The Story of isca objects

isca objects began as a natural extension of our family life — a reflection of the way we live, travel, collect, and create together. As parents to two children, Ilya and Sascha, our home has always been shaped by the things we bring into it: pieces discovered on the road, objects made by hand, works we’ve fallen in love with at first sight.

Ardeshir is an artist, and Claire works in the world of commercial creative strategy — two perspectives that meet in a shared love of meaningful design. We are drawn to objects with stories: items that carry history, craft, or personality. Things we live with because they resonate with us, not simply because they fill a space.

The name isca comes from the first letters of our family’s names: Ilya, Sascha, Claire, and Ardeshir. At its core, this is a family project — rooted in curiosity, care, and a genuine appreciation for the beauty found in both art and everyday life.

We’re so glad you’re here. Our hope is that you discover something that speaks to you — something with a story you want to bring into your own world.

Cheers to the journey ahead.

Looking without Filters - Portugal

On this trip to Portugal, I found myself seeing objects differently. What struck me most was how open the experience felt — how free it was from the filters I’m used to in the fine art world. Usually, our perception of art is shaped, quietly but powerfully, by galleries, collectors, institutions, and the narratives that build up around certain names. We like to imagine we’re looking with neutral eyes, but often we’re not. Our understanding has already been framed for us.

In Portugal, I was looking at ceramics — tiles, bowls, plates — simply for what they were. No provenance to decipher. No reputation to influence meaning. Just objects. Honest and beautiful.

One of the pieces we brought home was a double tile. At first it reminded me of the post-impressionist works I studied in museums, but what captivated me wasn’t its resemblance to art history — it was its life. The marks of time. The quiet journey it had taken. The sense that it had lived in the world, passing through hands and homes. That kind of value isn’t assigned, it accumulates. It becomes valuable because it tells a story about where we come from — and, unexpectedly, something about where I am in my own practice.

I realized that even in objects made for everyday use — pieces created to be sold, handled, and perhaps forgotten — there is always an imprint of the maker. When something is crafted with care, you can feel the hand behind it. The decisions. The attention. The desire to make something that holds meaning. An object can exist as a product, yes — but it can also carry someone’s need to create, to leave a trace of themselves in the world.

As an artist, that duality resonates deeply. Though my work moves through galleries and collectors, the core impulse has always been the same: the need to make something that expresses where I am in the world. The market comes later. The making comes first.

All of Portugal seemed to echo this. Ceramics everywhere — on church facades, in antique shops, in flea markets, on the walls of Airbnbs. Even the Chinese porcelain at a street stall was telling a story about cultural exchange, local taste, and why certain things are made in certain places. Every object, whether celebrated or overlooked, was part of a larger narrative.

And that’s what I took away: the beauty of looking without hype, without filters. Just objects — carrying history, craft, and the imprint of human creativity.

Till next time.