An old city gate asks for restraint. In Milan, the arch we were given had stood through a century of traffic and weather, and its stone already carried the shape of the place. Our task was to make the threshold readable after dark without disturbing that. Light had to arrive as a guest.

Pleats along the approach

We hung the PostCrissi pieces in a loose line along the road — hand-pleated fibreglass shades, creased one fold at a time, so light leaves them in ribs instead of a beam. Set low, they read as lanterns; from a distance they gather into a single warm field above the paving. The material is soft and faintly irregular, and it scatters rather than aims. Long ribbed shadows fall across the stone, while the arch keeps its own darkness.

Outdoor work has to make peace with weather. The shades were carried on steel cables, spaced so the wind could pass between them, each one tipped toward the ground plane rather than the façade. Nothing was lit for spectacle. The gate remained the subject. The lamps were punctuation.

What stayed with us from that job is how little was needed: a few patient forms, evenly spaced, and the dark allowed to keep its edges. That is still how we work.