Before the first guests arrived, the lamps spent a month on our benches. Every joint closed by hand. Every shade turned slowly under the light until the finish caught it the way we wanted. Then each piece was wrapped, crated and sent south, to a terrace that faces the water at Nice.

Built for salt, wind and long evenings

A lounge by the sea asks more of a lamp than a living room ever will. The air carries salt. The wind comes off the water in the late afternoon and does not stop until dark. So we prepared each form for the season:

• hand-applied finishes, sealed at every edge, chosen to age quietly rather than corrode;
• weighted bases, so nothing drifts across the deck in a gust;
• warm, low light — output kept below eye level, where it belongs near water.

On site, our team placed everything by eye. Low markers along the steps. A soft glow under the lounge seating. Two taller forms near the bar, where people gather and linger. The dimming came last, tuned over three evenings until the light rested only where it should.

What the sea taught the light

At dusk the water turns grey-blue, and that is when the lamps take over. They keep the terrace in a warm edge: gold along the railings, a faint amber on the underside of the parasols, faces readable across a table. Guests seldom look at the lamps themselves. They look at the sea, and stay longer than they meant to.

When the season ends, the pieces come back to us — cleaned, checked, ready for another summer. That is how a lamp should live. Used, weathered, returned, and still giving light.