sadra boushehri

From a very young age, I was deeply drawn to crafting and building. I would spend hours playing with clay and paint, creating new things out of simple materials. In middle school, I became familiar with marquetry and woodworking, and in high school, I began practicing calligraphy. By the end of high school, I had set up a small woodworking workshop in the basement of our home, where I would spend countless hours working purely out of joy. Choosing to study architecture was rooted in a talent a friend once noticed in me—a spark I eagerly pursued and developed. During university, my previous experience with wood and hands-on materials greatly supported my growth and helped me bridge imagination and material through design. Since childhood, my family would affectionately call me “the designer.” Perhaps it was those simple, heartfelt words that quietly set the course for where I stand today.

Before formally entering the world of kitchen design, I spent about five years working in office furniture design and manufacturing. That experience shaped my understanding of space, ergonomics, functionality, and production. In 2010, when I designed and built my first kitchen, a new journey began—a journey of collaboration with prestigious international brands whose vision and quality left a deep impact on me. Working with brands like Poggenpohl (Germany) in kitchen cabinetry, Lualdi (Italy) in interior doors, and Dornbracht (Germany) in fittings introduced me to global design philosophies, schools of thought, and professional standards. These experiences inspired the creation of Bocaveli, a brand built on respect for design, honesty in materials, and architectural precision in detail, aimed at elevating cabinet and interior production to a distinct level. As I progressed, I felt a growing need for a freer and more thoughtful space—one independent from purely client-driven limitations, where I could respond to deeper conceptual and narrative questions in design. This need led to the founding of the Sadra Boushehri Design Studio: a creative atelier for conceptual projects that move along the boundaries of function, form, and storytelling. Today, Bocaveli remains our production platform, while Sadra Boushehri Design Studio acts as a nimble, experimental lab, working in product design, interior design, furniture, and spatial experiences—with a strong focus on cultural context, human detail, and reflections of lived experience.

Design, to me, is life—I breathe through it. I am constantly creating—not only in objects and spaces but also in conversations and relationships. I’m always striving to craft a more pleasant experience of living. In my area of expertise—kitchen architecture and wooden products—I consider myself a functionalist designer. I deeply believe that function comes before aesthetics. However, I also believe that a good designer should never be confused or forced to choose between the two. Instead, they must be able to deliver both: optimal functionality in the most refined and thoughtful form. Otherwise, they have not truly earned the title of “designer.” For me, design is the art of balance and proportion.

I enjoy designing projects where a real problem is being solved, a fresh experience is created, and a meaningful story emerges through form. For me, design should not exist for the sake of aesthetics alone—it must arise from genuine needs, practical functions, and lived experiences. Both my academic background and personal journey, as well as years of collaboration with international brands, have been deeply rooted in the modern design tradition. As a result, I value simplicity, purity, and honesty in design. That said, I do not resonate with minimalism when it becomes performative or overly self-conscious. I believe in a modern design language that serves function—not by eliminating form, but by letting form emerge from purpose. What I create must respond—not just impress.

As our work is consumer-oriented, we must respond to a wide spectrum of tastes and needs. One of my most meaningful and concept-driven design contributions has been the creation of eight curated collections for the Bocaveli brand—each one starting with a letter of the brand’s name: •Born: Modern and affordable •Origin: Classical and timeless •Core: Brutalist, heavy, and material-driven •Aura: Transparent, luminous, and glass-based •Vector: Minimalist and precise •Elegance: Neo-classical with ornamental richness •Life: Currently in development, inspired by lived experiences •Iran: The final collection I plan to design for Bocaveli—an embodiment of my design maturity So far, three of these collections have been fully developed and launched. Right now, I am working on LIFE, a collaborative campaign in which I invite architects, clients, and brand partners to co-create based on their real stories, dreams, and interpretations of life. I hope we’ll return soon with LIFE.

The very first thing I built was a wardrobe for my own home—not for a client, not for money, but simply for the joy of creating and experimenting. The first woodworking project I got paid for was fixing a small shoe cabinet at a local school. It was a very simple task, yet deeply meaningful to me, because it was the moment I realized design could become a profession. However, my first professional project was designing and crafting an executive desk for the CEO of an IT company named Cheshmandaz. That project marked my entry into the world of custom, user-centered design—where I had to understand real needs while still preserving my own creative signature.

I’ve always tried not to become dependent on a specific material, technique, or tool—because I believe a designer should never be confined to a single language. But the truth is, this effort isn’t always successful. We are inevitably limited by our tools, experiences, and what we’ve been exposed to. Undoubtedly, MDF, aluminum, and CNC machines have played a dominant role in shaping my design subconscious and have significantly influenced the formation of my formal language. That said, I constantly push myself to see more, experiment with unfamiliar materials, and think beyond the familiar frames in order to break free from these limitations. In the end, materials and tools are only a means—not the goal. What truly matters is the message they are meant to convey.

I feel most creative in the midst of conversation. When words are flowing, my mind awakens, and ideas emerge spontaneously from my subconscious—unplanned, yet deeply rooted in a genuine, alive connection. When a real question is posed without urgency or anxiety, and the dialogue unfolds in a calm, empathetic space, that’s when creativity blossoms within me. In those moments, my mind turns language into a tool for design and discovery. For me, design begins not on paper, but in words. Strangely enough, the first idea that comes to me is often the one I ultimately return to—as if that initial spark is the purest version of a thought that later becomes refined and articulated. I also tend to problematize my ideas in the course of dialogue. Rather than rushing to solutions, I dive deeper into the problem itself, exploring its hidden angles. From that complexity, new and unexpected pathways to solutions emerge.

The most important thing for me is ensuring that life flows naturally through the space I design. To achieve this, I must first understand that life—what functions are expected, what materials can support them, and how details can either enhance or diminish the quality of that experience. For me, design isn’t just about creating a form; it’s about responding to the quality of living within that space. And if a project has a client, I deeply value that client. I believe that when there’s a client involved, I must also embrace the role of the contractor—not just the free-thinking designer. The client’s satisfaction, joy, and peace of mind are integral to the success of the design in my eyes. This philosophy is embodied in the Trustlucent desk. The idea for this piece emerged from a request by the project’s architect, who said: “I want a desk that doesn’t block the northern light entering the space.” That simple wish led to the concept of a transparent, quiet desk—one that exists in the room but doesn’t dominate it; a desk that allows light and life to pass freely through it. Trustlucent is a response—a response to a need, to an architectural intention, and to a way of living.

With a wealth of past experiences, I approach design with the freedom of a child—uninhibited and open. At the same time, I carry a deep sense of responsibility and commitment toward the outcome, because to design is to add something new to the world—and that, to me, is a profoundly responsible act. Alongside this, I always feel a strong eagerness to share the story behind the design.

If everything turns out exactly as I envisioned, I don’t feel overly excited—because it’s simply what it was meant to be. For me, design is about foresight, precision, and control; so when the outcome aligns with my mental image, I feel satisfied, but not surprised. However, if the result turns out better—or worse—than expected, it signals that something in the process was incomplete—whether in the concept, the execution, or the communication. These moments matter to me. They reveal where I need to rethink or where I can trust more. In the end, design is a conversation between imagination and reality—and when that conversation results in misalignment or wonder, there is always something to learn.

For me, the criteria for success depend on the nature of the project. When I design for a space, harmony, balance, and proportion with the spatial context are my main benchmarks for success. A successful design quietly integrates into its environment and enhances the quality of life—without needing to draw attention to itself. But when I design an independent object or product, adherence to functionality and aesthetics within the scope of that product becomes the measure of success. A successful product works as intended, looks beautiful, and creates a pleasant user experience—without requiring extra explanation. In both cases, success means a design that is quiet, effective, and in tune with people, space, and time.

I believe in the diversity of tastes, and out of respect for that diversity, I am both cautious and critical in my evaluations. However, if I were to summarize my judgment criteria, the most important elements would be the balance and harmony between form and function, as well as the design’s ability to integrate smoothly and effortlessly into its context. A design that fits naturally within its environment—without force or imposition—and still meets a real need, regardless of its style, is what I consider a good design.

A lasting design either solves a real problem, engages with culture, is rooted in history, or maintains a deep connection with nature. A designer’s responsibility lies in one of these four domains—and unless a design leaves a meaningful mark in at least one of them, it cannot be considered enduring. Sometimes, a designer must be a trendsetter. To do that, they may need to act against the grain—challenging popular taste or prevailing perceptions. In these moments, the designer becomes like a “purple cow”—a distinctive presence that gets noticed and awakens minds. Yet, design is not always about spectacle. In everyday life, a designer must operate within the cultural fabric of society, while gently elevating the public’s aesthetic awareness and environmental sensitivity. We are responsible not only for solving problems, but also for shaping a better future—with respect for the Earth, for humanity, and for what comes after us.

Design will certainly continue to exist—but its role is transforming. In the future, data analysis, trend forecasting, and pattern-based content generation will largely be handled by artificial intelligence. Yet the true subject of design will be the discovery of new realms—realms that remain unnamed and can only be accessed through human intuition, imagination, and authentic encounters. In this new landscape, the designer will increasingly act as an explorer, a storyteller, and a connector—bridging people, spaces, culture, and nature. The future of design must not only serve function and aesthetics, but also carry meaning and offer deeply human experiences.

My most recent exhibition was held in Tehran from May 26 to May 28, 2025. I am currently planning my next exhibition for August 2025, where I will present the new Life collection along with conceptual projects based on the Trustlucent philosophy.

My inspiration comes from life itself—its contrasts, conversations with others, real-world challenges, and the layering of everything I’ve lived through. To me, creativity means storing experiences in the mind and memory, and then, in the right moment, combining elements that seemingly have no connection. A creative person is someone with faster and more intuitive access to their mental archive—someone who can build new bridges between what they’ve seen, heard, touched, or felt. For me, design is the act of playing with this archive—discovering combinations that are neither imitative nor accidental, but rather a natural continuation of being alive. Throughout my professional journey, I’ve learned immensely from working with international brands like Poggenpohl, Lualdi, and Dornbracht. I’ve drawn inspiration from my quality-conscious clients, learned from renowned architects I’ve collaborated with, and found deep inspiration in the traditional architecture of Iran as well as the humanistic and ethical dimensions of Islam. I actively attend both related and unrelated design exhibitions, locally and internationally, to keep my mind fresh and open. But ultimately, what inspires me most is a cross-disciplinary perspective—one that opens new realms of creativity before me.

My design style is the result of a complex and multilayered process, whose final outcome appears simple and calm. But this simplicity is no accident—it’s the product of refinement, revisiting, and a deep respect for the viewer’s perspective. In my work, I strive to present a clean blend of minimalist and user-centered design—forms that emerge from function, culture, and real needs, not from superficiality or fleeting trends.

I live in Iran—a land of deep cultural layers, hidden beauty, and living contradictions. Iran’s cultural heritage, while not always visibly present in my work, is deeply embedded in my subconscious—in the way I perceive geometry, proportion, silence, and order. During the height of modernism in the 1970s, Iranians lived with a high standard of quality. However, due to years of international sanctions and internal restrictions, that pursuit of quality has been disrupted. Today, what people desire is often far from what social and economic conditions allow—and within that gap, imitation becomes common, and sometimes even mediocrity prevails. In a context where international connections are heavily limited and even basic exposure to the global design world—such as obtaining a visa—has become a challenge, designing in Iran is both inspiring and difficult. On one hand, the rich culture, visual intelligence, and poetic spatial sensibility of the people are an endless source of inspiration. On the other hand, instability, lack of structural support for designers, and a rushed market environment make the path difficult. Alongside this lived reality, years of collaboration with renowned European kitchen architecture brands have helped me better understand global standards of quality, precision, and coherence. Today, I strive to translate that understanding into the local context—blending it with the needs and culture of my own people.

My approach to collaboration is based on identifying and activating the hidden potential within the real resources of an organization. To me, a good designer is someone who can develop innovative ideas not in an idealized, unrealistic world—but precisely within the constraints of what exists: current resources, available materials, and the organization’s established workflows. Every company has untapped assets—be it in materials, teams, spaces, or even internal culture—that have either gone unnoticed or have not been creatively utilized. My focus is exactly on these overlooked elements; by observing them from a fresh angle, I aim to design solutions that shift the game—right within the existing framework. For me, design is about creating transformation from within reality, and in deep respect for it. I strongly recommend that companies—especially large ones—work with designers who can free them from the superficial world of Pinterest aesthetics. Seek out designers who have the ability to revive timeless values: human, natural, historical, or cultural.

My design process begins with looking directly at the problem— not just from the outside, but with the belief that the answer lies hidden within the question itself. I start by identifying the unique points of the site or project—those elements that give the space its personality and distinct character. Then, I develop those same points, much like the coaching process: rather than imposing ideas, I extract the design path from within the project’s inherent capabilities. Once the core idea takes shape, I immediately enter a phase of trimming and simplification. I create a first version—what I call an NVP (a minimum viable proposal, but one that can be meaningfully evaluated). Then I take distance. After a few hours or days, I return to it with fresh eyes. If it still holds up, I set it aside—and start the process again from scratch. This repetition is part of the refinement. In the final stages, the design moves into deeper layers. If at any point I encounter details that compromise function, I re-examine the entire concept. Because for me, form must never dominate function—it must complete it.

Here are three of my favorite design pieces at home that have always inspired me: 1.Foscarini Rock Suspension Light – A beautiful balance between stillness and presence; a stony form with a soft, ambient glow. 2.Mushroom Table Light – A symbol of simplicity, nostalgia, and emotional lighting. 3.Zaha Hadid Vase – A fluid, boundary-pushing form that reminds me of motion every time I look at it. All three of these pieces reflect my personal approach to design: focused on detail, form-driven, and deeply in dialogue with feeling and space.

To become a designer, one must see more, touch more, and feel more deeply. Here are my suggestions for young and emerging designers: •Observe abundantly—not just design, but also the city, life, cinema, and history. •Visit exhibitions unrelated to design. Inspiration often comes from the most unexpected places. •Experience great spaces and touch high-quality materials. Design doesn’t just happen in the mind—it also happens through the body. •Instead of creating ideas from scratch, use the Best Practice approach; study how and why the best works came to life. •The world already has enough ideas; your job is to see, understand, and intelligently recombine them. •And above all, seek the spirit of life—because design without life is just arrangement.

In my view, the only downside of being a designer is that you give yourself permission to have an opinion about everything—people’s clothes, their homes, their cities… Your mind is constantly analyzing, critiquing, and suggesting. The designer’s mind doesn’t switch off, and if you don’t learn to manage this impulse to evaluate and fix things, you may lose your inner peace. But if you can manage that, design is all benefit—gentleness, attentiveness, beauty, and a deeper sense of being alive in the world. A true designer is someone who sees beauty, but doesn’t stop at material form. If you don’t get caught up in superficial aesthetics and instead reach for meaning, concept, and even metaphysics within design, then you are a true artist—because true beauty isn’t in form, or even in matter; it’s in what lies beyond. Perhaps it’s simply in the feeling that the design evokes.

My golden rule in design is, first: a 360-degree perspective, and second: constant movement between the big picture and the details. I always try to look at the problem from every angle—from above, below, inside, and out. Throughout the design process, I keep moving between zooming in and zooming out. On one hand, I examine the smallest joints and material choices; on the other, I consider the overall spatial experience and the relationship between form and life. Neither should be overlooked—neither the big picture nor the tiniest details. And that balance can only be achieved through a continuous back-and-forth between surface and depth.

In my view, the most important skill for a designer is the ability to see—not just to look, but to truly see meaning, relationships, and hidden potential. Alongside that, a designer must be a storyteller—able to craft a narrative around each piece where the user, space, form, and function are all interconnected. Design without a story is merely a visual arrangement; but design with a narrative becomes a human and lasting experience. The third essential skill is the ability to shift between surface and depth—to analyze the big picture while paying ruthless attention to the smallest details. And finally, the capacity to step away from oneself—to view your own work critically and refine it without becoming emotionally attached.

My design process begins with a thorough analysis of project data—from the floor plan to images and spatial assessments. Then I move into the storytelling phase in a brainstorming setting. Whether with my team or in solitude, I try to uncover the “design narrative,” because I believe every project must carry its own story. Next comes the ideation and hand sketching phase. At this stage, I rely on one main tool: Sketches, sketches, and more sketches. Everything must begin by hand. I then transfer the design into SketchUp, a software that, for me, bridges thinking and three-dimensional form. At this point, the work either reaches completion—or, if it falls short, I go back to the beginning. Sometimes, to better understand the space, I use digital models for spatial prototyping. And if the project requires a more refined presentation, I move to rendering with 3ds Max. For me, tools are merely facilitators; what truly matters is the path that runs through seeing, analyzing, storytelling, and building.

For me, design isn’t time-consuming in terms of execution. What truly takes time is the thinking, analysis, and reasoning behind each work—a process that begins with observing, listening, engaging in dialogue, and deeply understanding the problem. After this stage, the execution process—such as implementing the design, production, rendering, and fabrication—is usually handled by other teams and is far more manageable in terms of time. That said, some ideas come in the form of inspiration—but I believe even inspiration is the result of the mind’s rapid ability to match needs, analyze demands, and retrieve learned experiences from one’s mental archive. It is not merely a spontaneous spark devoid of study or background.

The most profound and inspiring experience in my design journey has been leading the creation of the LIFE collection campaign for the Bocaveli brand. Still ongoing, this project goes far beyond cabinetry—it’s a human-centered, participatory, and meaningful exploration of life itself. The LIFE collection was born out of deep respect for the diversity of perspectives and preferences. It became a space to listen—to people’s ideas, needs, and lived experiences. Through this, a new visual language emerged: a distinct design DNA, and even a custom font, reflecting the essence of life. But arriving at this point wouldn’t have been possible without earlier experiences. In my younger years, I had the honor of working with some of the world’s most prestigious European and American brands— including Poggenpohl (Germany), a century-old kitchen design pioneer; Lualdi (Italy), a family-owned maker of interior doors with over 200 years of legacy; Dornbracht (Germany), a leader in luxury fixtures; and Shaw Contract (USA), known for high-end carpets for hotels and offices. These collaborations not only gave me a deep understanding of global quality, materials, and cutting-edge technology, but also introduced me to the mindset of quality-conscious clients both in Iran and abroad. And that, in turn, laid the foundation for how I view design today: Not merely as form-making, but as a lived experience.

Yes. The most important ongoing project I’m working on is the design campaign for the LIFE Collection by the Bocaveli brand—an initiative that is still in progress and yet to be completed. LIFE is a unique design challenge, born out of respect for life itself and the diversity of perspectives. The core idea is to create a collection that doesn’t impose a specific style, but rather becomes a platform for dialogue, co-creation, ideation, and user participation. In this project, we are building a new design DNA—something beyond a mere product. We are shaping a typeface, a narrative, and a design identity that seeks to honor and respond to real human lives. LIFE isn’t meant to simply look beautiful—it is meant to live. And that’s exactly why I consider it my most important unfinished project.

You can contact me through the following channels: •Mobile: +98 912 125 7810 •Personal WhatsApp: +971 56 373 3869 •Email: sadraboushehridesignstudio@gmail.com •Studio WhatsApp: +98 905 819 1905 •Instagram: @Bocaveli @Sadraboushehri.DesignStudio I am always open to conversation, collaboration, and the exchange of ideas.

I am truly delighted that in our very first international appearance, we were able to present a valuable product on a global stage. In the past, I have participated in many domestic design competitions in Iran and, fortunately, we have won each time. However, receiving an award in the A’DESIGN competition is a great honor for me and my dedicated team—because this achievement took place at an international level and was the result of collective effort and a shared belief in the quality of design. For my beloved Iran and all people around the world, I wish peace, friendship, and beauty.