A Balance of Opposites

Phineas Harper trained as an architect, and has since had a diverse career as an architectural writer, journalist, editor, curator and more - all dedicated to connecting a wide audience with architecture and design. This kind of polyphonic thinking and ability to draw inspiration from diverse influences has most recently found an unexpected outlet in the creation of delicate kinetic mobiles, which will be displayed in TOAST shops to celebrate our Spring Summer 2025 season concept, A Lightness of Being.

Phin’s apartment, a 1960s bungalow in south-east London, is testament to their interests. The spiderweb filaments of spinning mobiles are surrounded by books and plants; Matisse-like monstera curve around walls while heart-shaped philodendrons hang next to the plum butterfly wings of oxalis. Among them are Chris Ofili’s Afromuse Man, which was later installed in the artist’s pedestal clock in Hoxton, and a print of John Ruskin’s Study of a Piece of Brick, a watercolour of a battered brick with one side covered in green moss. Both speak to Phin’s architectural mind and interest in the building blocks and narratives of our societies. But where Ruskin might argue that the brilliance of nature can’t be translated onto canvas, it seems that Phin has found an elegant dance around this problem through their mobiles, which are multiplied as the south-facing window trebles their presence through shadows. Throughout our conversation they spin and flash rays of light, picking up tiny currents of air and reflections outside.

The first mobile Phin made was incidental. Following the loss of Aino, a beloved cat, they planted a crab apple tree in some nearby parkland in his honour. One day several months later, they visited the site to find that the tree had been snapped and damaged irreparably, so they brought home a branch and hung it where the ceiling was highest. Like a living artwork, first the leaves dried up and floated down, then the small golden apples fell. Phin was left with the bare branch, which stayed for some time but eventually had to go. The empty space left behind suddenly felt wrong. Phin wondered what to place there, as they had become accustomed to living with that “big lump of nature”. Searching around different options, from Finnish himmeli to Olafur Eliasson’s compasses (you get the distinct impression when talking to Phin that the tangents of discovery are of equal importance to the making of anything new), they eventually decided to build their own. From that moment, every time a new mobile is hung, it feels as if it has always belonged in that place. 

The metaphor of that first tree has always been very present in Phin’s work. Their first solo exhibition was titled Into the Woods, and there is something very leafy about the forms in all the mobiles - some of them even incorporate twigs from that original crab apple tree. Equally important are the other materials - the paper, wood and metal - extracted from the earth, always providing a balance of opposites. These elements are all carefully sourced, from the burl wood veneers to bio-resins produced from textile waste. Each material is chosen as much for what it represents and how it acts as for what it does aesthetically. Holding up a piece of walnut burl wood, Phin explains that a burl occurs when a tree trunk has grown with some deformity due to an infection or stress on the wood. The resulting wood is filled with knots and very hard to work with but prized for its beauty. Talking about paper, Phin says it’s an amazing material to work with because “it’s light and cheap and eco, but it does get torn. It’s a crucial failure, but rather than see that as a weakness, you can see it as an opportunity for new life.” 

This design of repair is evident throughout their home - in the Isamu Noguchi lamps carefully patched with bright mulberry paper, and in a threadbare Afghan carpet rewoven with luminously discordant cotton. Humble approaches to repair, but with a confident flair and perhaps some irreverence too. Much of this might be seen to stem from Phin’s interest in regenerative design, community planning in the face of mounting economic and environmental challenges, and the architecture of degrowth: a design concept that proposes eliminating wasteful practices. Post-industrial design, which promotes hard-wearing toughness, is associated with enormous levels of embodied carbon in construction. So what would a world of low-carbon, high-repair building look like? Swap out concrete and glass for earth and thatch, and suddenly, Phin’s mobiles - which repurpose materials and respect the precarious balance of strength and fragility - feel like poetic calls to action.  

Phin’s sensibilities are also reflected in their engagement with the community. The estate where they live, Vanbrugh Park Estate in Greenwich, was designed by Chamberlin, Powell and Bon, a practice known for significant contributions to London's architectural landscape, such as the Barbican. Commissioned by Greenwich Council in the 1950s, the estate features a tower, terraces and bungalows that now host a thriving community. Phin established a gardening club with other residents to plant and maintain communal areas. The selection of trees seem to embody Phin’s professional and personal ideologies. Practical choices (alpine birches, which grow tall and thin and won’t hit the drainpipes) are complemented by the communal (grape vines in an old public laundry area, which will eventually form a pergola to sit under for shared dinners) and the whimsical (wisteria, more associated with Georgian brick-fronted building). 

These strong community ideals will come together on 1 March, when Phin will host a large party for friends and neighbours in a burgeoning annual tradition called Unlocking, in honour of Kurt Vonnegut’s theory of the seasons. If proper winter is December/January, February and March cannot yet be called spring, so they are “Unlocking”. Spring with its birds, elderflowers and hawthorn comes later, in April and May. Celebrating Unlocking was a way for Vonnegut to shake off winter depression and connect to the land; for Phin, it is more like an excuse for a party - a collective ritual to remind us we are here, sharing life. In south-east London, friends will sit in a circle and pass around handfuls of earth in one direction and maybe some bottles of vermouth in the other. Rhubarb ice cream will be made out of the earliest forced rhubarb, the vivid pink that grows out of the darkness of winter towards the light ahead. 

Phineas wears the TOAST Pleated Wrap Denim Culottes.

Words by Lindsay Sekulowicz.

Photography by Luke & Nik.