shape it into something that can live successfully in the real world.

I’ve found that this balance is where my best ideas emerge. One philosophy gives me permission to dream without limits. The other ensures those dreams become objects that people can actually live with.

I have far more ideas than I have time to build. My sketchbooks are filled with furniture concepts that I’m excited to bring into the world, but for now, I’m committed to refining the four core pieces that define my first collection.

This year, I'll be moving into a new workshop, and my priority is establishing a production process that’s as thoughtfully designed as the furniture itself. Before expanding the collection, I want to build a rhythm that allows me to produce each piece consistently without compromising the level of craftsmanship I expect from my work.

That doesn’t mean things will be quiet. I’m currently developing several collaborations with artists whose work I admire, along with a handful of one-of-a-kind editions that will be released via auction. Those projects give me the freedom to experiment while keeping my focus on strengthening the foundation of Odysii Design.

I see this first collection as the beginning of a much longer journey. There’s still an entire world of ideas waiting to be explored, and I’m looking forward to sharing them one piece at a time.

There is a bespoke fashion brand out of Japan called Fuseinatti that I have been following for a long time. The designer is brilliant—not just in creating beautiful garments but in creating stories behind his clothing. The advantage of being a small online creator is that people can follow your work much more closely. He shares every design decision, even down to the most technical details of manufacturing. When you buy one of his garments, you know which factories produced it, the craftspeople who operate the specialized machinery, and even the films, music, and books that shaped its design. By the time the piece is finished, you don’t just understand what it is. You understand why it exists.

That completely changed how I think about building a creative business. As a small designer, I’ll never outspend large companies on advertising or compete with them on price or scale. But I can offer something they often can’t: a genuine connection to the work and the people behind it. Every decision, every mistake, and every breakthrough become part of the story. People want to be a part of the story.

My CASIO F-84W watch. It’s a workhorse in the shop. It never lets me down, no matter how much I beat it up.

Mother Earth's Plantasia. One of the first synth records ever produced in the 70s that was made specifically with frequencies and melodies that would help plants grow. The concept is so absurd, but it makes the music so alien yet so comforting.

Picking my workshop music before I start my day. EDM, Classical, Jazz, Hip-Hop, whatever the vibe of that day is. I find different music is good for different headspaces.

I bought some Ryobi power tools on sale a while ago. They get a lot of hate online, but I’ve been surprised at how well they’ve held up for the cost. I think some power tools like drills don’t need to be top-of-the-line brand names like Makita or Festool.

Start small. It's more important to get your process down first than to have a successful product. Fail forward and fast.

I’m not a coffee drinker, but it’s my lifelong dream to be the first artist sponsored by Monster Energy.

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