At the Haiti studio of architect, designer and Loewe Foundation Craft Prize finalist Hervé Sabin, the sounds of jazz, wood saws, chisels and sandpaper are punctuated by the din of automatic rifles and drones in the near distance. Yet Sabin's process continues, undeterred, ‘not out of resistance', as he puts it, ‘but out of existence'.
Working in precarious conditions, often in transit, has become a defining feature of his practice, which explores the intertwined threads of family, place and memory. Now based in Port-au-Prince – or Pòtoprens, as Sabin calls it, using the Haitian Creole pronunciation – and moving between the homes and studios of family and friends in Miami, New York and Montreal, he produces furniture and objects carved from weighty, sometimes gnarled trunks of salvaged wood found along the way. In his hands, these resistant materials are coaxed into softer forms with gently smoothed contours, shaped through an intuitive process of carving, charring, sanding and waxing that plays out as a push-and-pull between material and maker.
Hervé Sabin: a culture of inventing
Sabin at work in his Miami studio, where he carves, chars and sands pieces of found wood to create artworks, furniture and objects
Born in Pòtoprens, Sabin's earliest experience of design came from necessity and scarcity rather than formal training: as a child, he and his friends made almost everything they played with, from kites to improvised footballs fashioned from condoms – widely available at the time due to the AIDS epidemic – and his aunt's old tights, tightly bound with string. That culture of inventing with whatever was at hand stayed with him when he left Haiti in 1989, during a period of political transition following Jean-Claude Duvalier's ousting, eventually settling in New York. There, he channelled his creativity into architecture, studying at the New York Institute of Technology and later at the Pratt Institute, before working for several firms across the city. ‘Once you migrate, you're a foreigner everywhere,' Sabin reflects.
It's about creating better, creating more, creating with more risk, and with less satisfaction, but also staying true to the process of creation – because not all of it is theoretical, not all of it is understood, not all of it can be explained
Hervé Sabin
In 2010, following the earthquake in Haiti, Sabin returned to his homeland and set up his own practice, Studio Drum Collaborative. Having spent more than two decades in New York, he was convinced his skills could have a different impact at home, working across architecture, visual art, furniture, urbanism and rural development, with a focus on educational projects, community work, and experimentation with local materials and construction methods. ‘I could have stayed in New York and worked,' he says. ‘I don't know if it would have had the same meaning or the same impact. The idea of contributing something different to where I'm from has become very important.'
A nomadic practice
By spring 2025, Sabin was producing work under increasingly challenging conditions. As insecurity crept closer to his Pòtoprens neighbourhood, he shut down his studio, storing key works with friends and shipping one piece to Miami, before leaving via helicopter to Cap-Haïtien, then onwards through Turks and Caicos to Miami. During this period, his practice continued between Miami, New York and Montreal.
It was in this context that Sèvi-Tè, the body of work that earned Sabin his place among this year's Loewe Foundation Craft Prize finalists, emerged. The title carries layered meanings: sèvis (service), tè (land), and sèvitè (servant; in Vodou, one who serves the spirits). The sculptures and vessels are made from wood gathered along his routes, from family yards in Montreal and Miami to roadside vendors in Haiti.
Pieces from the Sèvi-Tè series
His process, he explains, is instinctive – an almost ritualised practice in which the material leads. Pieces are often left to sit for long periods before he begins carving. ‘Sometimes you let the termites do their own thing,' he says. ‘There's one piece of wood I'm still working on – it's been a year plus… It's not done.'
Sabin treats his materials as active participants, describing the exterior mass as absorbing energy, while the carved interior becomes a negative space where that energy concentrates and is released. Even the final stages resist full control: after blowtorching, the wood is left to continue burning on its own. That sensitivity to material extends beyond the object itself. After charring and sanding a piece, Sabin saves the resulting dust, reworking it into a composite material with used coffee grounds and glue – what would otherwise be discarded becomes the basis for a new body of work.
In Sèvi-Tè, each piece is named after the postcode in which the material was found, with titles such as Sèvi-Tè 7020B NW 5th Avenue and Sèvi-Tè 36B Rue Duncombe HT6113 forming part of a wider series. Together, they map Sabin's movements between places, tracing his enduring ties to family and land. Some function as vessels, capable of holding food or offerings, and can be incorporated into personal rituals or altars at home, he explains.
‘We call them Sèvi-Tè because my travel is really to serve – in service of my family, pretty much,' says Sabin, who has been based back in Pòtoprens since the beginning of 2026, although his movement within the country remains limited. When he leaves now, he carries a small tool bag alongside his laptop and sketchbook – a mobile extension of his studio. ‘I travel like a mule back and forth… bringing things.' Each journey carries requests – objects, materials, provisions – what he describes as a form of ‘immigrant nostalgia', often centred around food,preparation and sharing of which becomes its own form of ritual. ‘This is a work of service, not only to the people that I love, but also to the lands that I've taken the material from.'
This is a work of service, not only to the people that I love, but also to the lands that I've taken the material from
Hervé Sabin
Having stepped away from architecture for much of the past year, Sabin devoted himself almost entirely to carving, producing a significant body of work. On something of an impulse, he submitted the series to the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, having previously applied years earlier with a single piece. To his surprise, the work was selected from more than 5,100 entries across 133 countries, placing him among just 30 finalists – and the only Caribbean representative this year. ‘Sabin's work is not so much about technique or formal values, as it is about using objects and materials to tell profound stories about time and place,' said design critic Deyan Sudjic, a member of this year's jury alongside the likes of Frida Escobedo, Patricia Urquiola and Sheila Loewe. (The jury chose South Korean ceramic artist Jongjin Park as its 2026 winner.)
‘It was unreal,' says Sabin, recalling the moment he got the call. ‘I was just blown away.' Yet he remains philosophical about the opportunity, framing the shortlisting as a chance to establish a new ‘baseline' for his practice. ‘It's about creating better, creating more, creating with more risk, and, you know, with less satisfaction, but also staying true to the process of creation, because not all of it is theoretical, not all of it is understood, not all of it can be explained.'