Interviste con Rio Jiunyu Chen

I have been making homeware objects for four years now, and work as a professional furniture lighting designer in Brooklyn, New York. Moving from Taiwan to the United States, I went to School of the Art Institute of Chicago for Master’s degrees in Designed Objects.

Ever since I was a little boy, like many kids, I have been a huge automobile enthusiast. That early love led me to start drawing cars, which eventually evolved into building cardboard models for electronic devices. After years of schooling and exploring my interests in design, I found my way to home object design. Much like the Marvel universe, I am working to build a universe of my own through my design practice.

A key part of my design philosophy is the incorporation of an architectural perspective into my objects. At the heart of this universe is one guiding question that drives my work: How can I communicate my message across different mediums, collections, and even shifting themes?

And this process starts from sketching, drafting, and lots of paper models.

Designing fills me with curiosity, excitement, and a deep sense of purpose. The most thrilling part is the early exploration—when ideas first spark and possibilities feel endless. I love translating abstract thoughts into tangible forms. That transformation, from concept to object, gives me joy and a quiet, lasting sense of fulfillment.

A strong sense of social responsibility is always at the core of my design approach. As designers, we create objects and services that shape how people interact with the world. While our processes involve deep research and testing, the end users often don’t have that same context. If we fail to clearly communicate the conditions or implications of our design, we risk putting them in harm’s way. Good design should always prioritize clarity, safety, and ethical responsibility toward its users.

I have debuted my design at Stockholm Furniture Fair for the first time. Stepping out of American design world and see what’s happening out there is refreshing and energetic for me. And I would like to keep doing it more in the future. Expanding not only my vision but also get inspired by all the wonderful designs in different corner of the world.

Know your worth, and be keen with the standards. You never know when the opportunity arises. All we can do is to make sure that we have just enough of good ideas going on to keep the conversation going. Put in the hard work, and believe in yourself. I am lucky enough to have met wonderful designers in the industry to guide me at different period of times of my life, and I am forever grateful for them.

Stay curious, stay critical, and stay kind. Question your own process constantly, but don’t let perfectionism stall progress. Let your materials teach you, and don’t design in isolation—context is everything. Avoid trends without substance. Instead, build a practice rooted in care, clarity, and long-term thinking.

Sometimes you have to stick to one thing until you have made it. But this is a fast changing society, knowing the tools that helps you make your design faster, easier, and better could really benefit your practice. I am taking this approach in a more technical term. Like using AI to assist the completion and further perfection of our design. But not necessarily the core of our design.

As nuanced as design is, it is almost impossible to easily judge a design. However, I am strictly against creating design waste into our environment. Whether it is material waste, or just by design a redundant function, a lot of objects were being produced without enough consideration these days.

This is a very tricky question. And as I would probably said that we should always be ready. Because you need know when the opportunity arises. Take every steps with caution and care. And take every leaps with faith and calculations.

My biggest design work to date is the Blocks Lamp collection. It began as a personal exploration of memory, form, and cultural identity, inspired by my moves between Taiwan, Chicago, and New York. I wanted to create objects that carry emotional weight while remaining functional and architectural in essence. The lamps, constructed from scrap wood and mulberry paper, reflect cityscapes I’ve lived in—each piece like a glowing journal entry. It’s my most meaningful work because it represents years of growth in both design philosophy and technique. The challenges—material limitations, scale, and craft—only deepened my connection to it. Currently, I’m expanding the Blocks universe with a limited NYC edition, which I’m excited to debut as a tribute to the city.

Growing up, I have been a big fan of Zaha Hadid’s works. The way she deconstructed a building, and the explosive visuals of her drawings are always a blast to look at. They challenged the way we perceive an architecture, and architectural sketches, too. And what is the standard of a good design? I think standards are meant to be challenged!

Moving from Taiwan to Chicago and now in Brooklyn, I was trained to live a pretty minimalist lifestyle. With a pop of colors here and there, small objects that I can easily carry with me are usually my main focus when it comes to home furnishing. And this affects a part of my design practice too. I feel comfortable making smaller scale objects because that is how I tend to gravitate towards. But from time to time, I do want to venture into a larger scale object world.

I was quite surprised by their preliminary scoring results feedback, it gave me a third-person perspective of how other people view my work. That really is a valuable benefit you get from attending the A’ Design Award.

The main principle behind my design is to merge emotional memory with architectural thinking. I draw inspiration from personal experiences—moving between Taiwan, Chicago, and New York—and from the visual language of urban planning and popular culture. My work seeks to create objects that feel both familiar and reflective, grounding users in a sense of place and time. I believe design should tell stories, evoke emotion, and offer thoughtful engagement through material choices, form, and process. That’s where beauty and meaning intersect.

My main focus in designing the Blocks Lamps was to create a deeply personal yet universally resonant object. I wanted to translate memories of cityscapes into sculptural lighting, using warm materials to evoke comfort and reflection. The goal was to blend emotional storytelling with architectural form.

I plan to expand the Blocks Lamp collection by exploring new scales, functions, and materials—possibly venturing into furniture and larger installations. I’m also developing a limited edition that pays tribute to New York City, continuing to evolve the narrative and emotional depth embedded in each piece.

The initial concept for the Blocks Lamp took about three months, evolving from simple block forms into a fully developed lighting collection. Each iteration involved sketching, modeling, material testing, and refinement. The process was both intuitive and deliberate, shaped by personal experiences and architectural inspirations along the way.

The Blocks collection began as a self-initiated exploration of form and emotion. I used squares, cubes, and blocks to symbolize moving boxes—visual metaphors for my experiences transitioning between cities and countries. It was a way to process personal movement while shaping the foundation for a new design language in my studio practice.

All Blocks Lamps are handmade by me in Brooklyn, NY. Each piece is unique due to the natural variation in wood grain and the hand-stamping process I use, which adds a personal, tactile warmth to the object. I currently produce them myself and plan to continue doing so.

I designed the Blocks Lamp as a way to merge emotional storytelling with functional design. Moving between Taiwan, Chicago, and New York left deep impressions on me, and I wanted to capture those feelings in physical form. Blocks—simple, architectural, and symbolic—became the perfect vehicle. Their modularity allowed me to explore composition and memory, while lighting added warmth and life. It’s a reflection of my design philosophy: building narratives through form, material, and emotional resonance, grounded in both craft and concept.

The name Blocks carries multiple layers of meaning. Beyond representing moving boxes, it also symbolizes mental blocks—obstacles I’ve encountered throughout my life and creative journey. It reflects the challenges we face, whether physical or psychological, and how we overcome them. Additionally, the name evokes the concept of a city block, tying the design to urban landscapes. This is why the lamps evolve into a city-like arrangement, with each block contributing to a larger structure. Blocks encapsulates both personal struggle and the growth that emerges from it, much like building a city or overcoming obstacles.

The most unique aspect of the Blocks Lamp design is its hand-stamped pattern on mulberry paper, which captures the natural wood grain and evokes the passage of time. This tactile process, combined with the use of repurposed scrap wood, gives each piece a one-of-a-kind narrative, merging craftsmanship with emotional storytelling.

Technology in this design lies in the subtle transformation of materials and processes. The transition of wood grains onto mulberry paper becomes a poetic visualization of time—squares echo growth rings, and moving boxes evolve into layered patterns. The precision in cutting and repurposing scrap wood also reflects a technical approach rooted in sustainability. While not overtly digital or mechanical, the design embraces a quiet form of technology—one that honors material life cycles, craft techniques, and the narrative potential of process-based design.

After exhibiting at the Stockholm Furniture Fair, I was encouraged by the enthusiastic response from an international audience. It made me realize that my work resonated beyond local circles. Although I hadn’t seriously considered entering design competitions before, the positive feedback in Stockholm gave me the confidence to take that step. Submitting to an international design competition became a way to challenge myself, share my story on a broader stage, and connect with a global community of designers and makers.

Designing the Blocks Lamp taught me patience, precision, and the value of thoughtful craftsmanship. The repetitive, time-consuming processes—like hand-stamping patterns and folding and assembling the paper lampshade—became meditative moments that deepened my appreciation for detail. I learned how even the smallest decisions in pattern placement or material handling could significantly affect the final outcome. This project sharpened my sensitivity to material behavior and reinforced my belief that the emotional impact of an object often comes from the care embedded in its making.

I received my Master's degree in Designed Objects from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where I began merging architecture, urban planning, and object design into a cohesive practice. My design background is rooted in both hands-on craftsmanship and conceptual exploration. Before graduate school, I explored different mediums, from drawing and cardboard modeling to product design. This journey shaped my focus on home objects that speak through materiality, narrative, and form—bridging everyday use with architectural thinking.

Design allows me to communicate ideas, emotions, and narratives through tangible forms. I became a designer to bridge imagination with utility—transforming thoughts into objects that people can connect with. What motivates me is the power of design to evoke feeling, spark dialogue, and shape the environments we live in.

I chose to become a designer—it was a natural path shaped by curiosity and creativity. From a young age, I was drawn to making things, from sketching cars to crafting objects out of cardboard. Over time, that creative impulse evolved into a design practice. It was never forced; it felt like discovering a language I was always meant to speak.

I design objects that sit at the intersection of memory, place, and emotion—often through lighting and small-scale furnishings. Recently, I’ve been drawn to larger scale furniture pieces that can shape space more boldly. I wish to explore more of these—functional forms that still carry the intimacy and storytelling found in my smaller works.

A good designer creates functional and aesthetically pleasing work, but a great designer goes further—embedding social responsibility into every decision. Great designers consider the impact of their materials, production processes, and messaging. They understand that design influences how we live and think, and use their skills to advocate for empathy, sustainability, and meaningful change in the world.

A good design really shows care—care for the people using it, the environment, and the world it lives in. It’s more than just solving a problem; it tells a story, feels intuitive, and is made with thoughtfulness. I look for clarity, material honesty, and whether it expresses something deeper—something that stays with you.

Good design enhances our daily lives by creating intuitive, thoughtful, and lasting experiences. It’s not just about how something looks, but how it functions, communicates, and respects its users and the environment. Investing in good design means valuing quality over quantity, reducing waste, and supporting responsible production. Well-designed objects age gracefully, carry emotional resonance, and improve well-being. Ultimately, good design reflects care—toward people, context, and the future—and that makes it worth every investment.

If I had the time, I would design a series of public furniture pieces for community spaces—parks, sidewalks, transit stops—where people from all walks of life could pause, rest, and interact. I'd love to collaborate with local governments or nonprofit organizations to create objects that invite reflection, play, or togetherness in urban environments.

My dream project is to build a public installation that combines light, sound, and tactile materials—something immersive that lives outdoors and changes throughout the day. I imagine it being part sculpture, part shelter, part communal gathering spot. A place where design softens the pace of life and sparks curiosity.

I draw inspiration from a wide range of designers and thinkers. Ettore Sottsass, for his bold use of color and form; Enzo Mari, for his socially driven approach to design; and Isamu Noguchi, for his poetic merging of art and function. Their work reminds me that design can be both deeply conceptual and beautifully human.

I think being a better designer starts with being a more observant, empathetic person. I try to stay curious, ask more questions than I answer, and remain critical of my own assumptions. Spending time making things by hand also grounds my thinking—it forces slowness and attention. I believe good design grows from patience, humility, and the courage to unlearn.

Design, to me, is a state of mind—an intentional way of thinking, observing, and planning. It’s the process of translating abstract ideas into tangible forms that can carry meaning, serve purpose, and connect with people. It’s how I make sense of the world and offer something back to it.

What helped me the most was being open to discomfort—moving countries, switching scales, changing materials. Those transitions forced me to adapt, to listen more carefully, and to think beyond my own habits. Also, surrounding myself with people who challenge me, and choosing slowness in a fast-paced world, taught me to design with intention.

My next project focuses on expanding the Blocks collection into larger-scale furniture pieces. Expect a blend of functionality with personal storytelling, where each piece will continue to explore the themes of movement, memory, and place. I’m also excited to dive deeper into sustainable materials and more interactive designs.

My ultimate goal is to create work that resonates emotionally while holding social and material responsibility. I want my designs to quietly accompany people in their daily lives—bringing comfort, provoking thought, or offering moments of pause. If they can feel cared for through an object, then I’ve done my job.

Design has the power to shape society by making everyday experiences more thoughtful and meaningful. It can influence how we interact with our environment, how we communicate, and how we understand the world around us. Through careful attention to detail and intention, design can improve accessibility, sustainability, and emotional connection, creating spaces and objects that contribute to a more empathetic and connected society. When design considers people and the planet, it becomes a force for positive change.

I’m especially excited about expanding the Blocks collection into larger-scale furniture pieces. This new direction will allow me to explore how these familiar forms can shift and shape larger spaces, while still retaining the intimacy and personal storytelling that defines my work. It’s a challenge I’m eager to dive into.

I would love to see a shift toward more sustainable and ethically sourced design practices. Designers should prioritize long-term impact over short-term trends. There's a growing need to create objects that are not only functional and beautiful but also responsible, both in terms of materials and production processes. More collaboration between designers, manufacturers, and communities can lead to solutions that support environmental and social sustainability. The industry needs to embrace a more holistic approach, where the value of design is measured not just by aesthetics, but by the positive change it can bring.

The time it takes to finalize a design project really depends on the complexity of the concept. For something like the Blocks collection, the first few iterations took about three months—from initial sketches to final models. After that, refining and expanding the collection took additional months. It’s a journey of constant evolution, where each phase adds new layers of thought and refinement.

I usually start by observing—people, environments, emotions. I ask what’s missing or overlooked. Then I sketch, sometimes with words first. I might tape shapes on the wall or stack objects to see forms in real space. It’s intuitive at first, but always grounded in material, function, and feeling.

I think it’s a continuous loop—design can set trends, but it’s also shaped by them. We don’t design in isolation; we’re in constant conversation with culture, economics, and technology. A good designer listens to the world, then responds with intention—sometimes ahead of the curve, sometimes challenging it entirely.

I use Rhino 3D for digital modeling—it allows me to translate sketches into tactile forms quickly. But my process always returns to hand tools and physical prototyping. I rely on Japanese masking tape, scrap wood, and basic shop equipment to build models. I also document materials and textures obsessively, treating each detail as a building block of the story I’m trying to tell.

Color, materials, and ambient light are the soul of a design. They set the mood, evoke emotions, and enhance the tactile experience of a piece. Colors can communicate energy or calm, while materials add texture, weight, and meaning. Ambient light brings everything together, transforming the experience from functional to emotional, creating atmosphere and connection with the user. Together, they tell the story of the object beyond its purpose.

When I see a new great design, I think about the story behind it—the process, the materials, the emotions it evokes. I’m always curious about how it challenges conventions and communicates its purpose. A great design should feel like a dialogue with the user, one that’s intuitive yet thought-provoking. It’s about how the object resonates beyond its form, how it fits into daily life, and how it reflects the designer’s vision.

Besides my personal design practice, I've had a practice with Pakistani designer Rahma Shahid. We managed international design workshops to highlight global and local social topics and challenges using creative force and means.

Design as Attitude is a good one.

If I could meet anyone, it would be Ettore Sottsass. As a fan of the Memphis Movement, I’m fascinated by his approach to pattern making and material development, which defined postmodern design. His trips to India and the spiritual experiences that influenced his work are something I’d love to dive deeper into. I’d love to pick his brain on how those journeys shaped his creativity and design philosophy.

As a child, I was always fascinated by how things were made, often deconstructing toys and imagining how they could be improved. While it wasn't immediately obvious that I would become a designer, my curiosity and passion for problem-solving were clear early on. I spent countless hours drawing, building, and experimenting—activities that naturally evolved into my design practice. My love for architecture, shapes, and materials was the foundation for what would later become a career in design. It was less about knowing I would be a designer and more about the constant drive to create.

I hope people know that every object I design carries a piece of my story—of movement, longing, and joy. I don’t see design as a polished answer, but as a conversation. My work might look playful or soft, but it’s rooted in care, material sensitivity, and a belief that objects can carry emotion.

I’ve always been drawn to the way objects shape our everyday lives. As a child, I loved cars and built cardboard models, which later evolved into a passion for design. I studied Designed Objects at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where I developed an architectural approach to making. My work often reflects my movement between Taiwan, Chicago, and New York—each city influencing my material choices and form language. Design, for me, is a way to tell stories across time and space, and I’ve always seen it as both a personal and cultural tool for connection.

My studio is a one-person practice focused on creating home objects that blend architectural thinking with emotional storytelling. Each piece reflects personal memories, cultural observations, and thoughtful craftsmanship. I explore how material, form, and narrative can come together to create objects that feel both grounded and imaginative.

Design, to me, is a way of thinking and communicating—an intentional process of shaping how we live, feel, and connect. It bridges the functional and the poetic, turning ideas into tangible experiences. Good design doesn’t just solve problems; it tells stories and creates meaning through material, form, and context.

My favorite material is wood—especially reclaimed or scrap wood—because of its natural texture, history, and unpredictability. I often pair it with mulberry paper to create soft, ambient lighting that highlights both warmth and imperfection. I enjoy working with wood by hand, embracing its grains and irregularities as part of the design language. This tactile, material-driven approach allows me to create deeply personal objects that carry stories, memory, and place, while also leaving room for spontaneity and discovery in the making process.

When judging a design, my first consideration is how much it cares about people. I look for how this care is expressed in the design—whether through materials, form, function, or the overall experience. It's not just about solving a problem, but how thoughtfully the designer addresses human needs, emotions, and interactions. Today, design problems are more complex than merely fulfilling a functional requirement. A good design shows care in every aspect: the choice of materials, the sustainability of production, the shipping process, and the way people engage with it over time. Design should always enhance people’s lives.

Designers hold significant responsibility for both society and the environment, as our work impacts how people live, think, and interact with the world. Every decision—whether it’s choosing a material based on cost over ethics or selecting a sustainable option—ripples through society. We often feel that as individual designers, whether in large corporations or independent practices, our influence is limited. However, if we collaborate and unite our efforts, we can amplify our collective power to advocate for more ethical choices and a better future. Designers must be conscious of the long-term consequences of their work on people and the planet.

My last exhibition was at the Stockholm Furniture Fair in February 2025, where I showcased my Blocks lamps as part of the Greenhouse exhibition. For my next show, I’ll be joining a group of NYC designers to present a unique souvenir design celebrating our city. I’ll be debuting a limited edition of my Blocks Lamp, specially designed to pay tribute to the vibrant energy and spirit of New York City.

I would describe my design style as minimalist, yet deeply expressive. My work is driven by the relationship between form, material, and memory, often inspired by my experiences moving between Taiwan, Chicago, and New York. I explore this style to evoke a sense of place and emotional resonance, focusing on tactile materials like wood and paper. The main characteristics of my style are clean lines, subtle textures, and a strong narrative element. My approach combines architectural thinking with hands-on crafting, allowing me to create objects that are both functional and emotionally meaningful, blurring the lines between art and design.

I live in Brooklyn, New York, but I’m originally from Taiwan and received my graduate degree in Chicago. Moving to the US gave me a great chance to experience the international design stage. My cultural heritage deeply influences my work, especially in my appreciation for craftsmanship, materiality, and subtlety. Taiwanese design traditions emphasize harmony with nature, which reflects in my use of natural materials and minimalist forms. Living in New York, I’m inspired by its dynamic, diverse energy, pushing me to experiment with new ideas. The challenge lies in balancing cultural authenticity with global trends, but it drives me to innovate.

My design process is a blend of exploration and intuition. I begin with hand sketches and physical prototypes, often using materials like tape and wood to quickly visualize forms. Once a concept takes shape, I move to digital tools like Rhino for refinement. I then return to hands-on making, adjusting based on tactile feedback. The process is fluid, with constant back-and-forth between the physical and digital, allowing the design to evolve naturally. Each step is focused on creating something both meaningful and functional.

My golden rule in design is to stay honest—to the materials, the process, and the story I’m trying to tell. I believe good design comes from a place of sincerity, where every decision serves a purpose and reflects a deeper intention. I avoid unnecessary embellishments and instead focus on how form, function, and feeling intersect. Whether it’s a lamp or a piece of furniture, I want each object to carry emotional weight and a sense of quiet presence in people’s lives.

My toolbox includes a lot of yellow Japanese masking tape—soft to the touch, easy to peel, and visually pleasing. I start most projects with hand sketches and tape-based mockups, enjoying the tactile immediacy of working with my hands. For digital tools, I use Rhino for 3D modeling once I’ve developed enough initial drawings. It helps me refine forms before quickly returning to physical prototyping. My process is a constant back-and-forth between analog and digital, allowing ideas to evolve fluidly.

The Blocks collection began as a form study—starting with simple shapes like squares, cubes, and boxes. Over time, it evolved into a lighting series, reflecting my interest in exploring different product types, not just one category. The first two lamp designs took about three months each, from concept development to final models. As the collection expanded, the next three lamp types were completed over another three-month period. Each piece involved iterative prototyping, material exploration, and careful attention to the emotional quality of light.

I enjoy designing objects that tell stories—especially those rooted in memory, place, and cultural context. I’m drawn to work that involves both hands-on making and conceptual thinking, where materials and form carry emotional weight. This balance allows me to create objects that feel both intimate and universally connected.

I plan to expand the Blocks collection into new forms and scales, exploring furniture and larger lighting pieces. I'm also interested in collaborations that blend design with storytelling across different mediums. Ultimately, I hope to continue building a cohesive design universe that evolves alongside my personal and creative journey.

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