Sure, everyone’s probably already noticed, and I’m one of the last ones to catch on because, well, that’s just how it went, but if you’re one of those who still hasn’t—whatever the reason—maybe because first thing in the morning or mid-afternoon you’re, I don’t know, under the covers or locked inside a bunker, I’m here to bring you some breaking news: the light today is already different from the dead of winter. It’s a gradual change, but not one you notice gradually. You notice it overnight. I, for example, noticed it exactly an hour ago, right after putting the coffee pot on the stove and my eyes on the street, and while I was waiting to fill my cup, I caught myself wondering what tiny shift in brightness, tone, or color temperature was responsible for me noticing it today and not yesterday, when I did the exact same thing at the exact same time.

At the studio, this change in light means two things—one good, one bad. The good thing is that when we finish work, it’s not completely dark yet. The bad thing is that by the time we get there, the sun has already spent a while wandering across the table. It does so hesitantly, knowing full well that with its presence, everything we left there yesterday will slowly start to wake up, stretching lazily, and the shadows of the paper catalogs, the Cerena candle, the project samples, yesterday’s dirty cup, the paper from the Capellades Paper Mill Museum, the dried pomegranate, the glass burnisher for leather that Sama gave me, the little painted rock from a girl at Gutter Fest, the marble egg from Morocco, the glasses cleaner, the post-its, the Super 8 camera, the black leather notebook, the green glass full of pens, the cardboard pot full of colored pencils, the pack of tissues, Vera Tamayo’s lighter, or the Today I Saw Eden quartz will all start stretching too, shaking off their sleep, getting ready for a new day.

All of these objects matter to me. And if they’re still here, it’s also because they keep me company. I’m sure some people prefer a spotless desk like the ones you find when you search for “Designer Desk Inspo” on Pinterest, but not me. I don’t trust those desks. I don’t trust workspaces where the only things on the table are a laptop, a notebook, and a steaming mug. They feel dead to me. Desks that belong to someone more worried about their coffee going cold than the work they’re doing. Or someone who spends more time turning a Pantone book into a Locomía-style fan than actually using it.

Anyway, I’m getting off track.

When I got to the studio, still thinking about the light, I told Freek Lomme, the editor of Set Margins’, about my discovery. We had a video call, and he asked me what the weather was like in Barcelona and if this morning’s bus ride had taken me anywhere interesting—besides the studio. So, I told him about it: the light. How it’s already changing outside. And how, with each of these articles, walking into the studio feels a little less dark.

Warm regards from the H6 bus,

Ingrid