ᨓᨓᨊᨌᨑ ᨔᨗᨒᨚᨂ Yuya Nakazawa

I started my career as a video editor and spent around 15 years shaping other people’s ideas into final forms.

Later, I shifted to woodworking because I wanted to take responsibility for the final outcome myself.

I studied the basics at a woodworking school, then gained practical experience at a furniture workshop.

Now, I design and produce furniture, mainly chairs.

I have always enjoyed making things, and I still work in video editing as an extension of that.

However, I wanted to create not only digitally, but also physically.

I became interested in how form affects human perception and behavior,

and I wanted to be able to control that through my own work.

I prioritize structure, usability, and visual consistency.

I mainly work through making—testing ideas directly with physical prototypes rather than relying only on digital tools.

I try to make sure every line and form has a clear reason.

I feel both tension and excitement.

There is often a gap between what I see and what I can actually achieve, and I stay in that state until it is resolved.

My background in video editing and my experience working with skilled craftsmen.

Editing taught me how to structure and refine, while woodworking taught me how decisions directly affect physical results.

I want to create chairs that can stand on their own without explanation.

My focus is on improving the level of resolution in both structure and form.

Do not ignore discomfort.

If something feels wrong, there is usually a reason, and that is where the work begins.

Have your own criteria.

Deciding what to remove is more important than deciding what to add.

I divide my time between my main work, woodworking, and raising a child.

I try to focus deeply within limited time.

I am aware of trends, but I do not follow them directly.

I prioritize my own judgment over external movements.

A design is good when nothing feels unresolved.

If there is even a small inconsistency, it is not finished.

When further changes no longer improve it.

Until then, I do not consider it complete.

ORUHA Chair.

It was an attempt to balance structural clarity and visual tension through multiple iterations.

Hans J. Wegner.

His work shows a clear relationship between structure and the human body.

I am based in Japan.

Through world traveling, I became aware of how unique Japan is in its precision and cultural layering, and that influences my work.

I mainly work alone to maintain consistency in decisions.

When collaborating, I focus on whether the design intent can be preserved.

I believe creating long-lasting objects is a form of contribution.

It reduces unnecessary consumption over time.

It gave me a chance to test whether my own standards are valid outside my personal environment.

It also helped me reassess my criteria through external evaluation.

ORUHA is built on the idea of eliminating contradictions between structure, usability, and perception.

I wanted the form to feel inevitable—something that could only exist in this exact configuration.

The inspiration came from accumulated experience, cultural context, and the tension between precision and intuition.

My focus was to create a chair that stands on its own without explanation.

I aimed for structural clarity, visual tension, and a form that influences how a person perceives and behaves in space.

I plan to expand ORUHA into a series and explore variations that deepen the relationship between structure and presence.

I also intend to exhibit it internationally to test how it behaves in different cultural contexts.

It took about a year, including rough sketches, clay models, and the creation of multiple full-scale prototypes.

I remade it many times until there was no room for further improvement.

It was self-initiated.

I could not find a chair that satisfied my own standards, so I created one that resolved the contradictions I felt.

I produce the work myself.

I collaborate with companies only when the design intent can be preserved through execution.

I am drawn to objects that directly engage the human body.

Chairs require structure, usability, and presence to coexist, making them the most challenging and meaningful objects to design.

Hans J. Wegner’s body of work is a major reference point—especially the clarity between structure and the human body.

I am also influenced by a veteran craftsman I worked with, whose decision-making deeply shaped my approach.

People who value structural honesty, tactile materials, and long-lasting objects.

Those who seek furniture that communicates through form rather than explanation.

Every line carries both structural and visual meaning.

There is no decoration, no excess—only decisions that resolve necessity and perception simultaneously.

“ORUHA” combines two Japanese ideas:

“ORU,” to weave, and “HA,” waves.

It reflects how the waves of one’s life—memory, experience, and emotion—are woven into form.

This chair is the physical expression of my own accumulated journey.

Hand tools, woodworking machinery, and clay for modeling.

I rely on physical prototyping rather than digital tools to test ideas directly.

The balance between structural clarity and visual tension.

It appears simple at first glance, but the form is the result of countless decisions and refinements.

I worked primarily alone to maintain consistency.

However, the foundation of my approach comes from years of learning alongside skilled craftsmen.

Technology increases precision, but it does not replace judgment.

The final form is shaped by human decisions, not by tools.

Yes.

I conducted structural tests through repeated prototyping and observed how small changes affected usability and perception.

Travel and cultural exposure also informed my understanding of context.

Resolving small inconsistencies that disrupted the flow of the structure.

These issues are often invisible to others but critical to the final form.

I wanted to test whether my own standards held value outside my personal environment.

External evaluation helps refine my criteria.

This work is my first independent creation.

Through it, I learned that my physical and intuitive sense of form was not mistaken.

Before reaching this point, no one expected anything from me—but that absence of expectation allowed me to define my own standards without compromise.

Design is never isolated.

Every object carries context, history, and accumulated decisions.

My goal is to create forms that remain meaningful beyond trends and time.

Since childhood, I have been fascinated by forms and structures through indie games, music, and scale models. After a 15-year career in video editing, I studied woodworking for one year and received the Top Graduate Award. Subsequently, I worked at a solid wood furniture workshop for four years, learning not only technical skills but also the methodology of decision-making through production. My debut work, "ORUHA," created in my sixth year of woodworking, has achieved eight international design awards.

It started because I couldn't find furniture that I was truly satisfied with. I am interested in how forms influence human perception and behavior, and I believe design is the only way to consciously control those elements.

I chose this path as a transition from digital creation as a video editor to tactile, analog craftsmanship. While I didn't have absolute certainty at first, my conviction grew as I persisted and engaged deeply with the craft. It was only after committing seriously that my choice became clear.

I currently focus on chair designs centered on wood. Moving forward, I aim to create furniture that integrates structural beauty and comfort at an even higher level.

Never give up on believing in yourself. People around you will use various words to obstruct your path; view them as trials. If you can overcome them, you will finally become your true self. I was in that exact position before winning this award.

It depends on where the designer’s perspective lies—how they perceive the world and how they approach it. Simply put, I believe it comes down to the depth of their problem-solving abilities.

A design can only be called "good" when there are no points left to correct. If even a single contradiction is found, it is a failure.

It fundamentally transforms the experience of a space. Long-lasting designs also reduce waste and contribute to a more sustainable society.

I would like to design chairs for public spaces. I want to see how forms behave and function under uncontrolled, diverse usage conditions.

To collaborate with an architect to design furniture not merely as objects, but as an integral part of the architectural space.

Never giving up and never compromising on the goals I have set. Even if a project is near completion, if I find a structural issue, I will discard it and start over.

Leonardo da Vinci, Antoni Gaudí, Susumu Hirasawa, and Hayao Miyazaki. Technically, I am influenced by a highly skilled veteran furniture craftsman I worked with.

Furniture that has survived across generations. Its raison d'être is still clearly expressed within its form today.

Human beings themselves. I find the human structure inherently devoid of waste. Even from a creative standpoint—money, history, religion, capitalism, and morals—everything was designed by humans.

Thorough observation and repetitive prototyping. I constantly keep my antennae up to analyze anything that strikes a chord with me.

I would likely still be working as a video editor.

The act of expressing maximum freedom and beauty within the constraints of functionality.

My family, and the connections I have with friends and acquaintances.

Experience in the field—specifically, learning the decision-making criteria held by a veteran master craftsman.

Time and financial resources.

Taking excellent photographs and organizing one's personal background and philosophy logically.

Developing chairs with new structural concepts and expanding the "ORUHA" series.

To continue creating without interruption throughout my life.

I am not yet sure if I am "renowned," but I believe people expect work that is truly essential.

By creating items that are loved for a long time, I contribute to a sustainable society that does not rely on mass consumption.

Ongoing production and the construction of my own workshop.

"ORUHA Chair." My ideals of structure and beauty were realized without compromise, proving that the idea could physically exist.

As digital technology advances, I hope to see a re-evaluation of the importance of tactile materials and physical sensations.

Most designs will become easier to produce and, consequently, easier to ignore. AI will accelerate this, but what remains will be human judgment—the decision of what to select and what to reject.

Several months, though it varies depending on the number of times I start over.

I begin with small-scale models, then transition to full-scale prototypes.

Never ignore discomfort.

It is like the "chicken and the egg" dilemma where you don't know which came first; I believe design and trends are born while reflecting each other.

Technology increases precision, but it is not a substitute for human judgment.

Hand tools, woodworking machinery, and clay for modeling. I use whatever the required shape demands.

Materials are the core of the design, and the environment is the context in which it exists. Color serves to emphasize the inherent texture of the material.

Questions regarding the "inevitability" of the structure and form.

Whether the thought process that led to that specific form is visible.

An architect.

The Japanese musician Susumu Hirasawa.

"Paintabon!" by Katsuya Terada.

Countless hours of prototyping and a continuous habit of rigorous self-criticism.

My own children when they have reached my current age. I intend to live as a role model for them, and I would like to ask if my path was the right one.

I still don't have a real sense of being "famous."

The color of wood (walnut), orange, salmon roe (Ikura), autumn, and quiet spaces.

When someone saw the clay model of "ORUHA" and asked if I would sell it as a sculpture.

The day a curve I imagined finally takes shape as a beautiful physical line.

Vaguely. I felt that if I remained sincere to my own internal standards, I would eventually reach this point—though this specific recognition came quite suddenly.

Technology will advance exponentially over the next few decades. In 100 years, the world will be beyond our current imagination. As for 1,000 years from now, I simply cannot say.

I will simply continue to create.

I started as a video editor, shaping other people’s ideas.

Over time, I realized I had no control over the final form—I was always interpreting, never deciding.

I moved to woodworking because it allowed me to take full responsibility for what I create.

It was not a romantic choice, but a necessary one.

I work independently, focusing on furniture design, primarily chairs.

The studio remains intentionally small to maintain full control over both concept and execution.

Each piece is developed through direct making.

Design is the act of giving form to intention so that it creates a specific response in people.

It is not complete when it functions, but when it affects how a person perceives and behaves in a space.

Structure, function, context, and perception must align—and the form must communicate without explanation.

Objects that directly engage the human body, especially chairs.

They require structure, usability, and presence to exist simultaneously.

Hans J. Wegner’s work is a major reference point for me.

Not as a single piece, but as a body of work where structure, craftsmanship, and human interaction are resolved into forms that feel inevitable.

Wood and hand tools.

They allow direct feedback between hand, structure, and form.

When I define something that did not exist before, based on my own experience and constraints.

I focus on eliminating contradictions between structure, usability, context, and visual perception.

If these do not align, the design cannot stand.

I feel tension and excitement at the same time.

There is also a constant sense of isolation, like being alone in a vast space with no clear answer.

Relief, not satisfaction.

Satisfaction usually means I stopped too early.

Nothing unnecessary, nothing missing.

It resolves structural, functional, contextual, and emotional requirements at once.

A good design feels inevitable.

If it appears adjustable, it is incomplete.

Designers are responsible for what they introduce into the world, not only physically but also culturally.

Design influences how people behave, perceive, and assign value over time.

The role is not to reject others, but to ensure what you create holds meaning within its context.

Design is becoming more visible and more rapidly evaluated.

With AI, large-scale and average-level production will continue to expand.

What remains distinct is work shaped by human judgment—decisions formed through experience, context, and intent.

April 2026, Landry Rice, Minato-ku, Tokyo (Japan)

May 2026, Suwatte Chairs, Scaleworks Gallery, Nagano (Japan)

June 2026, Woodworker Week NAGOYA, Nagoya Area, Nagoya (Japan)

My work is shaped by accumulated experience, materials, cultural context, and the history of objects.

Travel, daily life, and exposure to different environments continuously influence how I see form and function.

Ideas emerge from the interaction between memory, context, and the constraints of making.

I explore continuity within structural constraints.

Every line must carry both structural and visual meaning.

Based in Japan.

Through traveling globally, I realized how unique Japan is in its mix of precision, contradiction, and cultural layering—from traditional craftsmanship to subculture like anime.

This environment creates both discipline and tension in my work.

First, I define structure: usability, strength, and construction.

Then I integrate experience, context, and intuition, eliminating contradictions.

Finally, I refine by hand until no discomfort remains.

If that state cannot be reached, I discard the work.

A small statue I found at a flea market,

tongs designed to measure and mix miso,

a Yogibo cushion,

liquid milk for my child,

and a family photograph.

I divide my time between my primary work, woodworking, and raising a child.

Do not ignore what feels wrong.

That discomfort is where the work begins.

The advantage is the ability to define what should exist.

The disadvantage is carrying full responsibility for whether it truly deserves to exist.

A form is complete only when no further decision improves it.

The ability to recognize inconsistency and act on it.

I mainly use hand tools and woodworking machines.

But in reality, the tool I rely on most is my hands and eyes.

While working, I constantly check small discomforts in the form—things that don’t feel right but are hard to explain.

When I get stuck, I step away from the work.

Walking or doing something unrelated often helps me come back with a clearer sense of what is wrong.

I prioritize resolving the design first.

Time is adjusted to meet that requirement, not the other way around.

It depends on the level of resolution required.

“How much is this chair?”

Traveling globally and experiencing different cultures and environments.

It redefined my understanding of context, value, and form.

Designing objects that must resolve both structure and perception simultaneously.

To create chairs that can stand globally without explanation.

Objects that justify themselves purely through form and presence.

Primarily solo to maintain consistency.

I am currently working on a chair that I have already remade multiple times.

Each time it gets closer, but something still feels unresolved—usually in how the structure transitions into the overall form.

It is not a big, visible problem, but a small inconsistency that keeps the piece from feeling complete.

I am trying to reach a point where the structure, weight, and visual flow all feel inevitable.

Until then, I consider it unfinished, no matter how close it looks.

info@yedit.jp

Design is never isolated.

Every object carries context, history, and accumulated decisions.

I realized that this paradox would become the emotional core of the Oruha Chair only after the piece was completed. During the making process, my mind was occupied with very simple intentions: to create something beautiful, and to create a chair that could be sat in comfortably for a long time. I was not consciously trying to create a contradiction.But when I finally sat in the completed chair, the sharp visual tension and the unexpectedly gentle embrace of the body reacted with each other—almost like a chemical reaction. Only then did I understand that this contrast was not an accident, but a defining emotional feature of the work.Looking back, I believe the seed of this paradox was already present in the clay model stage, working unconsciously. The coexistence of visual sharpness and tactile softness transforms the chair from an object into an experience. That realization came only after the making was over.

Oruha is carved almost entirely with hand tools. This is not simply a production method—it is a question posed to contemporary furniture design. In an era dominated by mass production, carving by hand appears inefficient. Yet the process of touching the material, responding to it, and searching for the form through physical negotiation creates a density of judgment that digital tools cannot replicate.Oruha suggests to the digital-native generation of designers thatform is not born only from calculation, but also from touch, intuition, and emotion.Analog craftsmanship is not a nostalgic technique; it is a sensory interface that reveals possibilities beyond digital logic.

Oruha was conceived as a piece of furniture that creates a moment of personal rest within shared or public spaces. Public spaces are open by nature, yet this openness often leaves individual emotions unprotected. The enveloping comfort and sculptural presence of Oruha create a small boundary within the space—a temporary sanctuary of quiet.This idea encourages architects and interior designers to reconsider furniture not only as functional equipment but as something that can shape the emotional atmosphere of a space. A single chair can change how a person relates to their surroundings. Oruha is a proposal for that shift.

I worked for many years as a video editor. Editing is the act of arranging fragments of time to create rhythm, tension, and emotional perception. This editorial way of thinking deeply influenced the form of Oruha.The continuity of curves, the sharpness of edges, the way light touches the surfaces, and the flow of the viewer’s gaze—all of these were composed with an awareness of rhythm and temporal experience.Although it is a chair, I designed it as if it were a sequence of visual moments. The tension and release within the form reflect the sensibilities I cultivated through editing.

I discarded two full-scale prototypes during the development of Oruha. The reason was simple: the forms created through numerical design did not align with the sensory reality of the human body. Numbers are useful, but they cannot capture the subtle reactions of the body.By placing tactile intuition at the center, I came to understand that design is not the act of drawing a correct answer, but the act of adjusting the dialogue between material and body.Craftsmanship is not merely a finishing technique—it can become the design method itself. This was one of the most important discoveries Oruha gave me.

The making of Oruha required months of physical negotiation with the wood. In woodworking, once material is removed, it never returns. This demands a rhythm of carving a little, observing, and sometimes carving boldly.Certain areas—such as the tips of the backrest and the ends of the armrests—are structurally thin. Their final thickness was not determined by my intention alone, but by what the wood allowed. Through touch, I could sense the limit.There was a moment when the form no longer felt like something I was imposing, but something the wood itself was revealing. That shift—from conscious decision to material-guided decision—is where the inevitability of Oruha’s form was born.

Receiving the A’ Design Award Gold positioned Oruha within an international context of recognized innovation and craftsmanship. For me, this recognition brings a new sense of responsibility and motivation.I want to deepen the intersection of sculpture, emotion, and spatial thinking, and explore proposals that go beyond the conventional boundaries of furniture. The recognition of Oruha strengthened my belief thatform has the ability to carry and transmit emotional experience.From here, I hope to expand toward creating spatial experiences that support human life more gently and meaningfully.

Oruha began with the metaphor of waves—movement, transition, and emotional fluctuation. The question was whether these intangible qualities could be held within a physical form.Now, when I look at the completed chair, I feel that form can indeed become a vessel for emotion. The sense of calm when touching it, the visual tension, the quietness when sitting—these are all evidence that form can influence the inner state of a person.Oruha suggests that objects have the potential to act upon our emotional landscape.

The armrests are where the philosophy of Oruha is most concentrated. They needed to maintain a visually sharp and assertive edge while offering a gentle, secure tactile experience at the point of contact.I refined the angle of the edges, the spread of the surfaces, and the way the fingers settle into the form—repeatedly carving and adjusting until all tactile discomfort disappeared. Through this process, I learned thatvisual language and haptic experience are not separate, but complementary.I was also inspired by the design of game controllers. The areas frequently touched are smooth and low-resistance, while untouched areas can be surprisingly angular. They are designed for long-term use with remarkable sophistication. I applied the same philosophy to the armrests, seeking a balance between visual clarity and tactile comfort.

The central challenge in developing Oruha was to unify sculptural freedom with the physical reliability required of a chair—without allowing one to compromise the other. I approached the piece not by separating structure and form, but by designing them as a single continuous flow that follows both the movement of the body and the logic of the material.The line of the spine, the angle of the pelvis, the way pressure disperses—these were determined not by numbers, but by the feedback of the body and the hand. Through multiple prototypes, I tested and refined the form until its complexity supported comfort rather than opposing it.In the end, I came to believe that sculptural expression and ergonomics are not opposing forces. They can arise from the same root and enhance each other. When the flow of the form aligns with the flow of the body, a chair becomes more than a functional object—it becomes an emotional place to inhabit. Oruha is one answer to that possibility.