There are callings that emerge without noise. Paths not chosen, but written as one returns to what truly matters. Fosfens is neither the fruit of a plan nor the continuation of a childhood dream. It is a gentle necessity, a thread I did not stretch but followed, almost against myself. A stubborn intuition, born from a gaze cast upon light, and a deep desire to care for it.

Fosfens was born in a family workshop, nestled at the heart of a historic aeronautical activity. My brother took its reins with silent rigor, in direct continuity with what our father had founded. I anchored Fosfens there as one slips a new note into an ancient score. With respect. With exacting standards. With the will to prolong this rare savoir-faire differently, to bring it into another world, that of sensitivity, intimacy, and high-precision lighting.

This project I shaped with all I had gathered in my years within large multinationals. Not in opposition, but as a reversal. That world taught me efficiency, standards, discourse. But above all, it offered encounters, singular personalities, discreet masters, brilliant fractures. There were also those years punctuated by starred lunches; the Michelin Guide was my bible, and the great tables of France, my daily territory. Every meal became a meeting room. There too, there were genuine exchanges, unexpected complicities, a form of unspoken art of living that I have never forgotten.

And then, there were the nights. I did not sleep in hotels or palaces, but in French châteaux, often off the beaten path. Their owners received me as a guest, not a client. They took time, at dusk, to tell the story of their place, their stones, their history. Meals were lively, generous, unforgettable. It was there, in those interstices between appointments, that I understood what authenticity means, a word overused today, yet for me, kept intact. Because I have lived it.

Today, all that has changed, to my greatest joy. I cook. Everything is prepared at home as it is in the workshop. It is my gesture of return, my way to reconnect, to slow down between creations. I have left behind suitcases, train stations, solitary nights in châteaux. I sleep at home. I spend time with my loved ones. I see my children at dawn, and return before the day fades. It is another form of wealth, more discreet, yet infinitely more just.

Fosfens was born of this fertile tension: between the ultra-precision of engineering tools and the tenderness of an artisanal gesture; between family heritage and a fresh vision of visual comfort; between the strictest technique and the poetry of a benevolent light. It was never about seduction here. But about lighting with accuracy. Revealing without imposing. Creating luminous presences capable of inhabiting a space without ever dominating it.

My father could have stepped aside. He chose to stay. Each day, he is there, faithful to the workshop, attentive without being intrusive. He is not an engineer, but he possesses what many graduates never will: a sharp, precise gaze honed by over half a century of savoir-faire, and the rare ability to transmit without needless words. He is our beacon, our ridge line, the one who ensures every piece remains worthy of the exacting standards that gave it life. He never compromises. And that is what compels us.

My mother, meanwhile, cultivated another fire: that of kindness, taste, and invisible care. She passed on to me the passion for cooking, much later. A simple yet essential gesture. An art of detail that resonates with that of light. In the heat of an oven as in the beam of light, there is a similar attention: slow, patient, loving.

Fosfens is thus this: a place of alliances. Of intertwined gestures. Of knowledge in conversation. Every luminaire we craft is conceived, designed, and machined with extreme precision. We use the same machines as in aeronautics, but for a very different purpose: not raw performance, but comfort. Not brute efficiency, but harmony. Our pieces are not mass-produced. They are conceived as companion objects, meant to traverse years, spaces, lives.

This adventure would have remained a dead letter without Elena’s trust, who believed in this project before it even bore its name. She saw, where others doubted. She encouraged me to leave the well-worn paths, to listen to what wished to be born. It is she, in silence, who held the light until I found my own gaze again. Fosfens owes her much.

And then there is the whole household, in the fullest sense. My sister-in-law, whose photographic eye reveals the very skin of our pieces. My brother, whose rigorous calm steadies all I seek to elevate. My father, the watchful guardian. My mother, the source. My three daughters, my son, who gently receive this heritage, without needing to name it.

Fosfens is not an ordinary company. It is a space to breathe, a crucible, a chamber of echoes between light and matter, between past and future. What we make are not luminaires. They are fragments of connection, discreet beams of attention, objects that add nothing, but reveal everything.

If you are reading us, perhaps you too seek this: a light that does not dazzle but accompanies; a light that does not show off, but whispers. A light that respects.

Welcome,
Milan – Founder of Fosfens