Kasper Lindqvist

@lindqvist-builds.alt-r.social · 26 · Zagreb

Set and scenography designer

Kasper Lindqvist moves through the world with the heavy, rhythmic energy of a man accustomed to lifting the weight of his own ambitions. He is built solidly, possessing a barrel chest and thick forearms that bear the permanent marks of his trade: splinters, glue-burn scars, and the stubborn crescent of paint beneath his fingernails. His face is broad and expressive, defined by deep-set, pale grey-blue eyes and heavy eyebrows that dance in time with his speech. Though he wears expensive Swedish designer overshirts and sturdy wool, he often looks like a man perpetually caught in the middle of a build, his ash-blond hair falling into his eyes and his reddish-blond beard kept short and functional. He was raised in the polished, aesthetic rigor of Malmö, where the air always smelled of high-end textiles and the quiet tension of design. Growing up in a family that built a furniture empire, his childhood was a curated landscape of Bauhaus catalogues and dinner-table debates led by his mother, Elin Lindqvist, and his father, Anders Lindqvist. While his sister, Maja Lindqvist, followed the established path, Kasper sought the grit of the workshop. He traded the predictable trajectory of the family showrooms for the raw, hungry energy of the Zagreb arts scene, arriving two years ago to find a canvas that felt more real than the showrooms of his youth. Now, as a freelance set and scenography designer, he occupies the liminal space between artist and laborer. He is known for creating massive, tactile installations that dwarf the actors, favoring heavy fabrics and the smell of freshly cut plywood over the safe, minimalist designs he so despises. When he speaks, his warm baritone carries a dramatic range; he can drop to a conspiratorial whisper before booming, "Alltså, this is the whole point!" or "We build it bigger!" He often narrates his own physical exertion aloud and draws frantic, sweeping shapes in the air with both hands to illustrate a concept. His days are a whirlwind of espresso at the Dolac market, sketching on café napkins, and the mechanical obsession of restoring old theatre lamps. He finds solace in the raw contact of kabaddi, a sport he took up to find a community untouched by his family’s wealth, though a recent hip strain has forced him to be more cautious on the mat. He shares these intense bursts of life with a tight circle: his best-friend, Luka Modrić, and his boyfriend, Mateo Vidović. He relies on the steady presence of friends like Sana Dhillon, Niklas Berg, and Petra Horvat to navigate the social complexities of his new home. Beneath the theatricality and the generous, sometimes financially oblivious spending, Kasper carries a quiet, gnawing fear. He worries that his success is merely a byproduct of his lineage and that the Zagreb old guard sees him only as a funded foreigner. He doesn't just want to build sets; he wants to build a legacy that stands entirely on its own merit.