Naser Nasiri

Since my childhood, I have been deeply fascinated by visual storytelling—how images can sometimes convey more meaning than words. Growing up surrounded by books, posters, and visuals, I often wondered, “Who creates these?” This curiosity evolved into passion and later transformed into my career path. At first, graphic design felt like an enigmatic world. There was no clear understanding of how it worked, and no access to it. But I instinctively felt how powerful a designer’s hand must be to create such impactful posters. Back then, computers weren’t involved in the process—everything was done manually, which added a sense of magic to it. We used all available materials—collage, handwriting, painting, illustration, and photography—to create designs by hand. This process of mixing elements and breaking visual norms was both joyful and liberating. It expanded the limits of our imagination, encouraged creative thinking, and fundamentally changed how we interacted with the world around us. It even altered our personal behavior, giving us a new way to engage with our environment. As time passed, I found my voice in cultural graphic design, especially in publishing, poster design, and international exhibitions. My growth was shaped by both formal education and hands-on experience. Participating in major cultural events and leading the visual identity design for important institutions deeply impacted my journey. For me, design is more than just a profession—it is a way to engage in dialogue with society and the world.

After completing my undergraduate studies, I immediately began working professionally in the design field. My early career was shaped by collaborations with media production studios, particularly those focused on content creation for CDs, which were immensely popular during that time. I was involved in a range of projects including packaging, title sequences for short documentaries, posters, and more. While working with studios, I also started taking on personal commissions, especially those that aligned with my passion for culture, art, book cover design, and cinema. These personal projects gradually grew in both scale and significance, and after a few years, I made the decision to leave the studio environment. I chose to work independently from home, allowing me more creative freedom and flexibility in how I approached my projects. In 2004, I officially founded my own design studio. The work I did under my studio's name was deeply rooted in my personal signature style, and I began to focus primarily on book design, poster art, film title sequences, and visual identities for festivals and exhibitions. Over time, my reputation grew within the cultural and artistic communities, and both my name and my studio became recognized for the unique, thoughtful, and culturally engaged designs we produced. Today, I am proud of the journey my studio has gone through and the connections it has made. The work I’ve done continues to influence and inspire, as it touches on the intersections of art, culture, and storytelling.

For me, design is much more than just the creation of something visually appealing—it’s a dynamic, evolving process that challenges me to break away from existing structures and push boundaries. Design allows me to explore new possibilities, experiment, and express ideas in endless creative ways. However, this creativity must always be purposeful and guided. It is not just about innovation for the sake of it, but about creating value. Whether it’s cultural, social, or economic, the design must communicate clearly with the audience and serve a purpose. At its core, design is problem-solving. It is about addressing a need, whether aesthetic or functional, and finding the most effective way to communicate a message to the world. For me, this involves understanding the context and translating complex ideas into something that is visually accessible and meaningful. It's a continuous journey of learning, evolving, and shaping the world around us through creative solutions.

I have always had a deep passion for designing book covers, particularly in the realms of poetry, literature, and psychology. Designing covers for novels, especially translations, is where I truly find joy. Over the years, I’ve designed more than 500 covers, and this area remains my primary focus. Another area close to my heart is music. Designing posters for concerts, festivals, and album covers, as well as creating stage setups for music performances—whether solo, group, or vocal—gives me a sense of fulfillment. Finally, cinema is a major passion for me. Designing opening credits for films, posters, and promotional materials related to movies is something I find both exciting and challenging. I have had the honor of working with some of the brightest talents in Iran’s music and cinema industries for over 25 years, and these experiences continue to inspire and shape my creative journey.

One of my favorite designs is, and has always been, the design of book covers, particularly for poetry, novels, and translations of classic world literature. This type of design allows me to fully immerse myself in the deep meanings and concepts of the text while creating a visual representation that enhances the reader's emotional connection to the book. It’s more than just a graphic challenge; it’s an opportunity to continuously merge creative expression with text that holds a vast world of emotions and stories. Music posters also hold a special place in my heart. The abstract nature of music gives me the freedom to explore various interpretations in design. It allows me to break away from rigid meanings while still conveying the intended emotion or concept. The historical and stylistic research required for such designs excites me. It helps deepen my understanding of the cultural context, which informs my approach and enriches the creative process.

The very first design I created for a company was for a trading firm called C.D.H.O, a project that dates back nearly 30 years. This company specialized in producing specialized motors for electrical companies. The design work included a business card, an A4 bi-fold catalog, and a metallic plaque with their logo and essential company information. This plaque was not just a visual design; it was engraved and attached to the company’s products. It was an exciting and memorable experience, as it was the first time my design was integrated into a physical industrial product, making it a significant milestone in my early career.

I still have a strong affinity for traditional, physical materials—paper, scissors, handwritten elements, printed photos, textile textures, and real-world objects. Even though the final output is often digital, I always begin my creative process in a tactile, hands-on manner. The digital world has incredible possibilities, but I prefer to combine these with the authentic experience of working with real materials. Techniques such as collage, handwriting, and blending photography with graphic elements allow me to create designs that are more personal, expressive, and human.

For me, creativity is deeply tied to the environment and freedom granted by each project. When I work on subjects like poetry, music, or literature, inspiration flows more naturally because these topics are inherently abstract and open to a multitude of interpretations. They allow me to move beyond straightforward, literal meanings and explore complex, emotional, and visual connections. Another significant factor is the relationship with the client. A client who understands the design process, is aware of current trends, and is open to fresh, bold ideas can be a game-changer. When the client is engaged, the project feels like a collaboration, and that sense of partnership fuels my creativity even further. In addition, the tools and techniques I use play an essential role. I often experiment with multiple approaches—combining traditional materials like hand-drawn elements and photography with digital techniques, mixing textures and creating a sense of tactile depth, even in digital formats. This allows me to keep the process organic while delivering something innovative and precise. Ultimately, it’s the balance of freedom, trust, and the richness of the subject that creates the perfect conditions for creativity to thrive. When I have the space to explore and the right context to innovate, my creativity not only flows; it deepens and expands.

In my design process, my primary focus is always on the illustration. Visual imagery holds the most power for me because it is a universal language—its impact is immediate, without the need for translation. An image connects instinctively and emotionally with the viewer. This characteristic places illustration at the heart of my design approach. Once the visual concept is established, I shift my attention to typography. For me, typography is not just a tool for readability, but it is a key element that complements the meaning of the illustration. However, the image always comes first, guiding the choice and style of the typeface. Typography must align with and elevate the visual narrative. Finally, composition becomes essential. I carefully balance all elements—illustration, typography, and any other components—ensuring that they come together in a meaningful way. The flow, rhythm, and harmony between these elements must be visually engaging while maintaining clarity. Composition is the glue that binds the concept into a cohesive, effective design. My goal is always to create a space where each element works in harmony, enhancing the overall message and impact.

I see! You’re asking for a much more detailed, expanded response. Let me rework the answer and expand on the emotional experience, tying it to your creative approaches, techniques, and the deeper processes behind your work. Here’s a more elaborate response: When I embark on a design project, the emotional experience is not just a fleeting feeling, but a profound journey that intertwines deeply with the very essence of the design process. For me, design is an intimate conversation between myself and my work. It starts from the very first moment I analyze the brief and consider how I can translate the concept into a visual language that resonates with the audience. This internal dialogue often triggers a wide array of emotions, each reflective of the stage of the design process I’m in. At the onset, I feel a sense of excitement and curiosity. This initial stage is where the creative potential is vast, and the challenge lies in selecting the right approach and finding a meaningful direction for the design. There’s a rush of inspiration when the concept clicks and I can visualize how the final outcome will unfold. It’s a feeling that brings joy, as I realize I’m able to tap into new ideas and experiment with them, pushing my boundaries as a designer. However, as the process progresses, I encounter moments of frustration. These tend to arise when I feel that something is missing, or the concept isn’t fully translating as expected. It's not uncommon for me to feel uncertain, particularly when I have to make difficult decisions or confront challenges that require stepping outside of my comfort zone. Sometimes, this frustration leads to a moment of introspection, questioning whether my skills are enough to solve the problem at hand. In those moments, I have to remind myself that learning, adapting, and growing are intrinsic to the creative journey. This is where my commitment to learning new tools, techniques, or pushing myself into unknown territory comes into play. As the design starts to come together, there’s a shift in my emotions from frustration to hopefulness. I begin to see the pieces align, and I feel a sense of calm as the work takes shape. It's almost like watching an idea manifest from the intangible into something tangible, and that transformation evokes a profound sense of fulfillment. This is the moment where my creative process feels most rewarding—when the design starts to feel true to its purpose, and I can clearly see how it communicates the intended message. And then, as I finalize the design, I often feel a deep sense of accomplishment mixed with a hint of nervousness. Will it resonate with others? Will it convey the right emotion or message? I always try to look at the work through the lens of the audience, considering how they will interpret it and whether it serves its purpose. There’s always a moment of reflection before I release the design into the world, and in that moment, I feel a unique blend of pride and anxiety. Ultimately, the emotional landscape of design for me is about balancing the excitement of discovery with the frustrations of problem-solving and the satisfaction of creative achievement. It's a deeply personal process, one that constantly evolves as I learn and grow with each project. In many ways, design is more than just a job or profession—it’s a mirror, reflecting both my creative self and the world around me, which continues to challenge and inspire me.

When my designs are realized and come to life, the emotions I experience are deeply multifaceted and layered. It's more than just seeing my work published or displayed; it's about the realization of an idea that existed only in my mind, now manifest in the tangible world. The design, at that point, transforms from a solitary creation into something that exists in a broader context. It’s integrated into a space, a shared human experience, and becomes part of the visual culture that others interact with. I feel immense pride, but also a profound sense of responsibility. This feeling of pride stems from the work that was created with intention and care, knowing that it has now contributed something valuable to the world. It’s satisfying to see the design work its magic, whether it’s stirring emotions in people, sparking conversations, or simply being admired for its beauty. Yet, with this pride comes a commitment to the idea that my work will impact others in ways I might not even be able to fully comprehend. When people interact with the design—whether they interpret it, critique it, or simply enjoy it—it’s like witnessing the birth of something new: the birth of meaning, of presence, of impact. In this moment, I feel a sense of humility, understanding that my design is no longer mine alone. It has entered the collective consciousness and is now part of the broader cultural landscape, influencing and being shaped by those who encounter it. This realization reminds me that as a designer, I hold a responsibility. My work doesn't just exist in isolation—it plays a part in shaping how people perceive and interact with the world. It becomes a vessel for ideas, emotions, and stories, something that others can connect with and relate to. This mix of emotions—pride, responsibility, humility, and inspiration—are what I experience when my designs come to life, reminding me of the significant role design plays in our lives and cultures.

Absolutely! I'll make sure to tailor each answer with more details, aligned with your approach, visual sensibility, and cultural sensitivities. Let's take the previous question as an example and expand it to reflect your mindset and approach in design: **12. What makes a design successful?** For me, the success of a design transcends aesthetics and technical execution; it hinges on how deeply it resonates within the cultural, social, and emotional context of its audience. It's not enough for a design to simply look good or be trendy—it must communicate something that stirs people at a deeper, personal level. To create something that truly speaks to people, I pay close attention to the cultural narrative, the shared memories, and the collective emotions of the audience I’m addressing. It’s about forging a connection that is meaningful and grounded in the values that the target group holds dear. The success of a design is also in how it challenges the viewer to think, feel, and engage with the message it carries. It must strike a balance between the emotional and intellectual, evoking not only an instinctual reaction but also sparking a deeper reflection on the subject at hand. Whether it's the nostalgic emotions stirred by a visual element, or the new interpretation it brings to familiar cultural symbols, the design should tap into something fundamental. Visually, it must appeal—capturing attention at a glance while offering enough depth for sustained engagement. A successful design is modern and sophisticated, yet timeless in its ability to convey its message. It cannot be static or formulaic; it must innovate, even in the simplest of ways. The use of typography, color, and imagery must come together cohesively, guiding the viewer’s eye and drawing them into a dynamic conversation between the work and its audience. Finally, success is not solely about individual interpretation, but how the design weaves itself into the larger cultural conversation. It must serve a larger purpose, whether economic, cultural, or social. It is this multi-layered approach—culturally grounded, emotionally engaging, and intellectually stimulating—that defines true success in design for me.

When judging a design, my first consideration is the level of creativity. I want to see something new, something that challenges the status quo. Innovation is key—it’s not enough for a design to be derivative or rehash familiar ideas. It should have a fresh perspective, an approach that feels distinct and forward-thinking. Next, I assess how well the design communicates its intended message. A design should not only be visually appealing, but it must also effectively convey its purpose, whether it’s a product, a concept, or an emotion. This requires careful attention to the design’s ability to speak to its audience, creating a connection that resonates on an emotional or intellectual level. If the design feels distant or unclear in its communication, then it’s missing the mark, regardless of its aesthetic value. The technical elements also play a significant role. Composition—the arrangement of elements in the design—needs to be harmonious and purposeful. There should be balance, rhythm, and alignment that guide the viewer’s eye and enhance the overall impact. The use of color is equally important, as it sets the mood, influences perception, and often serves as the emotional undercurrent of the design. Colors should not only be aesthetically pleasing but should also serve the purpose of the design and its message. Proportions are another key technical consideration. The scale of elements, the spacing, and the relationship between them need to create a visual harmony that feels natural and balanced. If something feels disproportionate or off-balance, it disrupts the viewer's experience, even if the design is conceptually strong. Ultimately, the true test of a design’s success is whether it evokes an emotional response. A well-designed piece should leave an impression that lingers. Whether that’s joy, curiosity, awe, or contemplation, the design should stir something in the viewer. A design that just looks good but fails to make an emotional connection is, to me, incomplete. It’s not enough for a design to be beautiful—it must also be meaningful, impactful, and capable of engaging with the audience on a deeper level. Only then does it become a truly successful design.

From my perspective, the responsibilities of a designer toward society and the environment extend far beyond simply creating aesthetically pleasing visuals. A designer holds a powerful influence over the way people perceive the world and interact with their surroundings. This responsibility can be viewed through several lenses, each of which plays a crucial role in shaping the broader cultural, social, and environmental landscapes. **1. Elevating Visual Literacy:** One of the most fundamental responsibilities a designer has is to help elevate the visual literacy of society. The design is not only about creating something visually appealing but also about nurturing and enhancing the audience’s ability to understand and interpret visual language. A designer shapes how people understand the world visually and communicates complex ideas in a simple, engaging, and insightful way. Through thoughtful design, the designer has the power to expand the visual vocabulary of society, allowing people to process and interact with their environment more thoughtfully. Design can educate, inform, and challenge people’s preconceptions. It can lead to more critical thinking about visual stimuli and cultivate a deeper appreciation for artistic expression and cultural representations. When designs are not just pleasing to the eye but are also rich in meaning and context, they enrich society’s collective visual knowledge. **2. Fostering Communication and Accessibility:** A designer’s role also involves advancing communication—particularly visual communication—so that messages are not only beautiful but also clearly understood by a wide audience. This is especially important in today’s diverse and interconnected world, where effective communication across different cultures, languages, and mediums is essential. Designers have a responsibility to ensure that their creations are accessible to people from all walks of life, including those with different levels of literacy, cognitive abilities, and visual impairments. By adhering to principles of universal design, such as clarity, simplicity, and inclusivity, designers can create works that bridge cultural and social divides, ensuring that their messages are accessible and easily comprehended by everyone. The design should not alienate or confuse; rather, it should facilitate a seamless and impactful understanding. Whether through public information campaigns, educational tools, or cultural narratives, a designer plays an essential role in making information accessible and understandable. **3. Cultural Growth and Global Dialogue:** Design has the power to influence cultural development. A designer is tasked with aligning their visual language with the social and cultural contexts of their time, while also contributing to the global dialogue. A well-crafted design can act as a bridge between cultures, enabling the exchange of ideas, values, and aesthetics across borders. Designers must be mindful of their cultural context and ensure that their work respects and reflects the diverse experiences and perspectives of the communities they serve. At the same time, they must create designs that are adaptable to the globalized nature of modern society. This means that a designer should be aware of cultural sensitivities and trends, ensuring that their work resonates with local audiences while remaining relevant on an international scale. When design effectively integrates local traditions with global influences, it helps foster cross-cultural understanding and respect. A designer, therefore, has a unique opportunity to shape the cultural narrative, both locally and globally. **4. Social Responsibility and Ethical Considerations:** Designers also carry a significant ethical responsibility. They influence public opinion, shape behaviors, and contribute to social movements. With this power comes the responsibility to use design as a tool for positive change. Designers should avoid promoting harmful stereotypes, falsehoods, or exploitative practices. They should instead focus on promoting social justice, equality, sustainability, and ethical consumption. Design can help raise awareness about social and environmental issues, whether through campaigns that promote sustainability, challenge inequality, or highlight urgent global problems such as climate change. A designer’s work can be a catalyst for social transformation, encouraging people to think critically about the world around them and take action in meaningful ways. **5. Environmental Responsibility:** In the contemporary world, designers also have a responsibility to the environment. As the world grapples with the challenges of climate change, resource depletion, and environmental degradation, designers must be conscious of the impact their work has on the planet. This involves adopting sustainable design practices that minimize waste, reduce carbon footprints, and promote eco-friendly materials and processes. Designers should consider the entire lifecycle of their work, from production to disposal, ensuring that their creations do not contribute to environmental harm. By embracing eco-friendly practices, such as using recyclable materials, reducing ink and energy consumption, and promoting designs that encourage environmental awareness, designers can make a tangible difference in the fight for a more sustainable future. Design can act as a vehicle for spreading environmental consciousness and encouraging more responsible consumption. **6. Promoting Mental and Emotional Well-being:** Finally, design has a significant role to play in promoting mental and emotional well-being. The visual environment we are immersed in daily can have a profound impact on our emotions, attitudes, and overall state of mind. Whether it's the calming nature of a well-designed space, the inspiration sparked by a piece of art, or the sense of belonging fostered by a community-driven design project, the impact of design on mental health is undeniable. Designers have the opportunity to create environments and visuals that nurture well-being. They can design spaces that promote relaxation, productivity, and mental clarity, or visuals that evoke positive emotions and foster a sense of hope and connection. By focusing on the psychological effects of design, designers can contribute to a healthier, more balanced society. **Conclusion:** In conclusion, a designer’s responsibility is multifaceted and far-reaching. Designers do not work in isolation; they are an integral part of a larger societal framework. Their work shapes public perception, facilitates communication, fosters cultural exchange, and can promote both social and environmental good. By approaching design with a deep sense of ethical responsibility, cultural awareness, and a commitment to sustainability, designers can use their craft to make a meaningful and lasting impact on society and the environment. The impact of design extends beyond the visual—it shapes the way people think, feel, and interact with their world. It is not just about making things look good; it is about creating works that resonate with purpose, foster understanding, and contribute to the greater good.

The field of design, like every other creative domain, is in a constant state of evolution, adapting not only to technological advances but also to the changing societal and cultural needs that shape our world. Design is deeply intertwined with human emotion, and since our emotional experiences are complex and continually evolving, the tools and approaches designers use to communicate and create must also evolve. **The Shifting Landscape of Design:** Design is moving beyond its traditional role of aesthetic enhancement to become an integral part of user experience, culture, and communication. In the past, design was often seen as a tool for advertising and branding, primarily concerned with making things look good. Today, however, design has expanded into an all-encompassing process that shapes how we interact with the world around us. From how products are developed to how information is shared and understood, design is becoming more strategic and deeply embedded in all aspects of life. As the world becomes more interconnected through technology, design is increasingly focused on creating experiences that bridge physical and digital realities. The rise of digital interfaces, virtual and augmented reality, and immersive experiences have expanded the definition of design beyond print and product design to include spaces, interactions, and even entire ecosystems of user experiences. The shift towards this type of design requires not just technical skills but also empathy and a deep understanding of human behaviors and emotions. Designing for such diverse environments demands innovation that is both emotionally intelligent and technologically informed. **Technology and the Role of Artificial Intelligence in Design:** As we look towards the future, technology, particularly artificial intelligence, is playing an increasingly significant role in the evolution of design. There is a common fear that AI might replace human designers, but in my view, this concern is largely unfounded. AI is an incredibly powerful tool that, when harnessed correctly, can enhance the design process by automating repetitive tasks and speeding up time-consuming processes, thus allowing designers more time to focus on creativity and emotional connection. Rather than fearing AI as a threat, I believe we should embrace it as a new partner. AI can help streamline the early stages of the design process, offering countless options and iterations quickly and efficiently. This allows designers to explore more creative solutions, refine their ideas, and focus on deeper emotional resonance with the target audience. For example, AI tools that assist with generating design concepts, predicting trends, and automating certain technical aspects of design free up time for human designers to focus on conceptualizing more meaningful and impactful visuals. Furthermore, AI can assist in tailoring designs to specific audiences, using data and insights to create designs that resonate more deeply with the people who will engage with them. The role of the designer will not diminish but rather evolve into a more dynamic and creative one, where technology is used as an assistant to achieve higher levels of innovation. **The Role of Sustainability and Ethics in Design:** As global challenges such as climate change and resource depletion become more urgent, sustainability will increasingly shape the future of design. Designers are in a unique position to drive change by advocating for sustainable practices and creating designs that are both eco-friendly and ethically responsible. Whether it’s through reducing waste in production, using sustainable materials, or designing with energy efficiency in mind, the future of design will need to prioritize environmental consciousness. Moreover, the ethical considerations surrounding design will play a more prominent role in shaping the future. Designers have the ability to influence opinions, shape behaviors, and contribute to societal well-being. It is therefore crucial that designs foster inclusivity, accessibility, and social justice. In a world where social and political issues are more transparent and urgent, designers will need to consider the broader impact of their work on communities, culture, and the environment. This goes beyond aesthetics to incorporate values that address the issues of inequality, representation, and diversity. **Collaboration and Cross-Disciplinary Innovation:** Another trend I see in the future of design is an increased emphasis on collaboration across disciplines. Design is no longer seen as an isolated field, but rather as one that works closely with technology, business, psychology, and social sciences to create solutions that are not just visually appealing but also practical, functional, and socially responsible. For instance, designers may work alongside engineers to develop products that are not only user-friendly but also sustainably produced. Similarly, partnerships with psychologists and neuroscientists can help design interfaces and experiences that cater to the cognitive and emotional needs of users. **Design as a Tool for Social Change:** Looking to the future, design will play an increasingly central role in addressing social issues and improving quality of life. Designers are not just creating advertisements or branding materials; they are increasingly tasked with creating powerful visual messages and campaigns that raise awareness and foster positive social change. Whether addressing issues like climate change, racial inequality, or mental health awareness, designers will continue to use their craft to amplify voices, create dialogue, and drive collective action. The future of design is about more than just making things look beautiful. It is about crafting experiences that are meaningful, impactful, and designed with purpose. As society continues to evolve, the designer's role will shift from merely providing visual solutions to shaping how people perceive the world, engage with new technologies, and address the critical challenges of our time. In conclusion, the design field is evolving into a dynamic and multidisciplinary realm where technology, creativity, culture, and social responsibility intersect. The future of design is one where collaboration, empathy, and ethical considerations will drive innovation. By embracing new tools like AI, adopting sustainable practices, and contributing to social change, designers will shape a world that is not only visually engaging but also emotionally connected, inclusive, and responsible. Design will continue to be a force that mirrors, adapts to, and drives forward societal transformation.

My last exhibition took place in Tabriz, Iran, on World Graphic Design Day. It celebrated the global significance of graphic design, where I showcased three of my posters alongside works from other renowned Iranian designers. This event allowed me to engage with a diverse audience and highlight the role of design in contemporary society. Before that, I participated in an exhibition in Tehran at the House of Artists, titled "Jashn Tasvir-e-Sal Iran" (The Celebration of the Image Year in Iran), which focused on the evolution of Iranian design and national identity. Looking ahead, my next exhibition, "Peykan Nameh," will explore the cultural significance of the iconic Iranian car, the Peykan, and the emotional and historical connections Iranians have with it through graphic design. I regularly participate in exhibitions both locally and internationally, as they are a vital part of my ongoing creative development and engagement with global design trends.

My design inspiration is deeply rooted in poetry and literature. Poetry, in particular, has a powerful ability to transcend boundaries and unlock abstract thinking. It teaches me how to interpret silence, ambiguity, and rhythm—qualities that I often translate into visual language. I don't just read poems; I visualize them, listen to their hidden structure, and allow their emotional depth to guide my design decisions. In addition to poetry, my personal life experiences play a major role in shaping my creative process. Traveling, interacting with different people, and immersing myself in unfamiliar cultures offer me new perspectives. These experiences enrich my visual vocabulary and constantly challenge my assumptions about form, meaning, and communication. Even the simple act of walking through a city and observing signage, graffiti, or colors in the environment can spark ideas. Much of my inspiration also comes from working on social and cultural projects. As someone who has collaborated with book publishers, cultural festivals, and international poster exhibitions, I often engage with themes that deal with real-world issues—war, identity, justice, childhood, and collective memory. These themes push me beyond surface aesthetics and into more reflective, responsible design. My role as a designer becomes a form of visual storytelling with emotional and political weight. Historically, I am influenced by modern art movements like Dadaism, Russian Constructivism, and Conceptual Art. These schools taught me that design can be expressive, subversive, and intellectually provocative. I draw from techniques such as collage, typographic experimentation, and minimalist composition when appropriate. I'm especially drawn to contrasts—between order and chaos, clarity and ambiguity, past and present. Another important source of inspiration is teaching and interacting with younger designers. I’ve led poster design workshops at universities, where students explored complex themes like early marriage, the influence of digital games on children, and social isolation. Their raw, unfiltered creativity fuels me. It reminds me that design is a constantly evolving language, one that must adapt, question, and respond to the world. Finally, solitude is essential. Some of my best ideas come in moments of stillness and reflection. In those quiet spaces, I listen to my inner voice and allow subconscious connections to emerge. These insights often become the conceptual foundation for new projects. In essence, my creativity is nourished by a fusion of poetic sensibility, lived experience, social engagement, historical awareness, collaborative exchange, and personal introspection. This holistic approach allows me to create designs that are not only visually compelling but also intellectually and emotionally resonant.

My design style is intentionally fluid—responsive rather than rigid—because I don’t believe in locking myself into a single aesthetic language. I see design as a living form of communication, and like language itself, it should evolve with context, purpose, and audience. Over the years, I’ve worked across a broad spectrum of cultural, social, and political subjects—from book covers and museum branding to international humanitarian poster festivals. Each of these experiences has shaped my design instincts differently. That said, there are strong threads that run through my work. Emotion and meaning always come first. Whether I’m creating a poetic book cover or a poster addressing war or social justice, I strive to balance visual impact with conceptual depth. My background in literature and my fascination with poetry have trained me to work with metaphors, fragmentation, and ambiguity. These often show up in my work as typographic tension, asymmetry, or purposeful visual silence. Typography plays a central role in my visual identity. I frequently use it not only as a tool for clarity but as a poetic and expressive element in itself. I might distort or deconstruct type to reflect a feeling of rupture or ambiguity, or allow a single word to dominate the space like a whispered protest or an emotional anchor. This sensitivity to form and content often results in minimalist compositions layered with emotional and cultural complexity. The flexibility of my style comes from my practice of research and immersion. I try to let each project teach me something, rather than imposing a personal aesthetic onto it. I explore different visual strategies depending on the subject—sometimes bold, raw, and direct, other times quiet and intimate. This adaptability has helped me work with diverse audiences, from intellectual readers of literary books to general public viewers of socially-driven exhibitions. Teaching and mentoring students in poster workshops has also influenced my style. Being surrounded by emerging designers reminds me that design is not just a craft but also a kind of dialogue—between generations, mediums, and cultures. It keeps me questioning, experimenting, and staying open. Ultimately, I see design as a form of cultural and emotional translation. My approach involves careful listening, deep reading of the context, and then responding with visuals that are human, thoughtful, and resonant. I want each piece I create to feel necessary—not just beautiful, but also meaningful and rooted in something real.

I live in Iran—a country that is both a reservoir of ancient culture and a complex, modern reality. The influence of my cultural heritage is not merely decorative or nostalgic; it’s deeply embedded in the way I think, feel, and solve problems as a designer. Persian culture, with its deep tradition of metaphor, mysticism, duality, and visual storytelling, has shaped my artistic DNA. I don’t quote motifs just to signal identity—I draw on structures of thought: layered meanings, poetic ambiguity, rhythmic balance, and symbolic tension. Iranian literature—especially poetry—has taught me that nothing is ever just one thing. A single word can carry centuries of interpretation, a silence can speak volumes. These sensibilities constantly inform my visual choices: the use of negative space, asymmetry, repetition, distortion, and typography as both voice and silence. Even the architecture around me—with its careful geometry, inward gardens, and light-shadow interplay—has subconsciously affected how I frame visual content and hierarchy. But living and working here is not without its difficulties. The restrictions—whether political, social, or economic—form a kind of pressure that can be both frustrating and formative. Censorship, for example, forces me to communicate obliquely, to find ways of saying things without saying them. In a strange way, this has sharpened my design language and made it more metaphorical, layered, and symbolic. The limits have not silenced me; they've compelled me to be more resourceful and poetic. Another challenge is the lack of consistent global exposure or access to international platforms. Designers here often feel isolated from the global design discourse, and our local market doesn’t always reward conceptual or experimental work. But I’ve found that these gaps only deepen my motivation to connect beyond borders—whether by participating in international poster biennials, collaborating with foreign curators, or mentoring students who go on to exhibit globally. The desire to be seen and heard, not just locally but globally, becomes part of the creative energy. At the same time, there’s something uniquely generative about being a designer in Iran. The social and political tension, the long history of visual and literary refinement, and the spirit of improvisation that’s part of everyday life here—all of these create a fertile ground for originality. Iran’s contradictions are not obstacles—they are raw material. My work often lives in this in-between space: between tradition and modernity, silence and protest, constraint and imagination. Ultimately, I believe that where I live doesn’t limit my creativity—it defines it in a deeper, more meaningful way. I don’t design despite being in Iran; I design through it.

When I work with companies—whether large publishers, cultural institutions, or emerging brands—I approach the collaboration as a shared creative journey rather than a simple service exchange. It begins with deep listening. I spend time understanding not just their immediate goals, but their core values, long-term vision, and the emotional world they want their audience to step into. I’m especially attentive to what makes them different—their tone of voice, cultural position, internal energy—and I use design to bring that unique identity to the surface. One of my strengths is translating abstract or even fragmented ideas into clear, resonant visuals. Many clients come to me with broad feelings or half-formed concepts. My role is to help articulate those ideas visually, often proposing several conceptual routes before settling on one that feels most authentic. I also help companies see themselves anew—sometimes, even their internal teams understand their identity more clearly after seeing it through the lens of thoughtful design. My process is research-driven, strategic, and empathetic. Whether it’s a book publisher wanting to reflect the soul of a literary work through its cover, or an international exhibition needing a graphic identity that balances local context and global relevance, I focus on building a visual system that is flexible, intentional, and communicative. I carefully consider elements like typography (often custom-built or conceptually driven), color palette (emotionally grounded), layout logic, and symbolic visual language. These aren’t aesthetic choices alone—they’re strategic tools. Depending on the project’s scale, I can work independently or within a larger creative team. I value collaborative environments and often engage directly with copywriters, editors, architects, curators, developers, or marketing professionals. Regardless of the setup, I aim to foster a spirit of open dialogue and mutual trust. I’m not a designer who disappears after delivering final files—I stay involved, offering support during implementation, rollout, or brand evolution stages. Many of the companies I’ve worked with—like long-established Iranian publishing houses or international cultural festivals—return for new collaborations because they know I invest deeply in their story. For me, each project is not just about delivering a product, but about nurturing a design relationship that grows with the company. I believe in design that adapts as the brand evolves, and I remain committed to helping organizations reflect their maturity, mission, and spirit over time. Ultimately, working with companies is not about imposing a style—it’s about building visual languages that feel right, that communicate clearly, and that resonate with both internal stakeholders and external audiences.

Choosing the right designer is not just about selecting someone with a good portfolio—it’s about finding a creative partner who can deeply engage with the heart of your brand. A company should begin this process by being clear on its own values, mission, and what it truly wants to communicate. This clarity becomes the foundation for a meaningful collaboration. In my experience working with both cultural institutions and private companies, the best collaborations happen when there’s mutual trust and a shared curiosity. Companies should look for designers who don’t just show what they can do, but who listen closely—those who ask thoughtful questions, who are not afraid to challenge assumptions respectfully, and who can translate abstract ideas into powerful visuals. A good designer is not only technically skilled but also emotionally intelligent and strategically minded. It’s essential to find someone who understands the cultural and emotional nuances of the audience you're addressing. For example, in Iran, visual literacy is deeply tied to tradition, symbolism, and metaphor. I’ve found that understanding this landscape allows me to create work that feels both fresh and rooted. So companies should prioritize cultural sensitivity and contextual awareness in a designer—it can make the difference between design that is just “beautiful” and design that resonates. Design isn’t a one-time act. It’s a process, and often a long-term relationship. Choose someone who is willing to grow with you. I always recommend that companies treat design not just as a tool for marketing, but as a strategic investment in their identity. A good designer evolves the brand over time, helping it adapt visually as its goals, audience, and environment shift. Also, don’t underestimate the power of process compatibility. Some designers are independent and self-directed, while others thrive in structured teams. Companies should consider not just what a designer creates, but how they work—communication style, openness to feedback, time management, and ability to collaborate with different departments. Finally, invest in clear communication. Set shared expectations early on. When both sides respect each other’s time, expertise, and creative energy, the results can be transformative. In summary, my advice to companies is: Look beyond aesthetics—seek empathy, intellect, and curiosity. Prioritize cultural and contextual alignment. Treat design as an ongoing dialogue, not a transaction. Value the designer’s perspective as a co-author of your brand’s visual story. With this approach, companies are more likely to find not just a designer, but a long-term creative ally.

My design process is deeply personal—rooted not just in method, but in emotion, intuition, and reflection. For me, design begins long before opening any software or even sketching—it starts with listening. I try to listen not only to the client or the brief, but to the hidden emotional core of the project. What is its silent intention? What emotional atmosphere does it want to create? What truth does it carry? Once I’ve understood that essence, I begin to “feel” my way into the work. Sometimes that means reading poetry or literature that evokes a similar emotional tone, or recalling memories and images that align with the subject. I often carry a notebook where I write down fragmented thoughts or sketch raw, imperfect forms—these early marks are spontaneous, sometimes abstract, and very instinctive. I allow myself freedom here. No pressure, no judgment—just flow. Depending on the nature of the project, I may begin with analog tools—ink, pencil, collage—or jump straight into digital software. I don’t believe in a fixed formula; each project demands its own approach. For example, if I’m designing a book cover for a philosophical text, my method might be slower, quieter, more symbolic. But if I’m designing a political poster, the process might involve bolder choices, stronger contrasts, and a more confrontational rhythm. A crucial part of my process is pausing. I often step away from the work for a few hours or even days. This distance allows me to return with new eyes—more objective, more critical. It’s in these moments of detachment that I often discover the most essential changes that need to be made. Iteration is vital. I rarely settle on a design in the first round. I test alternatives, explore extremes, and even allow myself to make what I call “wrong designs”—proposals that intentionally challenge the safe zone. Sometimes these detours become the most honest expressions of the idea. My goal is not just to solve a design problem, but to express it in a way that feels truthful—visually, emotionally, and intellectually. I want the final work to evoke a visceral response, to leave a trace, to resonate beyond the moment of viewing. In the end, my process is a dialogue between intuition and intention, emotion and reason, discipline and freedom. It’s not always smooth, but it’s always sincere.

Handmade Ceramic Cup This small, irregularly shaped cup sits on my desk like a quiet reminder of impermanence. It’s slightly cracked, uneven in form, and glazed with earthy tones. I often drink tea from it while working. Its flaws give it character—it reminds me of the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, finding beauty in imperfection. It grounds me in the present moment and helps me slow down in a world that’s always rushing. Old Wooden Letterpress Drawer I found this drawer years ago in a secondhand shop. It used to hold metal type blocks in a traditional print workshop, but now it hangs on my wall, housing tiny objects: dried lavender, ink bottles, antique nails, small stones. It’s a deeply tactile object, filled with the memory of physical printing and manual labor. It brings history into my home studio and reminds me of the roots of graphic design, when every letter had weight. Iranian Calligraphy Brushes These are not just tools, but part of my personal and cultural history. Passed down to me from an older artist, the bristles are frayed and stained with time. I’ve used them in countless personal projects, especially when I need to reconnect with my Iranian identity or step away from digital work. When I pick them up, I’m reminded of rhythm, silence, and the poetry that lives in every line drawn by hand. Monoprint from My Student Years It’s framed and hangs quietly above my bookshelf. The print is rough, made using a simple brayer and ink on cheap paper, but it holds deep meaning for me. I made it late at night during a long creative block in university—there’s something raw and unresolved about it. It captures a moment when I first realized that uncertainty and process could be the work. It has followed me through many moves, and I never get tired of looking at it. Shadow-Puppet from Southern Iran This leather puppet is an exquisite piece of traditional craftsmanship. I bought it in a small market near the Persian Gulf. At night, when I shine a lamp behind it, it casts dramatic, animated shadows on the wall. It brings me back to childhood memories of storytelling and the rich oral traditions of my culture. It’s a beautiful reminder of how light, shadow, and imagination can create powerful emotional worlds—something that directly inspires my approach to visual storytelling.

A typical day in my life unfolds like a quiet, layered narrative—rarely linear, often overlapping. I usually start the morning early, before the noise of the world settles in. That brief silence is sacred to me. I often begin by flipping through a poetry book—sometimes Rumi or Forough Farrokhzad, other times modern voices. Poetry is how I reorient myself emotionally. It softens the mind, opens the senses, and places me in a more intuitive state before facing screens and deadlines. Then comes the workday. My studio table is scattered with notes, old sketches, ink-stained test prints, and always, at least one ceramic cup of strong tea. No two days are the same: one might involve refining the layout for a book cover, another immersed in drawing textures for a poster, or corresponding with a publisher or festival team. I shift constantly between digital tools and handmade marks, which sometimes causes mental clutter—but also allows ideas to breathe across different mediums. At some point in the day, I reach a moment when things click. A color finds its place, a typographic choice finally “feels right,” or an idea that’s been stuck begins to flow. That’s when I exhale deeply. It’s as if the day starts all over again from there. That moment—when confusion turns into clarity—is why I keep doing this work. Drawing by hand remains my anchor. It’s not always about creating something to show—sometimes I just fill a page with abstract lines or unconscious shapes. These sketches are like meditations; they help me stay rooted in the present. Writing is another daily ritual—sometimes design-related notes, sometimes fragmented thoughts, often poetry. Writing poems is how I process emotions I don’t yet fully understand. It gives shape to feelings before they turn into form. Evenings are more contemplative. I might take a walk, listen to music, or re-read parts of a novel. I keep an analog atmosphere around me—lamplight, shadows, silence. And always, there’s the tension between motion and stillness, chaos and clarity. But somewhere inside that tension is the creative space I return to, again and again. Design, for me, isn’t a job that starts and ends at a certain hour. It’s a continuous rhythm, deeply intertwined with my emotional life. Like poetry, it’s a search—not just for visual harmony, but for inner stillness.

To young designers: don’t rush. Design is not a race—it’s a slow, unfolding dialogue between your inner world and the world around you. Before mastering tools or trends, take time to observe. Observe how people move through space, how language shapes thought, how light falls on old buildings, how silence can be part of a design. These small, often invisible things are what give your work soul. Read poetry—not because it’s directly “useful,” but because it teaches you to think sideways. Poetry helps you feel the weight of a word, the silence between two ideas, the rhythm of contrast. That same rhythm lives in design. The more you open yourself to disciplines beyond design—literature, cinema, philosophy, even daily rituals—the deeper your design thinking becomes. Draw by hand, even if you don’t consider yourself an “illustrator.” Drawing connects your mind to your body. It slows you down, teaches you to listen with your eyes, and helps you see your own patterns. It makes your thoughts tactile. And listen to music—not just for background noise, but intentionally. Good music teaches you about harmony, dissonance, pacing, surprise. These are design lessons in sonic form. Resist the urge to mimic what’s popular. Trends are fleeting. Your voice isn’t. Instead, build a body of work rooted in authenticity. Your most powerful designs will come from places of curiosity, contradiction, and even pain. Stay close to what moves you—even if it doesn’t seem “design-related” at first. Surround yourself with people who give honest feedback but also see your potential. Find mentors, but don’t be afraid to challenge them. And above all, stay a student—no matter how much you grow. The best designers are not those who know everything, but those who keep asking better questions. Finally, take care of your emotional landscape. Design is not just what you make, but how you feel while making it. Be patient with your process. Let yourself evolve. There is no single path—just your path.

Being a designer is like living with a heightened sense of awareness. You begin to see meaning in things others overlook—an old street sign, a tear in a wall, the texture of silence. That sensitivity is both a gift and a burden. On the positive side, design offers a way to communicate with the world that goes beyond words. It lets you translate emotion, thought, and even pain into something visual, tactile, and shareable. It’s deeply rewarding when someone connects with your work—not because it’s “beautiful,” but because it speaks to something they feel but couldn’t articulate. Design also allows for endless discovery. No two projects are the same, and with each one, you step into a new context, a new voice, a new challenge. It keeps you intellectually engaged, emotionally invested, and creatively alive. You grow with each project—not just as a designer, but as a person. That’s the beauty of this path: it shapes you as you shape it. But this sensitivity comes with its difficulties. You often carry the emotional weight of what you’re designing. Many of my projects deal with social or political themes, and immersing myself in those subjects can be emotionally draining. There’s also a deep vulnerability that comes with putting your ideas into the world. You’re constantly exposing parts of yourself—your doubts, your questions, your memories. That level of honesty can be exhausting. Another challenge is the tension between artistic integrity and the reality of the market. Sometimes you’re asked to compromise your vision to meet a brief, a deadline, or a budget. Other times, the client doesn’t understand the emotional or conceptual depth of your work—and that disconnect can be frustrating. Navigating those tensions while staying true to your values is not easy. And then there's the solitude. Design can be isolating—especially when you work independently. Long hours, late nights, endless revisions. There are moments when you wonder if what you're doing even matters. But then, unexpectedly, someone tells you how your poster made them think differently, or how a book cover you designed led them to a life-changing read. In those moments, all the struggle feels worth it. In the end, being a designer is not just a profession—it’s a way of moving through the world. It’s about seeing differently, feeling deeply, and creating with purpose. The positives and negatives are intertwined, like light and shadow. You can’t have one without the other. But if you learn to navigate that balance with honesty and care, the design becomes more than just work—it becomes your voice, your mirror, your way of being fully alive.

My golden rule in design is: “Never begin unless you deeply believe in what you're doing.” This isn’t a slogan—it’s a compass. Over the years, I’ve realized that if there’s no inner conviction, no authentic connection with the subject, the design will lack soul, no matter how visually refined it may appear. I can sense it in my body—if my heart doesn’t respond, if the idea doesn’t stir something emotional or intellectual inside me, I pause. I wait. I listen more. I dig deeper. Design, to me, is not a surface act; it's a search for meaning. A poster, a book cover, a visual identity—they should all feel inevitable, like they had to exist that way. That only happens when the work is rooted in belief and emotional truth. I constantly ask myself: Is this honest? Does it add something—culturally, emotionally, intellectually? Or is it just decoration? This rule protects me from designing on autopilot or creating for approval alone. It challenges me to stay present, aware, and vulnerable. When I believe in what I’m designing, the work carries weight. It becomes more than an object—it becomes a voice, a gesture, a bridge between people. There’s a lot of noise in the design world. Trends, algorithms, client expectations, competition. But I try to hold onto this inner filter. Belief is my anchor—it keeps me from drifting. It reminds me why I started designing in the first place: to say something that matters, with clarity, depth, and heart. And so, I return to that rule often. Before every new project, I ask myself not “Will they like it?” but rather “Do I believe in this?” If the answer is yes, I know the path ahead—no matter how difficult—will be meaningful.

While technical proficiency—like mastering design software or understanding composition and typography—is essential, I believe the core skills of a truly impactful designer lie in the emotional, intellectual, and philosophical realms. First and foremost is emotional sensitivity. A designer must feel things deeply. Without that inner resonance, the work remains cold or decorative at best. Sensitivity allows you to connect with the subject, the client, and the audience. It’s how you sense the tone a project needs—whether it should whisper, provoke, comfort, or awaken. Next is conceptual clarity and narrative thinking. I believe design is storytelling in visual form. It’s not enough to make things look good—they must mean something. The ability to distill abstract ideas into strong visual metaphors or structures is what elevates design from aesthetics to communication. You need to ask “why” constantly. Why this form? Why this contrast? Why this silence? Hand-drawing remains one of my most important tools. It’s not just about making marks—it's a form of thinking, of translating emotions directly into form without the filter of software. Sketching is where I process the world: freely, intuitively, imperfectly. Those imperfections often carry the soul of the design. Curiosity, too, is vital. Not just about design trends or new tools, but about the world—philosophy, literature, human behavior, politics, architecture, music. Everything. The broader your curiosity, the richer your visual language becomes. The best ideas often come from seemingly unrelated places. And finally: the courage to stay authentic. This may be the hardest and most important skill. In a world full of noise, algorithms, and imitation, staying true to your own voice requires clarity and risk-taking. Not every client or audience will resonate with that voice, but it’s the only way to do work that is alive, honest, and memorable. So for me, a great designer is someone who combines: Emotional depth Clarity of thought Curiosity about the world The patience to draw and observe And the courage to experiment, fail, and remain authentic The software and trends will always change. But these inner skills—those are the foundation of a lasting design practice.

Design, for me, is not just about tools—it’s about emotion, thought, and the way I connect with the world around me. My toolbox is a mix of traditional instruments, digital technologies, and sources of inspiration that feed both my hands and my mind. Traditional Tools: I usually begin each project with my hands. It’s not just about sketching—it’s about listening to ideas before they become visual. Persian calligraphy brushes, technical pens, and ink: These connect me deeply to material and history. The imperfections, stains, and organic flow bring something raw and honest into the process. Watercolors and colored inks: Often, I let colors lead the way before structure arrives. They offer me spontaneity and emotional tone. Handmade or aged paper: I love surfaces with texture and soul. They carry stories even before I add anything to them. Digital Tools: Once the concept becomes clearer, I shift to digital tools for precision and layering. Adobe Illustrator: For vector design—logos, posters, typographic compositions. It’s my space for control and structure. Photoshop: To add textures, blend hand-drawn elements, and bring warmth or edge to a project. InDesign: Especially for editorial work. It helps me sculpt layout, rhythm, and spatial harmony. Procreate (on iPad): Great for sketching while traveling or late-night ideation when I’m away from my desk. Hardware: Wacom tablet: A bridge between the tactile world and the screen. It lets my hand remain expressive even in a digital environment. High-resolution scanner: Essential for digitizing handmade elements—especially textures and layered collages. Large iMac screen: For accurate color work and comfortably managing complex, layered projects. Sources of Inspiration: Poetry books (from Forough to Neruda): Poetry helps me think beyond logic. A single line can transform a whole project. Books on graphic design history, traditional typography, and print culture: To understand what came before and evolve it in new ways. Music: From Beethoven to ambient electronic—music sets the mood and tone of a project. It’s like designing with your ears. Design blogs and social media (Instagram, Behance): Not for imitation, but for understanding current conversations in design. Nature and light: Morning light on the wall, shadows of tree branches, texture of soil—these things sometimes spark more than any moodboard. Ultimately, my toolbox is a bridge between my inner world and the outer form the design takes. Tools are just mediums—the intention, emotion, and authenticity are what shape the final piece. My hands still guide the process, even when I'm deep into pixels and layers.

Time management in design is not just about scheduling—it's about understanding how and when creativity flows. I’ve learned that time in a designer’s world is elastic: hours can disappear inside a single idea, or days can pass without a spark. So I’ve built a rhythm that honors both the structure and the chaos of the process. 1. Break Projects into Phases, Not Just Tasks Instead of approaching a design as one monolithic assignment, I divide it into emotional and technical phases: Phase 1: Emotional entry – Reading, researching, absorbing the context, and sitting with the feeling of the project. Phase 2: Free sketching – No time limits. Just drawing, experimenting, and letting ideas surface. Phase 3: Structuring and execution – That’s when I set timers or focused sprints. Phase 4: Stepping away – I always allow time for detachment. Distance sharpens clarity. This layered approach helps me balance freedom and discipline. 2. Set Timeframes Based on Energy, Not Just Hours I don’t treat all hours equally. I know my most productive creative hours are in the late morning and late night. So I avoid forcing demanding tasks into time blocks that don’t suit me. Mornings: research, ideation, analog drawing Afternoons: meetings, revisions, admin Nights: refining details, deep work, emotional tuning By syncing my work with my natural rhythms, I waste less time fighting myself. 3. Let Go of Perfectionism, Consciously This was hard to learn. As designers, we see everything—every pixel, alignment, shadow. But I’ve learned that obsessing over microscopic adjustments can often drain the soul of a piece. I ask myself: “Is this change adding value?” “Am I polishing the soul out of it?” “Will the viewer even sense this?” When the answer is “no,” I move on. I’ve trained myself to recognize the “good enough, but honest” moment—when the design communicates what it’s meant to, even if it’s not technically perfect. 4. Use Deadlines as Emotional Anchors Deadlines, whether personal or client-based, give shape to the intangible process. I now use them as motivational checkpoints, not just pressure points. Even when I have freedom, I create artificial deadlines to give the project momentum. For example, I’ll say: “By Friday, I need to feel something from this design, not just see lines on a screen.” That kind of emotional milestone helps me gauge real progress, not just task completion. 5. Prioritize Rest and Distance I’ve learned that stepping away is part of the process. When I’m stuck or overly obsessed, I leave. I walk, read poetry, listen to music, or even clean something—anything that shifts my mental state. Rest is not a reward; it’s fuel. Sometimes, an hour of distance reveals more than ten hours of grinding. And I try to never design when I’m emotionally depleted—nothing meaningful emerges from that space. 6. Use Tools to Support, Not Control I use time trackers, journals, and analog checklists to stay grounded—but I don’t let them overtake the process. Creativity thrives in flexibility. I use: Toggl to track work blocks Notion for organizing ideas, references, client feedback Bullet journaling for daily emotional check-ins and task tracking Final Thought: Design Time Is Emotional Time Ultimately, time management in design is about managing attention and emotion. I honor my creative energy, protect my boundaries, and forgive myself when things take longer than planned. The most powerful moments in design often happen in silence, in slowness, or when you're not even at the desk. Designers don’t just manage minutes—we manage meaning.

That really depends on the project. For something relatively simple—like a poster or a single book cover—sometimes the concept arrives quickly, and I can finish it in a few days. But there are other times when even a "simple" project lingers. I might carry it around in my mind for a week, letting it breathe until something feels right. When it comes to more complex work—like packaging, exhibitions, or visual identity projects—things stretch out. Those require research, conversations, trial and error, and a lot of sitting with the idea. For a logo or full branding, for example, it can easily take a month or more. And even then, I always leave some space for the concept to evolve naturally. I don’t like to rush the emotional or conceptual process. Sometimes I put something aside and come back to it with new eyes. I’ve learned that listening to the rhythm of each project—not just the deadline—makes the final design stronger and more honest. If I had to give a rough estimate? I’d say anywhere from 2 days for something immediate and intuitive, to 2–3 months for bigger, layered projects. But the real answer is: as long as it takes to feel true.

Honestly, the question I get most often is: “Where do your ideas come from?” And I never have a quick answer for that. Ideas don’t arrive in a straight line. Sometimes they show up when I’m walking down the street, reading poetry, or even when I’m just drinking tea and doing nothing. I think people imagine that creativity comes from some magical place, but for me, it’s really about being open and emotionally present—paying attention to life and letting things soak in. Another one I hear a lot is: “How do you give a design its own personality—how do you make it feel alive?” That always makes me smile because that’s really the heart of what I do. I try to get to know the project like I’d get to know a person: What’s its tone? What does it want to say? Is it loud or quiet? Serious or playful? And then I try to let that shape the visual choices. It’s like building a visual voice that feels honest to the subject. People also often ask: “What do you do when you hit a creative block?” And I tell them—I step away. I go for a walk, read a poem, or sketch something completely unrelated. I believe blocks happen when we try to force things. The best ideas often come when you stop chasing them. And of course, a classic: “How do you deal with client feedback?” I think they expect me to roll my eyes or talk about frustration, but the truth is, feedback can be valuable—if it’s rooted in a real conversation. I try not to take it personally. I see it as part of the design process, like sanding a sculpture—it just helps reveal the form more clearly. So yes, these are the questions I hear again and again, and each time, my answer evolves—just like my work does.

That’s a tough question, because every project teaches you something new—but if I had to choose, I’d say the most meaningful experiences for me have always been the posters I’ve designed for music and literature events. Those are the moments where I feel the most freedom—as a creator, not just a designer. When I work on a book cover or a literary poster, I feel like I’m stepping into a quiet, inner world. There's a certain intimacy to literature—it's not shouting to get attention like advertising does. It’s whispering, and I love the challenge of capturing that whisper visually. The process becomes meditative. I read the work, I live with the words for a while, and then slowly the visuals begin to form—not just as decoration, but as an emotional response. The same goes for music-related design. Music, to me, is already abstract. It lives in time and emotion, not in words or images. So translating that into a visual language is incredibly exciting—and incredibly difficult. But I love that tension. It forces me to work outside of formula, to trust instinct more than logic. Some of my most experimental and personal work has come out of these projects, because the expectations are looser and the room for interpretation is wider. Also, these types of projects rarely feel like “jobs.” They feel more like collaborations—with the writer, with the composer, and even with the audience. They allow me to merge all the things I care deeply about: poetry, music, emotion, meaning, design. That’s why I consider these projects my most important experiences—not necessarily because of the scale or the exposure, but because they’ve brought me closest to my core as a visual storyteller.

Over the years, I’ve had the chance to work with a wide variety of clients, but the ones who have stayed with me the longest—and left the deepest impact—are mostly from the worlds of literature and cinema. I’ve worked closely with poets, novelists, essayists, and translators. These are people who live inside language, and because of that, they care deeply about nuance, about silence, about rhythm. Designing for them is never superficial—it’s about listening carefully, understanding what’s between the lines, and trying to visually echo that emotional and intellectual depth. Many of these relationships started with a single cover or poster and grew into long-term collaborations. And honestly, those are the most rewarding. You begin to speak the same unspoken language with the writer, the publisher, the editor—and that trust allows for real creative freedom. On the cinematic side, I’ve worked with directors, producers, and independent film houses, mostly on film posters and sometimes on the broader visual identity of a film. What I love about working with filmmakers is that they think in layers. A single still frame can contain history, emotion, politics, and story—and that’s very close to how I approach design. So, those partnerships feel natural. We’re both trying to condense time and narrative into one striking image. I’ve also collaborated with a few cultural institutions, galleries, and educational publishers, but I would say my heart is truly in the projects that have a strong storytelling component—whether that story is told through literature, cinema, or even music. The more personal and layered the subject matter, the more I enjoy the challenge of visualizing it. So yes, my clients may come from different fields, but they all share a passion for meaning—and I think that’s what draws us to each other.

Without hesitation—poster design. Especially posters related to music and literature. Those two areas speak to me in a way that no other medium does. There’s something deeply poetic and open-ended about them. When I’m working on a book cover or a music-related poster, I feel like I’m entering a dialogue with emotions, with metaphors, with stories that don’t need to be explained in a literal way. That freedom to explore abstraction and emotion visually is what I crave the most in design. Music posters let me play with rhythm, silence, atmosphere—things that can’t always be explained in words but can be felt instantly in a well-crafted image. I don’t need to show the singer or the instrument. Sometimes a color, a line, or a shape can say everything about the music’s soul. And literature—it’s even more layered. I love the challenge of capturing a book’s essence without giving it away. It’s not just about representing the story; it’s about evoking the mood, the mystery, the unsaid. What sets this type of work apart for me is the emotional access it demands. These aren’t commercial products. They’re experiences. They come with more room for intuition, ambiguity, and interpretation. Unlike branding projects, which are often constrained by guidelines and clarity, designing for music and literature allows me to bring more of myself into the work. It’s where I can be most expressive, experimental—even vulnerable. And maybe most importantly, I feel at home in these subjects. I grew up surrounded by books, and I’ve always had a deep connection to music. So working in these areas feels like a return to something personal. It’s design, yes—but it’s also a form of listening, of reading, of translating invisible things into form. That’s why it means so much to me.

That’s a great question—and honestly, one I ask myself often. For me, design is not just a career path, it’s a lifelong conversation with the world. So when I think about the future, I don’t see it as a fixed destination but more like an ongoing journey—one filled with curiosity, experimentation, and constant evolution. Right now, I feel a strong pull toward deeper, more meaningful projects—especially ones that allow me to explore the intersection of art, culture, and human experience. I want to continue designing for literature, music, and cinema, but I’m also interested in expanding into more socially driven work—design that questions, that provokes, that tells stories which matter on a human level. Another area I’m excited about is collaboration. I’d love to work with more international artists, writers, and thinkers—people from different disciplines and backgrounds who can challenge the way I see and approach design. I truly believe that design grows richer when it's exposed to different perspectives. Some of the most valuable feedback I’ve received has come from outside my own field or culture. So I’m actively seeking those kinds of connections. And yes, AI is part of the conversation now. I’ve been experimenting with how to integrate it into my process—not to replace creativity, of course, but to push boundaries and explore new methods. I see AI as an assistant, not a creator. It can spark unexpected ideas or help me prototype faster, but the heart of the work still comes from human intuition, emotion, and craft. At the same time, I want to stay grounded in the physical side of design—sketching, working with paper, materials, books. There’s something about the tactile process that still feels sacred to me, and I don’t want to lose that. So if I had to sum it up: I’m looking to grow—not just technically, but emotionally and intellectually. I want to keep challenging myself, keep learning, keep creating things that feel honest and necessary. Design is my way of making sense of the world—and as long as the world keeps evolving, so will I.

It really depends on the nature of the project. When it comes to highly personal, emotionally-driven work—like conceptual posters or book covers—I tend to work alone. Those types of projects require a kind of creative solitude. There’s an intimacy to the process that I find essential; I need to sit with the idea, sketch freely, get emotionally involved, and let the design slowly take shape in a way that feels true to me. I’ve built a rhythm around that solitary approach over the years, and I find it allows for much more coherence and authenticity in the final outcome. But of course, not every project is like that. When I’m working on something larger—like a visual identity system, an exhibition design, or a campaign that spans across different platforms—I collaborate with others. Those kinds of projects often need a range of skills: motion design, copywriting, 3D work, UI/UX, or even filmmaking. I love working with other creatives—typographers, animators, developers—because they bring new energy and perspectives to the table. Collaboration, when it's with the right team, can be incredibly inspiring. Still, even in team settings, I usually take the lead on the conceptual direction. I like to be involved in the early phases, setting the tone and building the visual language. That foundation matters to me a lot—it’s where the emotional core of the work lives. So, to sum it up: I’m most at home when working independently on poetic or editorial projects, where personal voice matters most. But I also value collaboration when the scale demands it. For me, it’s less about choosing one approach over the other and more about asking: what does this project need to become what it truly should be? That question always guides how I work.

Yes, definitely. I always have a few projects on my desk at any given moment—some that push me technically, and others that challenge me emotionally or conceptually. Right now, I’m especially excited about a cover I’m designing for a short story collection called “This Damned Tree.” What makes this one unique is that it’s written by a well-known Iranian filmmaker, so it’s a fascinating mix of cinematic storytelling and literary depth. There’s something very visual in the way the stories are told, and I’m trying to tap into that cinematic quality—bringing the atmosphere of film into a static image. It's a great creative challenge, and honestly, I love projects like this that bridge disciplines. I’m also working on two more book covers. One of them is for a translation of a European novella, and the other is for a collection of contemporary Iranian poetry. Each has its own tone, its own visual voice. The poetry one, for example, requires a more abstract approach—something more intuitive and emotionally driven—while the translated novella leans toward a more narrative and historically sensitive design. Switching between these modes keeps me sharp. Another project I’m deeply invested in right now is a poster for an upcoming event at the Iranian Artists Forum. It's actually a retrospective—a look back at some of my past works—so it feels quite personal. Designing something that represents my own journey is a little surreal, but also incredibly rewarding. It’s not often that you get to visually reflect on your own career, and I want this piece to capture both my evolution and my ongoing questions as a designer. All of these projects are different in scope and tone, but what they share is that they’re deeply connected to stories, whether personal or collective. That’s what keeps me passionate about design—it’s not just about making things look good; it’s about communication, memory, and emotional resonance.

People can get in touch with me in a few different ways, depending on what they’re looking for. The easiest place to start is my website — www.nasernasiri.com. It’s where I keep a curated portfolio of my work, along with contact information and links to my other platforms. I always try to keep it updated with my latest projects, so visitors can get a sense of what I’m currently exploring. I’m also quite active on Instagram, at @nasernasiri.design. That space is more informal — I share not only finished works but also glimpses into my process, sketches, experiments, and sometimes even thoughts on design or things that inspire me. It’s a good way to connect with other creatives too, and I love having conversations there with people from around the world. For more formal or professional inquiries, especially in the context of design in Iran, I’m also listed on the Iranian Graphic Designers Society (IGDS) website. That’s been a great platform for connecting with peers and clients alike. Honestly, I’m always open to hearing from people — whether it's a collaboration proposal, feedback, or just a shared love for design. I really value conversations that lead to unexpected ideas or creative partnerships, so anyone interested should definitely feel free to reach out.

You’ve actually covered a lot, and I really appreciate how comprehensive the questions have been. But if there’s one thing I’d like to add, it’s something I’ve come to understand more deeply over the years — the value of patience, persistence, and maintaining a personal voice in design. Design can often feel fast-paced and result-oriented. Deadlines, feedback loops, client expectations — they all demand efficiency. But behind all of that, I’ve learned that some of the most meaningful work comes from long-term commitment and a kind of quiet consistency. You don’t always notice it in the moment, but over time, that steady dedication adds up. It shows in your process, in how you solve problems, and in how people start to recognize your voice. Having a personal voice, by the way, doesn’t mean having one fixed style. For me, it’s more about a way of thinking — how I interpret a brief, how I emotionally connect to a project, and how I translate that into visual language. It’s about honesty in the work. Even when I’m experimenting with new tools or mediums, I try to keep that inner thread intact. Another thing I’d mention is that I truly see design as a lifelong learning journey. There’s no endpoint. Every project, every mistake, every conversation teaches you something. And I’ve found that staying curious — not just about design, but about life in general — keeps the process fresh. Whether it’s literature, cinema, photography, or even walking through a new city, it all feeds the creative process in surprising ways. Lastly, I want to say thank you — not just for this opportunity to share my story, but also for the space to reflect. Sometimes we’re so busy designing that we don’t stop to think about why we do what we do. This conversation reminded me of those deeper layers that fuel the work. So thank you for that.

I’ve been working as a graphic designer for nearly three decades, collaborating with major Iranian publishers and contributing to book designs in literature, history, and art. My passion for book design has always been central to my work. Additionally, I’ve worked extensively on film and music projects, designing posters and album covers. Over the years, I’ve participated in international festivals as an artistic director, judge, and secretary, learning and growing through these experiences. Collaborating with prominent Iranian artists has been both professionally enriching and culturally inspiring.

Since childhood, I’ve had a strong passion for drawing and painting, mostly self-taught. I used leftover paints from my uncle, a house painter, to sketch on stones around our courtyard. My journey took a significant turn when I discovered books on design in the library of a relative who was an intellectual oil painter. These books opened a new world for me, and I began studying them and improving my skills. A pivotal moment came when I met Yasser, a miniaturist, who introduced me to graphic design and showed me its potential. Although my family initially opposed my pursuing it, I was later accepted into a graphic design program in Tehran. At university, I was profoundly influenced by Professor Qobad Shiva, a major figure in Iranian graphic design. This led me to focus on cultural and artistic design, particularly in areas like miniatures, calligraphy, and Iranian art, and eventually, I became known for my work in music, book, and cinema design.

For me, design is a personal and emotional journey. I approach each project with care, prioritizing ideas that resonate with me, especially in literature, music, cinema, and cultural themes. My process begins with handcrafting elements like sketches or drawings to infuse warmth and authenticity into the work. I believe these handmade aspects create a unique human quality that digital tools alone can’t achieve. Once the foundation is set, I move to digital tools to refine and enhance the design, blending traditional techniques with modern technology. I also spend significant time in the planning phase, ensuring that every design decision has purpose and meaning. Ultimately, my focus is on creating work that combines emotion, artistry, and technical precision. This balance is the heart of my design philosophy.

For me, design is a deeply personal journey filled with passion and enthusiasm. The most exciting part is the connection I feel to a project, especially those linked to poetry, literature, music, and storytelling. My love for Iranian culture, its rich history, and the narratives embedded within has always inspired my work. Designing poetry books or posters for classical music albums gives me the chance to translate the emotional tones of sound into visual art, creating a deeper connection for the audience. What excites me most is the process of transforming stories into images, blending Eastern and Western cultural influences. The journey itself, from concept to creation, brings immense satisfaction, especially when I see how the emotions and meaning I’ve woven into the design resonate with others. The fulfillment I get from designing comes from this connection and the sense of sharing these cultural stories with the world.

Over the years, I've realized that success in design is not just about technical skills. Effective communication with teams and clients has been essential for me. Problem-solving skills have also helped me come up with creative solutions in every project. Adapting to the fast changes in the design industry and constantly learning new tools has been crucial. Additionally, paying attention to detail and focusing on the smallest elements of design has always been important to me. The biggest influence on my design journey has been my mentor, Qobad Shiva, who taught me how to blend culture and history with modern design.

My growth as a designer has always been rooted in storytelling, cultural exploration, and the drive to evolve both creatively and professionally. In the future, I aspire to dedicate myself fully to visual storytelling, creating large-scale works that communicate deep concepts. I hope to explore design within architecture, creating murals and graphic installations that shape environments. I’m also excited to work on global projects, collaborating with creative minds from diverse cultures. One project I dream of is designing a long-term visual identity system for a cultural institution or international festival. Ultimately, I want to be remembered as a designer who blends tradition and modernity, using design to communicate important cultural and social messages.

My advice to young designers is to never stop learning and always push your boundaries. Continuously practice, experiment, and embrace new challenges. Don’t be afraid to fail, as each failure brings you closer to mastery. Immerse yourself in various artistic influences like literature and music, as they deepen your understanding of emotions and structure, which will reflect in your designs. Consistency and persistence are key—talent alone won't get you far. Surround yourself with diverse ideas, stay curious, and trust the process. Be bold, persistent, and never stop evolving.

Success in design is deeply personal, and it comes when your work creates value for others. Always keep creating and pushing your boundaries. Perseverance is key—never let yourself stagnate. Stay curious by exploring diverse cultures, reading widely, and drawing inspiration from both modern and ancient works. Never underestimate the importance of deep research and observation. Understand the work of great designers, analyze it, and extract the principles that made it successful. Stay true to your individuality and nurture your unique perspective. Most importantly, think about how your work contributes to the world and enriches the human experience.

My daily routine is flexible and not strictly structured. I start my day by reading poetry, which helps open my mind and tap into my creative energy. I also listen to music, often classical Iranian music, which sets the mood for my work. Watching films and animations provides visual inspiration, helping me push my creative boundaries. Design and writing are ongoing throughout my day, even if I'm not working on a specific project. I tend to work best at night, finding peace and clarity in the quiet hours. These small rituals, like reading and working late, fuel my creativity and keep me motivated.

I keep up with design trends to stay informed and open to new possibilities, but I don’t follow them blindly. I believe trends offer valuable insights that can enhance my creative process, but I always adapt them to fit my personal style. My goal isn’t to chase what’s "hip" but to develop a cohesive body of work that reflects my own vision. Inspiration comes from various sources, including art, literature, music, and architecture. While trends are important, I focus on integrating them in a way that feels authentic and personal to me.

For me, good design is about balance—between form, purpose, and experience. A well-designed product or project must have a clear purpose and effectively fulfill it. It should be simple yet elegant, with no unnecessary elements. Good design also creates an emotional connection, resonating with its audience on a deeper level. Attention to detail is crucial—small elements like typography, color, and texture matter. The "aha!" moment comes when these aspects align seamlessly. Common mistakes to avoid are overcomplicating the design or ignoring the user’s needs. Ultimately, good design is purposeful, emotionally resonant, and timeless.

For me, deciding if a design is ready is an intuitive process rather than a mechanical one. It’s like a living being evolving step by step, revealing its needs as it grows. I know it's done when colors have character, forms work together, and visual elements communicate naturally. When everything resonates like a final harmony in music, I hear that internal "yes" telling me it’s complete. I don’t believe in perfection but in a design fully realizing itself. Once it expresses what it needs to, I move on. I don't keep revisiting past designs; once they’re whole, they belong to the moment they were created for.

It's hard to pick just one design as my biggest work, but a few stand out for their conceptual depth and emotional impact. One of my favorites is the logo for Yasha Dental Clinic, where I abstracted a tooth into a hand planting a green leaf, symbolizing health and renewal. Another significant project is the poster for *The Wind Blows Through the Grass*, where I used a tree as a metaphor for tragedy. The visual identity for World Graphics Day was a milestone, representing both tradition and innovation. Recently, the Maragheh Music Festival poster became a proud example of how research and creativity can elevate a design. Each project reflects my growth, intuition, and cultural identity at the time.

There are many designers I admire, but if I could have a conversation with just one, it would be Armando Milani. His clarity of thought, conceptual depth, and humanistic approach to design have always inspired me. I would also love to talk with Shigeo Fukuda—his work blends wit, intelligence, and visual poetry in a timeless way. I also find great inspiration in young designers who challenge conventions and experiment with fresh ideas. Designers like Helen Baranovska from Ukraine and Stefan Lechwar from Poland impress me with their boldness and sensitivity to culture. For me, great designers are those who remain curious, imaginative, and true to their craft.

I live in Tehran, a city full of contrasts and inspiration. Currently, I'm working on design projects in literature, cinema, and music, which are passions beyond design itself. Poetry plays a huge role in my life, sharpening my senses and enriching my approach to visual communication. Music, especially Persian classical and Western classical, is essential to my creative process. I blend Eastern mysticism with Western design principles, creating a hybrid that combines intuition with structure. I believe good design is vital for societal advancement, and it connects deeply with my culture and personal life, bringing authenticity and emotional depth to everything I create.

I mostly work independently because my design process is deeply emotional and poetic, not easily suited to rigid group structures. However, I do collaborate with specialists like calligraphers or illustrators to bring extra depth to my work. I also organize workshops for young designers, encouraging collaboration. My work philosophy revolves around respect for culture, emotional honesty, and a commitment to craftsmanship. When working with others, I value humility, curiosity, and cultural sensitivity. The biggest challenge in our profession is the superficiality of trends, and I resist this by focusing on depth and authenticity.

Design has always been a cultural service for me, deeply rooted in humanitarian and social issues. I take on pro bono projects when the topic is meaningful, such as designing for charity exhibitions or awareness campaigns. Mentoring young designers is another passion of mine. Through workshops and platforms like the “is” Art Group, I help them explore important themes and participate in global events. I believe designers should engage with the world, especially during crises. Good design is not just beautiful; it’s brave, honest, and generous, and I strive to create spaces for others to grow.

Winning the Silver A’ Design Award in 2024 for my poster design for the Maragheh Music Festival was a significant milestone in my career. It gave me global recognition and highlighted the blend of Iranian cultural themes with contemporary design. Participating in design competitions like the A’ Design Award brings several benefits: it boosts visibility, encourages creative growth, and opens doors for international collaborations. Design awards validate your work, provide exposure in the global design community, and foster personal and professional development. Being named Designer of the Day was a humbling experience, reinforcing the value of meaningful design.

I’m Naser Nasiri, a graphic designer with over two decades of experience in brand identity, poster design, book covers, and more. My academic background in graphic design, combined with international courses, has kept me connected to the latest design trends. Over the years, I’ve collaborated with leading Iranian publishers and worked on cinematic projects like "Wind Whispers in the Meadow" and "Dirty Work." Internationally, I’ve been the artistic director for major festivals and exhibitions, including the World Graphic Design Day and the International Posterism Competition. My work aims to communicate meaningful social and cultural messages through design.

My motivation for design comes from a lifelong passion for art, which began with my fascination for patterns and colors. As a child, I was drawn to carpet design and miniature painting. Everything changed when I was introduced to graphic design during a trip to Tehran. I immediately felt a deep connection to it, more than any other art form. While I had a strong interest in cinema, poetry, and music, graphic design felt like the perfect medium for me. It allowed me to communicate directly with people, like poetry, but through visual storytelling, which I found captivating and impactful.

I absolutely chose to become a designer. From a young age, I was passionate about art, especially intricate patterns, carpet design, and miniature painting. As I discovered graphic design, I was captivated by its possibilities. It felt like a calling, and I knew it was the field where I could truly express myself. While I had other interests, such as cinema, poetry, and music, graphic design felt like the perfect fit. It wasn’t a decision of force, but a conscious choice to pursue a career where I could connect with people through visual storytelling. For me, design is not just a profession—it’s a way of life.

I mainly design book covers, illustrations, and posters, particularly in cinema and music. Book cover design allows me to visually interpret complex literary themes, emotions, and stories, while poster design in cinema and music lets me engage with cultural storytelling on a deeper level. I love working on projects for independent films and experimental music where the visual identity is bold and conceptual. I also enjoy combining illustration with typography and hand-drawn elements to create expressive works. Going forward, I want to focus more on socially engaged projects and explore new media like animated posters and interactive designs. I believe design is a universal language that connects people emotionally and intellectually.

I don’t consider myself a "design legend," but rather someone who is deeply passionate about design. For young designers aiming to grow, my advice is: Read poetry and literature to fuel your imagination—design is about meaning, emotion, and communication. Draw every day; practice is key. Seek critique and be open to feedback—it’s crucial for growth. Stay curious, never stop learning, and expose yourself to new ideas. Most importantly, be sincere in your work. Don’t follow trends blindly; find your own voice and let your design reflect who you truly are. Design is a lifelong journey, so walk it with passion and humility.

The difference between a good designer and a great designer goes beyond technical skill. A good designer can solve problems and deliver aesthetically pleasing work. A great designer creates meaning—they connect emotionally with their audience. Great designers have a unique voice, emotional intelligence, and authenticity. They ask deeper questions, take bigger risks, and challenge conventions. What sets them apart is consistency and a commitment to continuous learning. A good designer responds to the world, while a great designer shapes it.

For me, a good design starts with a strong, clear, and original idea. Without a solid concept, even the most beautiful execution feels empty. The technique should support the idea, not overshadow it, whether through illustration, typography, or digital manipulation. Typography is particularly powerful as it can convey tone and emotion even before reading the words. Layout and composition are also key— they provide structure, clarity, and rhythm, guiding the viewer’s eye. When these elements—idea, technique, typography, and layout—work together, a good design becomes truly great.

Good design is more than just aesthetics—it’s about clarity, function, emotion, and impact. It helps ideas connect with people, products stand out, and messages resonate. In a world full of noise, good design makes communication clear, memorable, and human. Investing in good design is investing in connection. It builds trust and gives the audience a reason to engage. Good design shows care—it reflects the values behind it and demonstrates respect for the audience. Ultimately, good design is silent intelligence that shapes how we understand and experience the world.

If I had more time, I would design for the poems that have shaped me, for the people I love and have lost, using design as a way to keep their memory alive. I have a deep passion for combining poetry and design, as they both speak from the heart and aim to touch others. I would also design for music that moves me in ways words cannot. For me, designing for music and poetry is not just a commission—it’s a personal ritual, a way to express the inexpressible. If time allowed, I’d dedicate more of my work to these intimate acts of design.

My dream project is to create a visual anthology—a book or series—where design, poetry, and music exist together in harmony. It would combine the poems that have shaped me, the melodies that haunt me, and the faces of those I’ve loved and lost. This project would not be commercial; it would be a love letter to everything that has moved me. I want to create a space where design is not just decoration but an emotional documentation, where personal history meets universal feeling. One day, I hope to find the time, courage, and peace to bring this dream to life.

If I had to share a secret ingredient in my design journey, it would be poetry. Poetry teaches me rhythm, balance, metaphor, and emotional honesty—each design I create is, in a way, a visual poem. Along with poetry, my connection to Eastern art, especially Persian carpet design, miniature painting, and calligraphy, has shaped my work. These traditions taught me patience, precision, and the power of symbolism. My success is rooted in blending the sensitivity of poetry with the structure of calligraphy and the intricacy of miniature art, creating designs that speak not just to the eyes, but to the soul.

I’ve always been inspired by the Push Pin Studios, the Polish School of Posters, and the Swiss Design movement. Their innovative approaches to composition and form deeply influenced my early understanding of design. Japanese designers also resonate with me, particularly their sensitivity to space and silence. Contemporary designers like Fukuda, Armando Milani, Alexander Faldin, and Pekka Loiri inspire me with their minimalist yet culturally rich designs. However, the greatest influence on my work has been my teacher, Ghobad Shiva. His poetic approach to visual storytelling and his ability to translate culture into design have shaped my path profoundly. For me, minimalism must always carry culture and emotional truth.

I’ve always admired Milton Glaser’s work, especially his iconic Bob Dylan poster. His ability to blend art, typography, and emotion into a single visual is something I deeply respect. It taught me to see design as a way to capture the essence of a moment or feeling. Armando Milani’s peace poster is another significant influence. His work communicates profound social messages with simplicity and universal power—something I strive for in my own designs. Alexander Faldin’s anti-smoking poster also left a lasting impact. His ability to address a critical issue while maintaining a strong visual identity has been a great learning experience for me. These designers have shaped my approach to creating work with both beauty and purpose.

Choosing a single greatest design is tough for me, as I have many pieces I’m proud of. However, if I had to highlight a few, the book covers I designed for the Western Classic Literature series (16 volumes) for Nafir Publishing stand out. They capture the essence of classic literature while staying fresh and visually engaging. I also have a special connection to some of my film posters, like "A Place Far Away" and "The Wind Blows in the Grass," where I had the chance to visually express emotions and stories. But if I had to pick one, it would be the poster I created for the Abdulqader Maraghei Festival. Its balance, clarity, and cultural significance make it a piece I consider particularly meaningful and powerful.

Becoming a better designer is a personal journey that requires patience, curiosity, and a deep connection to life and art. For me, design has always been a way of seeing the world. I immersed myself in poetry, literature, music, and visual arts from an early age. Though I explored many creative fields, I chose graphic design because it allows me to communicate deeply with people. To improve, I studied, observed, and listened. I read daily, learned from great designers, and practiced constantly. I exposed my work to feedback and explored typography, visual storytelling, and cultural codes. To grow, designers must stay humble, keep learning, and find their own voice.

If I hadn't become a designer, I would definitely be a painter. Painting has always been a vital part of my creative life, and I still explore it today. I would also be writing poetry—it's my soul's language, something I deeply love and practice regularly. Perhaps I would also be crafting things with wood, building small objects or handmade pieces. I've always been drawn to the tactile process of making things with my hands. Whether through painting, poetry, or woodwork, I would still be searching for ways to connect emotion and form, just like I do in design.

For me, design is a language—one that speaks directly, emotionally, and visually. It's not just about solving problems or creating harmony; it's about building meaningful connections between people and ideas. Design is poetry with structure, where content and form come together to create clarity, emotion, and impact. Design is also responsibility. It carries culture, identity, and memory. A good design should be honest, rooted, and respectful—yet bold and forward-looking. To me, design is a way of understanding the world, revealing the unseen, and communicating what words alone cannot.

My wife, who studied cinema and has a sharp, critical eye, has been one of my strongest supporters and toughest critics. She celebrates my successes but also pushes me to never settle for mediocrity. If a design doesn’t meet her standards, she’s honest with me, ensuring I always strive for my best, no matter the pressure. Her care and honesty have been essential in my growth. I am also deeply grateful to my teachers, especially Master Ghobad Shiva, whose influence on my design sensibilities and understanding of cultural responsibility has shaped my career profoundly.