In Conversation With Omayra
In conversation with Omayra Maymó, the designer of Tenon Lounge Chair and Pleat Pitcher, we discuss the objects that stay with us, the habits that shape our days, and the ways design can quietly, yet unmistakably, change how we live.
What do you remember about the first object or piece of design you ever truly noticed?
The most revealing moment I remember was during an elective course in furniture design as part of my architectural studies, when we were introduced to the ‘Dutch’ or ‘conceptual’ approach to design from the 1990s. I remember seeing Hella Jongerius’ Soft Urn for the first time—a vase made from soft PU rubber, with all the mould’s connecting lines and traces of the production process, left intact, showcasing the object’s story and highlighting its imperfections and uniqueness. It blew my mind to discover that objects can be about more than function or aesthetics—carry a larger meaning. An object can reflect the industrial advances of its time, be a tool for critiquing society, explore new ways of working with a material, be a joke, a solution, or a question. To design is to communicate, and each object is a language with unlimited narrative possibilities. It is this expressive potential of our material world that I love exploring.
If you weren’t designing, what would you be doing? Tell us a bit about it.
I suppose I would be creating in some other form—perhaps sculpture, photography, painting, or writing. I’m not entirely sure. But I do think I would need to find another way to continue expressing and communicating.
In life, there are moments that draw us forward, leaving a mark and setting the direction for our path ahead. For Omayra Maymó, that shift began during her architecture studies, when she realised that design was about more than function—it was about ideas and narratives. Now based in Madrid, she creates furniture and objects that reflect this sensibility. *
*Do you have any object in your own home that you feel especially attached to, and why?**
The first things that come to mind are an opisometer that belonged to my grandfather, who passed away when I was seven—a beautiful, now obsolete instrument once used to measure lines on maps. Then, there’s the ring my mother gave me for my 30th birthday, which once belonged to her, and a few of the first prototypes and samples I built myself after months of research and work. These objects hold deep personal significance and emotional value—ultimately, they’re the ones we become most attached to.
What’s a habit or ritual in your daily life that keeps you grounded?
I’d say being surrounded by the people I love and spending as much quality time with them as possible. The psychotherapist Esther Perel, whose work I often read and listen to, says that ‘the quality of our lives is the quality of our relationships.’ To that, I would add: that we better take care of them.
What do you remember about the first object or piece of design you ever truly noticed?
The most revealing moment I remember was during an elective course in furniture design as part of my architectural studies, when we were introduced to the ‘Dutch’ or ‘conceptual’ approach to design from the 1990s. I remember seeing Hella Jongerius’ Soft Urn for the first time—a vase made from soft PU rubber, with all the mould’s connecting lines and traces of the production process, left intact, showcasing the object’s story and highlighting its imperfections and uniqueness. It blew my mind to discover that objects can be about more than function or aesthetics—carry a larger meaning. An object can reflect the industrial advances of its time, be a tool for critiquing society, explore new ways of working with a material, be a joke, a solution, or a question. To design is to communicate, and each object is a language with unlimited narrative possibilities. It is this expressive potential of our material world that I love exploring.
If you weren’t designing, what would you be doing? Tell us a bit about it.
I suppose I would be creating in some other form—perhaps sculpture, photography, painting, or writing. I’m not entirely sure. But I do think I would need to find another way to continue expressing and communicating.
In life, there are moments that draw us forward, leaving a mark and setting the direction for our path ahead. For Omayra Maymó, that shift began during her architecture studies, when she realised that design was about more than function—it was about ideas and narratives. Now based in Madrid, she creates furniture and objects that reflect this sensibility. *
*Do you have any object in your own home that you feel especially attached to, and why?**
The first things that come to mind are an opisometer that belonged to my grandfather, who passed away when I was seven—a beautiful, now obsolete instrument once used to measure lines on maps. Then, there’s the ring my mother gave me for my 30th birthday, which once belonged to her, and a few of the first prototypes and samples I built myself after months of research and work. These objects hold deep personal significance and emotional value—ultimately, they’re the ones we become most attached to.
What’s a habit or ritual in your daily life that keeps you grounded?
I’d say being surrounded by the people I love and spending as much quality time with them as possible. The psychotherapist Esther Perel, whose work I often read and listen to, says that ‘the quality of our lives is the quality of our relationships.’ To that, I would add: that we better take care of them.
As a teacher yourself, what is one piece of advice you wish you had received when you were starting your career?
I actually did receive this advice, and I always pass it on to my students: Be critical. It may seem obvious, but hearing those two words helped me develop my own perspective and start forming my own beliefs and philosophy. Especially in this industry, one must think critically and develop their own voice, way of thinking, and approach. It is essential to have something to say and to contribute to the conversation.
If someone were to look at your body of work years from now, what emotions or ideas do you hope your designs will evoke?
I hope that when people encounter my designs—now or in the future—they feel moved, curious, or engaged in some way. That is always my goal. Above all, I hope my body of work as a whole conveys a sense of timelessness and quality, care for materials and craftsmanship, and an appreciation for the beauty of simplicity—something that endures over time.
Lastly, is there a book, film, or experience that has shaped the way you see design that you’d like to recommend?
There are a few, but at the top of the list is In Praise of Shadows by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki. It’s an essay on Japanese values, exemplified through architecture, design, and traditional crafts such as papermaking and lacquerware. It’s a must-read for any creative, teaching us to appreciate shadow, subtlety, and patina—to find beauty in the delicate and the nuanced. It’s both delightful and enlightening.
As a teacher yourself, what is one piece of advice you wish you had received when you were starting your career?
I actually did receive this advice, and I always pass it on to my students: Be critical. It may seem obvious, but hearing those two words helped me develop my own perspective and start forming my own beliefs and philosophy. Especially in this industry, one must think critically and develop their own voice, way of thinking, and approach. It is essential to have something to say and to contribute to the conversation.
If someone were to look at your body of work years from now, what emotions or ideas do you hope your designs will evoke?
I hope that when people encounter my designs—now or in the future—they feel moved, curious, or engaged in some way. That is always my goal. Above all, I hope my body of work as a whole conveys a sense of timelessness and quality, care for materials and craftsmanship, and an appreciation for the beauty of simplicity—something that endures over time.
Lastly, is there a book, film, or experience that has shaped the way you see design that you’d like to recommend?
There are a few, but at the top of the list is In Praise of Shadows by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki. It’s an essay on Japanese values, exemplified through architecture, design, and traditional crafts such as papermaking and lacquerware. It’s a must-read for any creative, teaching us to appreciate shadow, subtlety, and patina—to find beauty in the delicate and the nuanced. It’s both delightful and enlightening.
With movement restricted to certain areas during Madrid’s lockdown, Espartería Juan Sánchez in Omayra’s zone became a place to explore craftsmanship.
Emerging from the pandemic years, the small basket store continues to be a place she returns to for inspiration
