MLK Furniture: Low-Tech, High Integrity

Simone Lorusso: Arthur, you began your career in landscape architecture and large-scale urban projects. How did that experience shape the way you approach furniture design? 

Arthur Moulucou: My sensitivity to design and furniture really took shape while I was working as a landscape designer in Bangkok. Working on outdoor and large-scale projects demands strong conceptual clarity and the use of durable, straightforward materials. We were constantly designing our own elements such as furniture, playgrounds, railings, stairs or canopies, which was always the part of the process I felt most drawn to.

Operating at a larger scale naturally led me toward modular thinking. I enjoyed developing landscape modules as a way to introduce a coherent design language within otherwise organic environments. A single module could become a seating element, a table or a simple deck, all sharing the same construction logic and detailing. This system-based approach also allowed material variations while maintaining consistency.

On site, this logic proved extremely efficient, especially when working with limited budgets or unskilled labour. It fostered a strong sense of economy, doing as much as possible, and as precisely as possible, with limited means. This philosophy later became a fundamental pillar of my furniture design practice.

SL: Bangkok played a major role in your creative journey. What specific elements of Thai popular culture influenced MLK Furniture the most?

AM: Bangkok had a decisive influence on my work, particularly through its postmodern architectural heritage and more specifically the Chinese compartment typology. This hybrid housing and commercial model is entirely modular and carries a strong, almost brutal aesthetic. The logic is simple: a shop at street level and empty floors above for living. Nothing is fixed. The structure leaves space for constant appropriation and transformation.

What interests me is how such a basic module can generate endless variations. Everything follows the same logic, yet every building is different. This is architecture that is functional, humble and simply made to be used. I realize today that this mindset directly informs my furniture, especially in pieces like the D300 Shelves, the D400 Console or the JNK540 Console, where a simple system allows multiple configurations.

Craftsmanship was another essential component of this environment. It was visible, accessible and embedded in daily life. I remember a lathe worker inviting me to sit beside him and watch him work. That direct exposure to making played a crucial role in my decision to eventually start building things myself and develop a hand-on practice.

Thai vernacular lighting was used in a raw and chaotic way, without aesthetic intention or hierarchy. That condition became the starting point. By isolating these everyday objects from their context, I could turn them into design objects. Modularity and iteration then became a way to structure this chaos without neutralizing its directness or its functional honesty.


SL:The Ne600 Lamp was your first prototype. At what moment did you realize it was more than just a standalone object, but the beginning of a broader design language?

AM: When I first worked on the Ne600 Lamp, the early prototypes were overqualified and unnecessarily complex to produce. The sandwich idea was already there, enclosing the neon light between two metal sheets, but the details were not resolved and the object lacked clarity. At that stage, it felt more like an isolated experiment than a system.

A turning point came through a discussion with my older brother. He suggested using a particular bolt system that I did not know at the time. This simple decision radically simplified the production process, as it removed the need for precise drilling or tapping. More importantly, it introduced a clear and repeatable assembly principle. 

Shortly after, I designed a small pedestal table for my balcony and applied this same assembly detail directly to the table legs. That piece became the HEX600 and later the HEX400 side tables. At that moment, I realized that the Ne600 Lamp was no longer just a standalone object. The construction detail could migrate from one object to another. Since then, this assembly detail has been used across almost all my projects and became the foundation of a consistent design language.

SL: Can you explain the “sandwich design concept” in your own words, and why it became central to your brand identity? 

AM: The sandwich design concept is a way of thinking through assembly rather than form. Two metal sheets are held together by functional elements, whether they are legs, lighting elements or simple spacers.

This “à la carte” logic allows the same structure to adapt to different uses, levels of complexity and budgets. You can change what connects the two sheets without redefining the object itself. Modularity and iteration become a natural outcome rather than a formal strategy. Each element is crafted separately and then assembled, which keeps the process flexible and efficient. The identity of the brand does not come from a silhouette, but from construction grammar.

SL: Functionalism and brutalism are often associated with architecture. How do you translate these movements into domestic-scale objects?

AM: I don’t try to translate functionalism or brutalism into furniture as styles. I take them as working principles. Honesty means that structure, materials and assembly are visible and non-negotiable. Geometry is used for clarity, not expression. At the domestic scale, modularity replaces monumentality. There is no form without system and repetition. The objects are not architectural miniatures, but straightforward constructions designed to be used, assembled and adapted. Their presence comes from what they are made of and how they are built, not from symbolic references.

SL: Your work embraces a low-tech approach. In today’s highly technological design landscape, is this a conscious resistance?

AM: I sometimes describe myself as a survivalist designer. I like the idea that I could keep designing and producing objects even with very limited means. Low-tech methods make that possible. They reduce production costs, simplify processes and leave more room for experimentation. At the same time, the objects often circulate in a luxury context. My work constantly operates between these two conditions. That tension is part of the project.

This aesthetic really took shape when I began working with my own laser-cut offcuts. What was once waste became the starting point for new pieces. From a single steel sheet, two objects can emerge. The D400 Armchair, for instance, is derived from the negative shapes of the HEX400 Round Table. Two objects born from the same gesture. Modularity makes this possible. Limitation becomes a system where several objects can emerge from a single sheet.


SL: Ready-to-assemble furniture is often linked to mass production. How do you reinterpret this logic within a more artisanal and conceptual framework?

AM: I use the ready-to-assemble logic as a structural framework, not as a production model. It provides a clear assembly system while keeping the objects open and adaptable. Within that structure, I work with honest materials and introduce tailored options and hand finishing. Simplicity of assembly does not exclude craftsmanship.

I have always been fascinated by industrial objects and by objects meant to be assembled and disassembled. This system allows different levels of making to coexist. Industrial elements can mix with highly crafted parts or even one-of-a-kind pieces, combining contrasting materials and techniques within the same object.

SL: Many of your pieces reveal their construction rather than hiding it. What does this structural honesty mean to you?

AM:  My work sits somewhere between functionalism, brutalism, and low-tech design. It’s a direct approach where structure, process, and material are never hidden. What interests me most is the tension between stillness and humility. I want my pieces to feel timeless and durable, capable of lasting a lifetime, while remaining simple, adaptable, and easy to disassemble. A piece can live for a long time, then disappear, transform, or become something else. That flexibility brings a certain softness and humanity to metal, despite its industrial nature.

SL: How do you balance industrial materials like metal and acrylic with a sense of warmth or emotional connection?

AM: Contradiction is part of the work. I stopped trying to resolve it and started using it. Strength and fragility. Brutality and softness. Industrial logic and poetic presence. Warmth and coldness. Low tech and high tech. With the right proportions, light and assembly, even the most industrial material can become emotionally charged.

SL: Now that you have returned to France and established your own workshop, how do you envision the evolution of MLK Furniture in the coming years?

AM: Over the past years, I have developed a strong identity around designs made for assembly, using spacers and simple systems. But I now see more and more designers exploring similar approaches, which pushes me to move my work in a more personal and distinctive direction. I’ve come to see that brutalism and a certain sense of coldness do not fully represent who I am. In a way they acted as a form of armor. Useful at first, but not something I want to wear forever. Today I feel the need to introduce something more sensitive and expressive into my work.

Lately I have become deeply interested in marking processes on metal, and I want to explore them further through production, as I have begun to do with pieces like the GRLD Eggcup or the MDD100 Mirror. This direction could lead toward more singular objects, less standardized, while keeping a strong relationship with material and process.