Pietro Franceschini

Milan, Italy

Italian Minimalism mixed with Modernist Impressions

The Bio

Pietro Franceschini is an Italian architect and designer based between New York, Milan, and Florence. He studied architecture in Italy, Portugal, and the United States, graduating with honors from the University of Florence and Pratt Institute in New York. After working with international firms such as Leeser Architecture, Claudio Nardi, Laisné Roussel, and Carlo Ratti Associati, he founded PF | Studio in 2020, focusing on interiors, furniture, and collectible design. His work blends minimalism with playful, organic forms, often exploring the boundary between digital and physical. Exhibited internationally, Franceschini’s designs reflect his curiosity, cosmopolitan background, and a constant drive to push creative boundaries.

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The Products

- LV Sconce
- Price on request
- Pietro Franceschini
- Slice Me Up Coffee Table
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- Pietro Franceschini
- Los Tres Deseos
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- Pietro Franceschini
- Together Forever Coffee Table
- Price on request
- Pietro Franceschini
- LV Untitled Coffee Table
- 9.400 EUR
- Pietro Franceschini
- ex. VAT
- Collide Side Table
- Price on request
- Pietro Franceschini
- LV Stool
- Price on request
- Pietro Franceschini
- LV Chair
- Price on request
- Pietro Franceschini

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The Conversation

Childhood roots Looking back, is there an early memory — an object, a place, or a person — that first awakened your sensitivity to form and beauty?

I was born and grew up at Poggio Secco, an 18th-century villa in the hills around Florence. My childhood unfolded in the harmony of the Tuscan countryside, in a home filled with art, quiet proportions, and a kind of historical melancholy. It all felt completely natural then, almost unconscious - beauty was just part of the atmosphere. It’s hard to isolate a precise moment when that sensitivity to form truly began. But I remember seeing Il Tempietto del Santo Sepolcro by Leon Battista Alberti inside the Marino Marini Museum - a beauty somehow disruptive from the pure harmony I was used to. Its proportions felt strange, slightly off, almost uncanny. And I think that was the moment something clicked: when I realised that beauty can also be unsettling, that harmony sometimes needs to be fractured to reveal its depth.

You often collaborate closely with artisans. Beyond the work itself, what have these relationships taught you about patience, humility, or even friendship?

Working with artisans has taught me that control is an illusion. You can design every millimetre, but in the end, the material and the hand that shapes it have their own will. That dynamic demands patience - and a kind of humility that’s not about submission, but about listening. Over time, some of these collaborations have turned into friendships, not because we talk much, but because we share a deep understanding.

Choose one material you return to again and again. What memory does it carry for you? Tell us about a time the material resisted your idea and how that resistance shaped the final form.

I often return to metal, especially stainless steel. There’s something fascinating about its contradiction - cold, industrial, almost sterile, but capable of incredible sensuality when shaped well. I’m drawn to imagining forms that shouldn’t exist in metal: folds, soft curves, impossible seams. And then we try - like with Automa - to persuade the material to do what it refuses to do. Not always we succeed..

What keeps you restless, returning again and again to the studio? Is it curiosity, discipline, a need to prove something, or something else entirely?

Yes—a painting we created together at the very beginning of our relationship. It hangs in Ewelina’s studio in Berlin, in an old factory. It came out of an exercise meant to free us from academic rules. We painted together, even with our hands. It’s a beautiful memory—a symbol of liberation and shared experimentation.

When life feels overwhelming, where do you find peace? Is there a ritual, a place, or a practice that helps you return to yourself and to inspiration?

When things become overwhelming, I tend to withdraw into silence. No rituals, really — just distance. Driving to the sea or walking without a destination usually helps reset the scale of things. The sea, especially, has a way of clearing the noise - it’s where I find peace and reconnect with myself. I also keep a note on my iphone filled with phrases I’ve collected over the years - things I’ve read, heard in a movie, or someone said. I open it when I feel lost, it always brings me back to focus.

Beyond form and function, what do you hope lingers in people’s hearts when they live with your work — a feeling, a memory, or a state of being?

This question lies at the core of my practice. I call my work The Fictional Object because each piece exists between imagination and matter - it carries the memory of its digital origin even after becoming physical. Every object I design is paired with a digital counterpart (renders and videos) that expands its narrative, building an imaginary around it. Together, they create a story I hope will linger over time - not simply as design, but as a fragment of fiction people can return to.