A grand hotel beside the river in Strasbourg, restored stone by stone after decades of sleep. The brief came quietly: give the old rooms their evenings back. Light was to honour a century of arrivals — warm, low, unhurried.

Light for a house that remembers

In the entrance hall, clusters of the Wireform spheres hang beneath the coffered ceiling. Hand-woven aluminium holds each small sun; the weave lets the light through in fragments, and the marble below glows like water at dusk. Along the corridors and the great stair, Stella Moon hemispheres lined with gold leaf keep their source hidden, washing the original plaster in indirect warmth. Nothing is lit from above. The walls do the glowing.

In the dining room, low woven spheres rest beside the silver, and guests see each other by light that comes from within the room. Brass, velvet, parquet — every surface keeps its own colour. The restoration gives the past its forms back; our light gives those forms back their evening.

A hotel lives at night. We only helped it remember how.