“Cucina Povera is not about poverty,” Joseph explains. “It’s about the sacred ingenuity of extracting maximum value from the essential.” This Italian philosophy is the bedrock of his design practice. It’s a belief that true luxury is a perspective, not a price tag. Under his hand, the mesh, typically hidden inside walls, is manipulated, tensioned, and sculpted until it transcends its origins to command a room with a silent, explosive grace. His formative years at Milan’s Domus Academy were less about learning rules and more about absorbing radical narratives.
He cites two legends as polar stars: Domenico Dolce and Andrea Branzi. From Dolce, he learned the power of unapologetic story. “Dolce & Gabbana sell a Sicilian dream,” he says. “Design without a story is just a commodity.” The lesson was to “bring the dramma,” to create spaces that feel like a scene where the inhabitant is the protagonist, and to wear one’s cultural roots like armor. From Branzi and the Memphis Group, he inherited a rebellious spirit. “Imperfection is a human right,” Joseph asserts, rejecting the sterile, sanitized boxes of modernism.
This embrace of the organic and the transient finds its echo in the Nova, which he describes as “intentionally imperfect,” a static object pulsing with kinetic energy, a beautiful rebellion captured in wire. Joseph’s unique lens—born in the US, raised in the Philippines, refined in Italy, is his “competitive advantage.” It allows him to see the “visual poetry” in a material others overlook. “In the Philippines, wire mesh is gritty construction. In the US, it’s industrial chic.
In Italy, it’s a canvas for texture,” he observes. His work bridges these worlds, applying Filipino hand-weaving sensibility to an industrial material to create an Italian silhouette. “Nation building,” he suggests, “starts with seeing the potential in what you already have in your backyard.” Translating the vision of a “stellar nova” into physical form was a battle. “You can’t simulate this in CAD. You have to get your hands in there,” Joseph recounts.
The rigid mesh had to become a “soft cloud,” a process of manual folding, crushing, and expanding—”like sculpting muscle.” The breakthrough came in surrendering to the material’s nature: “We stopped trying to force it into a perfect geometric shape and allowed it to buckle and flow organically. That’s when it came alive.” The Nova is designed as a sanctuary for light itself. For Joseph, light is emotional, and his creation filters aggressive tropical glare into the soft, intimate glow of an Italian dusk. It’s a “luminous landscape” that turns exposure into intimacy.
This poetic vision is grounded in the rigorous discipline of Business Design, a core tenet of his Domus education. The Nova is made-to-order, a model that prevents waste, ensures uniqueness, and turns sustainable logistics—like using recyclable materials and a lightweight structure—into a business advantage. “It’s a mutually beneficial system,” he states, where responsibility and exclusivity coexist.
When asked to reconcile his lineage with his training, his answer is definitive: “Budji Layug is the reason I have a direction; the Italians are the reason I have a philosophy.” He describes the fusion as “The Soul is Filipino, but the Discipline is Italian.” He learned to trust the gut and the material’s organic flow. From Italy, he gained rigor, history, and the concept of legacy. The Nova is the child of this union: naturally free yet executed with global-caliber precision.
The Nova is, above all, a deliberate challenge. “It was an act of rebellion,” Joseph declares against the traditional lampadario, which speaks of weight, excess, and fragile opulence. His creation subverts it all by being weightless, transparent, and structurally honest. “We stripped away the crystals to show that structure itself can be beautiful. It’s a modern definition of opulence: intelligent, sustainable, and artful.”
For Joseph and Rastrullo, this is more than design—it’s Nation Building. The future he envisions is one where the Philippines exports not just labor, but intellect, systems, and a unique design voice. “We are proving that a studio started in a garage in Makati can hold its own against European giants,” he says, with the calm certainty of an alchemist who has seen the future in a sheet of mesh. “We are blending the Italian standard of excellence with Filipino heart to create something the world needs to see. That is how we rise together.”
How would you describe the core process behind your work?
It’s a very strong kind of alchemy: taking the raw, the rough, and the overlooked, and through sheer force of design, refining it into something that commands a room.
What was the most non-obvious lesson you took from Italian fashion?
The lesson wasn’t about fabric; it was about the unapologetic narrative. In interior design, we often play it too safe. From that, I learned that you have to bring the dramma.
Beyond imperfection, does the Nova connect to other philosophies?
It follows the principles of wabi-sabi – finding beauty in the natural and the transient. It’s a static object that feels like it’s in motion, capturing that split second of a starburst.
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What’s the personal discipline needed to balance drama and serenity?
A person needs to know when to roar and when to listen. You hold back on the glare, the harshness, and the complexity of assembly, so you can go full throttle on the form.
How does the quality of light in the Philippines inform your work?
In the Philippines, the light is aggressive; it creates hard contrast and deep shadows. It changes the mood of a room from ‘exposure’ to ‘intimacy.
Can you describe the hands-on process of shaping the Nova?
It’s a process of folding, crushing, and expanding, almost like sculpting muscle. We built it on a ‘durable, lightweight wire frame’ to give it a spine, but the skin had to feel fluid. The moment of translation happened when we stopped trying to force the mesh into a perfect geometric shape and allowed it to buckle and flow organically.
How do you Define the input of your mentor Budji Layug versus your Italian training?
Budji Layug is the reason I have a direction; the Italians are the reason I have a philosophy. Budji taught me to trust my gut and the material. The Italians taught me rigor, history, and the importance of ‘legacy’.
What specifically does the Nova subvert about a traditional chandelier?
The word lampadario implies a source of light, a center. I wanted to redefine that center. It doesn’t block the room; it breathes with it.
What is the concrete mission for Rastrullo Studio on the global stage?
We are proving that a studio started in a garage in Makati, Philippines can take on opportunities across Southeast Asia and hold its own against European giants. My role, and Rastrullo’s role, is to be the ‘leading design group’ that solidifies these systems.
We are showing that you can be ‘legacy centric’ – creating value that lasts for generations – while lifting up the local communities that build these pieces. We are blending the Italian standard of excellence with Filipino heart to creating something that the world needs to see.
What is the broader cultural impact of your third-culture perspective?
It allows me to bridge gaps.
