Printed Matter

When you think of Danish design, the images that immediately come to mind are of tasteful furniture made from natural materials, typically in muted, neutral color palettes.

That’s what makes the pieces from Copenhagen-based studio 91-92 somewhat surprising: they are brightly hued and 3D-printed. The tasteful element, however, remains firmly intact – thanks to the masterful eyes of founders Zeyu Rong and Weibo Sun.

The name, if you’re wondering, comes from their birth years – Rong was born in 1991, Sun in 1992. “We didn’t want to just put our family names or initials together,” they say. “It’s also very straightforward information about how old we are.”

While working at two of the city’s biggest design brands, the pair began developing their own homeware label in 2020, settling on 3D printing as their process. “You can make any shape so easily,” Rong tells me on a rainy visit to their space. “I was thinking, why not 3D print things that we can use, instead of only using them for prototypes.”

Fast forward to the present day, and it turns out they bet on the right material. Their collection has expanded to include wall-mounted vases, lamps shaped like ice cubes, jewelry boxes, tiny hanging ornaments, and even shelving. Their work has appeared in interior projects and magazine editorials, and they’ve created custom pieces for other brands – GANNI was the first, with the likes of Rains and Rotate following. Then, in November, they opened the doors to a new space in Copenhagen’s Nordhavn district.

Surrounding it is an urban development billed as a “5-minute city” – meaning everything residents need is within close reach. The waterfront location, once an industrial freeport, lends itself to a typically laid-back Danish approach to life: you can wake up, walk down to the water, take a dip, jump in the sauna, grab a coffee and head home – all very easily.

91-92 itself is flanked by a florist and a recently opened store focusing on handcrafted objects from Korea. The store’s sign offers a taster of what you’ll find inside – an aluminum A-board adorned with little 3D-printed ornaments.

The space itself is split into two halves: the store at the front and the studio at the back. Given how small it is, shoppers are basically in the studio – but that adds to the experience. Nothing is hidden away, process-wise. The printers whir away in the background, and you’ll often see Rong at the computer designing the next 91-92 piece. “Right now I’m printing a new curtain for the studio,” he says, handing over a sample of a super-fine printed material made up of a series of loops – not unlike a net curtain – that he’ll heat-glue together to create a full-length partition.

That scene is the division of labor in miniature: Rong is in charge of everything design – he’s “a real perfectionist,” as they both put it – while Sun handles marketing and production. Rong likes to arrive at the studio early to focus; Sun joins later “to disturb him, sometimes bringing random ideas.”

Two things catch your eye immediately about the work Rong and Sun produce. First, the spectrum of colors, which ranges from flat, primary red to a translucent, silky pink. Second, the fact that you can’t quite work out what material you’re looking at.
That’s because it’s not immediately obvious that the works are 3D-printed. Some pieces, such as the Pascal pendant, are made to be squishy or elastic – something you don’t expect from the process.

As is often the norm with a Scandinavian studio, sustainability is baked in – “we believe good design should do good,” says Rong. The studio started out printing exclusively with recycled plastic and still uses it wherever possible, remaining fully transparent when supplier inconsistencies mean virgin plastic fills the gap.

Ultimately, though, the thing that draws you in about 91-92’s designs is the childlike curiosity they bring out. A trip to their store feels like a visit to a candy shop where you can watch the confectioners at work – just with fewer cavities.