One of the simplest pleasures of an international flight is the rare gift of hours without Wi-Fi, no need for an excuse to be unreachable — and, of course, the music. Shades down, volume up — your songs become the perfect soundtrack to your Sancerre. I opted for a crisp, light white on my flight to Germany, but my song of choice boasted a punchier aftertaste — with bolder notes and striking vibrance. Sometimes, even the calmest of settings call for some excitement — and by excitement, I mean Gaga.
The pilot greeted us as we prepared for takeoff. While I couldn’t understand his native tongue, Lady Gaga’s lyrics were on the tip of mine. His words crackled through the speakers, but my headphones had already formed an impenetrable fortress of sound and solitude. By then, I was deep in the trenches of a different language — one crafted by thumping basslines, glowing synths, and ferocious vocals only the Lady herself could summon: “Hold me in your heart tonight in the magic of the dark moonlight,” she belts. “With a haunting dance, now you’re both in a trance. It’s time to cast your spell on the night. Abracadabra…death or love tonight.” In her latest single, Abracadabra, Gaga makes her long-awaited return to form — conjuring magic on the dance floor with someone who captures your heart and frees your inhibitions, drenched in an aura of music that feels less like pop and more like prayer.
With each listen, I uncovered new layers of sound and emotion — quirks in her pronunciation as the beat built, translating her lyrics into hymns of ecstasy. I heard verses that told new stories from once-chartered artistic territory — soulful remnants of her earlier days that cemented her place on the dancefloor for eternity. Haunting yet heavenly choruses echoed the grit and greatness of her 2000s bangers, à la “Bad Romance” — (but from a more seasoned point of view that sounds oh so good). And then there was the audacious bridge, more like an underground tunnel than a mere segment of a song — a sonic pathway guiding you straight to the nightclub of your most radiant dreams, a space both sinister and celebratory, fresh yet familiar.
Gaga’s revival digs its claws into the tones and textures of her earlier work, but with an electric newness that feels both daring and authentic. Drawing strength from her euro-trance, disco-tinged past, she evolves and struts forward with fearless determination, sparking movement once again — in our souls, at the club, and across the broader arenas of pop and culture. In just three and a half minutes, Gaga creates a world where dance becomes a value system — beliefs declared by beats that liberate, inspire and seduce. She transports us to a realm where darkness isn’t daunting and love becomes a religion — and for those eleven hours, I was under a spell of wine, wanderlust, and the wonders of pop music.
As the plane began its descent and the last notes of Abracadabra faded into a German sunrise, our crooner of chaos had already left her mark. When I exited the plane, the music had been turned off, but I was still on — a lingering rhythm pulsing through my step at just the right moment. I had just touched down in Frankfurt to attend Ambiente with my team — a global trade fair focused on design, tableware, and home decor. I could have flown for another dozen hours if it meant soaking in more of Gaga’s sorcery, but I was ready to explore the endless halls of color, product, and promise that awaited. Every year, this show fuels my perspective with inspiration for our upcoming collections. Visions of disco balls gave way to dinner bowls, and our excursion for ceramics, frypans, and glassware galore began.
Navigating the halls of the show felt like weaving through the aisles of a bazaar, each step revealing new worlds of flavor and innovation. Years ago, I never would have imagined that housewares could become a passion, but spearheading our creative department has taught me to see the items we use daily as canvases for creativity. Sparkling copper pots, terracotta plates in gradients of green, recycled wine-bottle glasses, mango wood platters, and linen textiles stretched for yards — consuming my vision with every step I took. My sight transformed into a kaleidoscope of cookware and cutlery, and I realized: ordinary things can stir our spirit and spark joy, too. (Perhaps even the mundane can offer some magic).
It wasn’t until our travels took us to Lisbon that my passion found a deeper purpose. Arriving in a city both unfamiliar and full of promise, I was struck by how many firsts this trip held for me. Not only had I never been to Portugal before, but we were also producing our work there for the first time. I was stepping into the role of leading a team, and steering the artistic direction of the company felt like both a monumental responsibility and a rare privilege. The opportunity to contribute my vision to the larger conversation of design, sales, and ceramics has nourished my creativity in ways I never anticipated — and I was eager to embrace new paths for growth.
I never envisioned myself joining the family business or continuing the legacy my grandfather began nearly five decades ago. When he, my dad, and their family arrived in Los Angeles from Iran, they had to start fresh and build a new life on unfamiliar soil. They took a leap, buying just a few boxes of glasses from factories, hoping to create something meaningful. Through relentless effort and unwavering belief, those humble boxes of glasses evolved into something far greater. “Gabbay and Sons” eventually grew into “Gibson Homewares” — a leading force in the housewares industry and a global supplier — all starting with one bold, uncertain step into the unknown.
The idea of creating everyday pieces for people around the world still astounds me, and perhaps it always has. As a child, I’d sit at the breakfast table, waving my dad off to work as he headed to his office for his “grown-up job” of “making pots and plates and selling them to people,” as I’d proudly explain to my classmates. When he’d come home for dinner, I was the kid on the floor, markers in hand, scribbling my own designs on our dinner plates – my art scattered across the carpet. (Maybe there was always an artist within me, quietly sketching the blueprint of his future, trying to understand how to one day grow into an adult who could share his own creations with the world.)
Reflecting on my path feels almost dreamlike, but it was Lisbon that truly brought my vision into focus. With time to explore, I let my eyes wander as the city unfolded before me: charming lanes adorned with hand-painted tiles, buildings bathed in shades of light peach, faded olive, and dusty sky-blue — hues that tell the story of time but still beat with brilliance. Even the public parks, tucked just a few feet away from the bustling sidewalks, felt like secret, century-old jungles waiting to be uncovered. It wasn’t just the beauty of the city that stunned me, but its energy. Lisbon’s rhythm echoed a dance between honoring legacy and reinventing possibility — its past clinging to every tile and cobblestone, still alive with vitality — a city grounded in its roots while daring to transform.
The line between work and pleasure began to blur. Just a few miles from the city center, we visited factories where artisans elevated dining into an art form. Touring their showrooms and sourcing shapes felt like strolling through a miniature museum: vivid ceramics sat neatly on light wooden shelves, stone bowls were showcased in glass cases, and vintage European patterns rested before me — each plate’s design meticulously brought to life by hand.
By the time we toured the factories, my sparks of passion had flared into flames as intense as the kilns that blazed before us. The group and I ventured through the space, hardhats securely in place as we tiptoed in awe. We navigated mounds of perfectly piled mud and rows of furnaces humming with heat — a soft symphony of creation, as though the very act of making art had a sound. Flowing racks of raw clay stood poised, awaiting their moment in the light. And there, before me, a creation came to life — a delicate flower, hand-painted with care — its petals unfolding on the clay’s surface, claiming its place at the table. Walking among the artisans in Lisbon, I felt the heartbeat of their work — a graceful waltz between honoring tradition and embracing transformation. Each brushstroke, each press of the clay, was a quiet act of reinvention — echoing the same joyful rebellion that had brought me here: challenging the norms of creation while honoring the traditions of the craft.
During our tour, I walked with Maria, our host at the factory, and we began discussing our businesses. After providing colors for our samples, I told her about Bloomhouse — the cookware line I launched in 2022 under the Gibson family of brands. What started as a modest collection has since blossomed into a full range of non-toxic housewares and tabletop pieces, all crafted with eco-consciousness and a focus on health.
The lovechild of my familial roots and my self-grown vision, the brand isn’t just a business to me — it’s the product of perseverance and the fulfillment of a dream to share pieces of myself with the world, inspiring joy and connection around the table. At first, I hesitated to introduce my unique vision to such an established company — a newcomer stepping into a structure built over decades. But as the collection grew, so did the love surrounding it — encouraging me to honor my foundation while unafraid to bloom in my own direction.
After sharing the story of my part in the Gibson puzzle, Maria led me to a section of the factory dedicated to sustainable, recycled clays — scraps from other pieces skillfully melded together. I was instantly captivated by the idea of using this material. It felt like the perfect fit — not just for its sustainability, but because it embodied the very essence of our brand. In these discarded fragments, I saw untapped potential: a story of regeneration, where remnants of the past are reshaped and renewed — whole and gleaming with rediscovered purpose.
As I stepped around a pile of shattered dishes, shards of ceramic united in their brokenness, a truth took shape: whether in the business of housewares or in the art of personal evolution, the old crumbs of us live on in the new.
A week later, after days of dishes and discovery, it was finally time to leave Lisbon behind and return to LA. The city had woven itself into my memories, yet as our departure approached, I felt a subtle anticipation for the return home. I boarded the plane, nestled into my seat, wrapping myself in my puffer jacket like a cocoon. I put on my noise-cancelling headphones — my ritual for every flight — and only when the whisper of the plane settled into silence did I find space to hear my thoughts clearly after such an adventure. In that moment, the stillness held me so warmly that for once, I didn’t feel the urge to summon Lady Gaga from the depths of my playlist — no anthems of chaos, no disco spells needed. Instead, I sat with the quiet in her absence, letting it remind me that we’re always evolving — blending the pieces of our past into the melodies of who we are becoming.
Cities change, industries shift, and even the simplest of objects — pots, plates, pop songs — carry the weight of history while making space for new possibilities. Like us, they evolve, and maybe that’s the real magic: the silent spell we cast without even realizing — the gentle alchemy of blending what was with the promise of what could be. It’s in this sacred balance that we don’t simply create something new. We continue to create something that fuses the essence of where we’ve been with the boldness of where we’re going — forever etched in the rhythm of time — something wholly, vibrantly, and authentically ours.
