Interviews med Kenichi Mizuno

I grew up in an environment surrounded by craftspeople and manufacturing. Before I even knew the word “design,” making things already felt natural to me. Later, my strength in drawing and creating gradually connected to industrial design, and it became the path I chose for my life and work.

I first worked at a company that manufactured automotive parts. I was involved in production, but I strongly wanted to create better products through design. I asked the company president for several years to let me try design work. When I finally had the chance, the result was well received. That experience made me realize that manufacturing knowledge and creative thinking could come together in a powerful way.

My priority is to create something that excites me first, and then allows that excitement to reach others. I always want to exceed expectations. This creates pressure, but I believe that if I am not excited by an idea, it cannot truly move other people.

At first, I feel joy because someone has trusted me with a design project. Then I feel pressure, because I must create something new. With experience, I can often sense a direction that may please the client or open a future possibility. That moment gives me strong motivation to keep working.

I was shaped by a strong competitive spirit and by growing up in a pottery town where clay was part of everyday life. As a child, touching and shaping clay became natural to me. I also felt that creating was one of the few things I could truly rely on. That feeling still drives me today.

Now that I am over 55, I think more about what I can leave behind and pass on. I want to create works that show younger people that design can still be exciting, difficult, and worth fighting for even as we grow older. Noshudo Zero is one important milestone for me, but I would like to continue creating works that go beyond it.

My advice is to welcome the work that comes to you. When I was young, I sometimes avoided work that did not suit my pride or interests, and I regret some of those moments. Even if a project is not your favorite category, take it seriously. Being trusted with work is already something to be grateful for.

I do not think of myself as an elevated or perfect designer. For me, design has been a way to survive. I use design because it is what I can do best. If I can suggest one thing, it is to value the immediate power of design. A design that makes people feel “this is good” at first sight is still very important.

I may look like a rather ordinary and even boring person in daily life. I do not have many hobbies because my work has become my hobby. I enjoy designing most. Outside work, I like driving, watching movies, going out for lunch or dinner with my wife, and traveling when I can.

I do not consciously follow trends very much. Trends become old quickly, just like fashion. What was new yesterday can look outdated after a few years. Instead of chasing other people’s trends, I try to update myself every day and go beyond my own previous ideas.

It is like asking who decides what food is delicious. If many people love it, that is one kind of value. But if a design is made for one specific person, like haute couture, it only needs to make that person happy. Design usually has someone on the other side, so I believe good design is something that can be loved by the people it is meant for.

For client work, a design is ready when the client is satisfied and my own idea or theme is properly included. For my personal works, I sometimes stop myself, step back, and look at the design again after some time. This helps me avoid losing the original axis of the idea before deciding whether to complete it or refine it further.

In terms of physical size, I have designed large automotive parts and, when I was younger, window displays for shopping malls that were around ten meters wide. But in terms of impact, designing a Japanese sword was the largest experience for me. It had the greatest cultural and emotional weight.

To be honest, I do not know many designers deeply enough to name one favorite. I have not lived my life by following famous designers. I simply like what moves me at that moment. My inspiration often comes more from products, cars, craft, tools, and everyday experiences than from specific designer names.

My lifestyle may look free, but I actually manage my time quite strictly. I often feel that every minute is precious. At the same time, ideas constantly grow in my mind and sometimes disturb me. I live while struggling with that every day. In terms of culture, everyday Japanese life, manufacturing culture, driving, food, and small routines all influence me.

My work philosophy is simple: deadlines must be kept. As a professional, delivering on time is essential. I do not want to work with people who do not respect time. For me, keeping promises and meeting deadlines is not special; it is the basic responsibility of professional work.

As a designer, I believe I can help small and medium-sized companies rediscover their own potential. Many companies have excellent manufacturing skills but may not know how to turn them into original value. By adding ideas and design thinking, I can help them create something surprising and regain confidence. I want to show that wisdom, ideas, and creativity can create new possibilities regardless of company size.

Participating in the A’ Design Award gave me a special feeling because it is connected to Italy, Como, and the region near Milan, which has a strong image of design, fashion, and culture. Being accepted and evaluated there felt different from other international awards. I also felt that the award valued inspiration, which made me very happy.

The main idea behind Noshudo Zero is to reinterpret the Japanese sword not as a tool for cutting, but as a symbolic object for self-reflection.

The Japanese sword has a very strong spiritual and aesthetic presence in Japanese culture. At the same time, its long and sharp form naturally suggests direction, tension, confrontation, and cutting.

By transforming that linear direction into a circle, I wanted to express harmony instead of confrontation, introspection instead of aggression, and stillness instead of force.

A circle has no beginning or end. It can represent continuity, balance, and a mirror-like presence that reflects the self. Noshudo Zero respects the tradition of the Japanese sword while quietly questioning its meaning from a contemporary design perspective.

My main focus was not simply to create an unusual form, but to preserve the dignity, tension, and spiritual presence of a Japanese sword.

The idea of a circular Japanese sword has a strong visual impact. However, if it appeared only as a joke or a decorative object, the project would lose its meaning. I needed to approach the craftsmen, culture, and history of the Japanese sword with respect, while making the work valid as a contemporary design.

What I wanted to achieve was to translate the spirituality of the Japanese sword into a universal form that people could understand intuitively. Through the simple and powerful shape of a circle, I wanted to shift the sword from an outward-facing blade into a symbolic object that reflects the inner self.

Noshudo Zero has already been exhibited in Seki City, Gifu Prefecture, where many people have had the opportunity to see it.

In the future, I hope this work can continue to serve not only as an exhibited object, but also as a starting point for thinking about the relationship between Japanese sword culture, craftsmanship, and contemporary design.

This is not a work intended for mass production. Rather, it is a symbolic project that suggests how culture and technique can be connected to the future.

Through this international recognition, I would like to communicate that Japanese traditional craftsmanship and regional skills can gain new meaning through contemporary design.

The core idea appeared relatively early. Once the concept of a circular Japanese sword came to me, the direction became quite clear.

However, the real time was spent turning that idea into something that could hold the presence of a Japanese sword, rather than simply becoming a sculptural form. I considered many elements, such as the size of the circle, the way the blade appears, the relationship between the blade, handle, and guard, and the impression it would create when displayed.

Including the dialogue with craftsmen, material considerations, finishing, and structural issues, this project required much more than a simple design process. It was built through a long series of discussions and refinements.

This project began through an encounter and discussion with people connected to Japanese sword making.

When I first received the opportunity, I felt both honor and fear. The Japanese sword is such a culturally significant subject that I honestly wondered whether I should be involved in it as a designer.

At the same time, I felt there was great meaning in reinterpreting the Japanese sword from a contemporary perspective.

It was a commissioned opportunity, but it was also driven strongly by my own inspiration. I did not want to treat the Japanese sword only as a beautiful tradition. I wanted to ask what it could express in the present age, and that thinking led me to this circular symbolic blade.

This work was created as a symbolic piece that connects traditional craftsmanship and contemporary design. It is not a general mass-production product.

At present, I do not intend to sell the production rights or develop it as a mass-produced item. I place more importance on communicating its value as a work within exhibition and cultural contexts.

If there are future developments related to this work, they should be considered carefully, in a way that does not damage the respect for Japanese sword culture and craftsmanship.

I have worked mainly in automotive and industrial product design, creating many forms and product concepts. At the same time, through 4DESIGN, I have also explored works that cross the boundaries of craft, culture, product, and experience from my own personal perspective.

The Japanese sword is an object where craftsmanship, technique, aesthetics, and spirituality are connected at a very high density. For that reason, thinking about how contemporary design could engage with it was a major challenge.

This work is not simply a sword design. It is an attempt to connect Japanese tradition with contemporary thinking.

Rather than being influenced by a specific designer or existing work, I was strongly influenced by the history, beauty, craftsmanship, and symbolism of the Japanese sword itself, as well as by the symbolic meaning of mirrors and circles.

I do not usually follow specific designers closely. I often find ideas in forms, materials, culture, technology, and small feelings of discomfort or possibility.

For Noshudo Zero, I focused on reconstructing the essence of the Japanese sword through my own sensibility, rather than quoting from another design.

The target audience is not a specific consumer group, but people who are interested in Japanese sword culture, traditional craftsmanship, contemporary design, and symbolic art.

I would also like craftspeople, designers, cultural institutions, and people involved in regional industry and cultural promotion to see this work.

Noshudo Zero is not a practical weapon. It is a symbolic design that encourages viewers to face themselves and think about the meaning of the Japanese sword and how tradition can connect to the future.

The most distinctive aspect is not only that the Japanese sword has been made circular, but that the idea was realized through traditional craftsmanship and contemporary design thinking.

It is not merely a circular object. I wanted it to retain the tension, material presence, finishing quality, and spiritual character of a Japanese sword.

Another important distinction is the transformation of meaning. The sword is changed from a linear object directed outward into a circular form that reflects inward. This is not only a change of shape, but also a change in the meaning of the sword.

Noshudo is the name of the Japanese sword maker involved in this project, and I included it in the title as a sign of deep respect.

The word “Zero” represents reset, origin, and the circular form of this work. In Japanese, it can also be read as “zero,” making it a name that can be communicated internationally.

This work does not deny the long history of the Japanese sword. Instead, it returns to the origin and reconsiders its meaning from a contemporary point of view.

For this reason, the name Noshudo Zero combines respect for the maker, the philosophy of the work, and a clear expression that can be understood globally.

In the early stage, I began with sketches and rough idea development. After that, I used 3D CAD and computer graphics to study the balance and structure of the form.

Digital tools were especially important for checking the three-dimensional relationship between the circular blade, handle, guard, and the way the work would appear when displayed.

However, this work could not be completed by digital tools alone. In the end, the skills of craftsmen and their understanding of materials were essential. The work was realized through both digital design and traditional making techniques.

The most unique aspect is that it transforms the concept of the Japanese sword into a circular form while still preserving its identity as a sword.

A Japanese sword usually has direction. It suggests forward movement, cutting, and tension. In Noshudo Zero, that force is enclosed within a circle and transformed into introspection and harmony rather than aggression.

Another unique point is that, although it is circular, it is not intended to be only a sculpture. It was designed to maintain the presence and dignity of a Japanese sword.

This work could not have been realized by my idea alone. It became possible through dialogue and collaboration with craftsmen, specialists, and people connected to Japanese sword making.

I was responsible for the concept and design direction, including the overall meaning and formal direction of the work. However, realizing the object required advanced craftsmanship, material knowledge, and specialized technical skills.

In the world of traditional craft, design alone is not enough. Understanding the material, respecting the technique, and building trust with the people involved are all essential.

Technology was used not to replace tradition, but to connect traditional craftsmanship with contemporary ideas.

3D CAD and computer graphics were useful for studying the difficult form of a circular sword. By checking balance, structure, and appearance in advance, the dialogue with craftsmen became more concrete.

However, the essence of this work is not digital technology alone. It could only be completed through traditional materials, techniques, and handwork. Technology played the role of a bridge between design imagination and craftsmanship.

This work was not born from numerical data or market analysis. It was born from the study of cultural meaning, symbolic form, the history of the Japanese sword, and the emotions of viewers.

My research focused on the form, structure, and cultural meaning of the Japanese sword, as well as how it would be seen in an exhibition context. I also considered the symbolism of the circle.

More than data, cultural understanding and intuitive questioning were important. I did not want to answer the question “Why make a Japanese sword circular?” only with form. I wanted the answer to have meaning.

The greatest challenge was deciding how far contemporary design could enter a cultural subject as respected as the Japanese sword.

A circular Japanese sword is a very bold idea. For that reason, I was careful that it should not appear disrespectful, light, or merely strange.

There were also physical challenges: how to realize the circular blade, how to connect it naturally with the handle and guard, and how to create tension when the work is displayed.

I have participated in several international design awards, but I felt that Noshudo Zero was a work worth presenting to the world.

It takes a very Japanese theme, the Japanese sword, and expresses it through the universal form of a circle. I wanted to know how people from different cultural backgrounds would receive this work.

I felt that the A’ Design Award was a meaningful place to submit this work because it evaluates culture, product, craft, and concept from an international perspective.

Through this work, I learned again the weight of designing something connected to culture.

In industrial product design, function, form, production, and communication are important. But in Noshudo Zero, respect for history, spirituality, and craftsmanship was also essential.

I realized that design is not only about creating a new shape. It is also about how to carry existing value into the future. This experience became a major step in my growth as a designer.

Noshudo Zero is not only an award-winning work for me. It is an important project that asks how design can face culture.

The Japanese sword carries strength, beauty, technique, and spirituality. Transforming it into a circle was not an act of destroying tradition. Rather, it was an attempt to look at its essence from another angle.

Through this work, I would like to show that even a small studio or an individual designer from a regional manufacturing area can create design that reaches the world, if there is a clear question and sincere collaboration.

The main idea behind GT Experience is to bring the emotional tension of real motorsport into a gaming and simulation environment.

In racing, the driver is not only looking at a screen. The surrounding space, peripheral vision, body tension, and atmosphere all influence the feeling of speed and concentration. I wanted to create a physical enclosure that shapes the player’s field of view and makes the racing experience feel more immersive.

The inspiration came from motorsport tension, cockpit environments, aerodynamic forms, and the rising pulse of a race. Instead of adding only digital effects, I wanted to design a physical space that supports immersion through form.

My main focus was to create immersion without fully closing the player inside a heavy cockpit.

GT Experience uses large side panels to influence peripheral vision while keeping the space open enough for home use, events, and esports venues. I wanted the player to feel surrounded by speed and tension, but not trapped.

I also wanted to turn the visible layer lines of 3D printing into a positive design feature. Instead of hiding them as a weakness, I treated them as a surface language that expresses manufacturing, motion, and accumulated tension.

GT Experience began as a concept, but I believe it has potential for event spaces, gaming venues, esports exhibitions, and home simulator environments.

In the future, I would like to refine the structure, materials, modularity, and installation method so that it can be used more easily in different locations. I am also interested in developing variations for different simulator sizes and event requirements.

The award gives this project stronger credibility, and I hope it can lead to opportunities for collaboration with companies in gaming, mobility, 3D printing, and experiential design.

The first concept appeared relatively quickly, because the emotional direction was clear from the beginning. I wanted to create a spatial device that could change the feeling of a racing simulator.

However, it took much longer to refine the form, size, rhythm, and modular structure. The side panels are large, so their proportion and presence are very important. I studied how the panels would look from the driver’s seat, from outside, and in an exhibition space.

The design process included concept development, 3D modeling, visual studies, and consideration of production by large-scale 3D printing.

GT Experience was developed from my own inspiration and interest in motorsport, simulation, spatial experience, and 3D printing.

I have long been interested in cars and driving, not only as objects but as experiences. Sim racing can reproduce vehicle behavior, but the surrounding space often remains ordinary. I felt there was an opportunity to design the environment around the player, not just the seat, steering wheel, or screen.

This project was my attempt to design the atmosphere of racing as a physical product.

At this stage, GT Experience is a concept and prototype-oriented project. It is not currently mass-produced.

I am open to future collaboration with companies or organizations that have interest in gaming, esports, simulation, 3D printing, or event production. The concept could be developed as a product, event installation, or promotional experience.

Because the design is modular and based on large-scale 3D printing, it has flexibility for different production and installation methods.

I designed this work because I wanted to connect product design, automotive emotion, gaming, and spatial experience.

Most simulator products focus on hardware: the seat, steering wheel, pedals, monitor, or frame. I wanted to focus on the surrounding space and the player’s peripheral vision. I thought there was still unexplored potential in designing the atmosphere around the simulator.

As a designer with an automotive background, I also wanted to express the feeling of speed, tension, and mechanical performance through spatial form.

This design was not directly influenced by a specific designer or product.

The influences came more from motorsport environments, racing cockpits, aerodynamic parts, race circuits, tachometers, airflow, and the visual rhythm of mechanical forms. I was also influenced by the expressive possibilities of 3D printing.

Rather than referencing another design, I wanted to create a form that feels like racing tension building up around the driver.

The target users include sim racing enthusiasts, gaming facilities, esports venues, automotive events, exhibition organizers, and brands that want to create immersive mobility-related experiences.

It can also appeal to companies that want to present motorsport, performance, or future mobility in a more physical and memorable way.

GT Experience is not only for hardcore gamers. It is also for people who want to turn simulation into a stronger experience for visitors, customers, and audiences.

Many simulator environments focus on the seat and control devices. GT Experience focuses on the space around the player.

Its large modular side panels shape peripheral vision and create a stronger sense of immersion without completely enclosing the user. This makes it suitable for both play and presentation.

Another distinctive point is the use of 3D-printed layer lines as part of the design identity. Instead of hiding the production process, the design turns it into a premium surface expression that suggests motion, accumulation, and tension.

The name GT Experience comes from the idea of creating a grand touring or racing-inspired experience, rather than simply designing a gaming accessory.

“GT” suggests performance, motorsport, driving pleasure, and automotive culture. “Experience” expresses that the project is not only an object, but a surrounding environment that changes how the user feels.

The name was chosen to be simple, direct, and understandable internationally.

I used sketches, 3D CAD, digital modeling, and rendering tools during the development process.

Because the design is large and spatial, 3D modeling was especially important. I needed to study the relationship between the user, simulator seat, screen direction, panel height, panel rhythm, and overall visual presence.

CG rendering was also useful for checking how the object would appear in different environments, such as home spaces, event venues, and exhibition settings.

The most unique aspect is that GT Experience treats immersion as a physical spatial design, not only as a digital or screen-based experience.

The design uses side panels to control peripheral vision and create emotional tension around the driver. It gives the simulator a stronger presence and transforms the surrounding space.

Another unique point is that the visible characteristics of 3D printing are not hidden. The layer lines become part of the design language, giving the product a sense of manufactured energy and motion.

This project required thinking across several fields: product design, automotive design, spatial design, 3D modeling, and 3D printing.

The concept and design direction were led by me, but realizing such a large-scale object requires collaboration with people who understand digital fabrication, material behavior, production size, and installation conditions.

For this kind of project, design is not only about form. It also requires technical understanding of how large printed parts can be made, transported, assembled, and used safely.

Technology plays a central role in GT Experience.

Large-scale 3D printing makes it possible to create forms that would be difficult to produce with conventional manufacturing methods, especially in small quantities or for experimental installations.

Digital modeling allows the shape to be controlled precisely, while 3D printing allows the design to become physical without requiring traditional molds. In this project, technology is not only a production method; it is part of the design identity.

The design was not primarily driven by numerical data. It was driven by observation of racing experiences, simulator environments, player posture, peripheral vision, and spatial impression.

I considered how people feel when they sit in a racing simulator and how the surrounding environment affects concentration. I also studied the practical needs of event use, such as installation, portability, visibility, and safety.

The research was therefore more experiential and spatial than statistical.

One of the main challenges was scale. The side panels needed to be large enough to create immersion, but not so large that they became impractical for transport, assembly, or use in different venues.

Another challenge was balancing impact and openness. If the enclosure is too strong, the user may feel trapped. If it is too weak, it loses its immersive effect.

I also needed to consider how to make 3D-printed surfaces feel intentional and premium, rather than unfinished.

I decided to submit GT Experience because I felt it was a project that connected several contemporary design themes: gaming, mobility, digital fabrication, spatial experience, and 3D printing.

The project is not a conventional product, but I believed it had a clear idea and strong visual identity. I wanted to see how an international jury would evaluate this kind of experimental yet practical design.

Submitting it to an international design competition was also a way to test whether the concept could communicate beyond language and region.

Through this project, I learned again that design can extend beyond the object itself and influence the surrounding experience.

GT Experience reminded me that even a simulator, which is often considered a technical or gaming product, can be transformed by spatial design and emotional storytelling.

I also learned that manufacturing limitations can become design identity. The 3D-printed layer lines, which are often seen as a weakness, became one of the strongest visual features of the work.

GT Experience is a project that explores how physical design can enhance digital experience.

In an age where many experiences are becoming virtual, I believe the physical environment still has great power. The body, the eyes, peripheral vision, and surrounding atmosphere all influence how people feel.

This design is my attempt to bring automotive emotion, racing tension, and manufacturing expression into the world of gaming and simulation. I hope it can open new possibilities between mobility, digital entertainment, and spatial product design.

I am an industrial and product designer based in Aichi, Japan. My background comes not only from formal design knowledge, but also from craftsmanship, manufacturing, automotive design, and many years of practical work with companies and makers.

I design because it is the field where I can use my strongest abilities. Since childhood, making and drawing were natural to me. Design became a way to live, work, and communicate value.

I chose design, but in a way, I also feel design chose me. It was the one thing I could truly rely on, and I felt that if I lost it, I would lose an important part of myself.

I mainly design industrial products, automotive-related products, concepts, and symbolic design works. I would like to design more projects that connect manufacturing, craftsmanship, mobility, culture, and emotional experience.

They should accept the work in front of them and turn every project into experience. Do not be too selective too early. Pride is important, but unnecessary pride can stop growth.

A good designer can create a good answer. A great designer can exceed expectations, create trust, and make people feel that choosing that designer was the right decision.

For me, good design has immediate power and lasting reason. It should attract people at first sight, but it should also continue to make sense through function, meaning, quality, and context.

Good design creates value that cannot be achieved by function alone. It improves communication, builds trust, increases desire, and can help companies and people express who they are.

I would like to design more symbolic works that connect Japanese craftsmanship with contemporary design. I would design them for people who care about culture, technology, and emotional value.

My dream project is to create a larger cultural design work that combines mobility, traditional craft, digital modeling, and spatial experience. I want to create something that makes people say, “I never imagined design could do this.”

My secret ingredient is the combination of surprise and logic. I want my design to excite people emotionally, but there must always be a clear reason behind the form.

I do not follow one specific design master deeply. I am inspired by craftspeople, engineers, car designers, manga artists, product makers, and people who seriously create things.

I like designs that move me instantly. I am attracted to objects that have strong presence, clear intention, and a sense that someone made a brave decision.

One of my most important designs is Noshudo Zero. It reinterprets the Japanese sword as a circular symbolic blade, connecting tradition, craftsmanship, and contemporary design in a powerful way.

People should observe more, experience more, and take each project seriously. I improved by working on real projects, facing pressure, making decisions, and learning from both success and regret.

I am not sure. Perhaps I would still have worked in manufacturing or something related to making things. Creating has always been close to my life.

Design is a way of living. It is not just decoration or styling. It is a way to discover value, give form to thought, and move people.

Many clients, collaborators, craftspeople, engineers, friends, and family members have supported me. My wife has also been very important, because daily support gives me the strength to continue.

Practical experience helped me most. Working with real companies, real manufacturing, real deadlines, and real responsibility shaped me more than theory alone.

One obstacle was proving the value of design. Especially in Japan, design is sometimes misunderstood as decoration. I had to keep showing that design can create real business and cultural value.

Designers should present their work clearly, honestly, and visually. A design should first communicate its power, and then the designer should explain the logic, background, and value behind it.

I want to continue creating works that connect manufacturing, craftsmanship, mobility, and culture. I also want to keep developing 4DESIGN as my personal creative project.

My ultimate goal is to leave behind work and thinking that can continue beyond myself. I want my design to encourage people, companies, and future creators.

People expect clarity, originality, quality, responsibility, and something beyond the obvious. I believe they also expect a designer to bring confidence when a project is difficult.

Design can help people recognize value that was hidden. It can support craftsmanship, improve communication, create pride, and connect people with products, culture, and ideas.

I am currently focusing on client work and developing the value of my recent award-winning projects. I am also interested in future projects that combine mobility, craft, and symbolic design.

Projects that exceed the client’s expectations give me the most satisfaction. Noshudo Zero was especially meaningful because it carried cultural weight and deep responsibility.

I would like design to be understood more deeply, not only as styling or decoration. Design should be recognized as a way to create value, strategy, emotion, and meaning.

I think design will move beyond fixed categories. AI, digital tools, craft, mobility, and culture will overlap more, and designers will need to define their own role more clearly.

It depends on the project. Sometimes an idea appears in minutes, but refining it into a form that can be presented or produced may take days, weeks, or months.

I start by understanding what the project must communicate and who it is for. Then I look for the point that can create surprise, value, and meaning.

My motto is to create design with surprise and logic. I want my work to excite people, but I also want it to have reason and responsibility.

Both can happen, but I do not want to simply follow trends. I believe strong design can create its own current, even if it does not follow what is fashionable.

Technology is a tool that helps ideas become clear and precise. CAD, rendering, and digital modeling are important, but technology should support human imagination, not replace it.

I use sketches, CAD, 3D modeling, rendering tools, Photoshop, and a pen display. The tools change depending on the project, but the thinking behind the design is always most important.

Color, materials, and ambient define how people feel a design. They are not secondary elements. They can change the emotional quality, meaning, and presence of a design.

I would like people to ask why the design exists in that form. When they become curious about the reason behind the surprise, the design begins to communicate more deeply.

When I see a great design, I first feel it before analyzing it. After that, I start thinking about why it works and what kind of decision made it powerful.

My ideal partner is someone who respects both creativity and responsibility. I believe in collaboration, but the concept and final direction must be clear.

Clients, engineers, craftspeople, and makers have influenced me greatly. Working with people who actually make things has shaped my sense of design responsibility.

I cannot name one specific book. I am influenced more by everyday information, news, manufacturing sites, conversations, travel, vehicles, and real objects than by a single design book.

I developed my skills by continuing to work, observing carefully, using CAD and digital tools, communicating with makers, and facing pressure from real projects.

I would like to meet the craftspeople and creators of the past who made objects that still move people today. I would ask them what they were thinking when they created them.

Awards are encouraging, but I do not want to become arrogant. Recognition is useful because it helps communicate the value of design, especially for an independent designer.

I like black because it has strength and clarity. I like places where manufacturing and culture exist together. I enjoy good food, driving, and quiet time with my family.

Sometimes people imagine designers as very stylish and elegant, but in reality I often spend long hours struggling quietly at a desk. The gap between image and reality is sometimes funny.

A good day is when an idea finally appears after struggle. I motivate myself by telling myself that I can do it, and by imagining the moment when the client or viewer will be surprised.

It was not obvious to me. I did not even know the word design. But I loved making and drawing, and one praised drawing in childhood changed how I saw my own possibility.

I cannot imagine clearly what will happen in one thousand years. But I believe people will still need beauty, surprise, tools, stories, and objects that help them understand themselves.

I am not a designer who began from a perfect theory. I have used design to survive, work, communicate, and create value. I want to keep making designs that have both surprise and reason.

I was born in an area known for ceramics and craftsmanship, so from childhood I was surrounded by people who made things with their hands. It felt natural for me to believe that creating something could become a way of living.

When I was in the third grade of elementary school, one of my drawings was highly praised. I clearly remember that the way people looked at me changed at that moment. Around the same time, I learned that there was a profession called design. It was a field that could surprise people and move them through creation. That experience made me feel that this was the path I wanted to follow.

I started my company when I was 30 years old. I was young, and perhaps optimistic, but I moved forward believing in the possibility of success. With the help of many people and through many lessons, the company has now continued for more than 25 years.

D-WEBER inc. is the business base through which I work with clients, manufacturers, and collaborators. At the same time, 4DESIGN is my personal design project and creative label, led by me as an individual designer, Kenichi Mizuno. It is not a separate large organization, but a platform where I can express my own design identity more directly.

For many years, I worked almost alone, and even today the studio remains compact. I am both a designer and a business owner. What I am proud of is that we receive projects from leading Japanese companies and manufacturers that compete globally. Through client work and personal projects, I continue to explore how design can create surprise, trust, and value.

For me, design is a way of living. It may sound exaggerated, but honestly, this is what I can do, and this is how I feel I must live.

Design is also a field where I do not want to lose. By “winning,” I do not mean defeating others. I mean earning trust, receiving work, creating value, and continuing to live honestly through design.

Design is not just decoration or a convenient word. It is a way to discover value, give form to thought, and move people.

I like working with things that already have familiar forms or existing value, and then finding new possibilities within them. Starting from zero is interesting, but I am especially attracted to the challenge of slightly changing something people already know and creating a new discovery.

I like the moment when people say, “I had never thought of it that way.” That kind of surprise is very important to me.

All of my works are important to me, including many products designed for clients. However, if I had to choose one, I would mention the Japanese sword project, Noshudo Zero.

The Japanese sword is one of Japan’s most respected cultural symbols, so when I received the opportunity, I felt both honor and fear. This was not a project that could be treated simply as an idea or a form. It required respect for culture, craftsmanship, and the people involved.

I still remember the atmosphere at the venue when the design was presented and people reacted to it. It was a very deep and unforgettable experience.

One of the first products I designed after becoming independent was an aluminum wheel for automobiles. Before that, I was also involved in window displays and commercial displays for shopping malls.

These early experiences were very important because they taught me that design must communicate directly with people in the real world.

My favorite material is metal. I have worked with metal for a long time, especially through automotive-related design. I also like clay and other materials that can be touched, shaped, and understood by hand.

In terms of technology, 3D CAD and computer graphics feel very natural to me. They suit the way I think. Since I also have experience in photography and visual presentation, I enjoy tools that connect form, light, image, and communication.

I feel most creative between the first idea and the final presentation. Sometimes an idea appears instantly, and sometimes I have to think for many days. The process of building the idea, refining it, and preparing it to be shown to others is when I feel the strongest creativity.

During that period, there is excitement, anxiety, tension, and joy. I also feel creativity strongly when I see people’s reactions after a presentation.

I focus on whether the design can go beyond expectations. When I receive a project, I feel pressure to create something better than what the client first imagined.

I care about form, balance, impact, and feasibility. But above all, I want the client to feel that asking me was the right decision.

Design gives me many emotions at the same time: excitement, anxiety, concentration, and pressure. After working deeply on a design, I often feel completely exhausted, but that exhaustion is also part of the reward.

For me, design is not a calm process. It is more like entering deeply into a problem and staying there until the answer begins to appear.

When a design becomes a real product, the first feeling is “I did it.” Seeing an idea become an actual object gives me joy.

After that first excitement, I often start thinking about what could have been improved. But when I see positive reactions from people outside the project, I feel deep happiness and relief.

I believe successful design comes from continuous input. Even when I do not have a specific theme, I am always absorbing things through my eyes, body, and daily experiences.

A design becomes successful when those accumulated impressions suddenly connect with a project and become a clear form that moves people.

I am an intuitive designer, so I first consider whether the design captures the heart instantly. A design that needs too much explanation before it can be felt may be intellectually interesting, but for me, good design should have immediate power.

Concept and philosophy are important, but beauty and impact should be felt before they are explained.

I do not think designers can always carry a large social responsibility alone. In reality, many projects are shaped by clients, budgets, systems, and business decisions. So I am careful about saying that designers alone can change everything.

However, designers should at least be aware of whether their ideas are only for self-satisfaction or whether they truly contribute to people, society, and the future. That awareness is important.

I have not always been deeply involved in what is commonly called the design industry, so I do not see the future only through trends or styles. I am more interested in how quickly society changes and how designers can respond to that change.

In the age of AI, I believe designers should define their position more clearly. It is no longer enough to simply follow styles or categories. Designers need to imagine, create, present, and communicate ideas across genres.

My Japanese sword work is currently exhibited at a public facility in Seki City, Gifu Prefecture. I am very happy that people continue to see the work and that it has also attracted attention on social media.

At the moment, I do not have a specific plan for my next exhibition. My main business is very busy, and I do not have enough time to create new personal works. However, I also see this as a good situation, because continuing the business is also important.

The first thing I think about is who will see the work. At the same time, I always ask myself whether I can also feel excited by it.

If the creator is not excited, I do not think the work can truly excite others. For me, inspiration begins when I feel that I want to make an idea real.

My style is mostly self-developed. Of course, I have been influenced by many things since childhood, such as manga, anime, cars, pop culture, tools, and manufacturing. However, I did not learn design through one fixed method.

I believe a personal style is formed through continuous work, just as each person develops a different way of running. In my case, I always try to include a sharp idea, a twist, or an unexpected point. I do not want my design to become static or boring.

I live and work in Aichi Prefecture, Japan. The place where we live, the surrounding culture, family environment, and even economic conditions all influence design.

Growing up near towns connected to craftsmanship had a strong influence on me. Also, living outside Tokyo gives me a different perspective. The air, distance, people, and manufacturing culture around me influence the way I think and design.

Many of our current projects come through direct requests. Companies often ask us to work on difficult projects or projects that require a special design perspective.

I feel pressure, but I also feel great joy. I always try to provide something that makes the client feel they made the right choice. It may be form-making, design quality, communication, coordination, or a small “wow” beyond the brief.

If a company does not have an internal design department, the first step is to understand the value of design itself. Design is not only decoration or styling. It affects product value, communication, and business direction.

When working with companies that already have design departments, there is no room for superficial work. We are all professionals, so quality cannot be faked. As an outside designer, I always try to bring at least one strength that makes the collaboration valuable.

When I receive a project, I first feel happy, but soon I feel pressure. I start thinking about how to exceed expectations. Sometimes the idea comes quickly. Sometimes it does not appear until the deadline is close.

Once the idea appears, I can work for hours without noticing time. If nothing happens, I change my environment. I drive, watch a movie, or travel. Often, when I stop forcing myself to think and focus on something else, the answer suddenly appears.

Honestly, I do not have many design items at home that I can call special favorites. I am more interested in creating things than collecting or appreciating things made by others.

Of course, I respect good products and good design, but my instinct is usually to make something new myself.

I usually wake up around 5 a.m. and spend about an hour reading news and newspapers. It is one of my ways to stay connected with the world.

After breakfast, I go to the office, work on client projects, give directions to staff, check progress, and attend meetings or presentations. I try to finish work around 6 p.m., but when an idea comes to me, I often continue working at my home office.

I do not have many hobbies outside work, so I am often at my desk. However, I also value dinner with my wife. We talk about the day, future plans, and small everyday things while having a light drink together. It is an important routine for me.

My advice to young designers is to try many things and not narrow yourself too early. Even if a project is not exactly what you wanted to do, take it seriously and turn it into experience.

I have seen many people miss opportunities because they are too selective or too proud. Pride is important, but unnecessary pride can prevent growth. First, accept the task in front of you, do your best, and learn from it.

The positive side is that the title “designer” sounds attractive and creative. This profession can feel exciting and meaningful.

The difficult side is that many people do not clearly understand what designers actually do. Especially in Japan, I often feel that the value of design needs to be explained. Being a designer may look fun and cool from the outside, but inside it requires patience, responsibility, and constant explanation.

My golden rule is to encourage myself first. I tell myself, “You can do it.” I also try to praise my own design during the process.

At the same time, I allow myself to feel anxiety. That anxiety is important because it becomes the force that refines the design further. Confidence and doubt must both exist.

Observation and insight are the most important skills. Everything in life can become a hint for design.

Even when looking at something unrelated, an idea may suddenly appear. Designers need to keep their minds open in order to connect distant things. That way of thinking is very important.

My basic tools are simple: pencils, erasers, CAD, graphic tools such as Photoshop, and a Wacom pen display. Depending on the project, I also use 3D CAD and digital tools.

I often listen to radio or music while working. It helps me receive new information, understand the current mood of society, and collect small topics that may later connect to communication or ideas.

I manage my time quite strictly. I use digital calendars such as Outlook and the iPhone calendar to record what I need to do.

Putting tasks into the calendar also gives me pressure. I think that pressure helps me keep moving.

It depends on where you define the beginning and the end. Sometimes it takes a long time before an idea appears. In other cases, it may come in three hours, one hour, thirty minutes, or even three minutes.

After the idea appears, it usually takes from several days to about one month, depending on the project, to develop it into something that can be properly shown.

I am often asked, “What is a designer?” Young people also ask, “Can designers make money?” or “How can I become a designer?”

These questions show that design is attractive, but they also show that its real value and working process are still not fully understood.

One of my most important experiences was participating in a project for a major company and being asked to help lead the direction. It was especially difficult because the client members were also designers or members of a design department.

However, the final result became excellent, and we celebrated it together. It was hard, but very enjoyable, and I still maintain good relationships with those people.

My main clients are automobile manufacturers, automotive-related companies, and manufacturers involved in product development. I have also worked with suppliers connected to overseas automobile manufacturers.

Many projects are confidential, but most of my work is related to manufacturing, mobility, product design, and industrial development.

I especially enjoy form-making. I particularly like the moment when I am shaping surfaces in CAD.

For me, form-making is not only technical work. It is the moment when ideas, emotions, and logic begin to become visible.

As I get older, I think more about succession and continuity. I do not simply want to pass on what I have done. I want the company and its spirit to continue and to remain loved by clients and collaborators.

Outside work, I would like to deepen my relationships with family, friends, and the people who have supported me. In design, I want to continue questioning how the word “design” is used. Especially in Japan, this word is sometimes used too conveniently. I want to help recover a clearer understanding of what design can truly achieve.

I often lead the core direction myself, especially in the early concept and form-making stages. However, I do not believe design is created by only one person.

My studio is small, and depending on the project, I work with staff, clients, engineers, craftspeople, photographers, and manufacturers. The strongest results often come from collaboration. Still, I try to hold the first spark and the final responsibility firmly as the lead designer.

4DESIGN is also led by me personally. It is a creative label where I can express my own design ideas while collaborating with others when necessary.

At the moment, my main work is very busy, so I cannot talk much about personal works in progress. However, I am always thinking about projects that combine mobility, craftsmanship, digital modeling, and cultural storytelling.

Some ideas are still only seeds, but I would like to continue creating works that connect Japanese manufacturing culture, contemporary design, and global communication.

People can contact me through the official D-WEBER inc. website or through the 4DESIGN project platform.

D-WEBER inc. is my business base, while 4DESIGN is my personal design project and creative label. I welcome inquiries from companies, manufacturers, craftspeople, media, and anyone interested in meaningful design collaboration.

I believe design is not just a convenient word or a decorative service. It is a way to discover value, give form to thought, and move people.

I come from a small studio in a regional manufacturing area of Japan, but I believe clear ideas, strong skills, and sincere collaboration can reach the world.

Through D-WEBER inc., I work as a professional design business owner. Through 4DESIGN, I continue to explore design as an individual creator. Both are important parts of who I am, but the creative core always begins with my own questions, ideas, and responsibility as Kenichi Mizuno.

I want to keep proving that design can be practical and emotional, local and global, personal and professional at the same time.

The decision to preserve the layer lines was not something that was determined from the beginning.In this project, the initial challenge was how to create a large enclosure that surrounds a gaming chair. I explored various methods such as FRP and wood, aiming to create something impactful and unlike anything that existed before. The concept came first, and 3D printing was discovered later as a possible means to realize it.At the beginning, based on my prior experience with 3D printing, I understood that layer lines would inevitably appear. Therefore, I initially considered using it as a master model, assuming that the surface would eventually be finished and refined, rather than preserving those marks.However, the moment I saw actual large-format 3D printed samples, that assumption completely changed. The surface possessed a unique glimmer and relief-like texture that went beyond a mere byproduct of the process. I recognized it as a distinctive expression that could only emerge from this method of fabrication.From that point, I shifted my approach. Instead of concealing the layer lines, I began redesigning the form under the premise that they would be intentionally preserved. The goal was not simply to expose the marks, but to integrate them into a coherent whole that could be perceived as a valuable and refined object.At the time, 3D printing was often perceived as a tool that could create anything. I felt a certain discomfort with that idea. Rather than treating it as a universal solution, I believed it was more meaningful to explore what only this process could uniquely offer.In that sense, this project was not about compensating for imperfections, but about transforming inherent characteristics into value.

The target users for this project were individuals with a deep passion for cars—people who actively enjoy driving and experiencing the sensation of controlling a vehicle. I myself have also had many opportunities to engage with real cars, including filming and actual driving, and through these experiences I have felt the tension, excitement, and non-ordinary sensations that come with real driving.While I also enjoy simulation games, I always felt that they remain confined within the domain of a “game.” With this project, I wanted to move beyond that boundary.Typically, realism is pursued through large-scale mechanical systems or motion-based simulators. However, in this case, I chose not to rely on such mechanisms. Instead, I explored how spatial design and form alone could recreate the sense of driving, including its tension and immersive qualities.One of the key approaches was to create a cockpit-like, tightly controlled space. By carefully designing the field of view—balancing what is visible and what is concealed—I aimed to enhance concentration while generating a unique sense of enclosure. This interplay between openness and restriction produces a subtle psychological state where anticipation and tension naturally emerge.In terms of form, I incorporated visual cues inspired by speedometers and tachometers, particularly the sensation of entering the red zone. At the same time, I referenced organic structures such as the human nervous system and skeletal form, introducing a sense of tension and dynamism into the geometry.As a result, the enclosure creates a feeling of motion and non-ordinary experience even when stationary, suggesting speed and intensity purely through its presence.

The use of elastomer as a material in this project was not something I was initially familiar with. Through close collaboration and experimentation with the manufacturing team, we gradually recognized that it was a suitable choice for this particular application.Elastomer has rubber-like flexibility and offers a high level of safety for users due to its softness. At the same time, its tendency to deform easily presents a structural challenge. Addressing this balance between flexibility and stability became a key aspect of the design process.In large-scale structures, weight and deformation are closely related issues. It was necessary to find a way to support the form without compromising the intended design. The solution we arrived at was a modular segmentation strategy.By dividing the structure into multiple parts, we were able to stack and assemble the enclosure efficiently. This also improved transportability and ease of installation. In addition, if a specific part becomes damaged, it can be individually reproduced and replaced, which is a significant advantage of this unit-based system.This modular approach also introduces adaptability. By altering only certain components, the design can evolve into new variations. In this sense, the product is not a fixed outcome but a continuously updatable system.Furthermore, the domestic large-format 3D printer used in this project includes a recycling capability, where used materials can be shredded and reprocessed into feedstock. This allows damaged or unnecessary parts to be reintroduced into production as new components.Through this project, my intention was not only to highlight the properties of elastomer, but also to demonstrate the broader potential of large-format 3D printing as a production method. The ability to recycle, reconstruct, and update a product continuously presents a new form of value that was difficult to achieve with conventional manufacturing.In this sense, the characteristics of 3D printing are not merely technical features, but are deeply integrated into the design philosophy of the work itself.

I am truly pleased to have received the Bronze recognition for this project.The GT Experience Gaming Enclosure was proposed within a relatively niche field, centered around motorsports and esports cockpit experiences. However, I believe it was able to demonstrate a broader potential beyond that specific domain.What was likely recognized was not only the form or material itself, but also the design process — the ability to approach the project from multiple perspectives and translate ideas into a coherent physical outcome. I believe the strength of design lies in its capacity to transform thought into tangible form, and this aspect was meaningfully evaluated.Through this project, I also feel that it contributed to a shift in perception toward both elastomer as a material and 3D printing as a manufacturing method. Even widely known technologies can generate new value depending on how they are applied. Presenting that possibility was an important part of this work.In particular, the fact that this piece exists as a complete object entirely produced through 3D printing — not merely as a component — is significant. When people realize this, they tend to experience both surprise and a sense of new potential.Manufacturing processes that might normally go unnoticed can gain attention when expressed through form and experience. If this project was able to create such a moment of recognition, I consider that to be one of its major achievements.This experience will certainly contribute to my future work, both as accumulated knowledge and as a foundation for further exploration. I believe it has already begun to lead toward the next stage of development beyond this project.

The dimensions of this enclosure were determined with a very specific intention.When considering typical Japanese living environments, space is generally limited compared to global standards. The size of this enclosure — approximately 1800 mm in length and 600 to 900 mm in width — closely corresponds to the dimensions of a traditional tatami mat, a fundamental unit in Japanese spatial design.A single tatami mat represents a space where a person can lie down comfortably, and it is often associated with a sense of calm and balance. I used this as a reference to define a scale that feels both compact and psychologically stable.Interestingly, feedback from viewers often reflected two opposing impressions: some felt it was more compact than expected, while others perceived it as larger than its actual dimensions. This contrast was intentional, resulting from the balance between physical size and visual volume.In Japan, there is also a cultural reference in capsule hotels, where minimal personal space is designed for resting. Despite the constrained dimensions, these spaces can feel surprisingly comfortable. This preference for slightly confined spaces aligns with Japanese spatial sensibilities.Additionally, in automotive design, especially in racing vehicles, the cockpit is intentionally tight. Rather than maximizing comfort, it prioritizes performance and focus. This constrained environment heightens tension and concentration.By integrating these cultural and experiential elements, I aimed to create a space that balances comfort and tension simultaneously.However, realizing this scale through large-format 3D printing presented several technical challenges. Initially, I aimed to produce the structure as a single large piece, but due to the properties of elastomer, deformation over time became a significant issue.To address this, I adopted a modular segmentation approach. This allowed for stable production of each component while preserving the overall form. It also made transportation, installation, and assembly much more practical.Furthermore, if any part becomes damaged, it can be replaced individually, improving maintainability.Ultimately, the segmented structure, which emerged from repeated trial and error, proved to be an effective solution both functionally and visually.Rather than a fundamental redesign, the project remained consistent with the original concept developed in the initial sketches. The realization of this form was made possible through the expertise and dedication of the engineering team, particularly the younger members who fully leveraged the capabilities of large-format 3D printing.

In developing the form, I first focused on the sensory experience unique to motorsports.For those who have driven a car, one of the most impactful visual elements during driving is the movement of the speedometer and tachometer. As the engine revs rise toward the red zone, a strong sense of tension and anticipation emerges. I see this moment as a symbolic expression of motorsports itself.I had long been interested in translating this sensation into form, and in this project, I approached it through two distinct axes.The vertical axis is derived from mechanical motion, particularly the behavior of a tachometer. It expresses rotation, acceleration, and the moment of exceeding limits. The form intentionally suggests a structure that cannot be fully contained, as if a component extends beyond its boundary, representing the intensity and instability of high-rev performance.In contrast, the horizontal axis represents the human body, specifically the transmission of sensation through the nervous system. The act of driving involves constant feedback—from the pedals, the steering wheel, and the vehicle itself—flowing through the body toward the brain. I translated this flow into carved grooves that run along the structure, resulting in a form reminiscent of a spine or neural pathway.By organizing the design around these two axes, the form becomes a convergence of machine and human. The vertical expresses mechanical force, while the horizontal expresses biological sensation.At the same time, I was careful to maintain a sense of unity. Despite its aggressive and dynamic expression, the object had to remain as a cohesive mass rather than a fragmented structure.Ultimately, the form is intended to embody the moment where machine performance and human perception intersect, capturing both the physical and psychological experience of driving within a single object.

I am very pleased that this project has been recognized as both a design proposal and a full-scale validation.I am also very interested to see how this project will evolve moving forward. In fact, some of the younger team members who operated the large-format 3D printer during development have since gone on to present their own works and have even received international recognition.I believe this project provided them with valuable experience — not only technically, but also in terms of developing their creative thinking and willingness to take on challenges. For me as well, the opportunity to collaborate with such a team through trial and error has been extremely meaningful.What I consider most important is not the technology itself, but how fully it is utilized. While 3D printing continues to evolve rapidly, it is equally important to explore how current technologies can be maximized and translated into real, tangible outcomes.Specifications and technical performance alone are often difficult to communicate. However, when these are embodied in a physical object, their value becomes immediately understandable. I see this project as fulfilling that role.I hope that people who encounter this work will feel inspired to try something new, leading to the creation of further designs and expressions.3D printing is already becoming established in certain fields, and it will likely continue to expand into many others. I hope that the GT Experience can serve as a catalyst for that transition, contributing to a future where such approaches become part of the standard toolkit for design.

This project exists at the intersection of product design, spatial design, and stage-like presentation.In many esports events, the experience is built around essential components such as a monitor, steering wheel, and seat. While this setup can be effective and engaging, I sometimes felt that something was missing.For professional racing drivers, an enclosure like this may not be necessary. In fact, it could even become an obstacle, as their performance depends purely on focus and skill. They are already fully immersed without additional elements.However, for general users, the situation is different. What matters is the experience itself — the desire to sit in that seat, to enter that space. It becomes similar to the appeal of an arcade, where the environment plays a key role in engagement.I designed this enclosure as an element of “staging.” It is meant to elevate the experience by creating a space that people want to enter, interact with, and be part of.I often compare this to serving food. The taste itself is important, but presentation also plays a significant role in how the experience is perceived. While professionals may focus solely on substance, most users value the overall experience.During actual event testing, this became very clear. Many children were particularly drawn to the enclosure, lining up not just to play, but to sit inside it, touch it, and take photos. This response demonstrated that the space itself had intrinsic value beyond performance.Through this, I realized how strongly design and presentation can attract people and generate interest.Looking forward, I believe such experiential elements will become increasingly important in esports events. For example, creating unique designs for each event or producing temporary, site-specific installations could further enhance engagement.The GT Experience serves as a starting point for this kind of approach, and I hope it will lead to new forms of expression and development in the future.

In designing this enclosure, I focused on balancing a sense of closure with openness.Personally, I find that I am more at ease in tighter spaces, but beyond that, I was strongly influenced by the structure of a racing car cockpit. In a race car, the driver’s body is firmly restrained within a compact space, while the forward view remains wide and open. This condition — where the body is constrained but the vision is open — creates a heightened sense of focus and tension.I aimed to recreate this spatial condition. The side areas are intentionally tight, creating a sense of physical containment, while the front is kept open to maintain a clear and expansive field of view. This contrast allows both compression and openness to coexist.Another important factor was the control of visibility from outside. When people are highly focused, they tend to prefer not to have their expressions observed. Therefore, the design subtly obscures the user's face from external viewpoints, while still allowing their presence to be perceived.At the same time, the user inside experiences a surprisingly open visual field, especially toward the front. This creates a deliberate contrast between how the object appears from outside and how it is experienced from within.Structurally, the side panels are separated, allowing for adjustments based on body size as well as the possibility of arranging multiple units side by side. This adds a level of flexibility in how the enclosure can be used.Ultimately, the space is designed to be compact yet easy to enter, allowing users to concentrate without being overly conscious of their surroundings. It is both an intimate and open experience, and achieving this balance was central to the design.

Digital fabrication, and 3D printing in particular, has attracted many enthusiasts, and I was certainly one of them, drawn to its potential from an early stage.At the same time, a persistent challenge has been how to deal with layer lines. They have often been treated as imperfections to be hidden — sanded down, filled, or removed entirely through finishing processes. I initially approached them in the same way, assuming that the final result should appear smooth and refined.However, I gradually began to question this approach. If we go through the effort of creating something with 3D printing, only to remove the very characteristics that define the process, then the meaning of using that method is diminished.This led me to consider whether those traces — the layer lines themselves — could be transformed into value, rather than concealed.In the GT Experience, the surface quality created by the layered structure naturally aligned with the design concept. The subtle glimmer of the surface, almost reminiscent of woven carbon fiber, complemented the sense of speed and mechanical intensity embedded in the form.That said, I do not believe that preserving layer lines is always the correct approach. What matters is understanding the characteristics inherent in the manufacturing process and deciding how they can be meaningfully incorporated into the design.For designers who are interested in this approach, my advice would be not to be overly driven by the method itself, but also not to ignore it. It is important to develop ideas freely, while consciously working to bring out the strengths of the process.Ultimately, design should not lean too far toward either technology or pure form, but instead aim to integrate both in a coherent way.Above all, the goal is to create something that captivates people. The ability to move and attract others is, in my view, at the core of design.

The circular form did not originate from a desire to create a new aesthetic, but from a strong sense of discomfort with the initial premise of the project: the idea of a “future sword.”The Japanese sword is already a highly refined object, matured over centuries of history. Associating it with the notion of “future” immediately felt contradictory to me. To better understand this tension, I first encountered real swords and spoke directly with swordsmiths. Through this process, my initial discomfort only grew stronger.If one were to simply add elements to express “futuristic” qualities, it would easily drift toward exaggerated forms similar to those seen in games or animation, ultimately reducing the sword to something closer to a toy and stripping away its inherent dignity.Instead of adding, I began to consider whether it was possible to contain the essence of the sword.I focused on the moment where two blades meet tip to tip — a state of maximum tension. By connecting this relationship continuously, I arrived at a closed form. The circle emerged as a natural result.This is not merely a stylistic decision, but a logical conclusion that internalizes the energy and relational structure of the Japanese sword.The result is something that is unmistakably a Japanese sword from any perspective, yet something no one has ever seen before.

This work is not a denial of the sword, but an extension of it.Through discussions with swordsmiths, I came to understand that the Japanese sword has historically existed not only as a weapon, but also as a guardian presence — a symbol of protection, honor, and spiritual discipline.In practical combat, other weapons were often more efficient. This suggests that the value of the sword lies not solely in its function, but in its symbolic and psychological dimensions.I chose to reinterpret that aspect — shifting the direction of force from outward to inward.In this work, the opponent is not an external enemy, but oneself. It represents the act of confronting inner uncertainty or weakness, and forming a clear sense of determination.The Japanese notion of “holding a sword within one’s heart” is expressed here as form.

The loss of material across three attempts was not simply a technical failure; it fundamentally altered the meaning of the work.At the beginning, I did not fully grasp the level of difficulty involved. However, by observing the forging process, I came to understand the depth of its precision and repetition.The material used was reclaimed iron from shrines and temples — highly pure and extremely valuable. Losing such material carries a weight beyond mere technical failure.Despite this, the swordsmiths continued.Their persistence reflected not only a commitment to tradition, but a willingness to push its boundaries.In this context, failure itself became an essential element.Because of it, the work carries a tangible sense of weight and history.

When encountering the work, the first impact is intended to be purely visual and immediate. The circular form creates a sense of unfamiliarity that interrupts expectation.This initial moment of surprise is important. It draws attention before any explanation is needed. Only after this moment does the viewer begin to question what they are seeing.As they move closer, the reflective surface gradually reveals another layer — not the object itself, but their own image within it. This transition from observation to self-recognition is central to the experience.In this way, the sequence moves from surprise, to curiosity, to contemplation.In its permanent display in Seki City, I wanted the work to function without dependence on explanation. It should be understandable through presence alone.The object does not explain itself, but instead creates the conditions for the viewer to arrive at their own understanding.

The relationship was clearly both confrontational and resonant.In the early stages, there was mutual respect. However, as the process developed, differences in values and sense of time became apparent. In particular, there was a significant gap in expectations regarding speed and decision-making.At a certain point, I directly questioned whether maintaining the current approach would truly allow the project to carry forward into the future.This led to confrontation.However, that moment became a turning point.By clearly acknowledging each other's positions and responsibilities as professionals, the project began to move forward with much greater momentum.Without that confrontation, this work would not have been realized.

The boundary between machine processing and handwork was a central issue in this project.Originally, there was a clear objective to compensate for the shortage of craftsmen through the use of machinery. However, through observation, I realized that machinery had already been introduced in certain areas.At the same time, I encountered objects that merely resembled swords in appearance, which created a sense of discomfort.In contrast, when I witnessed true hand forging, its value became immediately evident. I concluded that the core of the sword could not be replaced by machines.As a result, the essential aspects of the blade were entrusted entirely to handwork, while machining was applied only to supporting components where appropriate.Additionally, precise physical models produced through machining helped bridge communication gaps with the swordsmiths and proved extremely effective.Machines did not replace craftsmanship; they functioned as a tool for translation.This work emerged not from opposition, but from mutual understanding.

I do not see this as a contradiction, but as something very natural, especially within a Japanese sensibility.There is a cultural tendency not to emphasize effort directly, but to embed everything within the object itself.Although the process was extremely demanding, I did not want that difficulty to become the main narrative.What mattered most was the moment of encounter.If the viewer is momentarily struck and loses words, that moment is enough.Everything else can be left unspoken.The work holds a strong presence, yet ultimately dissolves into the internal experience of the viewer.It is completed within the viewer, and therefore exists in as many variations as there are people who encounter it.

According to the swordsmiths involved, there are no recorded examples of a circular Japanese sword.This is understandable, as from the perspective of function and efficiency, a linear form is the natural outcome. There is no practical reason to pursue such a difficult shape.In that sense, this is a form that would not normally be chosen.That is precisely why undertaking it carries meaning.For swordsmiths who have long refined their craft within established frameworks, stepping beyond that boundary represents a significant shift and a source of pride.This project demonstrates that tradition contains flexibility.If it can inspire even a small number of people to think, “I want to try,” then it has achieved something important.

The Japanese sword carries profound cultural significance.In the present day, however, its visual image has spread widely, often detached from its process and context, especially through global media and popular culture.I wanted to avoid contributing to superficial reinterpretations.Instead, this work focuses on condensing the essence of the sword itself.It is not an addition from the outside, but a reconstruction from within.At the same time, it was necessary to create a point of attraction.The unfamiliar form intentionally creates a sense of curiosity, while maintaining a clear connection to its origin.The guiding principle was simple:never separate form from its origin.

This experience has been transformative for me, both as a designer and as an individual.Being involved with something as central as the Japanese sword is not a common opportunity.Working within a completely different cultural and production framework, and successfully guiding the project to realization, has given me a strong sense of confidence.At the same time, it has changed how I relate to my own work.I have come to trust my thinking more deeply, and to express that confidence more clearly.While it is difficult to define exactly what comes next, I know that this experience will influence everything I do moving forward.This is not a conclusion, but a new beginning.