I used to think my trips to Italy were just holidays. A break from routine, a chance to eat well, walk endlessly, and come home with a phone full of sunlit photos and promises to return. But looking back now, those journeys were quietly shaping the foundation of something much bigger.
For years, Rome and Tuscany became my regular escape. I fell into a rhythm there - mornings with strong espresso, afternoons wandering narrow streets, evenings watching warm light slide across old stone. At first, I couldn’t explain why I felt so drawn to the buildings themselves. Not just the famous landmarks, but the fragments: a weathered column outside a café, the curve of a doorway, a chipped cornice above a forgotten shop. Italy doesn’t just preserve architecture; it lets it breathe, age and belong. On each trip, my curiosity grew. I began noticing details that most people walk past. I’d find myself running my hand along textured walls, photographing ceiling mouldings, sketching archways on napkins. What fascinated me wasn’t perfection; it was history embedded in surfaces. These structures carried stories in every crack and contour. They felt human.
The turning point came during a visit to Villa Adriano.
I arrived expecting another beautiful ruin. What I found, instead, was a revelation. Standing among the remains of Hadrian’s vast retreat, I felt something shift from admiration to obsession. The place wasn’t just impressive; it was deeply intentional. Every column, every fragment of ornament, every sculptural element had once been part of a lived space designed with extraordinary care. Even in ruin, the craftsmanship was unmistakable.
I remember pausing beside a broken architectural fragment, a piece of decorative plasterwork, worn smooth by centuries. It struck me that this object had outlived empires. Someone had designed it, shaped it, and installed it with pride. And now, thousands of years later, it still had the power to stop a stranger in his tracks. That moment changed how I saw everything.
When I returned home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that these architectural details shouldn’t belong only to history books or distant ruins. The artistry, the tactility, the sense of permanence, they deserved a place in modern spaces too. Not as imitation, but as continuation. That realisation became the seed of Plaster and Form.
The idea was simple in spirit, but ambitious in execution: to bring the beauty and presence of classical architectural elements into contemporary interiors. To celebrate the craftsmanship of the past while making it relevant for the present. To create pieces that feel timeless rather than ‘trendy’.
Plaster and Form grew out of the same curiosity that began on those Italian streets, the urge to notice, to appreciate, to preserve. Every product we create carries a trace of those early mornings in Rome, those long walks through Tuscany towns, and the quiet moment at Villa Adriano when fascination turned into purpose. What began as vacations became a vocation. And what started as admiration became a company dedicated to giving architectural history a new life in modern spaces.
www.plasterandform.com