Beyond the Tiles – a reflection of Lisbon’s Tile Museum
- Linda Den Otter
- Jun 3
- 3 min read
Updated: Jun 4

Beyond the Tiles – A Sensory Reflection on Lisbon’s Tile Museum
Lisbon greeted us with its typical warmth—both from the sun and its streets. Before entering the museum, we were drawn to one of the many benches scattered across the city. It’s something you notice in Lisbon: there’s always a place to pause.
Have you ever thought about that? Historically, benches in cities were gifts from the wealthy to the public—places of rest, protection from the elements, and social goodwill. But they were also public relations gestures. A silent message: We care, we offer comfort. It’s beautiful and strategic at once.
The Entrance – Between Heritage and Modernity
The entrance to the Museu Nacional do Azulejo is stunning—old stone walls, a clear path, palms swaying above. But once inside, a surprise awaits: a sleek, modern lobby that contrasts with the outside.
That contrast immediately sets the tone. It reminds us how first impressions in spaces—just like in branding—can be shaped by tension and surprise.
Tiles, Stories, and Sensory Saturation
Room after room unfolds with tiled art—azulejos in every imaginable style and story. It’s rich and impressive. But before long, I felt full. Visually overstimulated. Many visitors experience the same: a sensory plateau. But are not aware of their physcial sensations. It reminds me that designing experiences means knowing how much is enough. Not everything needs to be shown all at once. Sometimes, space and silence are part of the story. So i was looking for a resting space, fresh air, a place to pause, in order to receive other stimuli that stimulates my parasympathical system.

Architecture That Frames Experience—And Restricts It
Leaving the main exhibition route, I explored further. The corridors and arches led me to a stunning inner courtyard. A cloister garden. Serene, symmetrical—and completely inaccessible. A thick pane of glass stood between me and the experience.
Upstairs, the balustrades were also closed off. The museum invites, but restricts. It made me think about how brands often do the same. They present, but they don’t always let people in.

The Church as Master of Light and Emotion
One of the most powerful parts of the museum is the former church. The way light enters the nave—subtle, sacred, intentional—is breathtaking.
The architecture tells a story. Darkness leads you forward, guiding your eye and spirit to the altar. A single dome lets in the sun. It’s more than beautiful—it’s designed to make you feel. Centuries ago, this was user experience design at its finest.

Café & Garden – A Break from the Spell
We ended the visit in the museum café. It tried to mimic the convent’s original kitchen—with copper pans and historic details—but the illusion was broken by plastic bottles and a laminated menu.
Outside in the garden, the seating area invited rest—but was entirely covered by cloth shades. No view of the sky. No sunlight. Just filtered light and quiet.
Comfortable? Yes.
But something essential was missing. Light is more than design—it’s vital for our emotional well-being.
When we lose natural light, we lose a piece of our connection to place, time, and ourselves. We have not given a choise at all to look for shelter. This lack of autonomy wheater it's about entering a cloisteryard or looking for a shelter for the sunlight is crucial for peoples well-being.

Light, Breath, and the Power of Experience
This museum is stunning. The collection is vast, the history deep.
But what I will remember is the places I could see, but not touch.
A promise made but blocked to sense.
And that made me reflect:
In designing spaces—whether for art or for brands—light, air, and access are not extras.
They are essential to sensory experience.
They are what people remember.
They remember autonomy, having a choise and possibilities. This is what a space needs to breath. And this is my mission; brands offering healthy breathing spaces.

Comments