What Craft Means To Singaporean Bookbinder Adelene Koh, A Loewe Craft Prize 2026 Finalist
One of the biggest and most prestigious craft competitions in the world lands in Southeast Asia – or, more specifically, right here in the National Gallery Singapore – for the first time from May 13 to June 14, 2026: the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize. Here’s why it’s such a big deal for anyone who appreciates design and craftsmanship, whether or not they’re into fashion.
Craft at Loewe has a pretty unique backstory. For one, the Spanish label started in 1846 as a leather workshop run by a collective of artisans. So impressed was Enrique Loewe Roessberg – a German leather maker – by its materials and know-how that he took over its helm 26 years later. (That is when the name Loewe came about – and explains why the “w” is pronounced with a “v” sound, FYI.)
This dedication to craftsmanship has since been the brand’s bedrock. Cue everything from its iconic bags such as the origami-esque Puzzle and buttery soft Amazona, to the fuzzy jeans from creative directors Jack McCollough’s and Lazaro Hernandez’s debut collection this season. Contrary to its velvety appearance, the latter is made from nappa leather that has been treated to have a feathery fringed texture.
See also: All The Essential Pieces From Loewe This Season
Championing craft, however, goes beyond fashion for this luxury house. In 1988, fourth-generation Loewe scion Enrique Loewe Lynch established the Loewe Foundation, a private cultural institution that helps to promote creativity, and preserve the skills and heritage of various arts and crafts through multiple initiatives. Arguably its biggest and most high profile? The Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, introduced 10 years ago by Jonathan Anderson (yep, when he was creative director of the label).
A peek at some of the works from the 2026 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize that will be exhibited here: Seed of Circulation (left) by South Korean artist Jieun Park, assembled from thousands of handmade sterling silver fragments tied together individually using linen thread, allowing the surface to expand or contract while maintaining the sculpture’s bulbous shape; and Shadow Kkokdu (right) by Coco Sung, who’s also from the Republic of Korea. A modern reimagining of Kkokdu – traditional funeral dolls used to guide and protect souls on their journey to the afterlife – the latter features a series of figurines handcrafted from clay, wire and Swarovski stones. Their colourful and tactile nature subverts the original purpose of Kkokdu, turning the idea of loss into a beautiful act of care.
While it works closely with Loewe, the Loewe Foundation operates on its own, led today by Loewe Lynch’s daughter Sheila Loewe as president. This is probably why the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize – or Craft Prize, for short – is one of the most diverse, dynamic and forward-thinking craft competitions around; its reach spanning disciplines and practitioners far outside fashion.
It’s open to anyone above the age of 18 who’s an artisan by profession, and its aim is to spotlight craftsmanship as it’s practiced today. (Read: It’s less about preserving traditional crafts, and more about how contemporary artists marry age-old techniques with innovation and artistic merit, in turn contributing to the development of their craft.) This year’s edition drew more than 5,100 submissions from 133 countries; their mediums stretching across ceramics, woodwork, textiles, furniture, bookbinding, glass, metal, jewellery and lacquer.
Many finalists in the Craft Prize this year referenced the natural world through their use of materials and the techniques used to give them a new life. Such works include (clockwise from top-left) UK artist Jobe Burns’ Laying Vessel, a steel structure intentionally rusted on the exterior to contrast an ultra-slick lacquered interior; Jong In Lee’s Baeheullim, a walnut bench carved with a chainsaw to highlight its grain then assembled using a dovetail joint that allows the two sections to settle as one over time; and Haitian sculptor Herve Sabin’s Sèvi-Tè, a bowl hollowed from a single block of wood using ancient techniques.
And helping to crown the winner – who brings home a cool, career-changing €50,000 (around S$74,900) – and two special mentions, each awarded €5,000 (or S$7,490), every year is a 13-person jury from the worlds of design, architecture, criticism, and curation. Exposure to these heavyweights alone can be seen as a win for any participating artist. This year, they include Abraham Thomas, curator of Modern Architecture, Design and Decorative Arts at the Metropolitan Museum of Art; the architect and Pritzker Prize laureate Wang Shu; last year’s Craft Prize winner Kunimasa Aoki; and – making their Craft Prize jury debut – McCollough and Hernandez.
The last stage of this star-studded and star-making affair rolls out in May, and Singapore will be in the spotlight for not one, but two reasons this time. For starters, we’ll be the first Southeast Asian country to host it: A day after the awardees are announced, the National Art Gallery will exhibit the works of all 30 finalists from May 13 to June 14. Among them (and reason number two): bookbinder Adelene Koh – the second Singapore finalist in the competition’s history. Here, she shares more about her work and what the Craft Prize means for her.
Singapore bookbinder Adelene Koh is a finalist in this year’s edition of the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize. Her entry Endless reimagines an endband – typically a tiny strip of embroidery that wraps the top and bottom of a book’s spine for reinforcement – into an architectural sculpture, in turn giving new meaning to the craft of bookbinding.
What made you decide to take part in the Craft Prize?
“The Craft Prize has always stood out to me because it takes craft seriously as a contemporary discipline. The works that are selected often show a deep understanding of traditional techniques while pushing them into new territories. I decided to take part because the piece I made felt like a natural extension of my own curiosity about bookbinding structures. The idea behind it came from a very specific obsession with endbands (the small, often decorative bands of thread at the top and bottom of a book’s spine that reinforce its structure), and I felt this was where such a detail could be appreciated not just as technique, but as a conceptual starting point.”
How do you see craft balancing tradition and innovation?
“For me, tradition and innovation are not opposites. Tradition is a body of accumulated knowledge about materials, structure and making. When you understand it deeply, it naturally opens up possibilities for transformation. In my work, I often begin with historical bookbinding techniques. Instead of abandoning them, I try to look closely at what they already contain. Sometimes a small structural element suggests a completely different direction, and that is where innovation begins.”
There’s a lot of fascination with craft these days. What do you think people get right – and wrong – about what it takes to make something by hand?
“What people often get right is the appreciation for the care and attention that goes into handmade work. Craft involves time, patience and a close relationship with materials. What can sometimes be misunderstood is that craft is only about nostalgia or slow living. It is also about discipline, problem-solving and deep technical knowledge. Many processes require years of practice before they become intuitive. So while the final object may appear quiet or simple, the process behind it is often very complex.”
Over the years, how has your idea of craft evolved?
“When I first began, I was very focused on learning technique and understanding how books are constructed. Over time, my attention shifted from simply making books well to asking questions about their structures. Craft became less about reproducing established forms and more about exploring what those forms could become. The techniques remain the same, but the way they are used can change.”
Tell us more about your entry, which is titled Endless.
“In bookbinding, endbands are often small details, but they are also among the most intricate and technically demanding elements. Because the length of an endband is determined by the thickness of the book, the process of making one usually ends quickly. I realised that if I allowed the endband to continue beyond that limit, the structure itself could become something else. In Endless, I’ve extended the traditional notion of an endband. Using a single aluminium wire core as a skeleton, I sewed embroidery threads onto folded pages along the wire’s perimeter to create a dense, radiating texture so that the endband becomes the structure itself, as well as the visual center of the piece… I hope the work encourages people to look closely at the small details that often go unnoticed. More broadly, the work reflects my belief that craft reveals itself in the smallest details, and those details should never be lost.”
This article first appeared in Volume 8 of F ZINE.