Annotations cc: Bram Vanderbeke

Bram Vanderbeke, a designer and artist with a distinctly tactile approach, intervenes in the infrastructure of space through monumental forms cast in concrete and aluminum. Exploring rhythm, repetition, and scale, his practice, as displayed in a gallery or embedded in public space, blurs the boundaries between sculpture, furniture, and architecture. In this conversation, we delve into the poetics of structural detail, the meditative process of making, and the identity of the workshop, the house, and the garden as generative zones of experimentation.

Anoe: The materials you use are particularly tolerant — of wear, weather, and time. I can imagine your works settling into the landscape over time. Even if damaged or weathered, they would gain character. Their resilience feels ideal for public spaces, where they can shift with the seasons and the surrounding environment.

Bram: Some collectors have placed my work in their gardens, and over time, nature grows between the forms — moss, insects, weather. It all becomes part of the piece. It reminds me of Insel Hombroich, the sculpture park in Germany, where nature and artworks interact. I like it when my pieces show wear. A damaged concrete detail often becomes more compelling to me. Over time, I’ve developed a fascination with architecture. That interest became more defined, and I began weaving it into my work. My graduation project at the Design Academy in Eindhoven was a series of public columns designed to respond to how people move and behave. It was a research-based project, but I eventually began collaborating with architects on integrating art into built environments.

A: That interaction enhances the impact of your work. Considering the different scales of your practice, what drives your design process?

B: It usually starts from a gut feeling. I have references, details from urban landscapes that I remember and tend to translate into objects. It could be a column, staircase, or door handle, something I’ve seen and recreate from memory. My work is often based on those impressions. I plan a lot in advance for casting, and I carefully consider the rhythm of seams, the stacking. Rhythm is key — in stacking the volumes, in grinding the surfaces of the material.

A: That rhythm sounds meditative.

B: It is. It gives comfort. Repeating and stacking feels logical, and probably comes from my background in construction and woodworking.

 

A: Memory, rhythm, and texture come through strongly in your design language, yet your process also appears physically demanding. I’m wondering if practicality has ever constrained the way a piece comes into being.

B: I’m inspired by constraints. I usually make large pieces as modular elements that can be stacked. That adds another layer to the work. I aim to make everything liftable by two people; anything more becomes tricky. The way I cast always starts with thinking about the molds. I was fascinated by building foundations and the casting patterns you see there. I began by trying to recreate those from memory. Over time, I got curious about aluminum and started sculpting with foam and wax — adding shapes, carving with an angle grinder.

A: And that probably requires a setting that can accommodate those works and their scale. How is your studio set up?

B: I have a clean part and a dirty part. The clean area has books, models, and shelves with small objects and tryouts. The dirty space is for physical work — rough and raw. It sometimes rains inside, but I love working there. That duality is important to my practice. I always keep a to-do list in the studio with different categories: clients, galleries, architects, and free projects. I try to maintain a balance across materials and types of work. That mix often sparks new ideas.

 

A: It’s a lively process. How does design influence other aspects of your life?

B: My girlfriend and I recently bought a house. While renovating it, it’s a space where I can experiment more freely: where we live and test ideas. We also trade artworks with friends, so our home is filled with work by other artists and designers. It can be messy, and that’s important to me. It shouldn’t feel like a showroom, but a place we live in.

 

A: I believe a home needs to evolve gradually, through testing iterations, arranging and rearranging elements around. It’s an ideal site for experimentation. What have you been busy with there?

B: I poured the living floor in concrete, and I’m designing aluminum fences for the garden, bordering the forest. I hope these interventions lead to more collaborations with architects — to encourage these kinds of detailed interventions.

A: Those interventions add a personal and poetic layer. They almost act like an annex. A door handle, or a handrail, are one of the few things you actually touch in a building. It’s a symbolic detail.

B: Architecture can feel abstract, but details make it human again. That sensitivity is what I really love.

__

Text: Anoe Melliou
Photography by: Alexander Popelier