It was an early morning, and I was scrolling through Instagram without any intention — just between a cup of coffee and the quiet noise in my head.
And then everything stopped.
A video.
A bench.
Simple, softened by time, with that warm wooden tone that only comes from places where the air is salty and the days move slowly.
I was still at the beginning back then. I had already handled a few imports, yes — but the whole world still felt too big. Too uncertain. And yet in that moment I knew: I need this piece.
So I wrote to the woman on Bali. You could hear her smile even through text messages. We still exchange the occasional note. She sent me more photos, told me a little about where the bench came from, and in the end she simply said:
“It’s yours.”
The bench traveled far — halfway around the world, and then further.
In the end, it found its place on Mallorca.
Recently, that same feeling returned — the quiet certainty when object carry more than shape or function.
Two old Tuareg wall pieces arrived from Niger, once part of nomad tents in the Sahara. Woven from palm fibers and edged with leather, they seem simple at first glance — but together, they create something almost impossible to describe.
One in a deeper, darker tone.
The other lighter, warm like sun-baked earth.
On their own, they are strong.
But side by side, the contrast becomes a quiet dialogue — two shades of the same landscape, two voices that somehow complete each other. Calm, grounded, timeless.
Pieces like these remind me why I do this — and how every object begins its own journey the moment it catches someone’s eye.
Have you ever had a moment like that? If you feel like sharing, I’d truly love to hear your story.
Warm regards,
Maria