The colorful world of Giulio Ridolfo exhibited by Kvadrat

A key figure in the world of textile design, Giulio Ridolfo has been collaborating with Kvadrat since 2007. Coming from the fashion world, the man who now dresses furniture is the creative force behind several of the Danish brand’s bestsellers, including Canvas 2, Remix, Steelcut, and Zulu. With an approach rooted in color but deeply connected to the technical dimensions of yarn, the designer develops a vibrant, lively, and resolutely contemporary language where innovation takes center stage. His creative process is often described as a blend of intuition, anthropology, and a form of self-taught botany. It was precisely this floral inspiration that led him to explore an archive by Frans Dijkmeijer, which he has reimagined and expanded into 21 colorways. Giulio Ridolfo discusses this technical and stylistic endeavor on the occasion of the "In Rainbows" exhibition. To discover the collection as staged by architect Lorenzo Bini, visit the Kvadrat showroom in Milan at Corso Monforte 15.

‍

For Milan Design Week, Kvadrat is presenting the "In Rainbows" exhibition, where visitors can discover the Twisted Flowers collection. What is it all about?

Twisted Flowers is a story of composition between my work and that of Frans Dijkmeijer. This collection is a revival of a weave by the designer—who passed away in 2011—which we have reimagined with a real focus on the tactile and visual experience. As is often the case, and it was a shared passion with Frans, I worked with color by drawing inspiration from flowers. We collaborated with a company to select seasonal plants—not exotic ones, but those linked to our environment. For example, you can find the red of the Fritillaria imperialis, the blue of the Ceanothus thyrsiflorus, and the yellow of the Gossypium, which together almost form a bouquet. I sought to translate the very experience of picking flowers into color, by observing them closely and immersing myself in floral paintings like The Dream by Odilon Redon, which I saw in Bern years ago. I was struck by a sense of suspension. It wasn’t exactly dreamlike, but suspended, with undefined colors and a meditative figure. Of course, what we have done is not a literal translation; the blue is not simply blue, and the red is not just red. It’s not like using a Pantone swatch book, which I don’t like at all. Instead, we selected colors capable of creating a kind of interference, a beautiful vibration, a pixelation of the object’s skin.

‍

And you are presenting this in a unique setting…

Absolutely. The showroom area is usually reserved for sales, but not here. At first, I thought about hiring a florist, but I ultimately preferred to work with the structure itself, thanks to Milanese architect Lorenzo Bini. The idea was to invade the space and transform it with a more whimsical, almost magical effect. I didn’t want a clean, minimal space; I wanted to create a pleasant passage where people can linger and appreciate the quality of the colors. In this "hut," there is also furniture—ranging from standard contemporary Danish and Italian designs to pieces by great names like Carlo Scarpa, Cecilie Manz, Finn Juhl, and Jean Nouvel. And since I am very drawn to music, I collaborated with a music programmer in Milan. We have planned four performances based on vibration, intuition, and phasing, which is a technique used by Steve Reich. In fact, this installation is almost a manifesto.

‍

You previously mentioned the work of Frans Dijkmeijer, to whom Kvadrat is dedicating a biographical exhibition at the Triennale. What was your relationship with him like?

The relationship with Frans began with great mutual respect. He thought in black and white to reveal the flaws and beauty of construction, while I worked freely with color. That was the starting point of our relationship. I originally come from the fashion industry, where I was used to handling textiles for dresses, and for the past fifteen years, I have been working on furniture pieces. I gradually became a colorist through long practice in selecting shades, textiles, and materials for companies in the furniture sector. In a way, my primary occupation was to help a project be seen, from the prototype to the industrial solution, which is what I did with Vitra and Moroso, where I started. When I was offered the chance to work with the brand, I knew textile design, but I didn’t want to become a textile designer. However, I was happy to intervene on color, provided I could establish a dialogue with the creator—and as it happens, that creator was Frans Dijkmeijer. One of my first exercises alongside him was to color a fabric with a very pronounced grain, a pinpoint which looks like grains of rice. That is how Steelcut was born; its name comes from "Cut Steel," a Victorian-era technique where iron was cut into diamond shapes to mimic the sparkle of precious stones. It was a foundational project that defined my position.

‍

You are a colorist, but your perspective on textiles is also deeply technical, particularly regarding three-thread weaving, isn't it?

The idea that I work with three threads has become famous, but in reality, I can work with five, six, or just one. It all depends on the situation. I am very drawn to the gouache work of 20th-century artists like Paul Klee, or to a certain musicality, like that of Sibelius. For me, the complexity of a construction adds an extra quality to the color. I once saw Frans use one white thread with two black ones to reveal potential errors in the weave and understand the disruptive element. It was an artisanal way of enriching his creations. But at the same time, working with Kvadrat taught me great rigor. Their textiles must last, be reproducible, and the approach is almost scientific. You cannot have uncontrolled variations. In this context, the idea of working with three colors was born as an intuition. I wanted to understand what vibration might emerge by adding a third thread. When we developed Steelcut Trio, the results were astonishing because there was an iridescent effect, like in silk or taffeta, but with an essential difference. Where taffeta has two sides, this has three. It creates depth, a relationship between light and shadow, a kind of perspective. We continued this research, drawing inspiration from different textiles, until we created a thread composed of three distinct colors. Each thread itself became a complex blend. Two threads constructed this way give an impression of infinity where the color is never fixed. It is this technical expertise that gave rise to Remix, and which we continue to develop today.

‍

The vibration of colors, the notion of instability, of movement… there is a living quality that almost brings to mind fashion, isn't there?

Movement is inherent to fashion because textiles are on bodies and they move. You have a kind of third dimension that must be taken into account. When I work with a textile for furniture, it is more sculptural. You can walk around it. And then, furniture has the particularity of being able to be equipped with accessories or additions that can modify impressions and feelings. Fabric is one of them. With certain fibers like those from Kvadrat, the structure must be robust, but the fabric can give another impression, of lightness for example. That is specific to furniture.

‍

From that point of view, do you consider textile to be a kind of filter?

If you are referring to semiology like Roland Barthes, then yes, it is a filter. But in reality, it is not. Fabric is the first thing you touch; it is the skin of an object. And in that sense, it is very sensual, because when you see a piece of furniture, you touch it first, then you say "what a beautiful sofa," "what a beautiful object"... It is, let's say, in synchrony with the form of the object. The filter comes into play when you filter information, when you start considering whether it is the right textile, the right sofa for a given use, or the right color... at least, that is how it seems to me. But I am a colorist, and being a colorist means starting with the thread, not the final coloring.