Frangere Studio
Baya House Vol. 2
Carina Webb of Frangere Studio on fungi, broken glass and the making behind her Fun Guy lighting.
PHOTOGRAPHY: Felix Jackson
Fun Guy was your debut collection. Why wild fungi? Is it about foraging, or more about the forms and textures?
To be honest, Fun Guy came about somewhat accidentally. I first began experimenting with stained glass while making a gift for my dad. I was going through a difficult period at the time, and found a certain poetic resonance in transforming “broken” pieces of glass into new and wonderful creations. This became the inspiration behind the studio's name, Frangere, Latin for “to break”, and its playful reflection of the charms and pitfalls of life.
The fungi came a little later, helping give those ideas form. I was drawn to their luminous colouring and the idea of these bright, almost magical specimens growing in even the darkest of places. A lot of what I create tends to be quite playful, which, ironically, can sometimes stem from feeling quite the opposite. Even the name Fun Guy is a little ironic in that sense. I wanted the pieces to be fun, charming and bold, perhaps because those were the very things I was searching for in myself at the time.
How do you translate something as organic as a mushroom into a designed object without losing what makes it strange?
I think it is often the essence of something that carries its character, rather than its exact likeness. Fungi became a reference point, giving me room to play with form and proportion, borrowing just enough to make something feel familiar without being too literal. Their colouring felt particularly suited to stained glass, with its ever-changing interplay of light and colour that never seems to lose its magic, no matter how often I see it.
I also think names can carry quite a lot of weight in articulating an idea, so even the shade colourways borrow their names from fungi with similar hues, such as Witches Butter and Pixies Parasol. Those names might be long forgotten once a piece finds its home, but I love how a few words can conjure up an image, a feeling or a little story. Not entirely essential, but I like to think they add a certain charm.
You’re showing a working artist’s studio rather than finished pieces on plinths. Why was it important to show how the work gets made?
Other people's workshops and creative spaces have always fascinated me, regardless of the medium. They feel like a little glimpse into someone's mind and world.
For BAYA HOUSE, I wanted to offer a small, portable glimpse of my own studio and workshop, sharing something of the making behind the finished pieces. Some elements, like the solderwork on the glass shades, visibly celebrate the hand of the maker. But there are so many other steps and processes that are far less apparent, and easily overlooked when you only ever see the finished result.
Perhaps it is because I love context and narrative so much, but understanding how and why something has been made always deepens my appreciation and connection to it. There is a human behind every piece, and quite often blood, sweat and tears are involved. In the case of glasswork, occasionally quite literally!
"For BAYA HOUSE, I wanted to offer a small, portable glimpse of my own studio and workshop, sharing something of the making behind the finished pieces."
Your work is in spaces around the world. Is there one setting where you felt it really came alive?
Because many of my pieces have found their way overseas, I rarely get to see them in their finished settings, which makes Mother in Grey Lynn particularly special to me.
CTRL Space designed the most beautiful interior, incorporating my wall lights alongside some custom pendants. It is lovely to see how the pieces become part of a larger setting and interact with everything around them. Even lovelier that it is somewhere I can easily pop in and visit!
How did you use the BAYA rug to anchor the studio space?
I love the contrast between the softness and warmth of a rug and the hardness of glass and metal. The quiet, earthy tone of the Hazelnut rug felt like a lovely way to ground the more colourful glass shades, while bringing a sense of comfort to what can otherwise be quite a practical, utilitarian environment. I actually think rugs are rather underutilised in creative studios!
I spend an extraordinary amount of time hunched over my workbench, often wearing a rather cumbersome full-face mask while soldering, so it is not unusual to find me lying flat on the studio floor, staring at the ceiling as I try to unkink my neck and back. A soft rug makes the moments considerably more pleasant.