Seville in summer is a city of hard light. In the old town the streets are narrow, the walls are thick, and the sun arrives from above, bounced off pale stone and whitewashed plaster. Our work on this private residence began with a quiet problem: the house already holds so much daylight that anything we added had to earn its place after dusk.

We kept the fixtures few. Along the entrance and the corridor, Wink stands on thin copper sticks, its small glass lenses tipping a pool of direct light onto the exact spot where the floor changes level. Nothing glares. The plaster stays pale, the shadows stay soft, and the rooms keep the cool they store all day.

Light that behaves like shade

In the sitting room and beyond it, in the courtyard, the Wanderer spheres take over: aluminium wire hand-woven into a closed shape around one small bulb, resting on rough iron. Lit from within, they read less as lamps than as objects that caught some of the day's light and are returning it slowly. The larger outdoor version carries the same gesture past the doorway, where the tiles and the low planting sit inside a soft, even halo.

Three lamps, one temperature of light, and the house still feels like itself at night. That is usually enough.