Corkinho

Standing in near darkness, we reach out and feel for the cold metal railing of an industrial staircase, carefully manoeuvring one foot after the other up each step. We are guided by the dulcet French-inflected voice of Cédric Etienne, the Belgian interior architect, master of stillness and current custodian of this cavernous old building in Antwerp’s port. Built in 1870, its colossal brick architecture, once home to hydraulic turbines powering the northern harbour, now holds a very different kind of energy – one of stillness. Entering the building is a descent into another time, another tempo. Faint shafts of light from a grey sky filter down from the roof, high above our heads, composing a symphony of hushed tones through the beams and metal shelving units. “This is like my very own Japanese temple, in praise of shadows,” Cédric says quietly, as we slowly inch along the metal floor grating, experiencing the bracing chill of the interior air and the black and white shapes in the gloom. “You can see how, on a very wintry day, the light and shadows are more interesting,” he muses.

Wearing almost head-to-toe navy, comprising loosely tailored trousers, a thin polo-neck jumper underneath a utilitarian wool overshirt, a woollen beanie with rolled-up edges covering closely shaved dark hair and a pair of cream lace-up suede shoes, Cédric emits an affable warmth while embodying an effortless, understated sartorial style. We willingly follow him up another staircase, our eyes having now adjusted to the dim glow, and glance down through the floor to two storeys below. More long shelving units extend to our right, all the way to the exterior wall and its softly lit frosted-glass windows, reminiscent of an abandoned library. Square tiles of darkened cork have been laid out along the walkway, like stepping stones, providing a softer, more sure-footed journey. It’s a concept borrowed from Japanese gardens, where the ‘roji’ serves as a transition between the external world and a more sacred inner realm. This is what Cédric calls his “industrial maritime roji” – a place to strip away the noise of the city, the mental clutter, and to surrender to the rhythm of the space. “It’s where you can really trust the body, become grounded in the moment and forget what happened five minutes ago,” he tells us. “Mostly, I do this in silence.”

We arrive at our destination, the focal point and heart of Cédric’s practice: the still room. It’s where his two design studios culminate and operate in tandem, both “facilitating and serving the art of stillness”. Corkinho serves as the brand for his cork furniture and products, while the more multidisciplinary Studio Cédric Etienne creates “contemplative atmospheres to integrate stillness into our daily lives”. Small capital letters attached to the raw brick wall directly in front of us quietly announce STILL ROOM, next to an open doorway with welcoming mid-length dark linen ‘noren’ – traditional Japanese split curtains. “The room is there,” says Cédric, motioning towards the doorway and removing his shoes. We follow his lead.

Stepping inside, our shoeless feet on the smooth, cool grey flooring, we encounter a sanctuary of empty space, proportioned with deliberate simplicity. A large arched window at one end allows in floods of light and the vertiginously high vaulted ceiling, extending up at least two storeys to the roof, gives the space the feeling of a cathedral. Its furnishings are few – a daybed, a low monk chair, a journalling bench in front of the window, dark linen cushions filled with raw cork granules, a delicately suspended tree branch – and its colours neutral, soothing. The walls seem to absorb sound rather than reflect it. This is not a showroom, nor a gallery, nor a space for display. It is a manifesto in spatial form, an invitation to experience stillness not as an absence, but as an active, vital presence. “As the day progresses, you see it in here,” says Cédric. “This, for me, is like poetry of light, like the notes of the day.”

“Stillness isn’t about retreating from the world,” he continues, his voice gentle, knowledgeable. “It’s about reconnecting with it – deeply, meaningfully. We live in a time where distraction is the norm. But when we slow down, we start to perceive the world differently. A single beam of light becomes poetry, the grain of a material tells a story, a shadow dances with time.” What one chooses to do in a still room varies and is ultimately completely personal. “It’s a space that will reveal a certain wonder in your life” – be it resting, reading, journalling or meditating. The transformative energy of the right space, Cédric explains, offers the potential to go deeper in your inward travels. He takes a seat at his bench, fills a small cork well with ink, picks up a simple dip pen and begins drawing lines across a sheet of paper, one after the other. This is his form of journalling, bringing a deep sense of intimacy. Just by listening to the pen and feeling the paper, he tells us, it becomes a sensorial moment, with each line having its own narrative – variously aligned and uniform or agitated, indicating the arrival of a new thought.

In his work, he strives to create environments that facilitate this presence. The interiors he designs are subdued, marked by natural materials, soft tones, an absence of excess. There is an intentionality to every detail – the proportions of a room, the placement of a chair, the grain of a wooden surface. “Sacredness is not about religion,” he says, “it’s about reverence. When a space is designed with care, with awareness, it holds an energy. It invites something deeper.” Even if you can’t dedicate a whole room of your home to stillness, Cédric explains, you can create a “horizon of stillness” just about anywhere. The key is to build a sacred space that will offer a sense of grounding in order to invite the energetic field of presence. To turn inward, one must eliminate all the unnecessary – whether that’s seated in front of a window, in a peaceful corner of your home with a few treasured objects, sitting on a bench in a forest or gazing out to sea. “Becoming aware of your awareness is the art of life,” he adds.

Cédric’s journey into stillness did not begin in design school in Antwerp – or Milan, where he later completed his Master’s degree – but at a vipassana retreat in Japan. For a decade before that, he worked in scenography and event design for luxury fashion brands including Giorgio Armani, Yves Saint Laurent, Dior and Chanel, orchestrating grand, ephemeral spectacles. “At the time, it was a dream to be working on the poetics of space for temporary installations, such as fashion shows or gallery settings – but very fast it felt surface,” he admits. “Beautiful, but fleeting. The pressure and the tough deadlines led me to search for more solid ground and quietness.” So, in 2015, Cédric quit and left for Japan. The 10-day silent retreat, following the daily rituals of the Buddhist monks, shifted something in him. In the deep quiet of meditation, he found a new kind of architecture – one of presence, of permanence beyond the material.

This revelation left him with a yearning to connect in a deeper sense with Mother Earth, which in turn led him to cork. On a trip to Portugal, he encountered the vast cork forests of Alentejo, where experienced craftsmen work with slow, practised gestures, harvesting the bark with reverence. The cork oak is never cut down. Instead, it offers its bark every nine years, regenerating with each cycle, living for more than two centuries. This balance of giving and renewal, of patience and presence, resonated deeply with him. “The relationship between humans and nature is divine,” he says. “Cork embodies stillness. It is noble, warm and silent; it holds space without demanding attention. It invites touch, it absorbs energy, it ages beautifully. It is a material that breathes.” Cédric goes back there every year not only for the cork, but to learn more from Portuguese culture, which, he says, instils a more profound sense of being present in the here and now. He is also currently working on completing a meditation pavilion constructed entirely of cork – the first of its kind – set within the Alentejo cork fields, which will “push the boundaries of the material as a patina of silence”. Its purpose is to “nourish hospitality projects with silent rooms, as a part of an energetic wellbeing programme”.

It could be said that Cédric had an entirely different path mapped out before him from childhood. Born in the French part of Belgium to “adorable, lovely human beings” for parents, he and his younger sister were raised in an active, outdoorsy environment. Cédric’s father, a tennis coach, taught him to play as soon as he could walk. And every holiday focused on a different kind of physical pursuit, such as skiing in the Swiss Alps. “I think my sense of stillness started there,” he reflects. “Feeling completely immersed in the beauty of nature, just observing the sky or a lake – I loved that, and still do.” Dreaming of a career as a tennis pro, he followed in his father’s footsteps and became a coach for a while, after having played at national and international levels. This then morphed into activity off the court, organising tournaments and events, and diving into studies in marketing and communications. After an Erasmus student exchange in Madrid focusing on design and photography, then falling in love and living in Rome for two years, his creativity began to bloom. “I learned Italian, and the Italian way of life,” Cédric says, “but it turned out to be a romantic dream, rather than a practical reality.” So, he returned to Antwerp and began his work in event design.

The lights are switched on when we emerge from the still room, slipping our shoes back on and descending the two flights of stairs. The shadowy magic has dissipated somewhat, but the atmosphere and intrigue remain. Beyond the warm, modernised office on the ground floor that we entered upon arrival, at the far end of the space, is the atelier for Corkinho. It’s a proper workshop, with power saws, angle grinders and all manner of tools for cutting and shaping blocks of cork, which are neatly stacked on almost every surface.

A subtle, earthy aroma hangs in the air. The greige-painted brick walls are lined with shelves holding samples of cork in varying sizes and neutral-hued patinas from light brown to mottled grey and black. A large magnetic board is covered in sketched-out designs on paper, such as chairs, vases and bigger projects. One of these was Slowness’s thatched-roof Reethaus in Berlin in 2023, for which Cédric created a modular seating system of cork blocks, meditation cushions, wooden seats and woven tatami mats to enable a rich variety of gatherings and experiences.

Cédric dons a well-worn chore coat and safety glasses and, standing at the long work bench stretching down the middle of the elongated rectangular room, demonstrates how he works with this soft yet sturdy compressed natural material. It is here in his Antwerp atelier that he crafts objects that facilitate stillness. Low furniture that anchors the body close to the ground, inviting a natural posture of ease. Linen meditation cushions filled with cork granules and wool that mould to the sitter, supporting both body and breath. Architectural elements that absorb sound, creating sanctuaries within spaces. Even his captivating burnt cork pieces, darkened by fire, tell a story of transformation, of something made stronger, more resilient. His work is not about aesthetics alone. “Design has become about spectacle,” he remarks, “where furniture is treated like fashion – objects that exist to be looked at, to be posted, to be consumed. I’m not interested in that. I want to create spaces that hold people, that invite them to be present, to feel grounded.”

As Cédric sees it, cork is not merely a material – it is a philosophy. The slow, deliberate way in which it is harvested, the patience it demands, mirrors the practice of stillness itself. On his visits to Portugal, he spends time with the craftsmen, observing their methodical movements. “To watch them work,” he says, “is to witness meditation in motion. There’s no rush. The bark is removed with careful precision, in a way that ensures the tree will thrive for centuries. It’s a lesson in respect, in sustainability, in slowness.” The material itself, he explains, is both strong and soft, insulating and porous. It invites touch, it quiets a space, it exists without excess. His designs reflect these qualities, each piece a study in restraint, in simplicity, in presence.

Later, in the evening, we meet Cédric at a nearby location – another grand old harbour building. This one no doubt with a less industrial past, evident in its ornate façade and the sweeping marble staircase we ascend after entering off the dark, drizzly street. Cédric, now dressed in a black T-shirt, more casual trousers and sneakers, greets us with open arms and leads us into an enormous room resembling a townhall auditorium. Despite its dimensions, it is wonderfully warm. Pale curry-coloured curtains line the perimeter, softly billowing from the temperate air of the heaters behind them. The dimly lit space is almost empty except for an inviting setting in its centre, to which Cédric is putting the finishing touches, lighting thick white candles in a circle of cork-filled cushions, blocks and, at one end, a set of three crystal sound bowls. Here, he will lead his weekly meditation session – “a community-driven practice with a group of wonderful souls”. In the warmer months, between June and October, he hosts them in his still room, along with bi-monthly tea ceremonies “to share the space with the world”. But for now it’s too cold, and he is grateful to be able to borrow this room to continue throughout the winter.

Participants filter into the room, welcomed like old friends by Cédric as they slowly take their seats on the cushions. We join them, somewhat timidly yet full of anticipation, as our guide takes his cross-legged seat. He begins with grounding, by bringing our attention to the present, to observe our thoughts and let them go, like leaves falling from a tree. Moving into breathwork, Cédric traces a mallet round the bowls’ edges, creating a soothing, healing sound bath, with the three bowls connecting to the first three chakras. The effect seeps in as we feel cocooned and comfortable. Eyes closed and guided inward by his tranquillising words, we go deeper into the meditation, becoming aware of greater energy frequencies.

“It’s really about inviting yourself to do a radical act of self-care and to feel some growth from inside,” Cédric explains. “Meditation isn’t stillness itself, but rather a key to opening the door of stillness.” Movement can allow for this, too, like in the focused act of crafting something with your hands or observing the way shadows shift across a room. As the world moves faster, as distraction becomes currency and we continue to celebrate busyness, Cédric’s work feels radical in its simplicity. But he sees a shift happening: “There’s a hunger for slowness, for spaces that nurture rather than overwhelm. For objects that hold meaning rather than simply fill a room.” Refreshed and invigorated, we leave the room, without feeling the urge to speak, go down the marble steps and out into the night – holding a sense that balance and harmony have been restored. In the distance, Zaha Hadid’s Port House shimmers and glows over the water like a giant crystal. We have returned to ourselves, we have found something we had forgotten. And sometimes, we think, as we recall Cédric’s words, the most powerful thing we can create is emptiness.