THE STORY

The Fire and the Fabric: Why Storytelling Still Shapes Everything

Before there were books, buildings, or brands—there was the fire.

And around that fire, in the flicker of flame and shadow, stories began.

Neanderthals sat together, not just to eat or warm their bones, but to speak of what had happened. A hunt. A storm. A death. A bitter root they all chewed, and all regretted. Through words and gestures, they shared not just what they had done, but what it had meant. This, perhaps, was our first true technology: narrative.

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” – Joan Didion

Even before formal language, we told stories through gesture, mark, and mimic. The ochre handprints at El Castillo cave in Spain, dated to over 40,000 years ago, are not decoration. They are declarations. Warnings. Celebrations. Lore.

These marks are not forgotten. They echo in how we still create today.

Storytelling Is Our Oldest Architecture

To tell a story is to build a shared reality.

Consider the Mbari houses of the Igbo people in Nigeria—temporary shrines built from clay and pigment to honour the Earth goddess Ala. They were created communally and deliberately allowed to weather and decay—symbolising that stories, like life, are impermanent but sacred.

Or the Hypogeum of Ħal Saflieni in Malta, a Neolithic underground temple carved with such acoustically tuned precision that a human voice can resonate throughout the chambers. The space itself amplifies myth.

From these origins, storytelling evolved into theatre, epic poetry, illuminated manuscripts, and eventually, branded worlds.

Design as Modern Mythmaking

Today, design has become the new hearth. The spaces we step into, the objects we touch—they are no longer passive. They speak.

• At The Jane in Antwerp, Michelin-starred food is served in a deconsecrated military chapel. The stained-glass windows depict modern-day saints—astronauts, punk rockers, graffiti artists—retelling the story of secular sanctity.

• At Soho Farmhouse, rustic farm buildings are reimagined as a pastoral fantasy, where bicycles, fire pits, and curated roughness whisper stories of English countryside life—but softened for luxury.

• Aesop, the skincare brand, tells every product story through scent, material, and typography. Its shops are designed in collaboration with local architects to reflect place, heritage, and community.

These aren’t just commercial spaces. They are stages, and we, the guests, are players in their quiet dramas.

“The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.” – Muriel Rukeyser

Folklore in the Fabric

The ancient and the modern often meet in texture and form.

Folk patterns once carved into wooden spoons, hand-stitched into clothing, or painted onto walls now find their way into modern interiors and products.

• The Fogo Island Inn in Newfoundland uses quilts patterned with local folklore and island legends. Every chair and table is handmade by craftspeople with ancestral techniques. Staying there feels like stepping into a lived story.

• In Paris’ Hôtel des Grands Boulevards, Roman motifs and revolutionary-era references are stitched through the interiors—candles, marble, canopy beds—all recalling a time when stories were whispered in the dark, at risk of the guillotine.

Good design doesn’t tell you everything. It hints. It suggests. It lets you uncover meaning.

Designers as Storykeepers

To design with narrative is to carry responsibility. We are not merely artists—we are storykeepers, charged with remembering what others might forget.

• In Studio KO’s Musée Yves Saint Laurent, the interiors follow the rhythm of the couturier’s life—from his humble sketch desk to the grand runway. It’s not just a museum. It’s a life story in shadow and silk.

• Take Zopsigog Ltd, a design studio founded by Andy and Lindsey Lampard, known for weaving narrative into space with a deep respect for locality, craftsmanship, and heritage. Their work—seen in projects like Holmes Hotel London—uses subtle storytelling through layered materials, handcrafted detail, and historic references. Every element feels intentional, creating interiors that quietly carry the memory of place.

• At The Goose, we often find our way into projects by asking:
  “What story does this place want to tell?”
  Whether it’s a restaurant inspired by salt-road merchants, or a suite built around a punk-pop love story, our work begins with memory.

Design, after all, is how we arrange matter into meaning.

“Design is storytelling with materials.” – Paola Antonelli, MoMA curator

The Eternal Fire

From Neanderthals around the fire to mood lighting in a cocktail bar, from ochre-painted walls to textured menu covers—the thread is unbroken.

Design is not just what something looks like.

It’s what something remembers. The fire may now be digital. But we are still gathered around it.