Interviews with Aaron Liang

I have spent the past several years working within the design and lifestyle industry, focusing primarily on movement-driven industrial design, architectural products, and the relationship between engineering and emotional spatial experience. My work explores the intersection between functionality, mechanical expression, and sculptural form — particularly through products that integrate naturally into contemporary living and hospitality environments.

Over the years, I have collaborated with companies and clients across multiple industries, gaining exposure to product development, manufacturing, hospitality, distribution, and international market needs. One of the important milestones in my journey was being appointed as one of the distributors for Big Ass Fans in Singapore in 2024, which expanded my understanding of airflow technologies, engineering systems, and the evolving expectations surrounding lifestyle-integrated products.

Through our work, we have collaborated with hospitality groups, luxury developments, distributors, and furnishing partners across regions including Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Philippines, South Korea, and parts of Europe. Our clientele includes hospitality and lifestyle-oriented projects involving organizations such as Grand Hyatt Singapore, Perennial Holdings, and Commune.

My background as a designer has largely been shaped through hands-on experience, observation, collaboration, and continuous exploration across design, engineering, manufacturing, and architecture. Rather than viewing design purely from an artistic or technical perspective alone, I became increasingly interested in how functional products could also carry emotional resonance and contribute meaningfully to the atmosphere of a space.

Today, my work continues to focus on creating products that balance movement, technology, engineering precision, and sculptural expression — with the goal of redefining how everyday functional objects are experienced within modern lifestyles and architecture.

I became a designer through a gradual fascination with how objects, movement, and spaces influence the way people experience everyday life. From a young age, I was naturally drawn to mechanical objects, engineered systems, and the relationship between form and function. I was intrigued not only by how things worked, but by how certain objects could evoke emotion, curiosity, and atmosphere through their design.

What ultimately led me toward design was the realization that functional products did not have to exist purely as utilitarian tools. I began to see that design had the ability to shape experiences, influence environments, and create emotional connections between people and the objects around them. That idea deeply resonated with me and became the foundation of my approach toward design today.

Much of my journey was shaped through observation, hands-on exploration, industry exposure, and continuous learning rather than following a strictly conventional path alone. Over time, my experiences across product development, distribution, manufacturing, and hospitality industries expanded my understanding of how design, engineering, and lifestyle increasingly intersect in contemporary living spaces.

A significant influence on my thinking came from studying movement itself — how mechanical systems interact, how forms create rhythm and flow, and how engineered structures can possess elegance and sculptural beauty. This fascination continues to influence much of my work, particularly in products where movement and mechanical expression become part of the emotional identity of the object.

At the same time, living in Singapore, a multicultural and design-conscious environment, also shaped the way I think about interpretation, lifestyle, and spatial experience. It made me realize that design is never perceived in only one way; different people connect with objects differently depending on culture, emotion, and perspective.

More than anything, becoming a designer came from an internal drive to create meaningful work — to design objects that are not only functional, but also capable of contributing emotionally and architecturally to the spaces people live in. I became increasingly interested in exploring the intersection between engineering precision and artistic expression, where movement, technology, and form can coexist naturally.

Ultimately, design became the medium through which I could combine curiosity, observation, mechanical fascination, and emotional storytelling into something tangible that people can experience in everyday life.

When designing, my priorities are centered around three key aspects: emotional resonance, mechanical functionality, and architectural integration. I believe the most meaningful designs are those that successfully balance these elements into a cohesive experience rather than treating them separately.

The first priority for me is emotional resonance — how a product makes people feel within a space. I am deeply interested in creating objects that contribute not only functionally, but also atmospherically through movement, proportion, materiality, and sculptural presence. I want the design to create a quiet dialogue with its environment and the people who interact with it.

The second priority is mechanical functionality. Much of my work is inspired by movement and engineered systems, so I pay close attention to how components interact, how airflow behaves, how structures balance, and how technical performance can become part of the visual identity of an object. I believe there is beauty in functional honesty, especially when engineering and aesthetics coexist naturally.

The third aspect is architectural integration. I often approach products as elements within a larger spatial experience rather than isolated standalone objects. I consider how a design complements interiors, lighting, materials, and the rhythm of contemporary lifestyles. The goal is for the product to feel naturally integrated into the environment rather than purely mechanical or decorative.

In terms of technique and process, I still rely heavily on sketches and observation during the early conceptual stages. Hand sketching allows ideas surrounding movement, proportion, and flow to develop intuitively before becoming constrained by technical precision. At the same time, digital tools and software play an important role in refining proportions, visualizing concepts, communicating with engineers, and preparing products for manufacturing.

I also believe strongly in physical exploration and prototyping. Mock-ups, material samples, and physical models are important because they reveal qualities that are difficult to fully understand digitally — such as scale, balance, tactility, movement, and spatial presence. Especially for movement-driven products like Warp, experiencing the object physically becomes essential to refining the final design.

When approaching a new project, I usually begin by listening and observing. I study how people interact with spaces and objects, how movement affects atmosphere, and how a product can evolve beyond pure utility into something emotionally engaging. From there, the process gradually develops through conceptualization, experimentation, engineering refinement, and continuous iteration until the design achieves clarity and balance between form, function, and experience.

Ultimately, my approach is guided by the belief that good design should feel both purposeful and expressive — where engineering precision, architectural sensitivity, and emotional storytelling converge into one unified object.

When designing, I often experience a mixture of excitement, curiosity, anticipation, and deep focus. For me, design is both an emotional and intellectual process — a continuous exploration of how ideas, movement, engineering, and form can come together to create something meaningful.

The most exciting phase is usually the early conceptual stage, where ideas are still fluid and unrestricted. I enjoy the moment when an abstract thought begins to evolve into a visual and spatial language. There is a unique energy in exploring possibilities, questioning assumptions, and imagining how an object can exist differently from what already exists today.

At the same time, I also find great fulfillment in the journey of refinement itself. Designing is rarely a straight path; it involves constant observation, experimentation, iteration, and problem-solving. I enjoy the process of gradually balancing proportion, movement, functionality, and emotional presence until the design begins to feel cohesive and alive.

Much of my excitement comes from discovering how mechanical systems and engineered structures can become expressive rather than purely technical. I am fascinated by the relationship between movement and emotion — how airflow, balance, rhythm, and visible functionality can contribute to the atmosphere of a space and the emotional experience of the user.

There is also a strong sense of satisfaction when a concept finally becomes tangible. Seeing an idea evolve from sketches and observations into a real object that people can experience physically is deeply rewarding. It becomes especially meaningful when the final product contributes not only functionally, but also emotionally and architecturally to the spaces it inhabits.

Designing fulfills me because it allows me to transform curiosity and observation into something lasting and meaningful. It creates a sense of purpose — the idea that an object can quietly influence how people live, feel, and connect with their environments over time.

Ultimately, the greatest pleasure I derive from designing comes from the process of creating harmony between engineering, movement, and emotion — turning functional ideas into objects that people can both use and emotionally resonate with.

Several aspects of my background have shaped the way I approach design today, particularly my fascination with mechanical movement, my exposure to different industries, and the multicultural environment I grew up in.

One of the biggest influences on my work has been my curiosity toward how mechanical systems interact and move. Long before thinking about design professionally, I was naturally drawn to engineered objects and the relationship between structure, motion, and functionality. This fascination taught me to observe not only how things look, but how they behave, how components interact, and how movement itself can create emotional and visual expression.

Beyond design itself, I believe observation is one of the most valuable non-design skills a designer can develop. Much of my creative process comes from studying how people interact with spaces, products, and environments in everyday life. Observation allows me to recognize details, emotions, and behaviors that may otherwise go unnoticed, and these insights often become the foundation of meaningful design ideas.

Curiosity has also played an important role throughout my journey. I enjoy exploring ideas across different disciplines such as engineering, architecture, hospitality, technology, and lifestyle design. This openness to learning beyond a single field has helped me think more holistically about how products integrate into larger experiences and environments.

Another important influence has been collaboration and exposure to different industries through distribution, product development, and international partnerships. Working with hospitality groups, furnishing brands, architects, and engineering teams expanded my understanding of how design must balance emotional appeal with technical performance, manufacturing realities, and long-term usability.

Living in Singapore also shaped my perspective significantly. Being surrounded by multiple cultures and different ways of living made me realize that design is rarely interpreted in only one way. It taught me to think about how objects communicate emotionally across different lifestyles, viewpoints, and spatial contexts.

Perhaps most importantly, perseverance and patience have been essential throughout my design journey. Meaningful design takes time, and many ideas require continuous refinement before they fully reveal their potential. Learning to remain committed to a vision while staying open to evolution has been one of the most valuable lessons in my growth as a designer.

Ultimately, my journey has been shaped by the intersection of observation, mechanical curiosity, multidisciplinary exposure, and a desire to create objects that balance engineering, functionality, and emotional resonance within modern living spaces.

My growth path as a designer has been shaped by a continuous desire to explore the relationship between movement, engineering, emotion, and spatial experience. What began as a fascination with mechanical systems and functional objects gradually evolved into a broader design philosophy centered around creating products that are not only useful, but also emotionally and architecturally meaningful.

Moving forward, I hope to continue expanding the boundaries between industrial design, technology, hospitality, and lifestyle integration. I am particularly interested in developing products and systems that merge movement-driven engineering with sculptural expression in ways that feel timeless, human-centered, and emotionally engaging.

As our work evolves internationally, I also want to deepen collaborations across architecture, interiors, hospitality, and mobility design. I believe the future of design lies increasingly in the convergence of disciplines — where products are no longer isolated objects, but integrated experiences that shape how people live and interact with spaces.

One of my long-term dreams is to design and build cars that bring back a nostalgic mechanical character and emotional tactility that I feel is gradually disappearing in the modern era. As technology becomes increasingly digital and automated, many products are losing the sense of haptic feedback, mechanical honesty, and physical engagement that once created a stronger emotional connection between people and machines.

I am deeply inspired by vehicles and engineered objects where movement, sound, resistance, materiality, and interaction all contribute to the experience. My dream would be to create automotive designs that combine contemporary innovation with the emotional depth and tactile qualities of classic mechanical engineering — vehicles that people can not only drive, but truly feel and connect with.

Ultimately, I hope to be remembered as a designer who explored the emotional potential of movement and mechanical expression — someone who helped redefine how functional objects can coexist with architecture, atmosphere, and human experience in a meaningful way.

One of the most important pieces of advice I would give to designers at the beginning of their careers is to remain patient and truly believe in the direction you are pursuing. Design is a long journey of growth, refinement, and self-discovery. It takes time to develop not only technical skills, but also a clear perspective and identity as a designer.

I would encourage young designers to focus deeply on an area of design that genuinely interests and excites them rather than trying to master everything at once. The industry today moves very quickly, and there is often pressure to constantly follow trends or diversify too broadly. However, I believe there is great value in developing depth and authenticity within a particular discipline or philosophy. It is better to become deeply knowledgeable and passionate about something meaningful than to become overly generalized without a clear voice.

At the same time, I think young designers should never stop observing the world around them. Creativity does not come only from software or formal design education; it comes from curiosity, conversation, movement, architecture, culture, engineering, nature, and everyday experiences. Observation is one of the most valuable skills a designer can develop.

Another important lesson is learning perseverance. There will always be moments of uncertainty, rejection, creative frustration, or projects that do not unfold the way you imagined. I believe many designers underestimate how much persistence matters in the creative journey. Some of the most meaningful opportunities often emerge only after years of quiet consistency and continuous improvement.

One thing I would especially caution young designers about is losing their originality by trying too hard to imitate what is already popular or commercially successful. Inspiration is important, but over time a designer must learn to develop their own philosophy and perspective. Authenticity is what gives design lasting value and emotional resonance.

I also believe designers should remain open to learning from disciplines outside of design itself. Much of my own growth came from exposure to engineering, manufacturing, hospitality, movement systems, and human behavior. Expanding your knowledge beyond aesthetics allows you to think more holistically and create more meaningful work.

Ultimately, my advice would be to stay curious, disciplined, and patient. Every project should be treated as part of a larger journey toward understanding who you are as a designer. If you continue refining your craft with sincerity and conviction, opportunities and recognition will eventually follow naturally.

I believe one of the most important things for designers, artists, and architects is to remain deeply curious about the world beyond their own discipline. Some of the most meaningful innovations happen when ideas from engineering, movement, architecture, technology, culture, and human behavior begin to intersect. Design should not exist in isolation.

I would also encourage creatives to spend more time observing rather than rushing toward conclusions. Many strong ideas come from understanding how people interact with spaces, objects, and emotions in everyday life. Observation develops sensitivity, and sensitivity often leads to more thoughtful and timeless design.

Another important principle is to develop conviction in your own philosophy. Trends change constantly, but meaningful work usually comes from a clear and authentic perspective. Many designers lose their identity by trying too hard to follow what is currently popular instead of building a body of work that genuinely reflects their beliefs and interests. I think it is important to create with sincerity rather than imitation.

At the same time, designers should never stop refining their technical understanding. Creativity alone is not enough. Whether it is material knowledge, manufacturing, engineering, proportion, acoustics, or spatial understanding, technical depth allows ideas to evolve into something truly functional and enduring. I believe the strongest designs emerge when emotion and technical precision coexist naturally.

One common mistake I see is designing purely for attention rather than longevity. A design should not only create an immediate visual reaction; it should continue to reveal meaning, usability, and emotional resonance over time. Timelessness often comes from restraint, clarity, and honesty in design rather than excessive complexity.

I also believe collaboration is extremely valuable. Working with people from different industries and backgrounds opens new ways of thinking and challenges assumptions. Some of the most rewarding experiences in my own journey came through collaborations that expanded my perspective beyond industrial design alone.

Most importantly, I would encourage fellow creatives to stay patient and persistent. Design is a long-term journey that requires discipline, resilience, and belief in what you are building. Recognition rarely happens instantly, but if your work is grounded in authenticity, curiosity, and continuous refinement, opportunities eventually follow naturally.

Ultimately, I believe great design happens when people create not only with skill, but with genuine emotion, curiosity, and conviction.

My day-to-day routine is usually a balance between observation, collaboration, technical development, and creative exploration. No two days are exactly the same, which is something I enjoy because much of my inspiration comes from constantly moving between different environments, conversations, and disciplines.

Most mornings begin quietly with reviewing ongoing projects, sketches, prototypes, or technical discussions with the team. I also spend time observing design references, architecture, movement systems, materials, and emerging technologies that may influence future ideas. Rather than only following design trends, I am more interested in studying how people live, how spaces evolve, and how technology continues to shape everyday experiences.

A large part of my day often involves discussions with engineers, manufacturers, distributors, hospitality clients, architects, and collaborators from different industries. I enjoy these exchanges because they expose me to different perspectives and challenge the way I think about functionality, lifestyle integration, and user experience. Many ideas emerge unexpectedly through conversation rather than formal brainstorming alone.

I also spend a considerable amount of time moving between spaces — workshops, showrooms, project sites, exhibitions, meetings, or architectural environments. I find this movement important because creativity, for me, is strongly connected to observation. Even on an ordinary business day, simple moments such as noticing how light interacts with materials, how people move through a space, or how mechanical objects behave can become sources of inspiration.

One of the things I enjoy most throughout the day is the process of refinement — seeing an idea gradually evolve from concept into something more resolved and meaningful. Even small breakthroughs, whether in proportion, movement, engineering, or material detailing, can be deeply satisfying.

At the same time, I appreciate the quieter moments of reflection between meetings and technical discussions. Sometimes creativity happens not during intense work itself, but in the spaces between activities — while walking, traveling, or observing the rhythm of everyday life.

Ultimately, my daily routine is less about repetition and more about continuous exposure to ideas, people, movement, and experiences. That constant flow of observation and interaction is what keeps the creative process alive and evolving for me.

do pay attention to design trends, but I try not to let trends dictate the core identity of my work. For me, trends are useful as indicators of how lifestyles, technology, materials, and cultural preferences are evolving, but I believe truly meaningful design should ultimately transcend seasonal aesthetics and maintain a sense of timelessness.

Rather than following trends directly, I am more interested in understanding the deeper shifts happening behind them — how people are changing the way they live, how spaces are becoming more integrated with technology, how materials and manufacturing are evolving, and how emotional expectations toward products continue to change. These broader movements are often more valuable than surface-level visual trends alone.

I believe every designer should develop a strong and authentic design language of their own. In my work, I am consistently drawn toward movement-driven forms, mechanical expression, architectural integration, and the balance between engineering and emotional resonance. Those principles remain central regardless of changing trends.

At the same time, I think it is important to remain aware and adaptable. Trends can introduce new perspectives, materials, technologies, and cultural conversations that inspire fresh ways of thinking. I often gain inspiration not only from industrial design, but also from architecture, transportation, hospitality spaces, mechanical systems, fashion, and even how people interact with everyday objects and environments.

Much of my inspiration comes through observation and exposure rather than actively chasing trends. Traveling, visiting exhibitions, studying engineered systems, walking through cities, and engaging with people across different industries all contribute to the creative process. I am particularly interested in observing movement, proportion, material behavior, and how atmosphere is created within spaces.

Ultimately, I believe the goal is not to design something that only feels relevant for a moment, but to create objects that continue to resonate emotionally and functionally over time. A strong design should feel contemporary, but also possess enough authenticity and clarity to remain meaningful beyond temporary trends.

For me, good design is something that resonates with purpose, meaning, and emotion simultaneously. A well-designed object is not simply visually attractive; it carries clarity in its intention and creates a connection with the people who experience it. I believe the strongest designs operate on a kind of emotional frequency that naturally attracts and resonates with the soul of the user.

One of the most important qualities of good design is clarity. Before aesthetics are even fully appreciated, the purpose and logic of the object should already feel intuitive and understandable. A user should be able to sense how the design wants to be interacted with almost instinctively. I believe functionality and usability should communicate themselves honestly through the form itself.

At the same time, good design should create curiosity and emotional engagement. The “aha” moment for me often happens when a product is strong enough to create intrigue even in complete stillness. Before a user even touches or uses the object, there is already a sense of tension, presence, or fascination that invites them to look closer and interact further. That moment of “What is this?” or “How does this work?” is incredibly important because it creates a deeper dialogue between the object and the user.

I am especially drawn to designs where engineering, movement, and aesthetics feel inseparable. When functionality becomes part of the beauty of the object itself, the design gains authenticity and emotional depth rather than feeling purely decorative.

One common mistake I believe designers should avoid is focusing only on visual impact without deeper meaning or usability. A product may appear attractive initially, but if it lacks clarity, emotional resonance, or purpose, the experience quickly fades. Good design should continue revealing value over time rather than relying solely on first impressions.

Ultimately, I define good design as something that balances functionality, emotional connection, and timelessness — an object that not only serves a purpose, but also creates curiosity, interaction, and lasting meaning within the lives and spaces of the people who experience it.

In my perspective, a design is never truly complete. Through experience, I have come to believe that there will always be a missing piece, a new possibility, or an evolving need that shifts alongside user behavior, lifestyle changes, and technological progress. Design is not static; it continuously evolves together with the people and environments it serves.

Because of this, I do not believe perfection exists in design. Rather than striving for a fixed final state, I believe a successful design should possess the ability to adapt and evolve over time. For me, modularity and future adaptability are far more important than trying to achieve absolute perfection in a single moment.

A meaningful design should be able to evolve while still retaining the core essence of its identity — its purpose, emotional language, and contribution to everyday life. Even as features, technologies, or user expectations change, the soul of the product should remain recognizable and authentic.

This philosophy is especially important because we serve a multicultural and diverse client base across different regions and lifestyles. Different users interact with products differently, and their needs continue to evolve over time. As a result, many of our designs remain open conversations rather than completely closed chapters. We continuously refine, adapt, and sculpt our products to better respond to changing lifestyles, environments, and expectations.

For me, the moment a design is “ready” is not when it becomes perfect, but when it achieves clarity in its purpose and creates a strong enough foundation to evolve meaningfully in the future. A design must feel emotionally coherent, functionally resolved, and adaptable enough to continue growing with its users over time.

Ultimately, I believe a successful project is judged not only by how well it performs in the present, but by how naturally it can continue adapting to the evolving needs and lifestyles of the people who live with it.

One of my biggest and most meaningful design works has to be Xava, a ceiling fan design recognized by both the Red Dot Design Award and the International Design Awards. Xava represents many of the ideas and philosophies that define my approach toward movement-driven industrial design.

The inspiration behind Xava came from wanting to express the language of balance, movement, and vitality through airflow design — to create an object capable of adding vitality to spaces both visually and atmospherically. At the time, I observed that many hospitality environments were still relying heavily on conventional wooden ceiling fans that often suffered from long-term maintenance issues such as wobbling, material degradation, loose components, and frequent replacement due to weather exposure and continuous use.

I wanted to rethink that experience entirely by creating a product that combined durability, sculptural elegance, and aerodynamic performance into a single unified form. The goal was to create a weather-resistant design that could maintain a refined architectural presence while standing the test of time both mechanically and visually.

This led to the development of Xava’s slim aerodynamic silhouette and unibody-inspired form language. The design was intentionally created to feel visually light, luxurious, and timeless while still delivering strong structural stability and airflow performance. I was particularly interested in designing a fan that could integrate naturally into hospitality and contemporary lifestyle spaces without appearing overly mechanical or conventional.

One of the biggest challenges during the project was balancing engineering performance with visual simplicity. Achieving a clean and refined unibody appearance while maintaining structural integrity, airflow efficiency, and long-term durability required extensive refinement and technical consideration throughout the process.

What makes the project especially meaningful to me is that it evolved beyond its original vision. Following its success, many clients began requesting modular variations and custom adaptations, which eventually allowed the Xava design language to expand into a broader product family. That evolution reinforced my belief that successful design should possess enough clarity and adaptability to grow alongside the changing needs of users and spaces over time.

Ultimately, Xava is special to me because it reflects the convergence of engineering, movement, architecture, and emotional presence — a product designed not only to perform functionally, but also to add vitality, atmosphere, and a sense of timeless sculptural elegance to contemporary spaces.

I greatly admire Haruhiko Tanahashi and the engineering team behind the Lexus LFA. What inspires me most about the LFA is how it transformed engineering into an emotional experience through sound, mechanical feedback, precision, and soul. It showed that performance and emotion can coexist beautifully within a machine.

I also deeply admire Gerald Genta for his timeless contributions to mechanical watch design. His work demonstrated how tradition, craftsmanship, and mechanical artistry could create objects with lasting emotional and cultural value.

In industrial design, Dieter Rams remains one of the designers I respect most for his work at Braun. His philosophy of clarity, honesty, restraint, and timeless functionality continues to influence the way many designers think about simplicity and purpose today.

I also greatly admire Ken Kutaragi and the teams behind Sony and the PlayStation. What fascinates me about PlayStation was not only the technology itself, but how its design and vision helped unite communities and cultures across the world through shared experiences, interaction, and emotion. It demonstrated how design and technology can transcend functionality and become part of global culture and human connection.

If I had the opportunity to speak with one designer from the past, I would probably choose Ken Kutaragi because I admire how his vision transformed technology into a shared emotional and cultural experience that connected people globally beyond functionality alone.

What connects all of these designers and innovators for me is their ability to create products that possess emotional resonance, timeless identity, and a deeper human connection beyond pure functionality alone.

I live in Singapore, and I believe the multicultural nature of the city has had a strong influence on the way I think about design, lifestyle, and human interaction. Being surrounded by different cultures, perspectives, and ways of living made me realize early on that objects are rarely experienced in only one way. Different people interpret and connect with design differently, and I find that diversity of interpretation very inspiring.

My lifestyle is closely connected to observation, movement, and continuous exposure to different environments. Much of my inspiration comes from traveling, experiencing architecture, visiting hospitality spaces, observing mechanical systems, and interacting with people from different industries and cultural backgrounds. I enjoy environments where engineering, art, and lifestyle naturally intersect.

I am particularly inspired by cities that possess a strong balance between technological progress and emotional atmosphere. Cities such as Tokyo inspire me greatly because of how precision, movement, craftsmanship, tradition, and modernity coexist harmoniously within everyday life. I also appreciate how certain cities create emotional experiences through lighting, rhythm, transportation, architecture, and urban flow.

Music is also important within my creative process. I often see similarities between music and design — both involve rhythm, pacing, tension, movement, and emotional atmosphere. Certain types of music help create the mental environment needed for conceptual thinking and visualization, especially during the early stages of designing.

At the moment, much of my focus revolves around exploring how movement-driven industrial design can integrate more naturally into architecture, hospitality, and future lifestyle environments. We are also working on upcoming technologies and patented systems that aim to redefine how functional products such as ceiling fans interact with people and spaces.

I strongly believe good design is necessary for the advancement of society because design quietly shapes the quality of everyday life. Thoughtful design improves not only functionality, but also comfort, emotion, atmosphere, and human interaction. Many people underestimate how deeply objects and spaces influence behavior, well-being, and emotional experience over time.

In my own life, design has taught me the value of clarity, restraint, observation, and intentional living. Even small details — how an object feels in the hand, how airflow changes the atmosphere of a room, how lighting affects emotion, or how movement creates calmness within a space — can positively shape daily experience in subtle but meaningful ways.

Ultimately, I see design as a bridge between engineering, culture, and human emotion — a way of creating experiences that resonate across different lifestyles while still remaining deeply personal and meaningful.

Our work culture is built around curiosity, collaboration, discipline, and a shared passion for creating meaningful design. While much of the creative vision and conceptual direction originates from me, I work closely with a team of passionate and like-minded individuals who help translate ideas into reality through engineering, technical development, prototyping, manufacturing, and execution.

I believe one of the most important aspects of a strong creative culture is openness to dialogue and experimentation. Design today exists at the intersection of many disciplines, so I value working with people who are curious, adaptable, and willing to challenge conventional ways of thinking. Some of the best ideas emerge through collaboration between different perspectives rather than isolated thinking alone.

At the same time, I place strong importance on discipline and attention to detail. Creativity without execution has limited value, so our culture emphasizes both imagination and refinement equally. We are constantly balancing emotional design, mechanical precision, architectural integration, and long-term functionality throughout the process.

When selecting business partners or collaborators, I look for alignment in values and vision more than anything else. Technical capability is important, but I believe meaningful collaborations happen when both sides genuinely believe in the same philosophy toward quality, innovation, and long-term thinking. I appreciate partners who understand that good design is not only about appearance, but about creating emotional and experiential value over time.

Similarly, when working with people or growing the team, I value curiosity, observation skills, humility, perseverance, and passion for learning. Technical knowledge can always continue developing, but genuine curiosity and emotional investment in the work are qualities that cannot easily be taught.

I also believe it is relatively easy to work with me because I value communication, clarity, and mutual respect throughout the creative process. At the same time, I am deeply committed to the integrity of the design vision, so I place importance on maintaining coherence between concept, functionality, and final execution.

One of the core challenges of this profession is balancing innovation with practicality. As designers, we are constantly navigating between imagination, engineering limitations, manufacturing realities, market expectations, and evolving user behavior. The challenge is finding harmony between all these forces while still creating something emotionally meaningful and original.

Ultimately, I believe good designers, artists, and architects should possess curiosity, observational awareness, courage to think differently, patience, and emotional sensitivity toward how people experience the world around them. Technical skill is important, but what truly gives design meaning is the ability to create genuine human connection through form, movement, and experience.

While I deeply respect designers who dedicate time toward pro bono and humanitarian work, my own practice is rooted in intensive research, prototyping, engineering, and product development, all of which require significant commitment and resources from the very beginning.

Because of this, I believe meaningful collaboration works best when there is mutual investment from both sides. When clients commit seriously to a project, it creates a stronger shared responsibility toward achieving a thoughtful and successful outcome. Design, especially within movement-driven industrial products, requires long-term refinement, testing, experimentation, and technical development — processes that demand both creative and financial commitment.

For me, this mutual investment is not simply transactional; it reflects trust, alignment, and a shared belief in the value of the work being created together.

At the same time, we actively contribute to the design community through exhibitions, conferences, and industry events that help inspire younger designers and encourage greater appreciation for the possibilities within design, engineering, and innovation.

One of the most positive experiences I had through participating in the A’ Design Award & Competition was the opportunity to share our work with a truly international audience across different cultures, industries, and design perspectives. It allowed our designs to be viewed not only as functional products, but also as part of a broader conversation surrounding architecture, movement, lifestyle, and emotional experience.

I believe one of the biggest benefits of design awards and competitions is visibility. They provide designers with a platform to communicate their philosophy, ideas, and innovations to audiences that may otherwise never encounter their work. For emerging and independent designers especially, this exposure can create valuable opportunities for collaboration, partnerships, distribution, and international recognition.

The second major benefit is reflection and refinement. Preparing projects for award submissions encourages designers to critically evaluate their own process, intention, and execution. It pushes you to better articulate the meaning behind your work and often reveals new perspectives about your own design philosophy and direction.

The third benefit is credibility and trust. Awards help validate the seriousness and quality of a design in the eyes of clients, collaborators, architects, and international markets. In industries such as hospitality and lifestyle design, recognition can strengthen confidence and open conversations that lead to larger opportunities and future growth.

I also believe design competitions are important because they encourage innovation and cultural exchange. They expose designers to ideas and approaches from around the world, creating a broader understanding of how design can evolve across different societies, lifestyles, and technologies. This exchange of perspectives is valuable because it pushes the industry forward collectively.

At the same time, I think the true value of awards goes beyond recognition alone. What matters most is how the experience motivates designers to continue refining their ideas, challenging conventions, and contributing meaningfully to the future of design.

Being recognized as Designer of the Day would feel deeply meaningful because it represents more than personal achievement; it reflects the journey, philosophy, and collective dedication behind the work itself. It would also provide an opportunity to share our belief that functional objects can possess emotional resonance, architectural presence, and the ability to create meaningful connections across cultures and spaces.

The main idea behind WARP was to challenge what people expect a ceiling fan to be.

We are used to seeing ceiling fans as purely functional appliances, where the priority is simply to move air and the design is expected to disappear into the ceiling. I wanted to approach it differently—to create a fan where engineering and aesthetics could exist as one.

My inspiration came from aviation, particularly the precision of aircraft wings and propellers. I have always been fascinated by how every curve, angle and surface on an aircraft has a purpose. That idea became the starting point for WARP: could we use aerodynamic principles to create a form that is not only efficient, but also visually expressive?

The warped, interlocking blades became the defining element. The form suggests movement even when the fan is stationary, while the structure is designed around airflow, stability and reduced vibration.

For me, WARP is about making engineering visible through design. Rather than hiding the mechanics, I wanted the engineering logic to become the character of the product.

WARP is my attempt to turn the movement of air into a piece of design.

My main focus was to find a balance between performance and expression.

I wanted WARP to move air efficiently and quietly, but I didn't want the engineering to dictate a conventional ceiling fan shape. Instead, I wanted the engineering itself to become the starting point for a new form.

One of the things I wanted to achieve was to reduce the visual and physical complexity of the blade connection. This led me to explore the interlocking blade structure, which became both a structural solution and the defining visual identity of WARP.

I also wanted the fan to have a sense of movement even when it is switched off. The warped geometry gives the blades a dynamic quality, while the aerodynamic profiles are shaped around how air actually moves.

Ultimately, I wanted to create a ceiling fan that could perform as a serious piece of engineering, but also have the presence of a sculptural object.

The goal was not to make a fan that looks different. It was to rethink how a fan could be designed from the inside out.

For me, WARP is not a finished idea. The award is an important recognition, but I see it more as a starting point for where the design can go next.

I want to continue developing the ideas behind WARP, particularly around airflow, aerodynamics and how we experience air in a space. There is still a lot we can learn about how air should move—not simply how much air a fan can produce.

I also see opportunities to apply the design principles developed through WARP to other products and different scales. The interlocking structure, aerodynamic thinking and relationship between engineering and form could evolve in ways that go beyond the original ceiling fan.

Most importantly, I want WARP to help change the conversation around airflow. We normally think about light, sound and architecture when we talk about the atmosphere of a space, but air is equally important.

So the future of WARP is not just about making the next version of the fan. It is about continuing to explore how we can design with air.

WARP took about a year to develop, from the initial concept in December 2023 to the final design in November 2024.

But the actual design process was not simply a matter of drawing the final shape. The early stage was about exploring how far we could push the form while still maintaining the performance expected from a ceiling fan.

There were many rounds of sketches, 3D development, engineering studies and physical testing. We had to constantly balance the visual expression with airflow, weight, structural strength, balance, vibration, noise and manufacturing.

Some of the early concepts were much more extreme, but they helped us understand where the boundaries were. The final WARP came from gradually refining those ideas until the form and engineering started to feel like one solution.

So although the development took around twelve months, the thinking behind it continues to influence how I approach the products we design today.

WARP was not commissioned as a specific design brief. It started from my own curiosity and a question I kept coming back to: why does a ceiling fan have to look like a ceiling fan?

Most ceiling fans are designed primarily around function, and I felt there was an opportunity to approach the category differently. I wanted to explore whether the engineering and aerodynamic principles behind a fan could actually become the inspiration for its form.

My interest in aviation played a big part in that. I have always been fascinated by aircraft and propellers, where the shape of every component is closely connected to performance. That led me to explore what would happen if we applied the same thinking to a ceiling fan.

The warped blade geometry and interlocking structure developed from that exploration. It wasn't about creating an unusual shape for the sake of being different. I wanted the form to have a reason—to improve the structure, support airflow and reduce unnecessary components, while giving the fan a completely different visual identity.

So WARP really began as an experiment: could we take something as familiar as a ceiling fan and rethink it from first principles?

WARP is currently being developed and commercialised by BY DECOR SINGAPORE PTE LTD, which is closely involved in the design, engineering and production of the product.

From the beginning, I have been personally involved in developing the design and working through the engineering and manufacturing challenges to make the concept a real, commercially viable product.

At the same time, we are open to licensing WARP to the right partners. Our ambition is to allow the design to reach more markets and people across the globe, while ensuring that its original design philosophy, quality and engineering standards are maintained.

For me, a good design should not be limited by geography. If the right partnership can help WARP reach more people while preserving the integrity of the design, I would be very open to exploring it.

I would rather see a good design travel around the world than have it stay in one place.

What drew me to this particular design was the opportunity to make something functional feel more alive.

I have always been fascinated by movement, especially the relationship between form and motion. A ceiling fan is interesting because it is constantly moving, yet when it is switched off, it becomes a static object. I wanted to explore that contrast.

My interest in aviation and aerodynamics naturally led me to aircraft wings and propellers. I was drawn to the way their forms are shaped by movement and performance, rather than decoration. That became the foundation for WARP.

I then started exploring how a ceiling fan could express that same sense of movement through its geometry. The warped blades, high blade angle and interlocking structure evolved from that exploration.

What made the project particularly interesting to me was that the visual idea also created engineering questions. How could we make the structure stable? How could we reduce vibration and noise? How could we simplify the connections while maintaining performance?

That process is what made WARP worth pursuing for me. The form wasn't created first and engineered afterwards—the engineering became the reason for the form.

Yes, definitely. WARP was influenced by several things, but the strongest influence came from aviation.

I have always been fascinated by aircraft and propellers, particularly how their forms are dictated by aerodynamics and performance. There is a certain honesty in that approach—every curve, angle and surface has a reason for being there. That way of thinking became an important reference when developing WARP.

I was also influenced by the simplicity and discipline of designers like Dieter Rams. His approach reminded me that good design is not necessarily about adding more. Sometimes the strongest solution comes from removing what is unnecessary and allowing the essential elements to define the product.

Another unexpected influence was engineering itself, particularly the triangle and the principle of triangulation. I have always found the triangle fascinating because of its structural strength and stability. That became part of the thinking behind WARP's interlocking blade architecture.

So rather than copying one particular product or designer, I took inspiration from different disciplines—aviation, industrial design and engineering—and tried to translate those principles into something that felt original to the ceiling fan category.

The biggest influence on WARP was not a particular object, but the idea that form should have a reason.

WARP is designed for people who see their living or working environment as more than just a functional space.

Our target customers are design-conscious homeowners, architects, interior designers and people who appreciate products with a strong point of view. They are looking for something that performs well, but they also care about how an object contributes to the character of a space.

I think WARP particularly appeals to people who appreciate engineering and understand that good design is not just about appearance. The aerodynamic form, interlocking blade structure and mechanical details give the product a story that goes beyond its visual impact.

At the same time, I don't want WARP to be limited to people who already understand design. One of the things I like about it is that it can attract someone simply because the form catches their attention, and then make them curious about how it works.

Ultimately, I want WARP to appeal to anyone who believes a functional product can also have personality and become part of the architecture around them.

The customer I'm designing for is someone who doesn't want to hide the things they use—they want them to be worth looking at.

What sets WARP apart is that the form, structure and airflow were developed as one system.

Most ceiling fans start with a conventional motor and blade connection, then the visual design is built around those existing components. With WARP, I wanted to question that approach from the beginning. The interlocking blade architecture became both the structural solution and the defining visual identity of the product.

The three blades are connected through a carefully developed geometry that reduces the need for conventional blade holders and visible connecting hardware. This creates a cleaner structure while helping to improve stability and minimise vibration.

The blade geometry is also highly aerodynamic, with the warped form and blade angle developed around airflow rather than simply visual appearance. The result is a fan that looks dynamic even when it is stationary, but that dynamic form is still rooted in its function.

I think that is the real difference with WARP. It isn't a conventional ceiling fan with an unusual shape placed on top. The unusual shape comes from rethinking how the fan is structured and how it moves air.

That is what gives WARP its identity—and makes the design difficult to separate from the engineering behind it.

The name WARP came quite naturally from the form itself.

The blades have a distinctive twisted and curved geometry that appears to transform as it moves through space. I liked the word “WARP” because it suggests a deliberate change in shape, direction and perspective.

A ceiling fan normally has a very familiar visual language. With WARP, I wanted to challenge that expectation and transform it into something more dynamic and sculptural.

There is also a connection to movement. “WARP” suggests speed, airflow and the way movement can change our perception of form. That felt appropriate for a product whose purpose is to create movement in something invisible.

So the name is quite simple. WARP is about transforming the familiar form of a ceiling fan and giving the movement of air a new visual expression.

We used a combination of traditional sketching, 3D modelling, engineering tools and physical prototyping throughout the development of WARP.

I usually start with a simple sketch. For me, sketching is still the fastest way to explore an idea and understand its proportions and movement before getting too technical.

From there, we developed the geometry in 3D CAD, where I could start working more precisely with the blade shape, angles, proportions and the interlocking structure. We then worked closely with engineering to study airflow, structural strength, balance, vibration and manufacturability.

Physical prototypes were also very important. Some things look convincing on a screen but behave very differently when they are actually moving air. Building and testing the physical forms allowed us to see what worked, what didn't, and where the design needed to evolve.

So I wouldn't say there was one particular tool that created WARP. The most important tool was the process of moving constantly between imagination, digital modelling and physical reality.

The most unique aspect of WARP is probably the way the three blades interlock at the centre.

I wanted to move away from the conventional ceiling-fan construction, where each blade is individually attached to a central motor with separate blade holders. Instead, I explored how the blades themselves could become part of the structure.

The interlocking geometry was inspired by the strength and stability of triangulation. It creates a strong visual identity, but it also has a functional purpose by reducing conventional connecting components and helping create a more stable rotating structure.

What I particularly like is that the same idea works on two levels. When the fan is switched off, you see a sculptural geometric object. When it starts moving, the blades create a completely different sense of motion and airflow.

So for me, the uniqueness isn't simply that WARP looks different. It is that the visual identity comes directly from the way the product is engineered

Yes. WARP was very much a collaborative process.

I worked closely with our engineering and technical teams throughout the development, particularly on the areas where the design had to meet real physical requirements. The blade geometry, structural stability, balance, vibration, airflow, motor performance and manufacturing feasibility all required technical input.

There was a constant exchange between design and engineering. I would push the form in a certain direction, and the technical team would help us understand what was possible, what needed to change, and where we could push further. Sometimes engineering would challenge an aesthetic decision, and sometimes the design would challenge an existing technical solution.

We also worked with specialists in manufacturing and prototyping to turn the geometry into something that could actually be produced consistently.

For me, that collaboration was essential. The designer may start the idea, but it takes different kinds of expertise to make the idea real. WARP is very much the result of that process.

Technology plays an important role in WARP, but I don't see it as something that should dominate the design.

At the development stage, technology allowed us to explore and validate things that would be difficult to understand through sketches alone. 3D modelling, aerodynamic analysis, engineering simulations and physical testing helped us refine the blade geometry, balance, structural strength and airflow.

Technology also plays a role in the user's experience. WARP incorporates smart control, allowing users to adjust fan speed and operating modes through remote control, wireless connectivity and compatible smart-home systems. It also supports different operating modes, including forward and reverse airflow, so the product can adapt to different conditions and seasons.

But ultimately, I believe technology should make the experience simpler, not more complicated. The best technology is often the technology you don't notice—you simply notice that the product works better.

That is also how I approached WARP. The technology is there to support the engineering and improve the experience, while the design remains the thing people see and connect with.

Yes. Although WARP started from a visual idea, the final design was heavily influenced by research, testing and engineering data.

We studied airflow behaviour, blade geometry, blade angles, weight distribution, rotational balance, vibration and noise. We used 3D modelling and engineering analysis to explore different forms, and then validated those ideas through physical prototypes and testing.

One of the most important parts of the research was understanding the relationship between the blade shape and airflow. We weren't simply looking for the highest possible airflow volume. We wanted to understand how the air was being moved—how consistently it travelled through a space, how much turbulence was created, and how those changes affected acoustic comfort.

We also experimented with different structural approaches. The interlocking blade architecture evolved through this process, as we explored how to reduce components while maintaining strength, balance and stability.

For me, research doesn't mean designing purely from numbers. The data tells us what is happening, but observation and experimentation tell us why it matters.

The final form of WARP is really the result of a conversation between intuition, data and physical reality.

The biggest challenge was making the form I imagined actually work as a ceiling fan.

The warped geometry looked very different from a conventional blade, but that also created challenges with airflow, weight, balance, structural strength, vibration and noise. The more dramatic we made the form, the more difficult it became to maintain the performance and reliability expected from a real product.

Another challenge was the blade connection. I wanted the interlocking structure to look clean and purposeful, but it also had to withstand the forces created when the blades were rotating. We went through many iterations to find the right balance between structural integrity, simplicity and appearance.

Manufacturing was another major challenge. A shape can look beautiful in CAD, but that doesn't necessarily mean it can be produced consistently, assembled efficiently or maintained at the right tolerances.

There were also many ideas that I personally liked but had to abandon because they didn't perform well enough. That was probably one of the hardest parts of the process.

In the end, I learned that constraints don't necessarily limit creativity. Sometimes they force you to find a better solution.

WARP became what it is because we couldn't simply build the first idea I imagined—we had to keep pushing until the idea and the engineering agreed with each other.

Honestly, the decision came from wanting to see how WARP would be judged outside of our own market.

When you work on a product for a long time, you naturally become very close to it. You know every decision, every compromise and every problem that went into making it. I felt that putting WARP in front of an international jury would give us a different perspective and a more objective measure of whether the idea could stand on its own.

I also felt WARP was a design that should be seen beyond our local market. It was created to challenge a very familiar product category, and I wanted to see whether that idea and its engineering story could resonate with people from different design cultures.

The awards were never the reason we designed WARP. The product came first. Submitting it was more about opening the work up to an international audience and allowing people who didn't know the journey behind it to judge the final result.

Receiving recognition was of course very meaningful, but for me, the real value was the validation that an idea developed here could have relevance on an international stage.

You spend so much time believing in your own design; sometimes you need to put it in front of people who have no reason to agree with you.

WARP taught me to be more patient with my own ideas.

When I first started, I was very attached to the visual direction. I knew I wanted something bold and different, and I wanted to push the form as far as possible. But as the project developed, I learned that a strong idea is only the beginning.

Engineering, airflow, balance, vibration, noise and manufacturing constantly challenged the direction I wanted to take. I had to learn when to push harder and when to let go of something I liked because it wasn't the right solution.

That process made me more disciplined as a designer. I became better at listening to engineers, looking at data, testing ideas physically and accepting that sometimes the best design decision is not the one I initially imagined.

I also learned that simplicity is much harder than complexity. Making WARP look relatively simple required us to solve many complicated problems behind the scenes.

Most importantly, WARP changed the way I think about collaboration. I used to think of design as bringing an idea to the engineering team. Now I see it more as a conversation—the best ideas often come from the space between design and engineering.

WARP taught me that being a better designer isn't about defending your idea. It's about being willing to change it until it becomes a better idea.

Perhaps the one thing I would like to add is that WARP was never really about designing a different-looking ceiling fan.

For me, it was about questioning something that had become so familiar that we stopped thinking about it. We use fans every day, but we rarely think about the air they create or the role that airflow plays in the atmosphere of a space.

That is something I would like to continue exploring. I believe air deserves to be considered alongside light, sound and materials when we think about how a space feels.

WARP was one step in that journey. It allowed me to explore how engineering and design could change the way we see airflow. But there is still so much more to discover.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about WARP is not what we have designed yet, but what it makes us question about what we could design next.

My design background has been shaped largely by hands-on experience and a strong curiosity about how things work. I have always been drawn to the relationship between form, mechanics, and the way objects interact with people and space. Rather than seeing design purely as aesthetics, I approach it as a process of understanding a problem, exploring possibilities, and finding a purposeful balance between function and expression.

My education has been complemented by continuous self-learning through observation, experimentation, prototyping, and working closely with engineering and manufacturing. This practical approach has shaped my belief that the best design often emerges when creative thinking and technical discipline come together.

What motivates me most is curiosity—understanding why something works the way it does, and questioning whether it could work or feel better.

I have always been fascinated by objects, mechanics, movement, and the relationship between engineering and form. My interest in design grew from wanting to understand not only how things are made, but why they look and behave the way they do. I became a designer because I wanted to bring those two sides together: the precision of engineering and the freedom of creative thinking.

For me, design is ultimately about purpose. A well-designed object should solve a real problem, improve an experience, and at the same time have a character of its own. I enjoy the challenge of taking something familiar and asking how it can be rethought—not simply to make it look different, but to make it more meaningful, more intuitive, or more enjoyable to use.

That is what continues to motivate me today. Design gives me the opportunity to turn curiosity into something tangible—something that can serve a purpose beyond myself and have value in people's everyday lives.

I would say I chose it, but perhaps not in the conventional sense.

I don’t think I woke up one day and decided, “I’m going to become a designer.” It was more something I naturally grew into. I have always been curious about how things work, why they are designed a certain way, and how they could be made better. I was drawn to objects, mechanics, cars, movement, and the details that most people might overlook.

Over time, I realized that design was the place where all of those interests could come together. It allowed me to combine creativity with problem-solving, engineering with aesthetics, and ideas with something tangible.

So, no one really forced me to become a designer. I think the curiosity forced me into it.

I currently design primarily in the field of home appliances and products for the built environment, with much of my work focused on ceiling fans and airflow. I am particularly interested in products that are often overlooked because they are considered purely functional.

What I enjoy most is taking something familiar and questioning whether it can become something more—more efficient, more intuitive, and more meaningful in the way it interacts with a space.

I would like to design more products where engineering and design are equally important. I am especially drawn to objects involving movement, mechanics, aerodynamics, and energy, because they offer an opportunity to make performance visible through form.

Ultimately, I don't want to be defined by designing one particular type of product. I would like to explore a wider range of objects and systems, but with the same philosophy: creating things that serve a genuine purpose while having enough character to become part of the environment, rather than simply occupying it.

They should try to become very good at understanding the world around them.

Stay curious. Question things that people take for granted. Learn how things are made, understand materials and manufacturing, and don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. At the same time, develop your own point of view. Technical knowledge can tell you what is possible, but your perspective determines what is worth creating.

I also believe young designers should spend less time trying to make something look like “design” and more time trying to make something meaningful. The strongest work usually comes from solving a real problem in a way that feels inevitable—where the form, function, and engineering belong together.

And finally, be patient. A design career is not built from one great project. It is built through years of making, failing, learning, and refining your judgement.

For me, the difference comes down to how deeply you understand what you are designing.

A good designer can solve a problem and make something work. A great designer, in my view, keeps asking questions—why does it need to be this way, can it be simpler, can it work better, and can the solution have a character of its own?

I have learned that good design is rarely about having one brilliant idea. It is often about making hundreds of small decisions and knowing which ones matter. It is also about being willing to let go of an idea you personally love if it doesn't serve the product.

I think a great designer also needs to be curious beyond design. I like understanding mechanics, materials, manufacturing, engineering, even things like cars and aerodynamics. Those interests constantly influence how I think, even when they have nothing directly to do with the product in front of me.

So I wouldn't say a great designer is simply more creative. I think they have stronger judgement, more curiosity, and a clearer point of view. They know when to push an idea—and, perhaps more importantly, when to stop.

For me, good design starts with purpose. It needs to solve a real problem and do what it is supposed to do. But really good design goes beyond that.

I usually evaluate a design by asking myself a few simple questions: Does it work well? Is there a reason behind every decision? Does the form communicate what the product is trying to do? And, perhaps most importantly, does it make people feel something?

I don't think good design has to be complicated or visually impressive. In fact, some of the best designs are very simple because the thinking behind them is so clear. When function, engineering, proportion, materials, and aesthetics come together naturally, you don't feel that the designer is trying too hard. It just feels right.

I also believe good design should have a life beyond the designer. If it only satisfies my personal taste, then perhaps it is closer to art. Design has a responsibility to serve people and a purpose beyond myself.

So ultimately, I evaluate good design by looking at both sides: does it work, and does it matter? When a product can do both, that's when I feel it becomes really good design.

think the value of good design is that it improves everyday life in ways we sometimes don't immediately notice.

Good design can make something easier to use, more comfortable, more efficient, or simply more enjoyable to live with. But I also believe there is value in creating things that people want to keep—not because they are fashionable, but because they are thoughtfully made and continue to feel relevant over time.

For me, investing in good design is not simply about making something look better. It is about making better decisions from the beginning: understanding the user, choosing the right materials, improving the engineering, considering manufacturing, and thinking about how the product will live in its environment. When those decisions are made well, the result often has greater longevity and meaning.

I also think good design has a responsibility beyond the individual product. When we design something better, we influence how people interact with the world around them. That is why I believe design should serve a purpose beyond the designer.

Ultimately, good design creates value on many levels—functional, emotional, environmental, and sometimes even cultural. If people are going to live with an object for years, I think it is worth taking the time to make that object genuinely good.

If I had unlimited time, I would like to design things that involve movement, mechanics, and human interaction—objects where engineering is not hidden, but becomes part of the beauty of the design.

I have always been fascinated by cars, particularly mechanical and performance cars. There is something very special about the relationship between the machine, the person using it, and the physical experience of movement. I would love the opportunity to explore that further through product or mobility design—perhaps something that combines mechanical precision, aerodynamics, and a very human experience.

As for who I would design for, I don't have a particular demographic in mind. I would rather design for people who appreciate how something works and why it was made that way. People who notice the details, value craftsmanship, and want the things around them to have a sense of purpose and character.

Ultimately, I would like to design something that people don't simply use, but develop a relationship with. Something functional enough to serve a purpose, but meaningful enough that people would miss it if it were gone.

One dream project I would love to realize is to build an engine of airflow.

I have always been fascinated by air—not only as something we feel, but as a force that can be shaped, controlled, and transformed into movement. I would like to explore whether airflow itself could become the driving principle of a mechanical system, almost like creating an engine where air is both the medium and the source of motion.

I imagine building it from the ground up, experimenting with pressure, velocity, turbines, blades, and mechanical transmission, and seeing how far a simple principle can be pushed.

It would be less about creating a practical product and more about satisfying a personal curiosity: understanding air as a form of energy and turning something invisible into something mechanical and tangible.

Perhaps it could eventually become something completely unexpected. That is what makes it exciting to me.

If I had to name one secret ingredient, I would say curiosity.

I am constantly asking myself why something is the way it is, and whether it could be done differently. I think that curiosity keeps me from becoming too comfortable with what already exists.

The second ingredient is probably persistence. A good idea rarely arrives fully formed. Most of the time, you have to go through many bad ideas, failed experiments, technical limitations, and compromises before you discover something that feels right. I actually enjoy that process.

I also try to stay very close to the real world. I like understanding materials, manufacturing, mechanics, and how things actually work—not just how they look on a screen. That helps me design with both imagination and reality in mind.

So I don't really have a secret recipe. For me, it is curiosity, persistence, and the willingness to keep questioning your own work.

I think the moment you stop asking “why not?” is the moment your design stops moving forward.

There are many designers and engineers I admire, but I am especially drawn to people who don't separate design from engineering.

Dieter Rams is one of them. His discipline and belief in removing everything unnecessary has influenced how I think about simplicity and restraint.

I also admire Gérald Genta, particularly for the way he transformed watches from purely mechanical instruments into objects with strong identity and character. His work showed me that even something very technical and functional can become iconic through proportion, detail and a clear design language.

And in automotive engineering, Haruhiko Tanahashi, the chief engineer behind the Lexus LFA, is someone I particularly admire. I have always loved cars, and what fascinates me about the LFA is the uncompromising relationship between engineering, performance and emotion. It reminds me that engineering doesn't have to be hidden—it can become part of the beauty of the object.

These influences are quite different, but that is what I like about them. I don't want to follow one particular design style. I prefer to take inspiration from different disciplines and eventually translate those influences into something that feels like my own.

There are quite a few, but two that always come to mind are the Lexus LFA and some of Gérald Genta's watch designs.

The Lexus LFA is special to me because the design and engineering feel completely inseparable. Every proportion, surface and aerodynamic detail has a reason behind it, but the result is still emotional. It doesn't look like it is trying too hard to be dramatic—it simply feels purposeful and engineered for what it needs to do. As someone who loves cars, I find that very inspiring.

With Gérald Genta's work, I appreciate something quite different. His designs have an incredible sense of proportion and identity. The Royal Oak, for example, is immediately recognizable, yet the design is based on relatively simple geometric principles. The combination of the octagonal bezel, integrated bracelet and precise detailing creates a character that has remained relevant for decades.

What I like about both is that they don't rely on decoration to create beauty. Their character comes from the logic of the design itself. That is something I always try to achieve in my own work—when the engineering, proportion and purpose are resolved well, the beauty almost becomes a natural consequence.

I would say WARP is my greatest design so far—not because it is the most visually striking, but because it represents a very personal design journey for me.

I wanted to challenge a basic assumption: why does a ceiling fan have to look like a ceiling fan? I wanted to create something that could be appreciated as an object of design and engineering, rather than something purely functional that should disappear into the ceiling.

The interlocking blade structure was a key idea that I personally pushed throughout the development. I was fascinated by the triangle and its inherent structural strength, and explored how that principle could be translated into the blade architecture. It became a way to reduce conventional connecting components while giving the fan a strong sense of movement and identity.

The difficult part was making that visual idea actually work. I had to constantly balance the form against airflow, weight, structural stability, vibration, noise and manufacturing. Many of the early ideas were more extreme, but I learned that pushing a design forward sometimes means knowing what to take away.

What I am most proud of is that the final character of WARP comes from those engineering decisions. The curves, angles and connections are not decoration—they are part of the solution.

For me, WARP represents where my interests in aerodynamics, mechanics and design came together. More importantly, it changed how I see the category itself. I didn't just want to design a better ceiling fan; I wanted to challenge what a ceiling fan could be.

I think the biggest thing I did was to stay curious and never limit my learning to design.

A lot of what has shaped me as a designer came from simply trying to understand how things work. I spent a lot of time observing products, taking things apart mentally, studying mechanics, materials, manufacturing, cars, aerodynamics, and the way objects move. I didn't always have someone teaching me these things—I learned a lot through curiosity, experimentation, and asking questions.

I also learned by making mistakes. When you take an idea from a sketch into a real product, you quickly discover that what looks good on paper may not work in reality. Weight, balance, strength, cost, manufacturing, assembly and user experience all start fighting for attention. Learning to work through those constraints has probably taught me more than any single design project.

I think designers improve when they develop both imagination and judgement. Imagination allows you to see possibilities; judgement helps you understand which possibilities are actually worth pursuing.

For me, becoming a better designer has been less about trying to become more creative and more about becoming more curious, more observant, and more willing to question my own decisions.

I am still doing that today. I don't think you ever really finish becoming a better designer.

I think I would probably have ended up doing something related to engineering or cars.

I have always been fascinated by machines—how an engine works, how power is transferred, how aerodynamics changes performance, and why a mechanical system behaves the way it does. I can spend a lot of time looking at the details of a car or an engine simply trying to understand why it was designed that way.

I think that is probably why design felt like a natural direction for me. It gives me a way to combine that mechanical curiosity with creativity. I don't have to choose between understanding how something works and thinking about how it should look or feel.

So perhaps I would have become an engineer, or something in the automotive world. But knowing myself, I would probably still be drawing things and asking, “Why did they make it like that—and could we do it better?”

For me, design is the process of turning an idea into something that has a purpose beyond yourself.

I see design as a balance between function and expression. You have an intention, but you also have a responsibility—to the person who will use it, to the environment it will exist in, and to the purpose it needs to serve.

That is also where I see a difference between design and art. Art can be completely personal. It can be an expression of the artist's thoughts, emotions or character, and it doesn't necessarily need to serve a practical purpose. Design has a different responsibility. It needs to communicate, function, and ultimately serve someone other than the designer.

But I don't believe that purpose means design has to be purely functional or boring. The best design, for me, is where function and expression become inseparable—where the way something works influences how it looks, and where the form gives people an emotional connection to something they use every day.

So if I had to define design in one sentence, I would say: design is purposeful expression—using creativity to make something that serves a real purpose and has value beyond the person who created it.

I don't think I reached this point because of one person. There have been many people along the way who have shaped how I think and given me the opportunity to keep designing.

I am especially grateful to the people who believed in my ideas when they were still just sketches, and to the engineers and colleagues who were willing to challenge me when something looked good but didn't work in reality. Those conversations have often made the work better.

There were also people who gave me the freedom to experiment and the patience to let an idea develop. That trust is important, especially when you are working on something unconventional and don't yet know exactly where it will lead.

Looking back, I think the people around me have influenced my journey as much as any individual project. Some encouraged me, some challenged me, and some simply gave me the space to keep trying.

I am grateful for all of them, because design may begin with one person's idea, but bringing that idea into the real world is never a one-person achievement.

I think what helped me most was staying curious for a very long time.

I never saw design as something limited to sketching or aesthetics. I became interested in mechanics, cars, aerodynamics, manufacturing, and understanding why things are made the way they are. Those interests constantly gave me new perspectives whenever I approached a design problem.

The other thing was learning to accept criticism and failure. Some of my strongest ideas came after many unsuccessful iterations. Every prototype, compromise, and technical limitation taught me to refine my judgement rather than become attached to a single idea.

I also believe hands-on experience changed me the most. Seeing an idea move from a sketch into a real product teaches you lessons that no classroom can fully replicate. It forces you to think about people, engineering, cost, assembly, and purpose all at once.

If there is one thing that has shaped me, it is the habit of always asking one more question. Curiosity has probably been my greatest teacher, and it continues to shape every design I create.

There were many obstacles, but I think the biggest one was learning that having a good idea is only the beginning.

Early on, I was often more focused on the idea itself—how something could look or what I wanted it to become. As I gained experience, I realised that turning an idea into a real product is much harder. Engineering, manufacturing, cost, materials, safety, balance and user experience all place limits on what you can do.

There were also many moments when an idea I really believed in simply didn't work. Some concepts were too complicated to manufacture, some didn't perform as expected, and others looked interesting but didn't have a strong enough reason to exist. Learning to let go of those ideas was difficult, but necessary.

I think another challenge was developing my own confidence and design language. When you are surrounded by established products and designers, it is easy to wonder whether your ideas are too different or whether people will understand them.

Over time, I learned not to see these obstacles as things standing in the way of design. They became part of the design process itself.

Looking back, the limitations probably helped me more than anything. They forced me to become more disciplined, more curious, and much better at turning an idea into something real.

I think designers should present their work honestly and show more than just the final image.

A beautiful render can attract attention, but it doesn't tell you why the design exists. I like to show the thinking behind the work—the problem, the exploration, the failures, the decisions, and how the final solution came together.

Especially with product design, I think it is important to show what you cannot see. A product might look very simple, but there can be a tremendous amount of engineering, testing and problem-solving behind that simplicity. That process is part of the design story.

I also believe designers shouldn't try too hard to explain what people should feel. Show the work clearly, explain the intention, and then give people enough space to form their own interpretation.

For me, the best presentation is one where the audience can understand the purpose and appreciate the thinking, but the design itself still has the strength to speak for itself.

Don't use the presentation to make the design look better than it is. Use it to help people understand why it is the way it is.

My next focus is to go deeper into airflow—not simply making fans move more air, but understanding how air should move within a space.

I want to explore a new generation of airflow products that can respond to the space around them. By combining airflow modelling, sensors and smart controls, we can begin to understand factors such as temperature, humidity, occupancy and room geometry, and use that information to create more appropriate airflow patterns. I would like to explore ways of communicating airflow through visualisation, interaction or technology, so people can understand how air is moving through their own space and why a particular airflow pattern creates better comfort.

Ultimately, I want to move the conversation from “How powerful is the fan?” to “How well does the space breathe?”

That could lead us beyond the traditional ceiling fan into a broader family of products and systems designed around the movement of air.

We have learned to design with light and sound. My ambition is to make airflow something we can understand, shape and design with.

My ultimate goal is to create things that are useful to people, but also change the way they think about the things around them.

I don't want to design simply for the sake of creating something new. I want to take things that people have become accustomed to and ask whether they can be understood differently. That is what I have tried to do with airflow, and with products like WARP—taking something familiar and looking at it from another perspective.

I also want to continue pushing the relationship between engineering and design. I find the most interesting products are those where the engineering isn't hidden behind the aesthetics, but becomes part of what makes the object beautiful.

Ultimately, I hope my work can contribute something beyond myself. If a product I design makes someone's everyday life more comfortable, makes them appreciate engineering, or simply makes them stop and look at something they normally wouldn't notice, then I feel the design has achieved something.

I don't want to be remembered for how many things I designed. I want to be remembered for changing how people think about the things I designed.

I think people probably expect me to always have the right answer, but honestly, I don't think a designer ever does.

If anything, the more experience I gain, the more I realise how much I still don't know. Every project teaches me something new, and there are always better questions to ask and better ways to approach a problem.

I don't feel that being recognised as a designer gives me the right to stop questioning myself. If anything, it gives me a greater responsibility to stay curious, to keep learning, and to be open to criticism.

I also don't want people to expect me to simply repeat what I have done before. I would rather surprise them, even if that means exploring something unfamiliar or getting it wrong along the way.

So if people expect anything from me, I hope it is simply that I will continue to be curious, stay humble, and put genuine thought into whatever I create.

I may have more experience today, but I still approach every new idea knowing there is something I don't know yet.

think design helps create a better society by improving the things people interact with every day.

We often think of design as something visual, but to me it is really about making life better—making things more useful, more comfortable, more accessible, more efficient, and hopefully more meaningful.

I also believe designers have a responsibility to think beyond the individual product. We make decisions about materials, energy, manufacturing, longevity and how people use things. Those decisions may seem small, but when a product is used by thousands or millions of people, the impact becomes much bigger.

For me personally, good design should serve a purpose beyond the designer. I don't want to create something simply because I think it looks good. I want it to have a reason to exist and to bring some value to the people who use it.

And I think design can also educate. With my work in airflow, for example, I hope to make people more aware of something they normally don't think about—the air around them and how it affects the way a space feels.

For me, a better society isn't only about having better things. It's about using design to help people live better, think differently, and become more aware of the world around them.

One of the projects I am most excited about right now is a new technology that could fundamentally change the way people interact with air.

I can't say too much about it yet, but we are exploring a completely different approach to how air can be directed, shaped and experienced within a space. The idea is to rethink the relationship between the product, the air and the person using it.

What excites me most is the potential to make something invisible feel much more intuitive and responsive. Air is something we constantly experience, yet we rarely think about how it moves around us or how precisely it can be shaped.

There are still many engineering challenges to overcome, and that is part of what makes the project exciting. I enjoy working on ideas where the solution isn't obvious and where the process of discovering it can be just as interesting as the final result.

WARP has probably given me the most satisfaction so far.

Not simply because of the final product, but because of what it took to get there. When I first had the idea, I knew I wanted to create something very different from a conventional ceiling fan. But turning that idea into a real, working product was much harder than I expected.

There were many times when the form had to change because of engineering, airflow, balance, vibration, manufacturing or cost. I had to let go of ideas I liked and keep searching for better solutions. Seeing the final product working for the first time was therefore a very satisfying moment.

What makes me proud is that the final design still carries the original idea. It looks different, but the difference has a reason behind it. The engineering, structure and aerodynamic thinking are all part of the design rather than something hidden behind it.

The biggest satisfaction came when I realised that an idea that started as a sketch could actually become a product that works and challenges how people see a ceiling fan.

For me, the most satisfying moment in design is seeing an idea that existed only in my mind become something real that people can experience.

I would like to see the design industry become a little less focused on how quickly something can become visually interesting, and more focused on whether it is genuinely worth making.

There is so much emphasis today on creating something that looks new, different or immediately impressive. But for me, good design takes more time. It requires understanding the problem, questioning assumptions, working with engineering, testing, making mistakes and refining the idea.

WARP is a good example of this for me. The unusual form was never created simply to look different. We spent a long time working through airflow, balance, vibration, structure and manufacturing before arriving at the final design. The visual result came from solving those problems, rather than being applied on top of them.

I would also like to see designers become more comfortable working outside their traditional boundaries. Design, engineering, science and manufacturing should not feel like separate worlds. Some of the most interesting ideas happen when those disciplines come together.

And I hope we continue to move away from designing purely for short-term trends. I would rather see products with a clear purpose, strong character and enough quality to remain relevant for many years.

For me, the industry doesn't necessarily need more design. It needs more thoughtful design—less about making something look new, and more about making something genuinely better.

I think design is moving towards a much closer relationship between physical products and the systems around them.

Technology is becoming more integrated into everyday objects, but I don't think the future is about adding more technology for the sake of it. It is about making products more responsive—understanding their environment and adapting to the people using them.

I think AI will also change the way designers work. It can help us explore more possibilities and analyse problems faster, but I don't think it replaces the designer's judgement. The ability to decide what is worth creating, and why, will become even more important.

I also think we will see more attention given to things that are normally invisible. Airflow is one example. We think about light, sound, temperature and materials when designing a space, but air is often treated simply as something that comes from a ventilation system or a fan.

That is an area I am personally very interested in exploring. I believe design can make invisible forces more understandable and more intentional.

I think the next generation of design won't just be about designing objects. It will be about designing the relationships between people, objects, technology and the environment around them.

it really depends on the project. I don't think good design can always be measured by how many months it takes.

Some ideas can come together quite quickly, while others need a lot more time because the engineering, manufacturing or user experience is more complicated. WARP, for example, took about a year from the initial concept to the final design because we were constantly balancing the form with airflow, structure, vibration, noise and manufacturability.

For me, the process is usually quite fluid. I may have a strong idea at the beginning, but I don't want to rush towards a final answer. I prefer to explore, build, test, question and refine until the design feels resolved.

Sometimes the hardest part is knowing when to stop. You can keep changing small details forever, but eventually you have to recognise that the design has reached the right balance between what you wanted to achieve and what the product actually needs.

So I don't really ask, “How quickly can I finish this?” I ask, “Have I solved it well enough to let it go?”

I usually start with a question.

Before I start thinking about how something should look, I want to understand why it needs to exist in the first place. What problem are we trying to solve? What is frustrating about the existing solution? And perhaps more importantly, is there a better question we should be asking?

From there, I start looking everywhere for inspiration—not only at other products, but at engineering, nature, architecture, cars, aircraft, mechanics and even everyday objects. I like to understand how different things solve similar problems.

Once I have a direction that feels interesting, I start bringing engineering and manufacturing into the conversation. I want to understand what is possible, where the limitations are, and whether those limitations can actually lead us to a better solution.

For me, the process is a constant back and forth between imagination and reality. I might have an idea that looks fantastic, but if it doesn't work, I need to understand why and find another way.

So I don't really start with a shape. I start with a question, and let the answer gradually become the design.

If I had to choose one, it would be: “Why not?”

I think that question has followed me throughout my design career. When something is accepted as the normal way of doing things, I naturally want to ask whether there is another way.

Why does a ceiling fan have to look like a ceiling fan? Why does a product have to work the way it has always worked? Why can't engineering also become part of the beauty?

Of course, asking “why not?” doesn't mean changing something just for the sake of being different. There still has to be a reason, and the solution has to work.

But I think that simple question keeps me curious. It gives me permission to explore an idea before deciding that it is impossible.

“Why not?” keeps the door open—and sometimes the best designs are on the other side of it.

I think it can work both ways, but I believe good design should ultimately set its own direction rather than simply follow a trend.

Trends are useful because they tell us something about what people are interested in at a particular moment. But they change very quickly. If you design only to follow a trend, there is a risk that the product becomes dated as soon as the trend moves on.

I personally prefer to start with the problem, the function and the character I want the product to have. If the design is honest and has a strong reason behind it, it doesn't need to chase what is currently fashionable.

WARP is a good example. We weren't trying to follow a particular ceiling-fan trend. We were looking at aviation, aerodynamics, engineering and movement, and asking how those principles could create something new for the category.

Sometimes that process may create something that becomes a trend, but that shouldn't be the goal.

I would rather design something that is still relevant when the trend is forgotten than something that is only relevant because of the trend.

Technology is a tool for me, not the starting point.

I use technology to understand what is possible, test ideas faster, analyse performance and solve problems that would be difficult to understand through intuition alone. But I don't believe technology should decide what we design.

I usually start with a problem or an idea, and then ask what technology can help us achieve it. Sometimes that means using engineering simulation or digital modelling; sometimes it means developing a new mechanism or finding a better way to manufacture something.

What interests me most is when technology becomes almost invisible. The user doesn't necessarily need to know how complicated the technology is—they simply experience a product that works better, feels more natural, or does something they didn't expect.

That is how I approached WARP. The technology and engineering helped us achieve the form and performance, but they were never there just to make the product sound more advanced.

For me, technology is most powerful when it expands what we can design, without becoming the reason we design it.

I work with a team that uses a combination of digital design tools, engineering software and physical prototyping equipment throughout the development process.

On the design side, we use 3D CAD and modelling tools to develop the form, proportions, mechanisms and assemblies. From there, our engineering team uses technical and simulation tools to study areas such as airflow, structural strength, balance, vibration and overall performance.

Physical prototyping is also an important part of our process. We build and test different versions to understand how the design behaves in the real world, because sometimes what looks right digitally doesn't necessarily work the same way physically.

I don't see these tools as separate from the design process. They allow the different people in our team—designers, engineers and manufacturing specialists—to communicate and solve problems together.

For me, the most important tool isn't the software. It's the team behind it, and how we use those tools together to turn an idea into something real.

For me, colour, materials and ambience are part of how a product communicates with the space around it. They are not simply the finishing touches.

The material should reflect what the product is trying to be. I like materials that have a natural honesty to them—where you can understand their quality, texture and construction rather than trying to make one material look like another.

Colour is similar. I don't always think a product needs to have a strong colour to have character. Sometimes a restrained palette allows the form, proportion and material to speak more clearly. Other times, a carefully chosen colour can give a product a completely different personality.

Ambience is particularly important to me because products don't exist in isolation. A ceiling fan, for example, becomes part of the architecture and changes how a space feels through its movement, airflow, lighting and presence.

I think the best decisions happen when these elements are considered together with the function of the product, rather than added at the end.

For me, colour and material shouldn't decorate the design. They should help complete the experience of the design

I would like people to ask, “Why?”

When someone sees one of my designs, I don't want their first question to only be, “What does it look like?” I would rather they become curious about why it was designed that way.

Why is the form shaped like this? Why does this part move this way? Why is this connection designed differently? What is happening behind the surface?

For me, those questions are where the real design story begins. A lot of the work is hidden inside the product—engineering, testing, materials, manufacturing and countless decisions that people may never see.

With WARP, for example, I hope someone sees the unusual form and becomes curious about what made us create it. Once they start asking those questions, they begin to discover the relationship between the aerodynamics, structure and visual language.

If a design makes someone curious enough to ask “why?”, I feel I have already achieved something.

My first thought is usually, “How did they do that?”

I naturally want to understand what is behind the design. Why was it shaped that way? How does it work? What problem were they trying to solve? What limitations did they have to overcome?

I tend to look at the details—how something is assembled, how the materials come together, how it moves, and whether the form actually reflects its function. Sometimes I can appreciate a product simply because it is beautifully resolved, but I am always curious about the thinking behind it.

I also like designs that make me slightly jealous—in a good way. When I see something and think, “I wish I had thought of that,” I know there is something special about it.

And sometimes a great design doesn't immediately give you all the answers. It makes you stop and look again. Those are usually the designs that stay with me.

The best designs don't just make me want to own them. They make me want to understand them.

Yes, I definitely believe in co-design.

My ideal design partner is someone who is willing to challenge me. I don't need someone who agrees with everything I say. I actually prefer working with people who can look at an idea from a completely different perspective and say, “Have you thought about it this way?”

WARP really taught me the value of that. I started with a strong vision for the form, but bringing it to life required constant collaboration with engineering and manufacturing. There were times when they told me something couldn't work, and instead of seeing that as a limitation, we tried to understand why and find another way. Sometimes those technical challenges actually led to a better design.

That experience changed how I see co-design. It isn't about having more people contribute ideas just for the sake of it. It's about bringing together different expertise and allowing those perspectives to challenge and improve the original idea.

I think the best collaborations are the ones where nobody is too attached to being right.

My ideal design partner isn't someone who helps me prove I'm right. It's someone who helps me discover a better answer.

I would say the people who have influenced my design the most are the people I have worked with through our international projects.

Our business has a sideline in ODM fan design for the hospitality industry, so I have had the opportunity to work on projects across different markets, cultures and environments. That exposure has broadened the way I think about design.

Hospitality has been particularly valuable because a product needs to work within a much larger environment. It has to respond to the architecture, perform reliably, and still feel appropriate to people with very different expectations and tastes.

These experiences have taught me to listen more carefully and not assume that my own perspective is always the right one. Sometimes a simple comment from someone using or specifying the product can reveal something I hadn't considered.

I don't necessarily take every suggestion and put it into the design. What matters to me is understanding the reason behind it and seeing whether it can lead to a better solution.

I think the best influence on a designer is the real world. It constantly challenges what you think you know.

I don't actually read many books, so I wouldn't say books have been a major influence on my design. But one book that has stayed with me is The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey.

One idea from the book that really stayed with me is “Begin with the end in mind.” I took that beyond just personal development and into the way I approach design. It taught me to think beyond the obvious solution and not let existing boundaries define what something could become.

When I see an existing product, I tend to ask myself whether its limitations are genuinely necessary, or whether we have simply become used to doing things that way. I like to understand the boundary first, and then see if there is a way to push beyond it.

That's very much how I approached WARP. I didn't want to start with the assumption of what a ceiling fan should look like. I wanted to imagine what it could become, and then work backwards to see if we could make that vision technically possible.

For me, pushing boundaries isn't about being different for the sake of it. It's about first imagining what could be better, and then finding a way to make it real.

don't really consider myself a “master designer.” I think I'm still learning, and that's probably what has helped me develop the most.

Most of my skills have come through doing rather than simply studying design. Working on real products taught me that an idea has to survive much more than the design stage. It has to work technically, be manufacturable, make sense commercially, and ultimately make sense to the person using it.

I also developed by working closely with engineers, manufacturers and people from different parts of the industry. They often challenged ideas that looked good from a design perspective but didn't work in reality. Those experiences taught me to understand materials, mechanics, manufacturing and performance, rather than looking at design only from an aesthetic point of view.

Curiosity has probably been my biggest teacher. I spend a lot of time looking at things outside design—cars, aircraft, machinery, aerodynamics, everyday objects—and asking why they were made the way they were. Those observations often find their way into my work in unexpected ways.

I also learned to become less attached to my first idea. The more projects I worked on, the more I understood that good design comes from questioning, testing and refining rather than trying to protect the original concept.

So I wouldn't say I developed by trying to become a master designer. I developed by staying curious, making things, making mistakes, and trying to make the next one better.

If I could meet anyone, I would probably choose Gérald Genta.

I’ve always been fascinated by his work, especially the Nautilus. What I admire is how he could take something highly technical, like a mechanical watch, and give it a strong personality through the design itself. The proportions, the shape of the case and the way everything comes together feel very intentional, but never forced.

I think that idea connects quite naturally with how I approach my own work. I’m very interested in engineering and how things work, but I don't want the engineering to be separate from the design. I like the idea that the way something works can actually influence how it looks and, in turn, give it its character.

That is something I tried to explore with WARP. The form wasn't created first and then engineered afterwards. The structure, airflow and mechanics all influenced the final shape. In that sense, Genta's work reminds me that technical objects can still have emotion and personality when the design is deeply connected to how they work.

If I had the chance to sit down with him, I’d want to understand how he arrived at that balance—how he could take technical constraints and turn them into something people actually feel.

I’d probably ask him, “How do you make the mechanics part of the emotion?”

I’m very grateful for the recognition, but I honestly don't think of myself as famous.

Awards are encouraging because they tell you that the work has connected with people beyond your own team and your own market. They also give some validation to the time, experimentation and risks that went into a project.

But I try not to let them change how I work. Once a project is finished and recognised, I still have to start the next one from zero. The next idea doesn't care what awards the previous one won.

And as for being famous, I wouldn't know—I don't think I'm there yet! I still spend most of my time thinking about the next design and how to make it better.

For me, the real reward is simply getting to keep designing.

My favourite colour is blue. I’ve always been drawn to it. It feels calm, but it can also have a lot of depth and character.

My favourite place is Japan. I love the culture and the attention to detail, but what really attracts me is the mindset—the way craftsmanship, precision and patience are valued.

For food, I’d probably say Japanese food. I like how something can look very simple, but there can be so much thought and care behind it.

My favourite season is winter. I prefer cooler weather, and I like the quieter feeling that comes with it.

My favourite thing is definitely cars. I’ve always been fascinated by them—not just how they look, but how they work, how they move, and why every detail was designed the way it was.

And my favourite brand would be Lexus. What inspires me about Lexus isn't just the cars themselves, but the journey behind them. They entered a very competitive automotive world and spent years pushing through technical challenges and setbacks to prove that they could achieve a different level of automotive excellence.

That determination to keep improving, even when the goal seems almost impossible, is something I really admire. It reminds me that excellence isn't achieved in one big step—it comes from refusing to stop refining.

One of the funniest things about being a product designer is that an idea can look absolutely perfect on the computer—and then become something completely different when you make it in real life.

I remember working on one of the early WARP prototypes. On the screen, everything looked balanced and beautiful. I was quite convinced we had something special. Then we built the physical prototype, switched it on, and very quickly realised that the fan had its own opinion about the design.

The vibration was much worse than we expected, and suddenly the beautiful form I had been admiring on the screen was shaking in front of us. Everyone just stood there looking at it for a moment.

I think that was a good reminder that you can't argue with physics. No matter how good the render looks, reality always gets the final vote.

Since then, whenever I become too confident about a design on screen, I remind myself: “Let's build it first.”

For me, a great day usually starts with a good question.

I’ve always been the kind of person who gets curious about things. I might see a mechanism, a car, a piece of architecture, or even something as simple as how air moves through a room, and start wondering, “Why is it done this way?” Sometimes it leads nowhere, but sometimes that one question opens up a completely different idea.

That curiosity is probably what motivates me most. I don't really need awards or deadlines to push me. If something interests me, I naturally want to understand it, take it apart mentally, and see if I can find a better way of doing it.

WARP came from exactly that kind of curiosity. It started with a very simple question: why does a ceiling fan have to look like a ceiling fan? That question stayed with me long enough to become a real product.

And there is still nothing quite like seeing an idea finally work in the real world. After all the testing, failures and changes, you switch something on and suddenly think, “Yes, that's it.”

I think what keeps me going is quite simple—I’m always curious about what happens if I ask one more question.

Definitely not. I don't think anyone looked at me as a child and thought, “He's going to become a designer.”

I was just a curious kid. I was always interested in things that moved, especially cars, machines and anything mechanical. I could spend a long time looking at something and wondering what was happening inside, or why someone had designed it that way.

I also liked taking things apart in my head. Sometimes I would look at an object and immediately start thinking about how it was assembled or how I might make it differently. I didn't realise at the time that this was actually quite close to how I think today.

I certainly wasn't thinking about becoming a “great designer.” I was just following whatever I found interesting. Looking back, I think that curiosity was probably the earliest sign.

I didn't know I wanted to be a designer. I just knew I wanted to understand how things worked.

A thousand years is almost impossible for me to imagine. I don't think we can really predict what the world will look like that far ahead.

But when I think about the future, I naturally think about the things I'm working on today. I'm very interested in air because it is something we experience constantly but rarely think about designing. Today we use fans and air-conditioning to control our environment, but I wonder what that relationship could look like hundreds of years from now.

Maybe we won't think about airflow as a product anymore. Perhaps buildings themselves will understand how air should move, and technology will allow the environment to respond naturally to the people inside it.

That's the kind of future that interests me—not simply making smarter products, but questioning whether we will still need to think about products in the same way at all.

WARP started with a simple question about what a ceiling fan could become. My future work is really about asking bigger questions around air—how we can shape it, understand it and make it part of the design of a space.

If we are still designing fans a thousand years from now, I hope someone looks at them and asks, “Why are we still doing it this way?”

I think the one thing I would like people to know about me is that I’m still very curious.

I don't see myself as someone who has all the answers. Most of my designs start with a question, and often the question becomes more interesting than the answer. I like taking familiar things and wondering whether they could work differently, whether they could be simpler, or whether they could simply be better.

With WARP, that started with a very simple question: why does a ceiling fan have to look like a ceiling fan? The product became the result of following that question as far as we could.

I also hope people understand that what you see on the outside is only part of the design. There can be a lot of engineering, testing, mistakes and persistence behind something that eventually looks simple.

And personally, I don't want to stop at what I've already achieved. The awards are meaningful and I'm very grateful for them, but they also make me curious about what comes next.

If my designs make someone stop, look twice and ask “Why?”, then I think I've done something worthwhile.

I have always been drawn to the relationship between objects and the emotions they create within a space. From an early age, I was fascinated not only by how things functioned, but by how form, proportion, and material could influence atmosphere and human experience. Over time, that curiosity naturally evolved into a deeper interest in design.

What led me toward design was the realization that everyday objects have the ability to shape the way we live, feel, and interact with our environments. I became particularly interested in the intersection between art and functionality — the idea that an object can serve a practical purpose while still carrying emotional and sculptural presence.

I believe design and art exist in constant dialogue. Design carries responsibility: it must function well, endure over time, and integrate intuitively into daily life. Art, on the other hand, allows freedom of expression and emotional interpretation. My work often explores the space where these two disciplines meet.

Rather than seeing products as purely utilitarian, I approach them as part of a larger architectural and emotional experience. This philosophy eventually led me to focus on creating objects that are both purposeful and visually resonant.

With Warp, for example, I wanted to challenge the conventional perception of the ceiling fan as a purely mechanical appliance. I approached it instead as a sculptural object within architecture — something capable of contributing to the atmosphere of a room through movement, silhouette, and form.

Becoming a designer was therefore less of a single decision and more of a gradual realization that design could be a medium through which practicality and artistic expression coexist.

Our studio is driven by the belief that everyday functional objects deserve the same level of thought, emotion, and refinement traditionally reserved for art or furniture. We focus on creating products that exist at the intersection of design, architecture, and atmosphere — objects that not only perform well, but also contribute meaningfully to the spaces they inhabit.

Much of our work explores how functional products can transcend their conventional roles and become part of a larger spatial experience. We are particularly interested in the relationship between movement, form, proportion, and materiality, and how these elements influence the emotional character of an interior.

Rather than approaching products purely from an engineering perspective, we begin with the question of how an object should feel within a space — visually, emotionally, and architecturally. Function remains essential, but it is treated as the foundation upon which expression and experience are built.

This philosophy is especially evident in Warp. Instead of treating the ceiling fan as a hidden mechanical necessity, we envisioned it as a sculptural architectural element — calm, fluid, and intentionally integrated into contemporary interiors.

As a studio, we value clarity, restraint, and timelessness. We aim to create designs that feel contemporary yet enduring, balancing practicality with emotional resonance. Ultimately, our goal is to design objects that people do not simply use, but genuinely enjoy living with over time.

For me, design is the process of giving purpose a meaningful form. It is not only about how something looks, but about how it functions, how it interacts with people, and how it shapes everyday experience.

I believe design carries responsibility. A well-designed object must serve a practical need intuitively and honestly, while also creating a sense of harmony between function, form, and environment. Good design should feel effortless — not because it is simple to create, but because every decision has been carefully considered.

At the same time, I do not see design as purely utilitarian. The most enduring designs are often those that evoke emotion beyond their function. They create atmosphere, inspire attachment, and contribute to the character of a space or moment. In this sense, design and art constantly influence one another.

For me, the role of design is to balance these two worlds: practicality and poetry. Function provides the foundation, but emotion gives an object its lasting presence.

With Warp, this philosophy became central to the design process. I wanted to reinterpret the ceiling fan not as a mechanical appliance, but as a sculptural architectural object — something that could quietly shape the visual and emotional atmosphere of a room while still fulfilling its functional purpose.

Ultimately, I believe design succeeds when it becomes seamlessly integrated into life — when an object feels both useful and meaningful at the same time.

I am most drawn to designing objects that exist quietly within everyday life yet have the power to shape the atmosphere of a space in a meaningful way. I enjoy creating works that balance functionality with emotional and architectural presence — objects that people interact with naturally, but continue to appreciate over time.

I am particularly interested in products that are often overlooked as purely utilitarian. These objects present an opportunity to rethink how design can elevate ordinary experiences through form, movement, proportion, and materiality. I find it rewarding to transform something functional into something that also feels sculptural and emotionally resonant.

Much of my work is influenced by architecture, contemporary interiors, and the relationship between objects and spatial experience. I am drawn to designs that feel calm, refined, and timeless rather than overly decorative or trend-driven. I appreciate restraint in design — where subtle details, balance, and clarity create a stronger impact than excess.

With Warp, for example, I was interested in exploring how movement could be expressed through form. The intention was not simply to create a ceiling fan, but to design an object that contributes to the rhythm and atmosphere of a room even when still.

Ultimately, I enjoy designing works that people can live with for many years — objects that fulfill a practical role while also creating a deeper emotional connection to the spaces around them.

One of my favorite designs is Warp because it represents many of the ideas and values that define my approach to design. It embodies my interest in creating objects that are both functional and emotionally expressive — designs that serve a practical purpose while also contributing to the atmosphere and identity of a space.

What makes Warp particularly meaningful to me is the way it challenges the conventional perception of a ceiling fan. Traditionally, ceiling fans are treated primarily as mechanical necessities, often designed with little consideration for their architectural presence. With Warp, I wanted to rethink that relationship entirely.

The design was inspired by the idea of movement captured in form — a sense of continuous flow, tension, and fluidity expressed through the silhouette of the blades. Even when stationary, the fan was intended to feel dynamic and sculptural, almost like a suspended object shaped by motion itself.

At the same time, functionality remained essential throughout the process. The challenge was to create a form that felt visually light and expressive while still maintaining performance, balance, and usability. I believe the most compelling designs emerge when technical discipline and artistic intention coexist harmoniously rather than competing against one another.

Warp is also significant to me because it reflects my broader philosophy that design should extend beyond pure utility. A well-designed object should influence how a space feels emotionally, not only how it functions practically. In that sense, Warp was designed not simply to move air, but to contribute quietly to the mood, rhythm, and experience of contemporary living spaces.

More than anything, Warp represents my belief that everyday functional objects can still possess poetry, presence, and a sense of lasting emotional resonance.

The first product I designed for a company was a modular fan hub system that allowed a ceiling fan to support multiple blade configurations — including two, three, four, and five-blade variations — without requiring changes to the motor assembly itself.

What interested me about this project was not only the engineering challenge, but also the flexibility it created from both a design and manufacturing perspective. Traditionally, different blade counts often require separate structural or motor configurations, which can limit adaptability and increase production complexity. I wanted to develop a system that could accommodate different visual identities and performance characteristics while maintaining a unified core platform.

The project taught me an important lesson early in my design journey: good design is not only about appearance, but also about creating intelligent systems. A well-designed product should simplify complexity, improve efficiency, and create opportunities for adaptability without compromising the user experience.

Looking back, I realize that this project strongly influenced the way I approach design today. It reinforced my interest in balancing technical problem-solving with form and usability. Even now, when designing products like Warp, I continue to think about how engineering, manufacturing logic, and emotional design can coexist within a single object.

Although the modular hub system was highly functional in nature, it marked the beginning of my broader philosophy — that thoughtful design should create harmony between practicality, flexibility, and visual clarity.

am particularly drawn to materials and technologies that allow both structural performance and expressive form to coexist. I enjoy working with composites and high-strength materials because they create opportunities to achieve lightness, precision, and durability while still allowing freedom in shaping and proportion.

Aluminium is one of my favorite materials because of its balance between strength, refinement, and versatility. It possesses a certain clarity and honesty that I appreciate in design. Beyond its structural qualities, aluminium also allows for clean detailing, precise finishes, and a timeless visual character that works well within contemporary interiors and architectural environments.

I am also interested in highly moldable materials such as polycarbonate (PC). Materials like PC offer a different kind of creative freedom — the ability to explore fluid geometries, continuous surfaces, and softer transitions in form. This flexibility becomes especially valuable when trying to create products that feel visually dynamic yet refined.

What interests me most is not the material alone, but how material properties can influence emotional perception and spatial experience. Different materials carry different visual weights, textures, reflections, and tactile qualities, all of which contribute to how an object is experienced within a space.

In my work, I often look for a balance between technical performance and sculptural expression. The material should not simply support the design mechanically; it should also reinforce the atmosphere, identity, and emotional character of the object itself.

I feel most creative during moments when time seems to momentarily slow down — when I am able to observe without distraction or expectation. Creativity, for me, is often less about forcing ideas and more about creating the conditions for observation and reflection to happen naturally.

Some of my clearest ideas emerge during quiet activities such as walking through a park, traveling, or simply observing the rhythm of everyday life. In those moments, the mind becomes more receptive to details that are normally overlooked: the way light moves across a surface, the balance of forms in nature, the tension between stillness and motion, or the atmosphere created by a particular space.

I believe creativity often exists in these suspended moments of awareness, where emotion, memory, and observation begin to connect subconsciously. Rather than searching directly for inspiration, I try to remain open to experiences, environments, and forms that evoke a certain feeling or curiosity.

Nature and movement are especially influential in my process. Many of my ideas begin not from a technical starting point, but from observing flow, proportion, rhythm, and fluidity in the world around me. With Warp, for example, the sense of continuous motion and sculptural flow was inspired by this fascination with movement captured in form.

Ultimately, I see creativity as a state of attentiveness — a quiet moment where observation transforms into imagination.

When designing, I focus strongly on achieving a balance between aesthetic refinement and the honest expression of functionality. I am particularly interested in creating designs where beauty and engineering do not compete with one another, but instead converge into a unified experience.

Rather than completely concealing mechanical elements, I often prefer to reveal certain aspects of how an object works. I believe there is a unique beauty in functional honesty — when users are able to understand, appreciate, and emotionally connect with the technology behind a product. Exposing selected mechanical details can create a stronger sense of authenticity and depth within the design.

At the same time, I am careful that these functional elements remain visually intentional and integrated into the overall form. The goal is not to create something overly industrial or technical, but to allow the mechanics to become part of the object’s aesthetic language. When done thoughtfully, visible functionality can create a sense of precision, tension, and character that enriches the overall experience.

This approach is especially important in products that involve movement or engineered performance. With Warp, for example, I was interested in expressing the idea of motion and aerodynamic flow not only through performance, but also through the visual structure and form itself. Certain design details subtly reveal the logic and engineering behind the object, allowing users to appreciate both its function and its sculptural presence.

Ultimately, I believe people form deeper connections with objects when they can sense the intelligence and craftsmanship embedded within them. For me, good design is not about hiding complexity entirely, but about presenting it with clarity, elegance, and emotional resonance.

When I design, I often experience a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and adrenaline. There is a unique energy that comes from exploring an idea that does not yet fully exist — the process of gradually transforming an abstract thought into a tangible object.

Curiosity is usually where the process begins for me. I constantly find myself questioning how an object can be perceived differently, how function and form can interact in unexpected ways, or how a familiar product can evoke a new emotional response. That sense of exploration keeps the creative process alive and continually pushes me toward new possibilities.

Excitement comes from the moment when disparate ideas begin to connect — when proportion, movement, material, and functionality suddenly align into something coherent and meaningful. Those moments are deeply rewarding because design often involves navigating uncertainty before clarity emerges.

There is also a certain adrenaline throughout the process, especially when experimenting with bold forms or unconventional ideas. Good design requires a willingness to challenge assumptions and take creative risks. I enjoy the tension between precision and unpredictability — balancing technical constraints with the desire to create something emotionally compelling and visually distinctive.

At the same time, designing can also feel deeply meditative. Once immersed in the process, I often lose awareness of time entirely. It becomes an intense state of focus where observation, intuition, and problem-solving all converge simultaneously.

Ultimately, the emotions I feel while designing are what make the process meaningful to me. They remind me that design is not simply about creating objects, but about discovering new ways to shape experiences, emotions, and human connection through form.

When my designs are realized, I feel a deep sense of pride and fulfillment — not only because an idea has become tangible, but because it now has the potential to become part of people’s everyday lives.

One of the most meaningful aspects of design for me is the idea of contribution. I believe design should ultimately serve society by improving experiences, enhancing environments, and creating more thoughtful interactions between people and the objects around them. Seeing a concept evolve from a sketch or idea into something that people can genuinely use and live with creates a strong sense of purpose.

I also feel excitement about the long-term impact a design may have on lifestyle and spatial experience. Many everyday products are used repeatedly over many years, often becoming quietly integrated into routines and environments. Knowing that a design can influence comfort, atmosphere, or emotional connection over time is incredibly rewarding to me.

At the same time, there is always a sense of anticipation and curiosity once a design enters the real world. A product no longer belongs entirely to the designer — it begins forming its own relationship with the people who experience it. I find that transition fascinating because it reveals how design ultimately becomes part of human life in ways that extend beyond the original intention.

With projects like Warp, this feeling becomes especially meaningful because the object is not only functional, but also contributes to the emotional and architectural character of a space. Seeing people appreciate both its utility and its presence reinforces my belief that design can enrich everyday living in subtle but lasting ways.

Ultimately, realizing a design feels less like the end of a process and more like the beginning of a new dialogue between the object, the space, and the people who live with it.

For me, a design becomes truly successful when it is able to create a meaningful dialogue that transcends function, geography, and culture. The most enduring designs are those that can be appreciated across different perspectives while still retaining a clear and authentic identity.

I believe successful design possesses a kind of universality. Even when interpreted differently by different people, it continues to communicate something emotionally recognizable through form, proportion, movement, or atmosphere. Much like art, design has the ability to speak across cultures without relying entirely on words.

What fascinates me is that people may connect to the same object for completely different reasons. One person may appreciate its sculptural qualities, another its functionality, and another the emotional atmosphere it creates within a space. A successful design allows room for these multiple interpretations while maintaining coherence and purpose.

At the same time, success in design is not only about visual recognition or novelty. A design must also integrate naturally into life. It should feel intuitive, timeless, and capable of forming a lasting relationship with the people who use it. I believe the strongest designs are often those that continue to reveal new qualities over time rather than seeking immediate attention alone.

With Warp, for example, I wanted to create an object that could exist simultaneously as a functional appliance, a sculptural form, and an architectural presence. The goal was not simply to design a ceiling fan, but to create an experience and visual language that people from different backgrounds could emotionally engage with in their own way.

Ultimately, I believe design succeeds when it creates resonance — when it quietly connects people through a shared appreciation of beauty, purpose, and human experience, even across different cultures and viewpoints.

When judging whether a design is successful or unsuccessful, the first aspect I consider is the balance between functionality and aesthetic presence. I believe good design should achieve an optimal harmony between the practical nature of a product and the way it integrates into contemporary lifestyles and spaces.

Functionality is essential because a product must first fulfill its purpose clearly, intuitively, and reliably. A beautiful object that fails to function well ultimately loses its meaning as design. At the same time, functionality alone is no longer enough in today’s environments, where people are increasingly conscious of how objects contribute emotionally and visually to the spaces they inhabit.

I therefore pay close attention to how a design complements architecture, interiors, and daily living. A well-designed object should feel naturally integrated into its environment rather than appearing purely mechanical or disconnected from the atmosphere of a space. It should enhance the experience of living through proportion, materiality, form, and visual clarity.

I also consider whether the design feels honest and timeless. Good design should not rely solely on trends or excessive styling to create impact. Instead, it should possess a sense of restraint and coherence where every detail serves both a functional and emotional purpose.

With products like Warp, this balance became central to the design process. The intention was to create a ceiling fan that performs efficiently while also existing as a sculptural architectural element within modern interiors. I wanted the object to feel visually calm, refined, and emotionally resonant while still respecting the technical demands of performance and usability.

Ultimately, I believe good design is achieved when functionality and aesthetics no longer feel separate, but become part of a single unified experience.

From my point of view, a designer carries the responsibility of creating objects and experiences that positively contribute to both people and the environments they inhabit. Design should not exist purely for consumption or visual novelty; it should improve the way people live, interact, and connect with one another.

I believe one of the designer’s responsibilities is to enhance user experience in a meaningful and thoughtful way. Good design should make daily life feel more intuitive, comfortable, and emotionally enriching. Beyond functionality, design also has the ability to become a conversation starter — something that brings people together through shared appreciation, curiosity, and cultural dialogue.

What makes design especially powerful is its ability to transcend language and cultural boundaries. A thoughtfully designed object can communicate emotion, atmosphere, and identity across different perspectives and societies. In that sense, design has the potential to unite people through a common visual and emotional language.

At the same time, designers have a responsibility toward the environment through conscious decisions about materials, manufacturing, and longevity. I believe sustainability is not only about reducing waste, but also about creating products that people value enough to live with for a long time. Timelessness, durability, and emotional attachment all contribute to more sustainable design.

Material selection therefore becomes very important in my process. I try to consider how materials can balance performance, longevity, and environmental responsibility while still contributing meaningfully to the atmosphere and character of a space.

Ultimately, I believe the role of a designer is to create works that are useful, emotionally resonant, and socially thoughtful — designs that not only complement the spaces around us, but also contribute positively to the way people experience and connect with the world.

I believe the design field is evolving toward greater freedom of expression and possibility, driven by rapid advancements in materials, manufacturing technologies, and digital tools. The relationship between imagination and production is changing significantly. In the past, many ideas were constrained by what could realistically be manufactured or constructed. Today, those limitations are becoming increasingly fluid.

The innovation and availability of new materials, along with technologies capable of sculpting and producing highly complex forms, have opened entirely new directions for designers. We are now able to create objects that were once considered impossible — forms that are lighter, more dynamic, more precise, and more emotionally expressive than before.

As a result, design is becoming increasingly experiential and sculptural. Products are no longer viewed purely as functional necessities, but also as statement pieces that reflect innovation, identity, and evolving lifestyles. I think this shift is especially visible in contemporary architecture, interiors, furniture, and product design, where objects increasingly contribute to the atmosphere and narrative of a space.

What excites me most is that the future of design is gradually moving away from the question of “What can we build?” toward “What can we imagine?” As technology continues to evolve, the boundary between imagination and realization becomes smaller. Designers are gaining the ability to translate increasingly ambitious ideas into reality with greater precision and freedom.

At the same time, I believe the future of design must remain human-centered. Even as technology advances, meaningful design will still depend on emotion, storytelling, cultural connection, and the ability to create experiences that resonate deeply with people.

Ultimately, I see the future of design as limitless — a future where creativity is no longer defined primarily by manufacturing constraints, but by the depth of our imagination and our ability to create meaningful connections through form, material, and experience.

Our most recent exhibition was at CONEX 2026 in the Philippines, where we presented our products and design philosophy to architects, designers, and international trade clients. The exhibition was an important opportunity for us to communicate the design language behind our work — particularly our belief that functional objects can also possess strong architectural and emotional presence.

What made the experience especially meaningful was the dialogue it created with the design community. Rather than presenting our products purely as technical appliances, we focused on how design, movement, materiality, and engineering can shape the atmosphere of contemporary living spaces. It was rewarding to see architects and industry professionals engage with the products not only from a functional perspective, but also as sculptural and spatial elements within architecture and interiors.

Our next exhibition will be at ARCHIDEX 2026 in Malaysia. There, we hope to further explore and demonstrate the convergence between art and mechanical engineering through products such as Warp.

For us, exhibitions are not simply about showcasing products; they are about creating conversations. We want people to experience how engineering, aesthetics, and emotional resonance can coexist within a single object. With Warp especially, we aim to challenge conventional perceptions of the ceiling fan by presenting it as an iconic conversational piece — something that contributes to both the functionality and identity of a space.

Looking ahead, we are interested in participating in more international exhibitions that allow us to engage with architects, designers, and cultural audiences who value the intersection of design, innovation, and spatial experience.

The inspiration for my work often comes from my fascination with mechanical objects and the beauty of movement. I have always been drawn to designs where motion is not only functional, but also expressive — where the interaction between parts creates rhythm, tension, balance, and visual emotion.

What interests me most is how movement can create a kind of silent conversation between an object and the people experiencing it. Even highly functional mechanisms can possess elegance and poetry when their forms, proportions, and interactions are thoughtfully considered. I often study how different components relate to one another, how forms flow together, and how mechanical systems can become visually harmonious rather than purely technical.

Much of my creativity is therefore fed through observation. I enjoy analyzing how objects move, how forces interact, and how individual elements come together to create a cohesive whole. This can come from architecture, transportation, industrial machinery, nature, or even simple everyday objects. I am particularly inspired by designs where engineering and aesthetics become inseparable.

I also find inspiration in the relationship between stillness and motion. With Warp, for example, I was interested in creating a form that feels dynamic even when stationary — as though movement had been captured and suspended within the object itself. The design was influenced by the idea of fluidity, continuous flow, and the visual tension created by aerodynamic forms.

Beyond physical objects, creativity often comes to me during moments of quiet observation — walking through cities, traveling, or simply experiencing how people interact with spaces and products in daily life. I believe inspiration grows from attentiveness: the ability to notice subtle relationships between form, movement, atmosphere, and emotion.

Ultimately, my work is driven by a desire to create designs where mechanical intelligence and sculptural expression coexist naturally, allowing functional objects to become emotionally engaging experiences.

I would describe my design style as sculptural, architectural, and movement-driven. My work often explores the relationship between form, motion, and emotional atmosphere, with a strong emphasis on creating objects that feel both purposeful and visually expressive.

What led me toward this approach was my fascination with mechanical objects and the way engineered forms can possess a kind of quiet beauty. I became increasingly interested in how functional products could move beyond pure utility and become part of the spatial and emotional identity of a space. Over time, this evolved into a design language that balances technical precision with sculptural fluidity.

One of the defining characteristics of my style is the idea of movement captured in form. Even when stationary, I want objects to feel dynamic — as though they contain a sense of flow, tension, or motion within their silhouette and proportions. I am also drawn to clean architectural lines, restrained detailing, and forms that feel timeless rather than trend-driven.

Another important aspect of my work is the relationship between aesthetics and visible functionality. Rather than hiding all mechanical elements, I often prefer to subtly reveal parts of the engineering and structure so users can appreciate the intelligence and craftsmanship behind the object. I believe this creates a deeper emotional connection and gives the design greater authenticity.

My approach to design usually begins with observing how an object should feel within a space before focusing purely on technical specifications. I think about atmosphere, rhythm, proportion, and how the object interacts with architecture and daily living. Functionality remains essential, but it serves as the foundation upon which expression and emotional resonance are built.

With Warp, for example, the goal was not simply to design a ceiling fan, but to create a sculptural architectural object that contributes to the identity and mood of contemporary interiors. The flowing geometry, visual lightness, and integration of movement all reflect this philosophy.

Ultimately, my approach is about creating harmony between engineering and emotion — designing objects that are practical and enduring, yet also capable of inspiring curiosity, conversation, and lasting connection.

I live in Singapore, and I do believe the cultural environment here has had a strong influence on the way I think about design.

Singapore is a uniquely multicultural society where different perspectives, traditions, and ways of living coexist closely together. Growing up in this environment made me realize that an object is never limited to a single interpretation or mode of expression. Different people may experience the same design in completely different ways depending on their culture, lifestyle, or emotional connection to it.

This shaped my belief that good design should allow room for interpretation rather than imposing only one fixed meaning. I am fascinated by the idea that a product can communicate differently across cultures while still maintaining a universal emotional language through form, movement, and atmosphere.

One of the advantages of designing within such a multicultural environment is the constant exposure to diverse viewpoints. It encourages openness, adaptability, and a deeper awareness of how people interact with objects and spaces differently. This has helped me think more carefully about how design can resonate across a wider range of lifestyles and experiences.

At the same time, I think there is also a challenge that comes with this diversity of perspectives. When exposed to many different expectations and viewpoints, there can be a temptation to satisfy every possible need or preference simultaneously. In design, that can become dangerous because the pursuit of pleasing everyone may lead to unnecessary complexity or a loss of clarity.

I believe one of the most important lessons for a designer is learning restraint — understanding that a strong design cannot be everything at once. If a design tries to communicate too many ideas simultaneously, it risks losing its identity and emotional impact altogether.

Because of this, my approach is always to search for clarity within complexity: creating designs that remain emotionally open and culturally adaptable, while still carrying a strong and focused design language of their own.

Since our inception, we have collaborated with companies across different industries to explore how ideas from multiple design disciplines can interact and create new forms of expression. I believe innovation often happens at the intersection of different fields — where technology, engineering, architecture, interiors, and user experience begin to influence one another in unexpected ways.

Our approach to collaboration is not limited to designing products purely for functionality. Instead, we work closely with partners to develop solutions that integrate naturally into broader lifestyle, architectural, and technological ecosystems. This can range from incorporating functional innovations such as built-in air purification capabilities, to developing aviation-inspired furnishing concepts, or creating software integrations that support the evolving IoT needs of hospitality and contemporary living spaces.

What interests us most is creating products that feel cohesive within a larger design narrative. We aim to ensure that new solutions not only perform well technically, but also complement the visual identity, atmosphere, and strategic direction of a client’s existing product range.

These collaborations have played an important role in expanding our own design philosophy as well. Working across industries exposes us to different perspectives, technologies, and modes of thinking, which continually pushes our creative and technical boundaries further.

At the same time, collaboration allows us to contribute our expertise in movement-driven design, material exploration, and spatial aesthetics while helping partners create differentiated products that add long-term value to their businesses. This exchange of knowledge and vision creates mutual growth for both sides.

Ultimately, I see collaboration as a way of building future-oriented design ecosystems — where companies, technologies, and creative disciplines converge to create experiences that are more integrated, meaningful, and emotionally engaging for the people who interact with them.

I believe the most important factor when companies work with a designer is alignment — not only in terms of technical capability, but also in terms of passion, perspective, and understanding of the product itself.

Every designer approaches the world differently, shaped by their experiences, interests, and personal obsessions. Because of this, selecting the right designer should depend greatly on the nature of the product and the type of emotional or functional experience the company wants to create.

For example, much of my own work is inspired by mechanical movement, fluidity, and the interaction between engineered components. That fascination naturally influences the way I approach form, motion, structure, and spatial presence in design. I believe the strongest work often comes from designers who possess a genuine emotional connection or curiosity toward the subject they are designing for.

There are many talented designers, but a good fit is not determined by reputation alone. Companies should look for designers whose mindset, interests, and design philosophy resonate with the goals of the project. When a designer has what I would describe as a “soul” or deep personal interest in a particular area, the resulting work often becomes more authentic, thoughtful, and emotionally compelling.

Experience is also important, especially in understanding technical constraints, manufacturing processes, user behavior, and long-term product development. However, I believe the combination of passion and experience is what truly creates meaningful design.

I would also encourage companies to view designers not simply as stylists, but as long-term creative partners. The best collaborations happen when companies allow designers to contribute strategically — helping shape not only the appearance of a product, but also its identity, experience, and relationship with users.

Ultimately, successful collaboration comes from mutual trust, shared vision, and selecting designers whose natural instincts align with the deeper purpose of the project being created.

My design process begins with choreography — the orchestration of movement, function, emotion, and form into a unified experience. It starts with listening, observation, and understanding the client’s needs to create designs that inspire beyond the ordinary. From there, careful attention is given to craftsmanship, material selection, and engineering precision to ensure each product is both refined and built to last.

Performance and proportion also play an important role in the process, particularly in understanding airflow, balance, acoustics, and how form interacts with movement. At the same time, we focus on modularity and long-term usability so that the products remain adaptable and easy to maintain over time.

As the process evolves, all of these elements come together into a cohesive form where aesthetics and functionality are balanced harmoniously. Ultimately, the final stage is about bringing the design into reality — creating products that not only serve a practical purpose, but also contribute emotionally and architecturally to the spaces and people they are designed for.

Five of my favorite design items at home are often objects that express mechanical movement in subtle and meaningful ways while also carrying a kind of universal visual language that can be appreciated across different cultures.

One of them is the mechanical watch. I admire the way a watch transforms precision engineering into something emotional and deeply personal. Beyond telling time, it represents rhythm, movement, craftsmanship, and the beauty of visible mechanics working in harmony.

Another is the ceiling fan itself. I have always been fascinated by how movement can shape the atmosphere of a space. A well-designed fan creates not only airflow, but also a sense of rhythm, calmness, and visual presence within architecture.

I am also drawn to audio equipment such as turntables or amplifiers, particularly those where the mechanics and interaction remain partially visible. There is something timeless about observing motion, tactility, and analog engagement working together through carefully engineered components.

Lighting is another category I deeply appreciate, especially adjustable architectural lighting systems that combine functionality with sculptural form. Light itself creates movement within a space, constantly transforming mood, texture, and perception throughout the day.

Lastly, I admire furniture pieces with modular or transformable elements — objects that physically adapt through movement or interaction. I find these designs interesting because they reflect how people from different cultures and lifestyles interact with spaces in unique ways while still sharing a common appreciation for thoughtful functionality.

What connects all of these objects for me is the relationship between engineering and emotional experience. They are functional objects, yet they also communicate something universal through motion, interaction, and form. I believe that is what makes certain designs timeless across cultures — their ability to create meaning beyond language through movement and human experience.

A typical day in my life is often a constant movement between observation, conversation, and reflection. While much of design may appear technical from the outside, for me it is deeply connected to experiencing different environments, perspectives, and forms of human interaction throughout the day.

No two days are ever entirely the same. I might begin the morning quietly reviewing sketches, materials, or prototypes, but the day quickly evolves into moving across different spaces — workshops, showrooms, construction sites, meetings, cafés, or architectural environments. I enjoy being exposed to changing surroundings because each environment carries its own rhythm, atmosphere, and visual language.

A large part of my process also comes from conversations with people across different industries. I find inspiration in hearing how architects think about space, how engineers approach systems, how hospitality designers create experiences, or how craftsmen understand materials and detail. These interactions constantly expand the way I think about design because they reveal perspectives beyond my own discipline.

Even seemingly ordinary moments often become part of the creative process. Walking through a city, observing how light interacts with surfaces, noticing how people naturally move through spaces, or studying the mechanics of everyday objects can unexpectedly trigger new ideas. I believe creativity grows through continuous exposure and attentiveness rather than isolation.

Throughout the day, brainstorming becomes less about sitting still and more about connecting experiences together — translating observations, conversations, and emotions into forms and concepts that may eventually evolve into products.

What keeps the process exciting for me is the unpredictability of inspiration itself. Sometimes the most meaningful ideas emerge not during formal design sessions, but during moments of movement between places, cultures, industries, and conversations. That constant exchange of perspectives is what continually keeps my mind open, curious, and creatively energized.

One of the most important things I would share with young designers is to truly believe in what you do and remain patient with your journey. Design is not only about creating objects — it is also about gradually discovering your own voice, perspective, and identity over time.

I believe it is important to focus on a discipline or area within design that genuinely interests and excites you. The design field is incredibly broad, and while exploration is valuable, developing depth in a direction you are naturally drawn toward will ultimately make your work more authentic and meaningful. Passion creates consistency, and consistency builds mastery.

Every project, regardless of scale, should be treated as a building block toward becoming the designer you aspire to be. Over time, these experiences accumulate and shape not only your portfolio, but also your thinking, instincts, and philosophy. Even small projects can teach lessons that become foundational later in your career.

I would also encourage young designers to strengthen their portfolio with intention rather than trying to do everything at once. In many cases, it is more valuable to be recognized for a strong and distinctive point of view than to become overly generalized. I believe there is great strength in specialization — in deeply understanding and contributing meaningfully to a particular area of design.

At the same time, patience is essential. Growth in design often happens gradually and invisibly before opportunities begin to appear. Many young designers underestimate how much persistence matters. If you continue refining your craft, developing your perspective, and creating work with sincerity, opportunities often arrive sooner than expected.

Ultimately, I believe the goal is not simply to become successful, but to become clear about who you are as a designer. When your work genuinely reflects your curiosity, discipline, and philosophy, people begin to recognize that authenticity naturally.

From my perspective, one of the greatest positives of being a designer is the ability to transform the experiences and chapters of your life into something tangible and meaningful. Design teaches you to appreciate the world differently — to observe details, movement, materials, spaces, and human behavior with greater sensitivity and curiosity.

As a designer, inspiration often comes from everyday experiences: conversations, travel, architecture, nature, culture, and even quiet moments of observation. Over time, these experiences become embedded within the work you create. In that sense, design becomes deeply personal because every project reflects a part of your perspective and journey through life.

Another rewarding aspect is the opportunity to create objects or experiences that may positively influence how people live, feel, and interact with their environments. There is a unique fulfillment in seeing an idea evolve from imagination into something that becomes part of someone’s everyday life.

At the same time, I think one of the challenges of being a designer is that the path often requires a great deal of patience, perseverance, and belief in your own vision. Meaningful design rarely happens instantly, and recognition can take time. There are periods where progress feels uncertain, and success is not always immediately visible.

Financial freedom is also not always guaranteed in creative fields, especially early in the journey. Design demands long-term commitment, consistency, and emotional resilience. Many designers continue creating not because it is easy, but because they genuinely believe in the value of what they do.

Ultimately, I believe being a designer is a balance between passion and perseverance. While the journey can be demanding, the ability to create meaningful work that reflects both your experiences and your perspective on the world makes it deeply worthwhile.

My “golden rule” in design is that there is never only one correct answer. I do not believe design exists within absolute definitions of right or wrong, beautiful or not. Design is deeply connected to perspective, intention, culture, emotion, and the beliefs behind the work itself.

What matters most to me is conviction — understanding what you believe in as a designer and having the perseverance to pursue it with clarity and sincerity. Many of the most memorable designs in history were once considered unconventional or misunderstood because they challenged existing expectations and ways of thinking.

I also believe very little is truly impossible in design. Limitations often become opportunities for innovation, and meaningful ideas emerge when designers are willing to question assumptions rather than accept boundaries too quickly. As technology, materials, and manufacturing continue to evolve, possibilities that once seemed unrealistic are becoming increasingly achievable.

At the same time, believing in an idea does not mean ignoring discipline or functionality. Good design still requires thoughtfulness, technical understanding, and refinement. But ultimately, the emotional core of a design — the vision and intention behind it — is what gives it originality and lasting meaning.

For me, the most important thing is to create work that feels authentic to your philosophy and perspective. When a designer genuinely believes in what they are creating, that sense of conviction naturally becomes visible within the final work itself.

I believe some of the most important skills for a designer are curiosity, observational awareness, and the courage to think beyond conventional boundaries.

Curiosity is essential because design begins with questioning. A curious designer constantly seeks to understand how people live, how objects function, how spaces influence emotion, and how ideas from different disciplines can connect in unexpected ways. Curiosity keeps the creative process alive and prevents design from becoming repetitive or predictable.

Observation is equally important. Many meaningful ideas come not from forcing creativity, but from paying attention to the details of everyday life — movement, human behavior, materials, architecture, nature, and the interaction between objects and spaces. Strong observational skills allow designers to recognize patterns, emotions, and opportunities that others may overlook.

I also believe designers need the courage to think outside the box and challenge assumptions. Some of the most impactful designs emerge when people are willing to explore unconventional ideas rather than simply following existing trends or expectations. Innovation often requires embracing uncertainty and trusting your own perspective, even before others fully understand it.

At the same time, these qualities must be balanced with discipline and refinement. Creativity alone is not enough; a designer must also learn how to translate ideas into meaningful and functional outcomes.

Ultimately, I believe great design comes from a combination of curiosity, sensitivity toward the world around us, and the confidence to imagine possibilities beyond what already exists.

My design process relies on a combination of digital tools, sketching, research, and continuous observation. While software plays an important role, I primarily see it as a tool for communication, visualization, and refinement rather than the starting point of creativity itself.

Much of my process still begins with sketches and conceptual thinking. I enjoy quickly translating ideas through hand sketches because it allows movement, proportion, and form to develop more intuitively and freely before becoming constrained by technical precision.

I also rely heavily on research materials and technical references, particularly those related to movement, airflow, and mechanical behavior. Concepts such as the Bernoulli's principle and the Venturi effect are especially interesting to me because they reveal how invisible forces can shape form, efficiency, and spatial experience. Studying these principles often influences the way I think about airflow, motion, proportion, and the interaction between engineering and aesthetics.

Beyond technical research, books on architecture, industrial design, transportation, and sculpture are also important sources of inspiration. I am drawn to works that explore movement, structural honesty, and the emotional relationship between objects and space.

In terms of digital tools, I use software primarily to communicate ideas clearly, refine proportions, visualize concepts, and collaborate with engineers and manufacturers throughout the development process. However, I believe the most important “tool” remains observation itself — continuously studying how forms, materials, movement, and human behavior interact in the world around us.

Ultimately, my toolbox is less about any single software or technology, and more about combining curiosity, research, sketching, engineering understanding, and visual sensitivity into a process that allows ideas to evolve naturally from concept into reality.

For me, managing time ultimately comes down to discipline, commitment, and perseverance.

I believe creativity is important, but consistency is what allows ideas to evolve into reality. Many people see only the final outcome of a design, but behind every project are countless hours of observation, sketching, problem-solving, prototyping, refinement, and decision-making. Maintaining discipline throughout that process is essential.

Commitment also plays a major role in how I approach my work. When I believe strongly in an idea or direction, I am willing to dedicate the time and focus necessary to refine it properly rather than rushing the process. I think good design often emerges through persistence — revisiting details repeatedly until functionality, proportion, and emotional presence feel balanced.

At the same time, I try to remain patient with the creative process itself. Some ideas develop quickly, while others require time to mature through observation, experimentation, and reflection. I have learned that forcing creativity too aggressively can sometimes limit the natural evolution of a design.

Perseverance is therefore equally important. Design inevitably involves challenges, uncertainty, and periods where solutions are not immediately clear. The ability to continue refining and believing in the process despite those moments is something I consider essential as a designer.

Ultimately, I manage time by staying disciplined while still allowing space for curiosity and thoughtful exploration. For me, meaningful design is not about speed alone, but about maintaining the dedication necessary to create work with clarity, purpose, and lasting value.

The time required to design an object can vary greatly depending on the complexity of the project, the level of engineering involved, and the amount of refinement needed throughout the development process. In my experience, most products typically take anywhere between six months to eighteen months from initial concept to final realization.

The process involves much more than simply creating the visual form. It includes research, conceptual development, sketching, engineering studies, prototyping, material selection, testing, refinement, manufacturing considerations, and continuous adjustments along the way. Especially for products involving movement and mechanical performance, achieving the right balance between aesthetics, functionality, durability, and usability requires significant iteration.

For me, the timeline is also influenced by how deeply the product integrates into architecture, lifestyle, and user experience. I believe meaningful design requires time for observation and refinement because the smallest details often have the greatest impact on how an object is ultimately perceived and experienced.

Projects like Warp, for example, involve not only sculptural exploration and visual development, but also careful study of airflow, acoustics, proportion, balance, modularity, and manufacturing precision. Bringing all of these elements together cohesively takes patience and collaboration across multiple disciplines.

Ultimately, I believe good design should never feel rushed. While timelines are important, creating a product with clarity, longevity, and emotional resonance often requires the willingness to refine and evolve an idea until every aspect feels intentional and complete.

One of the most frequently asked questions I receive as a designer is simply, “What’s next?”

I find that question interesting because design is always evolving. Once one project is completed, the mind naturally begins searching for the next idea, challenge, or possibility to explore. In many ways, design is a continuous process of curiosity and progression rather than a fixed destination.

People are often curious about what new forms, technologies, materials, or concepts might come next — especially when working on products that challenge conventional expectations, such as Warp. Because my work frequently explores movement, mechanical expression, and the relationship between engineering and sculptural form, there is always anticipation surrounding how those ideas may evolve further in future designs.

At the same time, I think “What’s next?” is not only a question about products, but also about vision. It reflects the idea that design should continue pushing boundaries, questioning assumptions, and discovering new ways to shape how people experience objects and spaces.

For me, the question itself becomes part of the creative motivation. It represents possibility, evolution, and the excitement of continuing to imagine beyond what already exists.

One of the most important experiences in my career was being appointed as one of the distributors for Big Ass Fans in Singapore in 2024. That experience played a significant role in shaping my understanding of market expectations, technological innovation, and the evolving relationship between performance and design.

Working closely with an established international brand exposed me to new perspectives on engineering, airflow technologies, user behavior, and large-scale environmental solutions. More importantly, it allowed me to better understand how different markets respond to design, functionality, and emerging technologies across both commercial and residential spaces.

The experience also highlighted the growing importance of integrating technology with lifestyle and architectural needs. It expanded my awareness of how products are no longer evaluated solely on performance, but also on how they contribute to user experience, sustainability, aesthetics, and spatial identity.

Beyond technical knowledge, the distributorship gave me valuable insight into customer expectations, product positioning, and the practical realities of bringing innovative products into diverse environments and industries. It strengthened my ability to identify gaps within the market and inspired me to think more deeply about how design could evolve beyond conventional product categories.

Ultimately, that experience became an important turning point because it broadened both my technical understanding and my design vision, influencing the way I approach innovation, movement-driven design, and the future direction of our own products today.

Our clientele primarily consists of distributors and partners within the mid- to high-end lifestyle and architectural market segments. We focus on serving clients who value thoughtful design, engineering quality, and products that contribute meaningfully to contemporary interior and hospitality spaces.

Over the years, our work has been integrated into a range of hospitality and commercial environments, including resorts, luxury residences, premium senior living spaces, and five-star hotels such as Grand Hyatt Singapore. We have also collaborated with established groups and lifestyle brands including Perennial Holdings, Commune, and international lifestyle furnishing partners across multiple regions.

What makes these collaborations especially meaningful is the shared understanding that functional products can also shape atmosphere, spatial identity, and user experience. Many of our clients are looking not only for performance, but for products that integrate naturally into architectural and lifestyle environments with a strong visual and emotional presence.

Today, we have built a growing distribution network across Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Philippines, South Korea, and parts of Europe. This international exposure has allowed us to better understand how design can resonate across different cultures, lifestyles, and architectural contexts while still maintaining a consistent design language.

I enjoy mechanical design most because it exists at the intersection of precision and expression. Functional components are not simply technical necessities; they can also contribute to rhythm, proportion, tension, and sculptural presence within an object. I am fascinated by how engineered systems can feel elegant, fluid, and emotionally engaging rather than purely industrial.

I am particularly interested in incorporating movement-driven principles into industrial design in a way that feels integrated and architectural. Through collaborations across different industries and disciplines, I enjoy exploring how mechanical innovation can enhance not only performance, but also the atmosphere and emotional experience surrounding a product.

Projects like Warp strongly reflect this philosophy. The design was never approached purely as a mechanical appliance, but as an object where movement, airflow, structure, and form work together to create a stronger visual and emotional presence within a space.

Ultimately, I enjoy design work that allows engineering and aesthetics to coexist naturally. For me, the most rewarding projects are those where mechanical intelligence becomes part of the beauty of the object itself — creating products that people can appreciate both functionally and emotionally.

My future plans are centered around continuing to push the boundaries between mechanical engineering, industrial design, and architectural expression. I am increasingly interested in exploring how functional objects can evolve beyond utility to become emotionally resonant and spatially integrated experiences within contemporary living environments.

Moving forward, I hope to deepen our collaborations across hospitality, architecture, interiors, and lifestyle industries while continuing to expand internationally. I am particularly interested in creating products and systems that integrate movement, technology, modularity, and sculptural form in ways that feel both innovative and timeless.

A major focus for me is also the evolution of movement-driven design — exploring how mechanical functionality can become more expressive, refined, and emotionally engaging rather than hidden or purely technical. I believe there is still enormous potential in rethinking everyday objects through this perspective.

At the same time, I want to continue developing products that contribute meaningfully to well-being, atmosphere, and the emotional quality of spaces. As lifestyles and environments evolve, I believe design will increasingly play a role not only in solving practical problems, but also in shaping how people feel and connect within the spaces they inhabit.

For projects like Warp, this is only the beginning of a broader exploration into how engineering, movement, and sculptural form can coexist naturally within architecture and interiors. I see the future as an opportunity to continue experimenting, refining, and imagining possibilities that challenge conventional expectations of industrial design.

Ultimately, what excites me most is not simply creating the next product, but continuing the journey of discovering new ways design can inspire conversation, emotion, and human connection across cultures and spaces.

I lead a team of passionate and like-minded individuals, but much of the core vision and conceptual direction originates from me. I guide the creative process and establish the design philosophy, emotional language, and overall direction behind each project.

For me, design begins with a strong belief or idea — a perspective on how an object should feel, move, function, and exist within a space. From there, my team helps translate those ideas into reality through engineering, technical development, prototyping, and execution. It is a collaborative process, but one guided by a unified creative vision.

I believe this balance is important because meaningful design requires both imagination and precision. While I focus heavily on the conceptual and emotional aspects of the work, the team contributes valuable technical expertise and craftsmanship that allow each design to be refined and realized at a high level.

What makes the collaboration effective is that everyone shares the same passion and understanding of the philosophy behind the products. There is a collective commitment toward creating objects that balance engineering, movement, functionality, and sculptural expression cohesively.

Ultimately, I see the process as leading a shared vision — where ideas begin from a personal philosophy, but are strengthened and brought to life through the dedication and expertise of the people around me.

We are currently developing several works-in-progress that explore how technology can integrate more naturally into the rhythm of modern lifestyles and living environments. Much of our current research is focused on rethinking how functional objects can evolve beyond their conventional roles to become more adaptive, intelligent, and emotionally connected to the spaces around them.

One of the upcoming developments we are particularly excited about involves a new patented innovation that we believe has the potential to redefine the language of how ceiling fans are experienced and integrated into everyday life. Rather than viewing the fan purely as a mechanical appliance, the project explores how movement, interaction, architecture, and technology can converge to create an entirely new relationship between the object and the user.

While we are still in the development stage and cannot reveal too many details yet, the intention is not simply to introduce another feature, but to rethink the role and perception of the fan itself. We are interested in how fans can evolve into more intelligent, responsive, and architecturally integrated systems that contribute more meaningfully to lifestyle, atmosphere, and spatial experience.

For us, innovation is not only about technology alone, but about how technology can quietly enhance the emotional and functional quality of living. This upcoming project reflects our broader philosophy of combining engineering, movement, and design into experiences that feel both progressive and human-centered.

Ultimately, we see this as part of a larger direction toward creating products that no longer exist merely as appliances, but as integrated elements within the future language of living spaces.

People can contact us through our official email and contact number for collaborations, media inquiries, distribution opportunities, and design-related discussions. We are always open to connecting with individuals and companies who share an interest in design, innovation, architecture, and movement-driven experiences.

Email: liang@aerahaus.com

Contact Number: +65 9106 2829

website : decorfansea.com , aerahaustechnik.com, decordistributors.sg

Socials : @decorfansingapore, @aerahaustechnik, @decordistributors.sg

You can also follow our journey and latest developments through our official platforms and upcoming exhibitions across the region.

Yes, one important direction for us moving forward is expanding our international collaborations and distribution network, particularly across the United States and Europe. We are actively seeking distributors, hospitality partners, architects, and like-minded collaborators who share an appreciation for movement-driven design, architectural integration, and emotionally resonant functional objects.

As our work continues to evolve, we are increasingly interested in collaborating with partners who see design not simply as a product category, but as part of a larger lifestyle and spatial experience. We believe there is strong potential to redefine how decor fans and movement-based products integrate into contemporary interiors, hospitality spaces, and future living environments.

We are always open to conversations surrounding distribution opportunities, creative collaborations, hospitality projects, and future-oriented design partnerships. Those interested in collaborating or learning more about our work are warmly encouraged to reach out to us directly.

The inspiration for Warp began with my fascination for aviation engineering, particularly the sculptural forms found in aircraft engines, turbine housings, and three-spoke propeller systems. I was drawn to how these components are shaped entirely by performance requirements, yet possess a natural beauty born from purpose.Rather than designing a conventional ceiling fan with blades attached to a central motor, I explored how the blades could visually flow into one another, creating a continuous sense of movement. Through multiple iterations, the blade geometry evolved into a high-curvature form that appears to twist around a shared center, much like the dynamic motion suggested by rotating propellers. This approach allowed the fan to express motion even when stationary.The contoured blade profile was further refined to balance aerodynamic efficiency, structural stability, and visual lightness. The result is a fan that pays homage to aviation while transforming airflow into a sculptural centerpiece—where engineering performance and artistic expression become inseparable.

For me, the challenge was never choosing between aesthetics and performance—it was ensuring that one emerged from the other. Many products treat styling as something applied after the engineering is complete. With Warp, the visual identity was developed alongside the aerodynamic principles from the very beginning.The fan’s distinctive warped geometry is not purely decorative. The blade curvature, angle, and surface transitions were carefully considered to guide airflow more efficiently while reducing turbulence. Rather than relying on flat blade assemblies, the contoured form helps maintain airflow consistency across the blade span, contributing to a broader and more refined distribution of air.Throughout the development process, every design decision was evaluated against both visual and functional criteria. If a feature enhanced appearance but compromised performance, it was reconsidered. Conversely, engineering solutions were refined until they contributed to the overall sculptural language of the product.I believe the most enduring designs are those where function and form become inseparable. Warp demonstrates that aerodynamic performance and distinctive aesthetics do not have to compete with one another. When approached holistically, engineering can become beauty, and beauty can become a direct expression of performance.

One of the key inspirations behind Warp’s interlocking structure came from a fundamental engineering principle: the triangle is widely regarded as the strongest geometric shape for distributing loads and maintaining structural stability. This led us to explore how a triangular relationship between the blades could become both a structural and visual solution.Rather than relying on conventional blade holders and multiple connecting components, the blades were designed to interlock toward a shared center, forming a unified triangular assembly. This approach reduces the number of connecting parts, minimizing potential sources of vibration and mechanical tolerance variations while improving overall rigidity.From an aerodynamic perspective, the simplified structure reduces airflow disruption around the hub area, allowing smoother airflow transitions and quieter operation. The interlocking blades also create a more direct load path, improving stability while reducing drag and mechanical complexity.The result is a solution where structure and aerodynamics work together. The interlocking configuration is not merely a visual statement—it is an engineering approach that improves stability, minimizes vibration and noise, and reinforces the product’s core philosophy: achieving more with less through thoughtful integration of form and function.

Traditionally, ceiling fans have been viewed as functional appliances designed to quietly serve a purpose. With Warp, I wanted to challenge that perception and explore whether a ceiling fan could contribute to a space in the same way a piece of architecture, lighting, or sculpture does.Warp was conceived as an icon that pays homage to foundational engineering principles. Inspired by the strength of triangulation, the efficiency of aerodynamics, and the precision of aviation, it demonstrates how true engineering can create objects of both purpose and beauty. Rather than concealing its engineering, Warp celebrates it. The interlocking blade structure transforms structural logic into a distinctive sculptural form that expresses movement even when stationary.Its aerodynamic geometry, reduced component count, and integrated blade architecture work together to improve stability, minimize vibration, and deliver efficient, quiet airflow. In Warp, performance and aesthetics are not separate considerations—they are inseparable outcomes of the same design philosophy.More than a piece of function, Warp sets out to redefine the ceiling fan category. It challenges conventional expectations by proving that a fan can be simultaneously efficient, sculptural, and emotionally engaging. For consumers, it elevates a household appliance into an object of pride and conversation. For interior designers, it transforms the ceiling from an overlooked surface into an opportunity for architectural expression.I believe Warp redefines what a ceiling fan can contribute to a living space. It is not merely a tool for comfort, but a statement of design and engineering—one that pushes beyond what people think a fan is and invites them to imagine what it can become.

The refinement phase was undoubtedly the most challenging part of the project because it required balancing two ambitions that were often in conflict: creating a bold, sculptural form while ensuring the fan remained practical, efficient, and manufacturable.In the early stages, the blade geometry was far more dramatic than what you see today. While visually striking, some of these forms introduced unnecessary weight, increased manufacturing complexity, and disrupted airflow in ways that compromised performance. At several points, features that enhanced the visual expression had to be reconsidered because they created turbulence, affected balance, or added unnecessary material.The turning point came when we stopped viewing engineering constraints as limitations and instead treated them as design opportunities. Every curve, transition, and blade angle was refined through an iterative process to serve both aerodynamic and aesthetic purposes. The interlocking blade architecture emerged from this approach, allowing us to reduce components, improve structural stability, and express movement through the form itself.What ultimately shaped Warp was the belief that neither form nor function should dominate the other. The final design is the result of countless refinements where visual drama was balanced against airflow performance, structural integrity, ease of assembly, and user experience. Rather than compromising between the two, the goal was to allow engineering and design to inform one another until they became inseparable. The result is a ceiling fan whose sculptural identity is not applied decoration, but a direct expression of how it works.

The development of Warp was driven by a simple question: how can a ceiling fan be engineered with the same clarity of purpose found in aviation while remaining relevant to modern living spaces? The challenge was bringing together influences that appeared very different on the surface—aircraft engineering, minimalist design principles, and the spatial constraints of contemporary homes.Aerospace engineering provided the foundation. I was fascinated by how aircraft components are shaped by performance, where every curve, angle, and surface serves a purpose. Minimalist design philosophy then helped guide what to remove rather than what to add, allowing the product to express its engineering honestly and without unnecessary ornamentation. At the same time, the realities of urban living, particularly in Singapore where ceiling heights are often limited, demanded a compact and visually balanced form that would not overwhelm a space.One unexpected source of inspiration came from fundamental engineering itself. The strength and efficiency of the triangle became a recurring theme throughout the development process. This eventually influenced the interlocking blade architecture, where structural logic became both a functional and visual feature. Another unexpected realization was that movement could be expressed without actual motion. By carefully shaping the blades and their relationship to one another, Warp was able to convey a sense of energy and flow even when stationary.Over the twelve months of development, these influences gradually converged into a single design language. Rather than treating engineering, architecture, and aesthetics as separate disciplines, Warp became an exploration of how they could coexist. The result is a ceiling fan that pays homage to aviation, respects the realities of modern living, and transforms functional engineering into a sculptural architectural presence.

While Warp began as an exploration of aerodynamics, engineering, and sculptural design, I have always viewed smart functionality as an equally important part of its evolution. The goal is not simply to add more technology, but to create a more intuitive relationship between people, their environment, and the movement of air.Future iterations could see Warp becoming increasingly responsive to its surroundings, using environmental data such as temperature, humidity, occupancy, and air quality to automatically optimize airflow and energy consumption. Rather than requiring constant user input, the fan could intelligently adapt to changing conditions, enhancing comfort while reducing energy usage. Greater integration with smart home platforms and building management systems would also allow airflow to become part of a larger ecosystem that coordinates lighting, climate control, and energy management.I believe ceiling fans have an important role to play in the future of sustainable buildings. Moving air requires significantly less energy than cooling air, making ceiling fans one of the most effective tools for improving comfort while reducing reliance on air-conditioning. As cities become denser and energy efficiency becomes increasingly critical, aerodynamically optimized fans such as Warp can help lower energy consumption without compromising occupant comfort.Ultimately, I see Warp evolving beyond a standalone appliance into an intelligent environmental device. By combining advanced aerodynamics, efficient motor technology, and connected controls, ceiling fans can become active contributors to healthier, smarter, and more sustainable buildings. In this context, the future of the ceiling fan is not only about moving air—it is about intelligently shaping how we experience space, comfort, and energy in the built environment.

Receiving the Bronze A’ Design Award is deeply meaningful because it validates a belief that has guided both Aerahaus and my personal design journey—that everyday objects deserve the same level of thought, creativity, and engineering rigor as any celebrated piece of architecture or industrial design.For Aerahaus, this recognition demonstrates that a Singapore-based design brand can contribute meaningfully to the global design conversation. It reinforces our commitment to creating products that are not only functional, but also emotionally engaging, architecturally relevant, and rooted in genuine engineering principles. The award gives us a platform to share our philosophy with a wider international audience and strengthens our confidence in pursuing design-led innovation.On a personal level, Warp represents more than a ceiling fan. It embodies my fascination with aviation, aerodynamics, and the beauty of purposeful engineering. Throughout its development, I was driven by the idea that engineering should not be hidden behind a product—it should be celebrated and expressed through form. The interlocking blade architecture, aerodynamic geometry, and sculptural presence of Warp are all manifestations of that belief.More importantly, this recognition affirms that consumers and designers are increasingly seeking products with meaning, character, and authenticity. Warp was developed as an icon that pays homage to foundational engineering principles, demonstrating how function can evolve into sculpture and how utility can inspire emotion.Ultimately, this award is not a destination but an encouragement to continue pushing boundaries. It reinforces my mission to elevate everyday objects into purposeful, aerodynamically inspired statements that enrich the spaces they inhabit. If Warp encourages people to look differently at a ceiling fan—and perhaps appreciate the beauty of engineering in their everyday lives—then it has achieved something far greater than simply moving air.

The decision to conceal the fasteners was driven by a belief that good design should feel effortless, even when significant engineering complexity exists beneath the surface. In many products, fasteners are treated as purely functional necessities. While there is nothing inherently wrong with exposing them, I felt that the visual language of Warp would be stronger if the engineering appeared more integrated and resolved.By recessing and concealing the fasteners within the assembly, we were able to create cleaner surface transitions and a more unified form. This not only enhances the sculptural quality of the fan but also reduces small airflow disruptions around the blade interfaces, contributing to smoother airflow characteristics and quieter operation. While most users may never consciously notice this detail, they experience its benefits through the product’s overall refinement.More importantly, this decision reflects a broader design philosophy that guides my work. I believe the highest form of engineering is often invisible. When a product feels balanced, intuitive, and elegant, it is usually the result of countless decisions that remain unseen. Much like in aviation, where the beauty of an aircraft comes from the integration of many complex systems working in harmony, the goal with Warp was to allow engineering and aesthetics to become inseparable.For me, appearance should never be a layer applied over engineering. The form should emerge from the engineering itself. Every visible surface, proportion, and detail should be a reflection of a deeper functional logic. Concealing the fasteners was therefore not simply an aesthetic decision—it was an expression of respect for craftsmanship, precision, and the belief that thoughtful engineering can create a sense of simplicity that feels both effortless and timeless.

I would want people to understand that Warp is not simply a ceiling fan with an iconic shape. Every curve, angle, and connection was developed through a process of balancing aerodynamic performance, structural efficiency, manufacturability, and visual expression. The final form may appear effortless, but it is the result of countless refinements where engineering and design continuously challenged one another.One of the most important influences came from aviation and fundamental engineering principles. The project explored how airflow could be expressed visually through form while remaining true to its functional purpose. The interlocking blade architecture was inspired by the strength and efficiency of triangulation—one of the most fundamental concepts in engineering. This allowed us to reduce connecting parts, improve structural stability, and minimize vibration while creating a distinctive sculptural identity.What remains largely invisible to the casual observer is the amount of restraint involved in the design process. Many of the most dramatic early concepts were abandoned because they compromised airflow, balance, noise levels, or ease of installation. The final geometry is therefore not an exercise in styling, but the outcome of carefully resolving competing demands. The high-curvature blades, concealed fasteners, aerodynamic transitions, and simplified assembly all exist because they serve multiple purposes simultaneously.Perhaps the most invisible aspect of Warp is that its aesthetics are inseparable from its engineering. The sense of movement people see, the quietness they hear, and the comfort they feel are all connected. What appears to be a sculptural object is, in reality, a series of engineering decisions expressed through form. For me, that is the essence of good design—when performance and beauty become impossible to separate.