The Weight Of Light

How one aerospace designer left orbit to find soul on the face

When designing machines meant to orbit the earth, everything is about precision. Gravity, friction, flight, performance; all non-negotiable. For Andre Montana, an aerospace and automotive engineer turned visionary eyewear maker, the shift from steel and sky to the intimacy of the human face was more than a career pivot. It was a redefinition of purpose.

“You went from machines that orbit the earth to pieces that live on the face,” I asked him. “What shifted for you when the canvas became human?”

“Intimacy,” Andre replied. “In automotive and aerospace you work with performance. It is deeply satisfying, but distant. When the canvas became the human face, the work became personal. Every millimeter mattered, not just for function, but for emotion.”

Image Source: Andre Montana

Precision followed him into his new world, now layered with soul. “The pieces do not just perform; they express. That is the most meaningful evolution of design, when it becomes a bridge between form, function, and feeling.”

His frames are more than accessories. They are architecture: bold, sculptural, alive.

I posed a thought: eyewear is often treated as an afterthought, yet his pieces feel like miniature buildings. Is it structure, emotion, or the dance between the two?

“For me, it is always that perfect dance,” he said. “Eyewear may be small in scale, yet it holds immense power. It can sharpen presence, soften mood, protect both physically and psychologically, or declare confidence within seconds.”

That impact demands both structure and emotion. Engineering grants longevity; emotion gives life.

“A frame is not decoration or vanity. It is identity.”

Image Source: Andre Montana

Reverence guides every choice, especially where integrity is scarce in fashion. I asked what true integrity in design looks like to him.

“Integrity begins with respect,” he said. “For craft, for materials, and most of all, for the person who will wear the piece. It means choosing the harder path, sourcing the best components, working with people who care, and taking time to perfect even what no one sees.”

He smiled quietly. “Integrity is often invisible until it is not. You feel it in the finish, in the balance, in how something lasts.”

Timelessness is not theory for Andre. It lives in a gift from his grandfather: a pair of 1950s Morez artisan frames. Acetate, tortoiseshell, gold filigree. Worn, weathered, unforgettable.

“I had no idea what I held in my hands,” he recalled. “But I felt something shift. This was not just eyewear; it was architecture, history, personality. That moment awakened my design eye completely.”

Since then, vintage is not “old.” It is alive.

This inner compass guides his balance between restraint and richness. How does he know when a frame needs a gemstone, or none at all?

“It is a feeling more than a formula,” he said. “Each frame has its own rhythm. Sometimes the silhouette speaks so clearly that adding anything would dilute it. Other times, a gemstone adds poetry, a quiet spark of character.”

He favors Lightning Ridge black opals, rare and ancient.

“They hold galaxies,” he told me. “They whisper to the wearer alone. I am not interested in perfection that looks mass-produced. I want soul.”

That commitment extends to his most accessible designs. Korean-made frames, plated in twenty-four-karat gold, serve as entry pieces but never dilute the brand.

“True luxury is not excess,” he said. “It is integrity of process. An entry piece is an invitation. Our frames are built to last at any price. Quality is not a tier; it is a value.”

Each frame, even entry level, requires ninety-five hours and nine master artisans across a precise three-hundred-fifty-step system. The gold is principle, not flourish.

Image Source: Andre Montana

Not every design is released. Some remain private, one-of-one creations.

“Some designs feel like fragments of dreams,” he said. “They are not meant to be shared, at least not yet. Others feel like they are speaking through me, meant to be worn, seen, cherished.”

Restraint, the choice to keep work hidden, may be the most luxurious act.

Whispers of what is next surface: sculptural, ceremonial, cinematic. “Some designs feel like memories,” he said. “Maybe I am making them for a future self or someone I will never meet, but who will feel seen when they wear it.”

What would he tell those building slow, meaningful, personal work in a world that rewards noise?

“Protect your creative pace like it is sacred,” he said. “Slowness is not hesitation. It is precision. It is how things last. Work made with care carries a different energy, people feel it even if they cannot name it.”

Andre Montana’s frames are more than fashion. They are modern heirlooms, built in reverence for craft, character, and quiet confidence that never needs to shout.

Some things like stardust, silence, and soul are only visible to those willing to truly look.