Pedestal, Dear Maria and the Beauty of Small Rituals

For decades, contemporary culture has celebrated movement. Travelling, relocating, always being somewhere else became synonymous with freedom and self-fulfilment. Home, by contrast, was often reduced to a functional space - almost invisible, designed more for leaving than for staying.

Sociologist and cultural historian Michel de Certeau observed that it is precisely our ordinary gestures that give meaning to the places we inhabit. Spaces themselves do not define our experience; rather, it is the everyday practices that move through them. In a society characterized by the unceasing quest for the exceptional, routine has traditionally been seen as an obstacle to be surmounted – a break between periods deemed more significant. But things have changed. We have come to see home through new eyes, to appreciate the significance of domestic rituals, of slowness, of our connection with the things and places we surround ourselves with every day.

Dear Maria, the new short film directed by Finn Christian Peper for Pedestal, seems to emerge from this very awareness. Set against the warm, suspended light of Athens, the film follows a man through an ordinary summer day: a slowly prepared breakfast, a few household chores, time unfolding without urgency. Almost nothing happens. And that is precisely the point.

Through his gentle cinematic gaze, Peper turns routine into narrative. Even our smallest acts of daily living take on a ritualistic nature, providing rhythm to the passage of time and a significance to the spaces that we move through. Likewise, objects have a new significance in that they are not merely functional objects anymore, but they are the familiar objects that we move through life with. It is through such objects that our house ceases to be simply a building and becomes a lived space. The light of Athens moves through every scene like an invisible character. Outside, the city continues to bustle. Inside, time slows down. Every gesture seems to find its natural rhythm.

SL: Dear Maria portrays what appears to be an ordinary day, where simple actions, making breakfast, tidying up, moving through domestic space, take on an almost ritualistic quality. What drew you to finding a story in these everyday moments that often go unnoticed?

Finn Christian Peper: For me, capturing these almost-forgotten rituals is one of the most meaningful ways to connect the protagonist with the audience. We live in a time when everything seems expected to become the best, most polished version of itself; constantly elevated, curated, and performed. Against that backdrop, there is something powerful in the quietness of everyday moments. They allow viewers to reconnect with experiences that are often overlooked, while also opening up space for reflection. In that sense, I like the idea of gently challenging both the audience and some of the dominant tendencies of our time.

SL: Athens is much more than a location. How did the city and its unique light influence the atmosphere and visual language of the film?

FCP: Athens felt like a very natural choice for me. I’ve always been drawn to the city’s rhythm and pace, the way certain things simply take longer. Not because they couldn’t be done faster, but because there’s no real reason to rush them.

That slower tempo had a profound influence on both the atmosphere of the film and the way we approached storytelling. For me, it was an opportunity to push back against some of the dominant tendencies of contemporary culture and embrace a more thoughtful, quality-driven perspective. We often equate speed with efficiency, productivity, or even progress, but fast doesn’t necessarily mean better. Dear Maria is, in many ways, an invitation to slow down, pay attention, and find value in moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed.

SL: The objects within the home seem to have a quiet but constant presence. What kind of relationship did you want to create between the protagonist, the domestic space and the objects that inhabit it?

FCP: I’m particularly drawn to textures and objects that feel almost untouched by time. That’s why details such as the notebook and the old vacuum cleaner became important elements within the film. They carry a sense of history and familiarity that I find difficult to let go of. There’s something comforting about objects that have endured; objects that continue to exist outside the constant cycle of upgrades, replacement, and novelty.

Because of that, the relationship between the protagonist and his surroundings was central to the story. The way the space is curated feels like a natural extension of his personality, a reflection of how he moves through the world and chooses to spend his time. I wanted the home and the objects within it to feel less like props and more like quiet companions, subtly revealing aspects of his character, his habits, and his way of being.

SL: The film emerged from a collaboration with Pedestal, a brand that works around the idea of contemporary living. How did you find common ground between your own creative sensibility and the brand's cultural vision?

FCP: I’ve been fortunate to work with the team at Pedestal for quite some time, so developing this story felt like a very natural progression. What I’ve always appreciated about Pedestal is the simplicity of the idea at its core. The product solves a genuinely relevant problem, but it does so in a way that feels intuitive rather than disruptive.

That sense of simplicity resonated strongly with the way I wanted to approach the film. Dear Maria is built around moments and experiences that are universal; things we all recognise, yet often overlook in our daily lives. There was a clear alignment between my creative perspective and Pedestal’s broader vision: an interest in elevating the everyday without overcomplicating it, and in finding beauty and meaning in things that are often taken for granted. Rather than placing design at the centre of the narrative, we wanted it to exist naturally within the world of the film, as part of a lived environment. In that sense, both the story and the objects it contains are less about spectacle and more about presence, familiarity, and the quiet value of everyday life.

SL: Design is present throughout the film, yet it is never placed at the centre of the narrative. Was it important for you to portray objects as a natural part of everyday life rather than as things to be observed?

FCP: Absolutely. When working in commercial filmmaking, I believe it's essential to place the story before the product. Coming from a background in photography, I'm very aware of the power images have, and of how saturated our visual landscape has become. We're constantly exposed to content through platforms like Instagram and TikTok, which means audiences have become incredibly skilled at recognising when they're being sold something.

Because of that, I think people increasingly respond to stories that offer something beyond a commercial message. They want authenticity, emotion, and a perspective they can connect with. By allowing the objects in Dear Maria to exist naturally within the character's world, rather than making them the focal point, they become more believable and relatable. They feel like part of a lived experience rather than symbols of consumption. For me, that's where meaningful storytelling happens, not when an object demands attention, but when it quietly contributes to the atmosphere, the character, and the emotional reality of the film.

SL: If you had to summarise Dear Maria in a single idea or emotion that you hope stays with viewers after watching it, what would it be?

FCP: If there's one idea I hope stays with viewers after watching Dear Maria, it's the importance of letting go and not taking life too seriously. We spend so much of our time chasing what's next, trying to optimise, improve, and control every aspect of our lives, that we often forget to appreciate what's already in front of us. For me, the film is a gentle reminder that there can be real value in slowing down, embracing imperfection, and accepting things as they are. Some of life's most meaningful moments aren't extraordinary at all; they're found in the everyday, in the familiar rhythms and small rituals that quietly shape our lives.

More than telling a story, Dear Maria captures a state of mind. It reminds us that there is a form of beauty in ordinary things and that, perhaps, the rarest luxury today is allowing ourselves the time to simply observe.

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Words: Simone Lorusso