A museum of contemporary art in Dublin came to us with a difficult brief: bring light into the building without touching the work. The galleries are tall, the concrete is left bare, and northern daylight arrives in a slow grey wash. Anything we added had to stand back.

Wire spheres, held in the volume

We answered with Wireform — spheres of hand-woven aluminium wire, each lit from within by one small source. Seen from across a room they read as a drawing in the air; seen from below, the weave breaks the light into a field of fine points. In the entrance hall we hung the Sunray chandeliers in a loose cluster at three heights, enough to fill the void above the stair without closing it. On the upper landing a pair of Wanderer spheres rest on their rough iron bases, low, close to the eye.

Nothing else in these rooms glows. The wire is unfinished and the iron is left rough, so the pieces belong to the building rather than to a fashion. Every sphere sits on its own dimmer, and the museum keeps them low after dusk: small suns held at the edge of the dark.

The work came first, as it should. Our light waits beside it. And the room stays open.