The Quiet Appeal of Zinc
Exploring the character, versatility and evolving beauty of zinc in architecture, lighting and design.
There is something rather appealing about materials that don't demand attention.
For many years, aged brass and bronze have been prominent in architectural interiors, bringing warmth, character and a sense of familiarity to everything from door hardware to decorative lighting. They're beautiful materials, and ones I've enjoyed working with for many years.
But as I discussed in our previous Journal article, Beyond Brass, I'm beginning to notice a curiosity about alternatives.
Conversations with architects and interior designers have prompted me to look more closely at materials that might previously have been overlooked, or perhaps simply considered too industrial for certain applications.
One of those is zinc.
It's a material we're accustomed to seeing in roofing, cladding and industrial applications, often valued more for its practical qualities than its aesthetic possibilities.
Yet zinc has a subtle beauty of its own. Its muted silver-grey tones, softly reflective surfaces and ability to develop a natural patina make it particularly interesting.
And it's a material I've been drawn to for some time.
Zinc has a long history in architecture, particularly across Europe, where it has been used for roofing and cladding for generations. Some of its most compelling contemporary applications demonstrate just how expressive this understated material can be.
Daniel Libeskind's Jewish Museum in Berlin is an extraordinary example. Its angular titanium-zinc exterior is interrupted by irregular cuts of glass, creating a building where the material becomes part of a much larger architectural narrative.
In Glasgow, Zaha Hadid's Riverside Museum takes a very different approach. Thousands of zinc panels follow the building's sweeping, wave-like form, demonstrating the material's remarkable versatility.
And in Chicago, Diller Scofidio + Renfro's David Rubenstein Forum uses zinc cladding across its distinctive stacked volumes, where the metal's subtle surface and changing relationship with light contribute to the building's character.
What interests me about these buildings is that zinc is not being used to imitate something else. Its natural appearance, versatility and ability to develop a patina are embraced as part of the architecture.
Of course, these are buildings on a scale far removed from the handles, lighting components and kitchen benchtops I've worked with over the years.
But the underlying attraction is much the same.
It's a material that has its own identity, and one that can become more interesting through the passage of time.
My interest in zinc isn't entirely new.
Over the years, I've used zinc as a surface for kitchen benchtops on numerous occasions, with some beautiful results.
What I've always appreciated about zinc is the way it changes with use.
Unlike materials designed to maintain a pristine, uniform appearance, zinc gradually develops its own character.
Everyday contact, the preparation of food, the occasional spill and the simple act of living with the material all contribute to its evolving surface.
Areas become darker, others develop a softer sheen, and subtle marks accumulate over time.
Rather than seeing these changes as imperfections, I've always considered them part of the material's appeal.
A zinc benchtop can become a record of the life that's taken place around it. Its surface develops a patina that tells a story of use, becoming more individual with age.
There's something very human about that.
We often talk about designing objects to last, but perhaps we should also think about designing objects that become more interesting as they're used.
That idea has stayed with me, and it's one of the reasons I'm interested in revisiting zinc through architectural hardware and lighting.
At our workshop in Matakana, I've been exploring zinc plating as part of a broader investigation into alternative metal finishes.
The process is interesting because the final appearance depends on much more than the zinc itself.
Surface preparation, the underlying metal, plating conditions and subsequent finishing can all influence the result.
A surface might emerge relatively uniform, while another displays subtle variations that suggest a different direction entirely.
Some results are encouraging. Others require further work.
But that's the nature of experimentation, and something I've always enjoyed about making things.
I'm particularly interested in how zinc finishes might be combined with mechanical surface treatments to introduce a more tactile character.
Rather than pursuing absolute uniformity, I'm looking at finishes that retain a sense of individuality.
Subtle variations. Worked textures. Surfaces that respond differently as light moves across them.
Of course, a zinc-plated component behaves differently from a solid zinc surface. Its durability, corrosion resistance and suitability for a particular application need to be carefully considered.
But the underlying philosophy remains the same: allowing a material to express its character rather than expecting it to remain unchanged.
One of my earlier lighting experiments brought together zinc and coffee grounds in a piece that featured in our previous Journal article, Beyond Brass.
It was an unusual combination, but one that opened up some interesting possibilities.
The contrast between the metal and the organic material was particularly appealing, creating an object that felt both industrial and unexpectedly tactile.
That experiment has led me to consider other materials that we might not ordinarily associate with architectural products.
We've been exploring oyster shells, pumice and various organic by-products, looking at how they might be combined with more conventional materials to create new surfaces and objects.
There's something particularly exciting about bringing together materials that seem to have very little in common.
One of the advantages of operating as a small design and manufacturing studio is the freedom to explore ideas without necessarily knowing where they'll lead.
We can respond to a conversation with an architect, develop a few samples, adjust a process and see what emerges.
There's no requirement for every experiment to become a product.
Sometimes the value is simply in discovering a different way of working with a familiar material.
And occasionally, those experiments lead to something we wouldn't otherwise have imagined.
Architectural hardware occupies an interesting position within a building.
A handle, pull or lighting component may be relatively small, yet it's often one of the few elements we physically interact with every day.
Its weight, texture, temperature and surface finish all contribute to how we experience a space.
That makes these smaller objects particularly interesting places to explore new materials.
A zinc-finished cabinet pull might introduce a quieter metallic note against richly grained timber.
A softly textured lighting component could reflect warm light in a way that a conventional polished surface doesn't.
Or an unusual finish developed for a single commission might eventually suggest an entirely new family of products.
As design preferences continue to evolve, I see these material explorations as an opportunity.
It's not about declaring one material fashionable and another outdated. Brass and bronze will continue to have their place, just as zinc, pewter and stainless steel have their own distinctive qualities.
It's about broadening the conversation and giving architects and designers more possibilities to consider.
At SYML, we're continuing to explore alternative finishes, unconventional materials and new ways of making architectural lighting and hardware.
If you're interested in seeing what we're working on, exploring different materials or discussing an upcoming project, I'd love to hear from you.
SYML — For things that don't yet exist.