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Interviews with Kristian Ruden
Designer profileDesigner of the Day Interview
8 May 2025
I’ve been professionally active in design for around 7 to 10 years. I currently work as a design engineer for a retail furniture company, Moris Design, where I focus on blending functionality with manufacturability. Along the way, I’ve also worked freelance—licensing my own designs and collaborating with clients on various product development projects. I’ve had the chance to win a couple of design competitions, which helped me connect with new clients and build credibility. Over the years, I’ve worn many hats—from hands-on prototyping to CAD modeling to design strategy—and I think that range of experience helped me grow into a well-rounded designer.
Looking back, I think it was a natural evolution. As a kid, I used to draw cars, buildings, and spaceships—and since architects were more popularized and romanticized in movies, I thought that’s who I wanted to be. So, in high school, I studied architecture. But it was my part-time job at an office design company that opened my eyes to industrial design. I became fascinated by the way objects around us are shaped—how they work, feel, and look.
That led me to apply to the Czech Technical University, Faculty of Architecture, where I focused on industrial design. Already in my second semester, I started working for Sathea Vision, a local street lighting company, where I was designing products, learning how things are manufactured, and understanding how design fits into business. That job gave me a huge amount of insight and confirmed that this is what I wanted to do.
I’ve always had an internal drive not just to make things—but to make them better. Smarter, more beautiful, more lasting. That’s what made me a designer.
That led me to apply to the Czech Technical University, Faculty of Architecture, where I focused on industrial design. Already in my second semester, I started working for Sathea Vision, a local street lighting company, where I was designing products, learning how things are manufactured, and understanding how design fits into business. That job gave me a huge amount of insight and confirmed that this is what I wanted to do.
I’ve always had an internal drive not just to make things—but to make them better. Smarter, more beautiful, more lasting. That’s what made me a designer.
These days, I’m most passionate about designing products that are made to last—timeless pieces crafted from quality materials with real attention to detail. It might sound like a luxury, but I believe longevity and craftsmanship are among the most sustainable values in design.
When I begin a project, I always aim to strike a balance between usefulness, manufacturability, and beauty. I know beauty is subjective, but I’m drawn to elegant geometry—splines, parabolic curves, hyperboloids… lines that stretch toward infinity. They carry a calm, mathematical poetry that I try to weave into my designs.
I usually start sketching by hand—with a vintage Koh-i-Noor Versatil pencil and a stack of plain paper. But my favorite part of the process happens in virtual reality. I use a Meta Quest 3 and Gravity Sketch to model ideas in 1:1 scale. It's intuitive, immersive, and has completely replaced traditional clay modeling for me. Where clay used to let me explore forms physically, VR now gives me that same tactile freedom—with far more flexibility and speed. It feels like sculpting in space, and it’s become my go-to for early concept work.
As the design takes shape, I transition to CAD tools like Rhino and Inventor for precision modeling. From there, I prototype—often starting with quick 3D prints to test ideas, and then building full-scale mockups when needed, sometimes even carving foam to check proportions and ergonomics.
Every step is about bringing the concept closer to reality—refining, rethinking, and shaping it until it feels just right.
When I begin a project, I always aim to strike a balance between usefulness, manufacturability, and beauty. I know beauty is subjective, but I’m drawn to elegant geometry—splines, parabolic curves, hyperboloids… lines that stretch toward infinity. They carry a calm, mathematical poetry that I try to weave into my designs.
I usually start sketching by hand—with a vintage Koh-i-Noor Versatil pencil and a stack of plain paper. But my favorite part of the process happens in virtual reality. I use a Meta Quest 3 and Gravity Sketch to model ideas in 1:1 scale. It's intuitive, immersive, and has completely replaced traditional clay modeling for me. Where clay used to let me explore forms physically, VR now gives me that same tactile freedom—with far more flexibility and speed. It feels like sculpting in space, and it’s become my go-to for early concept work.
As the design takes shape, I transition to CAD tools like Rhino and Inventor for precision modeling. From there, I prototype—often starting with quick 3D prints to test ideas, and then building full-scale mockups when needed, sometimes even carving foam to check proportions and ergonomics.
Every step is about bringing the concept closer to reality—refining, rethinking, and shaping it until it feels just right.
For me, design is both a journey and a destination. I genuinely enjoy every stage of the process—each one brings a different kind of excitement. I love the early rush of sketching quick concepts, the meditative precision of refining details, and even the technical challenges of preparing a design for manufacturing. That variety is what keeps it fresh. I thrive when things aren’t routine.
The most fulfilling moment, though, is seeing the idea come to life—watching something that once lived only in my head become a real, tangible object. There’s a deep sense of joy in knowing that it works, that people connect with it, that it’s both beautiful and useful. When clients are satisfied and want to bring the product to the world, it’s incredibly validating.
And maybe the ultimate dream? To one day see a design of mine become iconic—something that stands the test of time and continues to inspire long after I’m gone.
The most fulfilling moment, though, is seeing the idea come to life—watching something that once lived only in my head become a real, tangible object. There’s a deep sense of joy in knowing that it works, that people connect with it, that it’s both beautiful and useful. When clients are satisfied and want to bring the product to the world, it’s incredibly validating.
And maybe the ultimate dream? To one day see a design of mine become iconic—something that stands the test of time and continues to inspire long after I’m gone.
I think one of the most valuable non-design skills I’ve developed is adaptability. I’ve worked in different roles and environments—startups, freelance, corporate settings—which meant wearing many hats. From sourcing materials and dealing with suppliers to building prototypes by hand, I learned to be self-reliant and resourceful. That ability to quickly shift gears and solve problems has been crucial.
I also think being “handy” shaped the way I design. Knowing how things are made—not just in theory, but through experience with tools, materials, and production processes—has helped me bridge the gap between concept and reality. That craftsmanship mindset grounds my design work in practicality without compromising creativity. From helping my parents build furniture when renovating homes, to tinkering with stuff to make it better or more useful.
As for influences, my early exposure to architecture came from movies and TV shows, where architects were often romanticized as the ones who design the world. Later, however, discovering industrial design revealed a world where aesthetics meet function, and I realized who actually designs the world. I’ve also been inspired by the elegance of natural forms,symmetry and mathematical beauty—parabolas, splines, curves that feel infinite. Those elements still echo in my style today.
My journey has never been linear, but it’s always felt driven by curiosity and a desire to make things better. Every step, even the unexpected ones, helped shape who I am as a designer.
I also think being “handy” shaped the way I design. Knowing how things are made—not just in theory, but through experience with tools, materials, and production processes—has helped me bridge the gap between concept and reality. That craftsmanship mindset grounds my design work in practicality without compromising creativity. From helping my parents build furniture when renovating homes, to tinkering with stuff to make it better or more useful.
As for influences, my early exposure to architecture came from movies and TV shows, where architects were often romanticized as the ones who design the world. Later, however, discovering industrial design revealed a world where aesthetics meet function, and I realized who actually designs the world. I’ve also been inspired by the elegance of natural forms,symmetry and mathematical beauty—parabolas, splines, curves that feel infinite. Those elements still echo in my style today.
My journey has never been linear, but it’s always felt driven by curiosity and a desire to make things better. Every step, even the unexpected ones, helped shape who I am as a designer.
My growth path is centered on steadily growing my presence as a designer, becoming more influential in my field. I want to work with companies who recognize my unique vision and style, and I believe I’ve already started to attract clients who are drawn to that. While I haven’t had a ton of clients yet, those I’ve worked with have chosen me for what I bring to the table.
It might sound cliché, but Philippe Starck has always been an inspiration in this sense. The guy has been consistently delivering incredible designs for decades, and I'd love to do the same—create iconic, timeless pieces that will stand the test of time.
As for future projects, the ultimate challenge would be designing a yacht or a space station. But, if I’m honest, the kid in me is still dreaming of designing a spaceship. I love working with lights, furniture, and home goods, but I want to stretch beyond those areas. I want to design in different fields and make my mark in various domains. My goal is to be recognized for my versatility, and for clients to actively seek me out for the unique approach I bring to every project.
It might sound cliché, but Philippe Starck has always been an inspiration in this sense. The guy has been consistently delivering incredible designs for decades, and I'd love to do the same—create iconic, timeless pieces that will stand the test of time.
As for future projects, the ultimate challenge would be designing a yacht or a space station. But, if I’m honest, the kid in me is still dreaming of designing a spaceship. I love working with lights, furniture, and home goods, but I want to stretch beyond those areas. I want to design in different fields and make my mark in various domains. My goal is to be recognized for my versatility, and for clients to actively seek me out for the unique approach I bring to every project.
For young designers, my biggest piece of advice is to never be afraid to challenge authority—especially professors. If you can argue your point and prove them wrong, not only will they respect you, but it will build your confidence for the future. Stand by your ideas, even if they seem risky. It’s also okay to scrap months of work and start fresh if you think a new idea will work better. Design isn’t about clinging to what you’ve invested in; it’s about finding the best solution. Lastly, you don’t need the latest tech to be a great designer. Sometimes, the most powerful tools are the simplest ones. Keep learning, stay curious, and never stop experimenting.
To my fellow designers: Don’t fall into the trap of recycling the same ideas over and over. Innovation is key to staying relevant and creating something that excites. If you feel like something is stale, scrap it, and start fresh—it can actually lead to better results. Always push your boundaries and challenge the status quo. It’s okay to fail and pivot; that’s part of the process. Also, don’t get too attached to your first idea. Sometimes, the best solutions come after completely rethinking your approach. Keep your eyes open to what’s new, and don’t be afraid to experiment.
My day-to-day is pretty straightforward, but there's always something in it that keeps me engaged. I start with the essentials: coffee, cereal, and a bit of YouTube. Sometimes it’s just about easing into the day. Once I get to work, my focus shifts to solving problems. I work as a design engineer, so I spend a lot of time figuring out mechanisms, refining details, and making sure everything works. It’s not glamorous, but it’s rewarding.
After work, I dive into my freelance projects. It’s where I really get to stretch my creative muscles—researching, sketching, designing, and figuring out how to make the client’s ideas come to life. I love this part because I get to work at my own pace and on my terms. It’s a nice balance with the engineering side of things.
When I’m exhausted, I wind down by scrolling through social media—it's a mix of design inspiration, random news, and a bit of mindless scrolling. I’m always looking for something that sparks an idea or shows me a new perspective. I end the day with a bit of contemplation in the shower, which helps me reset for tomorrow.
After work, I dive into my freelance projects. It’s where I really get to stretch my creative muscles—researching, sketching, designing, and figuring out how to make the client’s ideas come to life. I love this part because I get to work at my own pace and on my terms. It’s a nice balance with the engineering side of things.
When I’m exhausted, I wind down by scrolling through social media—it's a mix of design inspiration, random news, and a bit of mindless scrolling. I’m always looking for something that sparks an idea or shows me a new perspective. I end the day with a bit of contemplation in the shower, which helps me reset for tomorrow.
I don't really follow trends. I prefer carving out my own niche, one that reflects my personal style and values. Trends tend to change too fast and don’t always align with my approach to design, especially when it comes to sustainability. I believe in creating things that last, that have a timeless quality to them—not in the sense of outdated, old-fashioned designs, but rather pieces that stay relevant and meaningful over time.
That being said, I do keep an eye on what’s going on in the design world because I like seeing new ideas and innovations. I follow design magazines and platforms on Instagram like Lemanoosh, Czech Design, Hypebeast, Yanko Design, Core77, and Chair.tag. It’s always interesting to see what others are creating, but I don’t let trends dictate my work. I prefer to stay true to my own vision.
That being said, I do keep an eye on what’s going on in the design world because I like seeing new ideas and innovations. I follow design magazines and platforms on Instagram like Lemanoosh, Czech Design, Hypebeast, Yanko Design, Core77, and Chair.tag. It’s always interesting to see what others are creating, but I don’t let trends dictate my work. I prefer to stay true to my own vision.
When I evaluate a design, I start with my gut—how does it feel visually? Are the lines flowing naturally, does the symmetry work, and can I see the craftsmanship? But the deeper layer comes when I interact with the product. Does it serve its purpose intuitively? Is it easy to use, or is there a clever twist that stands out? That’s when I dive into the core principles I gravitate toward, especially Dieter Rams' 10 principles of good design.
I particularly value simplicity, but not in the 'bare minimum' sense—simplicity with purpose. The product should be understandable and serve its function beautifully, without unnecessary elements. I also believe that good design should be timeless, and that’s something I try to imbue into my work. But here's the kicker: one of Rams' principles is that good design is often invisible. While I get the idea behind it, I want my designs to be visible, not hidden away. If the design isn't celebrated or appreciated for its boldness and intention, then it's not truly fulfilling its purpose. In the end, design is about creating an experience, and an invisible design doesn't get the recognition it deserves.
I particularly value simplicity, but not in the 'bare minimum' sense—simplicity with purpose. The product should be understandable and serve its function beautifully, without unnecessary elements. I also believe that good design should be timeless, and that’s something I try to imbue into my work. But here's the kicker: one of Rams' principles is that good design is often invisible. While I get the idea behind it, I want my designs to be visible, not hidden away. If the design isn't celebrated or appreciated for its boldness and intention, then it's not truly fulfilling its purpose. In the end, design is about creating an experience, and an invisible design doesn't get the recognition it deserves.
The product is never complete. It just isn't. You can make infinite improvements. Just look at cars, for example—it’s been over a hundred years since we started making them, and they’re still evolving. Or look at seating—something humans came up with millennia ago, and we still haven’t said, “That’s it, this is the ultimate chair, we can go home now.”
So when do I stop improving my design? Usually when the deadline is near. It can be a real one from the client, agreed on in the contract, or my own personal deadline—when I decide, “okay, by this day it’s either done or it’s done.”
It’s not about tweaking smaller and smaller details until they’re invisible. Because sometimes, out of nowhere, you might decide to redesign the whole thing from scratch—and then you're back at square one. While I love redesigning, and often think the second version is better, there’s always a point where you have to agree that it’s good enough and move on.
So when do I stop improving my design? Usually when the deadline is near. It can be a real one from the client, agreed on in the contract, or my own personal deadline—when I decide, “okay, by this day it’s either done or it’s done.”
It’s not about tweaking smaller and smaller details until they’re invisible. Because sometimes, out of nowhere, you might decide to redesign the whole thing from scratch—and then you're back at square one. While I love redesigning, and often think the second version is better, there’s always a point where you have to agree that it’s good enough and move on.
While the Aeriform Armchair might be my most expensive project so far—and the one that won an A’Design Award—I have to give special props to an earlier design that really kickstarted everything for me: the Circle of Life bowl, later known as Eatee.
It started during my bachelor studies in 2020. It was my first award-winning project (Best in Design – Zlín), my first to be mass-produced, and the one I’ve spent the most time refining over the years. Originally just a conceptual pet bowl, it evolved after the award and an exhibition at Czech Design Week, where it caught the eye of an investor. We worked together to fine-tune the design—making the bowl more compact for manufacturing, adding quality-of-life features like a removable inner water bowl, a dishwasher-safe design, and a detachable wooden base. You can check it out at ruden.framer.website/projects/eatee.
What made it so rewarding was the challenge of designing not for a human, but for a pet—with their instincts and behaviors in mind. It taught me a lot about empathy in design and balancing aesthetics with practicality.
Funnily enough, I’m currently working on a stool vaguely shaped like a dog for a client who found me through Eatee. It’s sculptural, a bit playful, functional and minimalistic at the same time. Not the type of project I’d usually pursue, but the client trusts my sense of form—and I’m excited to see where this one leads.
It started during my bachelor studies in 2020. It was my first award-winning project (Best in Design – Zlín), my first to be mass-produced, and the one I’ve spent the most time refining over the years. Originally just a conceptual pet bowl, it evolved after the award and an exhibition at Czech Design Week, where it caught the eye of an investor. We worked together to fine-tune the design—making the bowl more compact for manufacturing, adding quality-of-life features like a removable inner water bowl, a dishwasher-safe design, and a detachable wooden base. You can check it out at ruden.framer.website/projects/eatee.
What made it so rewarding was the challenge of designing not for a human, but for a pet—with their instincts and behaviors in mind. It taught me a lot about empathy in design and balancing aesthetics with practicality.
Funnily enough, I’m currently working on a stool vaguely shaped like a dog for a client who found me through Eatee. It’s sculptural, a bit playful, functional and minimalistic at the same time. Not the type of project I’d usually pursue, but the client trusts my sense of form—and I’m excited to see where this one leads.
I’ve mentioned him before, but it has to be Philippe Starck. I really admire his ability to leave a strong signature in every object he designs—whether it’s a lemon squeezer or a yacht. He has this fearless consistency and a kind of charisma that turns even simple products into statements. I love how he manages to balance functionality with something bold and a bit absurd, yet it all just… works.
If I could have a conversation with any designer from the past, it would definitely be Joe Colombo. His work was decades ahead of its time—modular, playful, space-age, and still relevant today. He died far too young, and I often wonder how the world of design might’ve looked if he had more time to experiment and evolve. His Visiona and Tube Chair are still etched in my mind as examples of how imaginative design can be.
There are many iconic names out there, but I gravitate toward the ones who weren’t afraid to challenge norms, who had their own clear visual language, and who stayed curious.
If I could have a conversation with any designer from the past, it would definitely be Joe Colombo. His work was decades ahead of its time—modular, playful, space-age, and still relevant today. He died far too young, and I often wonder how the world of design might’ve looked if he had more time to experiment and evolve. His Visiona and Tube Chair are still etched in my mind as examples of how imaginative design can be.
There are many iconic names out there, but I gravitate toward the ones who weren’t afraid to challenge norms, who had their own clear visual language, and who stayed curious.
I’m an expat, a city dweller. Born in one major city, raised in a small town in another country, and now I live in another big city—Prague. I don’t really have roots or one place I call home, which probably shapes how I view design. I’m a product of different cultures, but I don’t feel like I belong to any particular one. I think that sense of being in between is reflected in my work—I don’t feel the pressure to follow traditional or regional expectations. I carve my own path.
Music is a huge part of my life, but whether it influences my work directly? I don't know. I always listen to music when I work, but I don’t consciously incorporate it into my design process. But yeah, it’s part of the culture I live in. I love a wide range of genres and artists—everything from Lupe Fiasco and The 1975 to Joji, Arcade Fire, and Childish Gambino. My playlist is all over the place, and it keeps my mind active.
Right now, I’m in Prague. It’s the closest thing I’ve got to home, I guess. And as for what I’m working on—currently designing a stool shaped like a dog. A bit random, but it’s a fun project for a client who found me because of my previous work.
I believe good design is necessary for society’s advancement. It’s not just about profits or improving margins—it’s about improving lives, making things more functional, more sustainable. And that’s something I want my designs to reflect. They should be more than just objects; they should improve people’s lives, even in small ways.
As for culture—I don’t follow all traditions, but I do enjoy celebrating the little moments—like the optimism that comes with New Year’s Eve or the renewal in the changing seasons.
Music is a huge part of my life, but whether it influences my work directly? I don't know. I always listen to music when I work, but I don’t consciously incorporate it into my design process. But yeah, it’s part of the culture I live in. I love a wide range of genres and artists—everything from Lupe Fiasco and The 1975 to Joji, Arcade Fire, and Childish Gambino. My playlist is all over the place, and it keeps my mind active.
Right now, I’m in Prague. It’s the closest thing I’ve got to home, I guess. And as for what I’m working on—currently designing a stool shaped like a dog. A bit random, but it’s a fun project for a client who found me because of my previous work.
I believe good design is necessary for society’s advancement. It’s not just about profits or improving margins—it’s about improving lives, making things more functional, more sustainable. And that’s something I want my designs to reflect. They should be more than just objects; they should improve people’s lives, even in small ways.
As for culture—I don’t follow all traditions, but I do enjoy celebrating the little moments—like the optimism that comes with New Year’s Eve or the renewal in the changing seasons.
I'm currently working full-time as a design engineer, but I also take on freelance projects because they give me the freedom to express my own vision—something that’s deeply important to me. I mostly work solo, and I tend to set my own deadlines, otherwise, let’s be honest, not much would get done.
I like when clients trust my instincts but also share their own ideas. That back-and-forth keeps the process grounded and fresh. I enjoy flexibility, but if I were doing something full-time that I truly cared about, I’d absolutely embrace structure. It helps push things forward.
While I’ve mostly worked alone, I’m open to collaboration. One day, I’d love to build a team—ideally with people who bring their own perspectives and challenge me in a good way. I want to grow alongside people who are just as passionate. I do see myself leading the creative direction, but not in an overbearing way—more like steering the ship while everyone brings their own magic on board.
I like when clients trust my instincts but also share their own ideas. That back-and-forth keeps the process grounded and fresh. I enjoy flexibility, but if I were doing something full-time that I truly cared about, I’d absolutely embrace structure. It helps push things forward.
While I’ve mostly worked alone, I’m open to collaboration. One day, I’d love to build a team—ideally with people who bring their own perspectives and challenge me in a good way. I want to grow alongside people who are just as passionate. I do see myself leading the creative direction, but not in an overbearing way—more like steering the ship while everyone brings their own magic on board.
I’m not in a position yet to take on pro bono work as much as I’d like—I’ve got to support my family first. But I still believe in giving back in the ways that feel authentic and sustainable for me. One of those ways is through being active in the r/industrialdesign subreddit. I often share resources, techniques, or feedback with students and junior designers. Sometimes it’s just a comment, sometimes a post, but over time it adds up. I like the idea of making the community a little more generous and encouraging than when I found it.
Aside from that, I’ve taken part in competitions and exhibitions, which also serve as platforms for exchanging ideas and learning from one another. Maybe one day, when I’m in a more comfortable position, I’ll give more back in terms of time or money—but for now, I try to support the design ecosystem by staying present, honest, and willing to share what I know.
Aside from that, I’ve taken part in competitions and exhibitions, which also serve as platforms for exchanging ideas and learning from one another. Maybe one day, when I’m in a more comfortable position, I’ll give more back in terms of time or money—but for now, I try to support the design ecosystem by staying present, honest, and willing to share what I know.
One of the things I really appreciated about participating in the A’ Design Award was the preliminary score—it gave me a much-needed boost of confidence and helped reinforce my decision to nominate my project. I was still a bit nervous about the whole process, but that early feedback helped me push through.
What I love about the A’ Design Award is that it’s one of the most prestigious and global competitions out there. It offers incredible visibility for both young designers and established brands. The PR support, networking opportunities, online exhibition, physical showcases, and the award certificate itself—those are all real, tangible benefits that can give your career a nudge in the right direction.
Competitions like this matter. Not just because they validate our ideas, but because they give them a stage. I’ve experienced firsthand how the exact same design—literally unchanged—suddenly feels more impressive to others once it has that “award-winning” tag. I don’t know why, but it’s real. Recognition opens doors. It brings credibility.
I also think competitions help you grow. They make you finish what you started, craft a proper narrative around your design, and reflect on why you made the choices you did. And beyond that, they help raise awareness about the design process in general. They show people that great products don’t just pop into existence—they’re the result of intentional work, iteration, and care.
As for being named Designer of the Day—it's genuinely a big honor. It gave me a real confidence boost and reminded me that I’m on the right path. It’s a great feeling to have your work recognized on a platform like this, and it motivates me to keep pushing forward, creating, and growing as a designer.
What I love about the A’ Design Award is that it’s one of the most prestigious and global competitions out there. It offers incredible visibility for both young designers and established brands. The PR support, networking opportunities, online exhibition, physical showcases, and the award certificate itself—those are all real, tangible benefits that can give your career a nudge in the right direction.
Competitions like this matter. Not just because they validate our ideas, but because they give them a stage. I’ve experienced firsthand how the exact same design—literally unchanged—suddenly feels more impressive to others once it has that “award-winning” tag. I don’t know why, but it’s real. Recognition opens doors. It brings credibility.
I also think competitions help you grow. They make you finish what you started, craft a proper narrative around your design, and reflect on why you made the choices you did. And beyond that, they help raise awareness about the design process in general. They show people that great products don’t just pop into existence—they’re the result of intentional work, iteration, and care.
As for being named Designer of the Day—it's genuinely a big honor. It gave me a real confidence boost and reminded me that I’m on the right path. It’s a great feeling to have your work recognized on a platform like this, and it motivates me to keep pushing forward, creating, and growing as a designer.
Design Interview
10 May 2025 · Aeriform Poltrona
The Aeriform Armchair was born from a desire to capture the quiet grace of bird wings, unfolding mid-flight. I imagined a form that could feel like an embrace, soft yet powerful, sculptural yet inviting. Designed entirely in virtual reality, I sculpted it as if drawing with ribbon in the air, free from gravity and constraints.
I was also heavily influenced by Pierre Paulin’s Ribbon Chair, and I aimed to build on that legacy by designing something even more bold and imposing. But aesthetics weren’t everything—I went through several physical prototypes and ergonomic jigs to make sure the chair was actually comfortable in real use. I wanted it to be both a centerpiece and a genuinely functional seat.
I was also heavily influenced by Pierre Paulin’s Ribbon Chair, and I aimed to build on that legacy by designing something even more bold and imposing. But aesthetics weren’t everything—I went through several physical prototypes and ergonomic jigs to make sure the chair was actually comfortable in real use. I wanted it to be both a centerpiece and a genuinely functional seat.
With this design, my main focus was to create a seamless blend of sculptural elegance and genuine comfort. I wanted the Aeriform Armchair to feel like a statement. Bold, confident, and eye-catching, yet also be the kind of chair you could sink into for hours without a second thought.
Too often, showpieces sacrifice usability for aesthetics. I didn’t want that. I set out to prove that an iconic form can still offer an inviting, ergonomic experience. The goal was to strike that elusive balance: a chair that dominates a room without demanding constant attention, that looks like art but functions like a daily essential.
Too often, showpieces sacrifice usability for aesthetics. I didn’t want that. I set out to prove that an iconic form can still offer an inviting, ergonomic experience. The goal was to strike that elusive balance: a chair that dominates a room without demanding constant attention, that looks like art but functions like a daily essential.
My goal is to bring the Aeriform Armchair into the real world. Not just as a prototype or concept, but as a product available to those who appreciate bold, sculptural design. I’m currently looking for a luxury furniture manufacturer who sees its potential and shares the ambition to develop a production-ready version together.
There are still things I wasn’t able to fully realize on my own, like wrapping it in high-quality leather or crafting a cast chromed base, but with the right partner, I believe we can elevate it to its full potential. My hope is for the Aeriform to find its place among the icons: to be mentioned in the same breath as the Egg Chair, the Ribbon Chair, or the Papa Bear. I know it’s an ambitious goal, but I believe in the design, and I believe there’s a place for it in the canon of timeless furniture.
There are still things I wasn’t able to fully realize on my own, like wrapping it in high-quality leather or crafting a cast chromed base, but with the right partner, I believe we can elevate it to its full potential. My hope is for the Aeriform to find its place among the icons: to be mentioned in the same breath as the Egg Chair, the Ribbon Chair, or the Papa Bear. I know it’s an ambitious goal, but I believe in the design, and I believe there’s a place for it in the canon of timeless furniture.
The design process took about a year, though it was part of my diploma thesis, so I had to work within a set timeline. Initially, I had a different concept in mind, but a two-week study trip to Italy in September 2023 changed everything. During the trip, I had the honor of visiting the Poltrona Frau factory. Seeing their level of craftsmanship and attention to detail inspired me to design an armchair worthy of such an iconic manufacturer.
I reached out to them, hoping for a collaboration, but never heard back. Still, I didn’t give up on the idea. From September to January, I explored inspirations, wrote down ideas, and shaped the project’s vision. In January 2024, I began designing in earnest. I sketched by hand, sculpted in virtual reality, and built a custom jig to work out the ergonomics. I went through hundreds of VR iterations before settling on the final form.
In April, I moved into the engineering phase. I designed every part of the chair in detail, from structural components to fastening methods. With the help of a friend, I machined a foam core for the fiberglass shell, which I then laminated and upholstered. I also manufactured the leg and all of its hardware. By June, the first prototype was finished.
I reached out to them, hoping for a collaboration, but never heard back. Still, I didn’t give up on the idea. From September to January, I explored inspirations, wrote down ideas, and shaped the project’s vision. In January 2024, I began designing in earnest. I sketched by hand, sculpted in virtual reality, and built a custom jig to work out the ergonomics. I went through hundreds of VR iterations before settling on the final form.
In April, I moved into the engineering phase. I designed every part of the chair in detail, from structural components to fastening methods. With the help of a friend, I machined a foam core for the fiberglass shell, which I then laminated and upholstered. I also manufactured the leg and all of its hardware. By June, the first prototype was finished.
As I mentioned earlier, this design was sparked by my visit to Poltrona Frau during a study trip to Italy. That experience really lit a fire in me. I wanted to create something ambitious and meaningful as part of my diploma thesis. Something that would challenge me and bring together everything I had learned so far. I wasn’t interested in playing it safe. I wanted to do the unthinkable.
Some of my professors didn’t believe I could pull it off, which only pushed me harder. This project became a personal mission to prove that with enough vision, persistence, and skill, I could bring something bold and refined into the world entirely on my own.
Some of my professors didn’t believe I could pull it off, which only pushed me harder. This project became a personal mission to prove that with enough vision, persistence, and skill, I could bring something bold and refined into the world entirely on my own.
At the moment, the Aeriform Armchair is not in production, though I believe it's more than ready. My goal is to license the production rights to a well-established company with the reach and craftsmanship needed to connect this piece with the right audience. This is a luxury product, built to last for generations, and it requires a partner whose values align with both mine and those of the customers.
It’s not a mass-market piece. It’s large, bold, and unapologetically sculptural. It doesn’t fit every home, and it’s not meant to. But for those who resonate with its presence, I believe it can become something truly iconic.
It’s not a mass-market piece. It’s large, bold, and unapologetically sculptural. It doesn’t fit every home, and it’s not meant to. But for those who resonate with its presence, I believe it can become something truly iconic.
For a long time, I’ve wanted to dive deep into working with the human body—not just in terms of interaction, but especially when it comes to ergonomics and comfort. Ergonomics is often treated as a two-dimensional concept, focused on points of support. But comfort is more complex. It’s not just about where your body touches the seat, but how the form wraps around you, and how it supports you over time. Even the most ergonomic chair becomes uncomfortable eventually, because the human body is built to move.
That’s why this armchair was designed to accommodate movement. I wanted it to be a place where you could sit upright, slouch, slide down, lounge sideways, cross your legs, throw one leg over the armrest, whatever feels right in the moment. Comfort, to me, means freedom, and I wanted to capture that.
On a more personal level, I’ve always loved sculptural design, and few design objects let you explore that as freely as furniture. Especially seating. You’re able to treat it as both functional object and expressive form. So this was a natural fit for me.
That’s why this armchair was designed to accommodate movement. I wanted it to be a place where you could sit upright, slouch, slide down, lounge sideways, cross your legs, throw one leg over the armrest, whatever feels right in the moment. Comfort, to me, means freedom, and I wanted to capture that.
On a more personal level, I’ve always loved sculptural design, and few design objects let you explore that as freely as furniture. Especially seating. You’re able to treat it as both functional object and expressive form. So this was a natural fit for me.
Yes, definitely. Two major influences were Pierre Paulin’s Ribbon Chair and Hans Wegner’s Ox Chair. The Ribbon Chair inspired me with its flowing, sculptural form. It feels like a gesture frozen in time, and that elegance really stayed with me. The Ox Chair, on the other hand, has immense presence. It’s bold and confident, almost architectural. I also love that Wegner designed it with the intention that people could sit sideways in it. That kind of functional freedom really resonated with me and aligned with my own goals for the Aeriform Armchair.
The Aeriform Armchair is designed for individuals who value bold design and unapologetic comfort. Those who see furniture not just as function, but as art. It’s not for minimalists or those chasing trends; it’s for people who want to make a statement. Whether it ends up in a private residence, a luxury hotel lobby, or a collector’s gallery, the ideal customer is someone who owns the room. They appreciate sculptural form, premium materials, and the emotional presence a piece like this brings to a space. This armchair is for those who crave timeless design, comfort that lasts, and the kind of craftsmanship that leaves a lasting impression. It’s made for individuals who embrace boldness, are not afraid to stand out, and make their space their own.
What sets the Aeriform Armchair apart is that it was entirely conceived in virtual reality. This allowed me to push the boundaries of form and ergonomics in a way that traditional methods couldn't. While there are plenty of bold and sculptural armchairs out there, none have the same freedom of design, from concept to execution, that VR offered me. It’s a blend of innovative technology with timeless luxury, which makes it unique in today’s furniture landscape.
The name “Aeriform” is a nod to the armchair’s subtle aerospace edge, both literally and conceptually. The inspiration came from bird wings, but the connection runs deeper. If you were to slice through the chair at almost any point, you'd find an airfoil-like profile. That flowing, aerodynamic shape isn’t just for show—it turns out to be surprisingly comfortable. Even the legs, which didn’t need to be aerodynamic at all, ended up shaped like they were built for flight. There’s a kind of elegance in making something grounded feel as if it’s suspended mid-air.
I used a mix of traditional and digital tools throughout the process. It began with quick sketches on paper, followed by sculpting in virtual reality using Gravity Sketch. Designing in VR let me shape the chair freely in three dimensions, almost like drawing with ribbon in mid-air.
Once the concept felt right, I exported the model into Rhino to add some details and engineering. I also built a full-scale ergonomic jig to test seating positions and comfort in real life. Several 1:1 models were carved from polystyrene to study proportions and refine the physical feel of the chair. KeyShot was used for rendering materials and lighting, while Adobe tools helped with presentation and documentation.
Once the concept felt right, I exported the model into Rhino to add some details and engineering. I also built a full-scale ergonomic jig to test seating positions and comfort in real life. Several 1:1 models were carved from polystyrene to study proportions and refine the physical feel of the chair. KeyShot was used for rendering materials and lighting, while Adobe tools helped with presentation and documentation.
The most unique aspect is how the chair was conceived and sculpted entirely in virtual reality. That allowed me to create a form that feels like it couldn’t have been drawn on paper or modeled traditionally. Something fluid, weightless, and unconventional. The result is a bold sculptural shape that still manages to be deeply ergonomic and functional.
While my professors offered guidance throughout the diploma process, as they should, I often went in the opposite direction of their suggestions. Still, they ended up being genuinely impressed with the final result. On the technical side, I consulted Lubomíra Antochová, a professional upholsterer. I shared my idea of wrapping the entire chair with just two fabric pieces and a single seam. She warned me it would be incredibly difficult due to the complex shape, but also said she’d be impressed if I managed to pull it off. And, well… I did.
Technology played a huge role in bringing this design to life. From sketching the initial form in virtual reality to refining it in Rhino, I relied heavily on digital tools to shape the concept. CNC machining and laser cutting helped me build precise components for the jig, foam core and leg base, while 3D printing supported some small functional parts, scale models and prototype leg cover. The final prototype uses a fiberglass shell. A material that combines strength, flexibility, and sculptural freedom. Basically, I threw every modern tool I had at it to make sure the idea wasn’t just beautiful, but buildable.
Yes, my design was influenced by research into ergonomics, anthropometry, and comfort. I consulted various books on these topics to ensure a solid foundation for the chair's functionality. Additionally, the ergonomic jig I created allowed me to test and receive feedback from different people, helping me fine-tune the angles and heights for optimal comfort. This hands-on research was crucial in making sure the design wasn't just visually striking but also functionally sound.
The biggest challenge I faced was time constraints. I had a clear vision of how I wanted to build the chair from the beginning, but executing it within the limited timeframe was tough. Another hurdle was finding an upholstery manufacturer willing to take on such an ambitious project. Many declined or said it would take months to develop the necessary upholstery, so I ended up having to do it myself. The most surprising challenge, though, was sourcing the fabric. I didn’t want to use polyester because it lacks breathability, doesn’t stretch, and doesn’t feel luxurious. After some difficulty with suppliers who had long lead times, I ended up shopping locally and found the right material - wool. Although not exactly the shade or weave I had envisioned for the prototype. In the end, I’m happy with how it turned out.
I wanted to share my work with a wider audience and see how it would resonate on an international stage. It was important to me that the design be recognized not just locally, but globally. Entering a competition was a way to showcase my vision and get feedback from a broader design community. Plus, it felt like the right moment to put myself and the project out there. After all, if you believe in your work, why not share it with the world?
Throughout this process, I learned to trust my instincts more than ever. I also gained a lot of confidence in using virtual reality as a design tool—something I hadn't fully explored before. But the biggest takeaway for me was realizing just how much I’ve grown as a designer. To be able to take an idea from concept to a physical, functional piece, and to do it almost entirely on my own, was a huge achievement. It really showed me what I’m capable of when I push myself.
I believe that design should go beyond functionality and aesthetic, but also evoke emotion and become a part of how we experience the world around us. With the Aeriform Armchair, I wanted to create something that wasn’t just a piece of furniture but a statement, a conversation starter, and a symbol of true craftsmanship. I hope this piece will inspire people to rethink what comfort and design can mean in the modern world. Ultimately, I want it to stand the test of time, not just as a chair, but as an iconic piece of design history. However ambitious that might be.
Design Legend Interview
25 May 2025
As a kid, I always loved drawing and coming up with wacky ideas. I sketched cars, spaceships, machines, and buildings, and dreamed of becoming an inventor like in the movies. When it came time to choose high school, I thought architecture would be the closest thing, so I enrolled in the Civil Engineering School of Josef Gočár.
In my senior years, I started working part-time at an office design studio, where I realized I had found exactly the field I wanted to pursue - industrial design.
I later chose the Design Department at the Faculty of Architecture, Czech Technical University, where I earned my master’s degree.
In my senior years, I started working part-time at an office design studio, where I realized I had found exactly the field I wanted to pursue - industrial design.
I later chose the Design Department at the Faculty of Architecture, Czech Technical University, where I earned my master’s degree.
I became a designer because I love coming up with new ideas. I love problem-solving and tinkering. I love beautiful and useful things, and I want to channel my energy into creating meaningful products.
I chose to become one myself. It was always a natural path for me since childhood.
I don’t want to box myself into a specific field. I love designing furniture - especially pieces people interact with daily. I’m excited by lighting, so I’ve designed many lighting fixtures. I also have some simpler home goods in my portfolio.
I’d love to design more electronics and consumer goods, and maybe one day explore automotive and other forms of transportation.
I’d love to design more electronics and consumer goods, and maybe one day explore automotive and other forms of transportation.
Do what you really want to do. Take suggestions, but don’t necessarily follow them. Most importantly - stay persistent.
A good designer delivers what the client asks for. A great designer shows the client what they need. They consider the end user's needs, ergonomics, aesthetics, and manufacturability, and synthesize a perfect solution that becomes iconic.
Dieter Rams described it perfectly with his 10 principles of good design. Great design is useful, intuitive, unobtrusive, manufacturable, and pushes technological boundaries. It’s beautiful, logical, and ergonomic.
Good design lasts. It transcends trends. It combines quality materials, craftsmanship, aesthetics, and intuitiveness.
I’d love to collaborate on something big - something that could change the world and become legendary. I don’t have a specific project in mind, but that’s the dream.
Since childhood, I’ve been sketching spaceships. One day, I’d love to design an intergalactic yacht. Hopefully, the technology will be there in my lifetime.
I always start without external inspiration. I try to create something never seen before by tapping into my inner imagination. Then I follow where that leads.
Raymond Loewy, the Eames, Dieter Rams, and Philippe Starck are my biggest influences.
The Eames chair. It became ubiquitous and iconic. It pushed the boundaries of what was possible at the time. It’s the first object many people associate with design.
The Aeriform Armchair. It feels like my current magnum opus. Someone once told me every designer should design a chair when the time is right - when their skills are honed and they feel confident. I believe this chair captures everything I’ve learned: artistic expression, comfort, and manufacturability.
Tap into your inner ideas. Learn from history. Get inspired by current trends, but don’t chase them. Read, research, and take your time.
I’d probably be an actor. I already do some acting on the side - mainly commercials. I love stepping into a role, becoming a character, and inspiring people.
Design is multidisciplinary. It’s about finding the golden ratio between beauty, usability, and viability - something that resonates deeply.
My university and professors. They taught me not to settle on the first idea, to iterate, follow my heart, and sometimes ignore criticism.
Persistence.
Design is expensive. It requires time and money to realize your ideas. Sleepless nights, your brain constantly simulating products - it’s exhausting but rewarding.
Along with beautiful visuals, they should show the process - iterations, prototypes, sketches, and detail explanations. Good design is often invisible, so we must explain what makes it good.
I'm currently working on a fun little stool shaped like a dog for a client.
In my free time, I want to create light fixtures for myself, see where that leads, and possibly sell them.
In my free time, I want to create light fixtures for myself, see where that leads, and possibly sell them.
To create products that go down in history as iconic.
They expect quality. Thought-out designs, down to the last detail - and I believe I can deliver that.
Design should be conscious of its environmental impact. I believe quality and longevity are better than recycled mass-produced goods. Good design brings people together - just look at the MCM communities.
I’m excited about my Aeriform Armchair winning a competition. I’m now seeking a partner to help bring it to market so people who appreciate good design can own it.
The “Circle of Life” dog bowl I designed during my bachelor’s. Now sold as “Eatee Bowl,” it’s simple yet unusual - and my dog loves it. It’s not just a dog bowl; it’s an entire dining experience. Humans can use it, too.
I want industrial design to reclaim its name. It used to mean physical product design. Now, the lines are blurred between graphic, UI, UX, interior, and product design - even companies struggle to label us correctly.
It’s shifting toward intangible digital products. But I think the need for quality physical design will soon return.
It depends - from a few months to a few years. In reality, design is never finished; there’s always room for improvement.
I begin by sketching my own ideas. Then I look for inspiration, do research, iterate, build models and prototypes. I start with pen and paper, then move to VR or CAD.
Give people what they need, not what they want. Strike a balance between beauty, usability, and viability.
Design sets trends. When something is done right, others follow.
I like to blend tradition and new technology. I design on pen and paper, but also in virtual reality. I use materials and processes we had for hundreds of years, but also just now began to explore.
I use Gravity Sketch in VR (Quest 3), Rhino and Inventor for CAD. For prototyping: clay, foam carving, CNC, and 3D printing.
Materials are key. The right material can elevate or ruin your design. I prefer quality, luxurious materials, but also consider sustainability. Surface finishes impact touch, longevity, and craftsmanship.
Color is secondary - something that can be adapted to the product’s environment or user preference.
Color is secondary - something that can be adapted to the product’s environment or user preference.
“Can I try it?” - Yes, I encourage you to.
I wonder who made it, how they came up with it, and why it wasn’t made sooner.
I believe in co-design. Collaboration can lead to more thoughtful results. My ideal partner would complement me - see what I miss.
Test groups. Feedback reveals what I overlooked. It helps me iterate and refine the design toward perfection.
Victor Papanek’s Design for the Real World. It stuck with me since university.
Trial and error. I refined my skills in woodworking, metal, glass, plastics, and machining. Knowing your tools and the technology you design for is crucial.
You must also research every new topic you work on. Don’t just design - learn, then improve on what already exists.
You must also research every new topic you work on. Don’t just design - learn, then improve on what already exists.
Since people of the past and present have already spoken to us and their wisdom is laid out into he books, I'd love to meet a person from the future. A Post-Earth Designer who
designs for life in space or other planets where gravity, light, and materials are different. Perhaps they transcended traditional chairs and have magnetic fields that levitate them which gives humans unmatched comfort? The Bio-Designer who works with living materials and designs grow, evolve, and respond to human emotion?
designs for life in space or other planets where gravity, light, and materials are different. Perhaps they transcended traditional chairs and have magnetic fields that levitate them which gives humans unmatched comfort? The Bio-Designer who works with living materials and designs grow, evolve, and respond to human emotion?
Honestly, it’s not enough. I’m not tired of it - I welcome more. Recognition boosts my confidence and keeps me moving forward.
My favorite colors keep changing all the time, right now I'd say it's off white for clothes, black for cars and rose gold for accents.
Favorite places is where I feel at home.
I love sushi.
My favorite season is summer, especially if I spend it by the sea.
Somehow I have to say my favorite thing is my car, a 2016 Mercedes C class in amg package, it's so beautiful and comfortable, I love her.
And my current favorite brand is Xiaomi. They do so much, everything is very esthetic and functional.
Favorite places is where I feel at home.
I love sushi.
My favorite season is summer, especially if I spend it by the sea.
Somehow I have to say my favorite thing is my car, a 2016 Mercedes C class in amg package, it's so beautiful and comfortable, I love her.
And my current favorite brand is Xiaomi. They do so much, everything is very esthetic and functional.
Haha, I fondly remember my second semester in uni, because I was tasked with designing a juicer and made a few initial versions. Professors chose one and I worked on it for the rest of the semester. But when the final week came and I was almost done, I absolutely didn't like how it was turning out. I scrapped the whole idea and with only 3 days to spare started from scratch. Somehow I managed to make a decent and unusual juicer, surprised the professors with this totally different design, which is something they didn't fully appreciate, but still recognized the effort and gave me a good grade. So yeah, sometimes it's not bad to scrap your idea and begin again. If you feel like it doesn't work.
I feel a sense of satisfaction and motivation when some detail of a design that was giving me trouble and I couldn't figure out just clicks. That sense of achievement when something suddenly works gives me pleasure and allows me to continue on a daily basis.
To me? I don't think so. When I was a kid, even when I was in high school I didn't even know that Design existed. But I knew I'm gonna make big things. I wanted to create. No matter what.
Thousand years is a very long time with how fast things are currently going. I am certain we will achieve enterplanetary travel. Perhaps humanity will unite and there will be no more country borders, but we will become one big Earth nation. Also with how fast AI is advancing, I think it's here to stay as a symbiotic entity. I am optimistic about the future.
I want my fans to know that I'm open to collaborating on bold, meaningful projects that challenge convention and push the envelope of design.
Designer Interview
8 May 2025
I’ve always been a dreamer. As a kid, I filled my notebooks with crazy inventions, buildings, cars, and spaceships. My parents enrolled me in art and sculpture classes, and that’s where I took my first steps into the creative world.
When it came time to choose a high school, I believed architects were the people who designed everything—so I chose to study civil engineering. During my time there, I started working part-time at an architecture firm that handled many smaller design projects involving furniture, decorations, and more. That’s when I realized industrial design was what I had truly wanted to do all along. I searched for an industrial design university, took entrance exams, and created a portfolio of sketches—which actually turned out pretty well, even though I didn’t fully know what I was doing.
University confirmed that design is both my passion and my calling. I love problem-solving, artistry, and researching everything from ergonomics to manufacturability.
When it came time to choose a high school, I believed architects were the people who designed everything—so I chose to study civil engineering. During my time there, I started working part-time at an architecture firm that handled many smaller design projects involving furniture, decorations, and more. That’s when I realized industrial design was what I had truly wanted to do all along. I searched for an industrial design university, took entrance exams, and created a portfolio of sketches—which actually turned out pretty well, even though I didn’t fully know what I was doing.
University confirmed that design is both my passion and my calling. I love problem-solving, artistry, and researching everything from ergonomics to manufacturability.
At the moment, Ruden Design is just me. My dream is to grow it into a recognizable design brand, though I know it's a long journey.
For me, design is everything. It’s the marriage of human and machine, of art and mass production. It’s about creating for people, by people, with the help of industry. It’s the pursuit of problems worth solving. Design is about ergonomics, comfort, interaction, aesthetics, ease of use, and intuitive understanding. It’s about tactility, vision, even smell—something almost intangible, even spiritual.
I don’t want to put myself in a box just yet. During my studies, I was especially passionate about lighting, small home objects, and furniture—but that’s just a small fraction of what I hope to explore. I’d love to try my hand at jewelry, electronics, cars, yachts—even spaceships (my inner child would be proud).
A street lamp—or rather, a park lamp—was one of the most first projects I’ve worked on for an employer. There were strict requirements: how far the light needed to reach, how smooth the light pattern should be, power consumption, heat dissipation, and the type of light source. The trickiest part was the optics. I made hundreds of prototype reflectors before I got it right. In the end, the design exceeded expectations—my lamp produced perfectly even light within a 30-meter radius. It was incredibly rewarding to see all that trial and error pay off.
As for technology and platforms—I recently fell in love with designing in virtual reality. As the saying goes, pen and paper can handle anything, so I decided to cut out the middleman and sketch directly in VR. Not only can I see what I’m designing at a true 1:1 scale, but the process itself feels incredibly satisfying and organic. It’s not CAD in the traditional sense, but I’ve already designed several products for manufacturing entirely within the headset.
My favorite materials to work with are composites. Glass and carbon fiber are strong, durable, and excellent at following organic forms—making them a perfect match for my VR-based design approach.
My favorite materials to work with are composites. Glass and carbon fiber are strong, durable, and excellent at following organic forms—making them a perfect match for my VR-based design approach.
I’m a night owl—I feel most creative when the world is asleep. But I won’t lie, some of my best ideas have shown up in the shower.
It depends on the project and the client’s needs. Sometimes the focus is on ease of manufacturing and cost-efficiency, other times it’s primarily about aesthetics. But function is always at the core of my approach.
The full spectrum—passion, joy, frustration, even apathy at times. Design is an emotional process, and every project takes me on a different journey.
Primarily joy—because when a project is realized, it means it worked. My idea became reality. Turning a thought into something tangible is a powerful experience, and one that not everyone gets to relate to.
It depends—I see success in design on multiple levels. First, it works. Then, it’s manufactured at scale. People buy it, it gains recognition, and ideally, people love it. The ultimate success? It becomes iconic.
First, I judge design subconsciously—do I like how it looks? Is it symmetrical? Do the lines flow naturally? Can I see the craftsmanship? Do the colors speak to me? Then, as I interact with the product, I dig deeper. Is it easy to use? Do I understand it intuitively? Is there a quirk that makes it clever—or frustrating?
In my opinion, designers carry a shared responsibility for how our creations impact the world. As someone wise once said, "the most ecological thing is not to create at all." So if we are creating, let it be done by people who truly understand the impact. I believe that timeless, intelligent products—crafted with care and made from durable materials—are far more environmentally responsible than fast-turnover items made from recycled or greenwashed materials.
I think right now we're in some kind of transition period. We're starting to trust Ai to help us design. But I don't think real hand craft and human ingenuity is going away.
I usually start my process by looking inward—seeing what comes from within, without external influence. Once I feel I’ve explored my own ideas and hit a limit, I turn to inspiration from nature, technology, and iconic designs. Sometimes, I also find inspiration in the work of my peers—or even through AI.
I think my style falls somewhere between techy and organic. I’m not a fan of sharp angles, but I don’t gravitate toward round blobs either. What I love most is working with splines—lines that transition from parabolic to hyperbolic, stretching seemingly into infinity. At least, that’s how I’d describe my style.
I live in Czechia—a country with a rich design history. While I admire that heritage, I’m not sure it directly influences my style. In interior design, I really appreciate mid-century modern, a Czech classic. But when it comes to creating new products, I don’t consciously draw from tradition. I prefer to explore new ideas and carve out my own path.
I either work as an in-house designer—currently, I’m somewhere between a designer and engineer for a retail furniture company—or as a self-employed designer. In freelance projects, I start by consulting with the client to understand their needs and the product’s vibe. Then I get to work on the design, keeping them in the loop for feedback and adjustments. Once the design is finalized, I license it to them.
I think it’s important for companies to recognize the value of having a dedicated, educated designer on the team. Too often, I’ve seen design roles filled by engineers or project managers—often very capable people, but without the specific training and mindset that design work requires. This usually leads to guesswork rather than intentional, user-focused solutions.
A good designer brings more than just aesthetics—they make products viable, useful, and meaningful. When selecting a designer, I’d suggest looking not just at their portfolio, but also at how they think, how they solve problems, and how well they understand your users.
A good designer brings more than just aesthetics—they make products viable, useful, and meaningful. When selecting a designer, I’d suggest looking not just at their portfolio, but also at how they think, how they solve problems, and how well they understand your users.
Of course. After receiving a brief, I usually start by sketching a few ideas without any external influence. Sometimes I begin with shaping through automatism—letting my hands move freely and allowing forms to emerge naturally. Alongside this, I jot down notes or quick sketches of features I’d like to incorporate.
In recent years, I’ve transitioned into designing in virtual reality. It allows me to view the product up close, from all angles, and at a true 1:1 scale. To enhance the sense of realism, I sometimes build a rough physical mockup—something to hold or sit on while working in VR. It’s like sculpting with clay, but much more dynamic. I can sketch broad, sweeping forms to find shapes that feel right. For example, my award-winning armchair was designed entirely in this way. I only used CAD at the final stage for details that required boolean operations—something not yet available in my favorite VR app, Gravity Sketch.
Once the design is nearly complete, I move into prototyping key functional parts. I iterate, revise, and refine until I reach a version that feels truly finished.
In recent years, I’ve transitioned into designing in virtual reality. It allows me to view the product up close, from all angles, and at a true 1:1 scale. To enhance the sense of realism, I sometimes build a rough physical mockup—something to hold or sit on while working in VR. It’s like sculpting with clay, but much more dynamic. I can sketch broad, sweeping forms to find shapes that feel right. For example, my award-winning armchair was designed entirely in this way. I only used CAD at the final stage for details that required boolean operations—something not yet available in my favorite VR app, Gravity Sketch.
Once the design is nearly complete, I move into prototyping key functional parts. I iterate, revise, and refine until I reach a version that feels truly finished.
If I had to pick five, I’d go with: my SMEG kettle for its blend of retro style and solid build; the House of Marley turntable—beautiful materials and a great vibe; a set of Vienna-style dining chairs for their timeless elegance; the IKEA Lisabo table, which is simple, lightweight, and surprisingly well-crafted; and an honorable mention to Xiaomi products—like my phone and vacuum cleaners—for their thoughtful design, affordability, and clean minimalism.
One of the biggest positives of being a designer is being inherently handy—you become a problem solver, a thinker, and a maker. You learn how to tackle challenges from different angles, and that mindset stays with you. It means you can handle a lot in life... maybe even a zombie apocalypse.
On the downside, it can be tough to find stability in our field. The term “product designer” has become blurred, often associated only with digital UX/UI roles. I respect that work—we interact with tech constantly—but it sometimes overshadows the physical, hardware-focused side of design. That makes it harder for industrial designers to be seen and understood for what we do.
On the downside, it can be tough to find stability in our field. The term “product designer” has become blurred, often associated only with digital UX/UI roles. I respect that work—we interact with tech constantly—but it sometimes overshadows the physical, hardware-focused side of design. That makes it harder for industrial designers to be seen and understood for what we do.
Problem-solving and hands-on skills are essential. If you can build what you design—even just a rough prototype—it means your idea is grounded in reality. That connection between thinking and making is what turns a concept into something real and useful.
My toolbox is a mix of old-school and cutting-edge. I always start with a vintage Koh-i-Noor Versatil pencil and a stack of plain paper—nothing beats sketching by hand. I also use modeling clay (the reddish-brown kind) when I want to explore shapes in a tactile way.
For digital work, I use a Meta Quest 3 with Gravity Sketch for VR sketching and modeling—it’s incredibly intuitive and lets me work at a true-to-life scale. On PC, I rely on Rhino and Inventor for detailed CAD work. My mouse of choice is the G502X Lightspeed—honestly the best I’ve used.
For prototyping, I have a 3D printer for quick iterations, and when needed, I turn to woodworking tools—drills, saws, and more—when something needs to be physically built and tested.
For digital work, I use a Meta Quest 3 with Gravity Sketch for VR sketching and modeling—it’s incredibly intuitive and lets me work at a true-to-life scale. On PC, I rely on Rhino and Inventor for detailed CAD work. My mouse of choice is the G502X Lightspeed—honestly the best I’ve used.
For prototyping, I have a 3D printer for quick iterations, and when needed, I turn to woodworking tools—drills, saws, and more—when something needs to be physically built and tested.
I feel lucky that design is my passion, my job, and my hobby. I’m happy to give it as much time as it needs. I often work until I’m tired, and I find myself thinking about design while traveling, showering, even falling asleep. I usually try to take one day off on the weekend to recharge, but sometimes I keep working if a project really excites me.
Ideally, I believe a great design deserves close to a full year—that gives enough time to think through every detail, prototype properly, and refine the concept through iteration. In practice, though, it usually ranges from a few months to a couple of years, depending on complexity.
At my current job, the pace is much faster—sometimes we have to deliver in a matter of weeks. That often means recycling existing ideas instead of exploring new ones, just to keep up with the timeline. It’s not ideal, but it teaches you how to be efficient and decisive.
At my current job, the pace is much faster—sometimes we have to deliver in a matter of weeks. That often means recycling existing ideas instead of exploring new ones, just to keep up with the timeline. It’s not ideal, but it teaches you how to be efficient and decisive.
The most common question I get is: “So... you design logos?” It always makes me smile. I get it—design means a lot of different things to different people. But I usually take that moment to explain what industrial design is really about.
My most important job experience was my first role as a designer at a startup. I was responsible for developing new products, improving existing ones, creating jigs and tools for the assembly line, doing some graphic design, sourcing suppliers, and even helping find buyers. Basically, I was a one-man band—and I loved it. The work was never boring. Every day brought something new, and I got to explore different roles without falling into routine. Looking back, it taught me to be resourceful, flexible, and unafraid to step into unfamiliar territory—skills that still shape how I work today.
I used to enjoy creating products that addressed ecological concerns. But over the years, I realized that making disposable things out of recycled materials doesn’t really solve the bigger problem. These days, I’m most passionate about designing products that are made to last—timeless pieces crafted from quality materials with real attention to detail. It might sound like a luxury, but I believe longevity and craftsmanship are some of the most sustainable values in design.
My plan is to grow my client base so I can eventually transition into designing full-time under my own name. Long-term, I’d love to work with prestigious companies that value luxury, strong aesthetics, and functional design—where form and purpose go hand in hand.
I work alone, but I’m not afraid of teamwork. If anyone wants to collaborate, I’m definitely open to it.
Yes, I’m currently working on a small stool shaped like a dog for a client. It’s not something I typically design, but I’m really enjoying how it’s turning out. I’m keeping my style with it, so the dog is more suggestive and minimalistic rather than overly literal.
People can contact me via
email: iamchrisruden@gmail.com
Instagram: @i.am.chris.ruden
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/kristian-ruden-69168712b
Or my website at: ruden.framer.website
email: iamchrisruden@gmail.com
Instagram: @i.am.chris.ruden
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/kristian-ruden-69168712b
Or my website at: ruden.framer.website
Grand Interview
22 October 2025 · Aeriform Poltrona
I had experimented with virtual reality design before, but never on something that would eventually become a fully realized physical product. So in many ways, this was new ground for me. I wanted to tie the virtual and physical worlds together in a way that felt natural, so I built an adjustable jig in real life that I could sit in and measure from. I then traced that jig in VR to use as a reference to keep the scale, ergonomics, and seating posture consistent with what a person would experience. With every iteration, I would sit in the jig, position the model exactly where it was and look around in VR, imagining how the chair would feel around me.At first, I tried sketching some bold concepts on paper and recreating them in VR, but they didn’t quite translate. The lines I liked on paper didn’t feel right in 3D space. So I flipped the process. Instead of translating sketches, I started sketching freehand directly in VR. The organic quality of modeling in virtual space felt just right. Shapes felt more sculptural and alive. One of the early sketches came from simply manipulating a flat plane between my hands, bending it like a ribbon suspended in air. That moment led to the core visual language of the armchair.From there, I refined the Sub-D surfaces until I had a volume that not only looked bold but also supported the human body well. I still used planar views on paper to cross-check and refine details, but most of the shaping happened in VR. Toward the end of the process, I paid a lot of attention to surfacing details using zebra mapping and reflection tests to refine the curves to a level that felt natural and perfected. It was a process of constant iteration, but VR gave me the creative freedom to sculpt the form in a way that traditional tools never could.
I admire the aesthetics of Pierre Paulin’s Ribbon Chair, and with the Aeriform Armchair, I wanted to pay homage to that classic while creating something distinctly my own. One of my main goals was to design a chair that’s not just sculptural but truly comfortable. Something you could sit in for hours, whether you're reading, relaxing, or scrolling on your phone.In my observations and design lectures, I learned that seating is inherently dynamic. We shift positions constantly, so I knew I wanted to create something that supports movement. My early sketches tried to blend the posture of upright seating with the laid back ergonomics of a lounge chair. That didn’t quite work as I envisioned, but it led me to realize how often I sit sideways in chairs. So I made that a central feature.This is where the influence of bird wings came in. I imagined large sweeping forms that would gently envelop the sitter, creating a sense of both security and privacy, while offering support for the back and head when sitting sideways. My initial drawings leaned more literally into wings and even had feather motifs, but as the design evolved, I stripped those elements back and embraced a purer, smoother form. The aerodynamic qualities remained as a subtle nod now visible in the cross sections - hence the name Aeriform.
Yes, traditional anthropometric studies mostly treat sitting as a two dimensional problem by measuring backrest angles, seat depth, and so on. But that approach feels inherently flawed. Humans are built to move. Even the most “ergonomic” position becomes uncomfortable when you’re forced to hold it for too long. Static sitting leads to fatigue, stiffness and poor circulation. It doesn’t reflect how we actually use furniture.During my research, I came across only one book that acknowledged this and tried to go beyond the static model. It introduced the idea of sitting as a dynamic, time based experience, so more like four dimensions: X, Y, Z, and time. It also provided valuable information about cushioning and how materials affect long term comfort. But when it came to supporting varied seating positions, it still fell short.That’s why I built my testing jig. It was a simple frame of two standing panels with a grid of holes, steel pipes and adjustable seat and backrest panels which attach to the pipes. This allowed me to test a wide range of angles and heights in real life. I mapped out the primary upright position as well as more relaxed, sideways poses for secondary position. I tested it on myself and others, took measurements, averaged to be able to fit more people, and then translated those measurements into virtual reality. Essentially, I created a kind of ergonomic skeleton inside VR that I could sculpt around. And it worked beautifully.
I enjoy working with composites, and one of the reasons why is the unique way they allow you to place strength exactly where it’s needed while skipping it where it isn’t. It’s a principle like an I-beam. The top and bottom flanges handle most of the stress, while the middle web just keeps them connected. You get incredible bending resistance without wasting material.Composites work the same way. They’re layered systems, where the outer surfaces handle the main forces, while the lightweight core holds everything together. This gives you excellent structural integrity with far less weight than solid materials.That’s why I chose to build the Aeriform Armchair around an XPS foam core. It acted as both a shaping tool and a structural element, essentially acting like a lost formwork that bonded the fiberglass laminate during the layup process. The fiberglass shell gives the piece its strength, while the core supports the complex curves and helps keep everything rigid and aligned. This process is similar to how boats or surfboards are made, where you need both performance and elegance in form.The 3D printed parts came into play for quick prototyping. They helped me test the visuals on a small scale before landing on the final form which I crudely cut out of Styrofoam in 1:1 scale later. And also 3D printing saved me a lot of time on the final prototype. The leg is designed to be made out of cast metal. But with time constraints I had welded a simple base which I elegantly covered with a 3d printed shell in the same dimensions as the production version.
The Lazy Susan and the springy base both support the idea that seating should be dynamic. Rocking gently side to side or leaning back and forth feels naturally comforting, it also keeps your body engaged and the blood flowing, which helps reduce fatigue during long periods of sitting.The rotation also serves a practical function. When there’s an ottoman in front of the chair, you can simply swivel to the side and step out easily. Once you’re up, the chair automatically returns to its original position, always keeping the space visually tidy and centered.
I see this award as a meaningful confirmation of my skills and a recognition of my vision. I always strive to approach design from a different angle and find paths that haven’t been taken, exploring forms and ideas that feel fresh. It’s an involved, time consuming process, but I thrive on that kind of challenge. This recognition motivates me to keep pushing those boundaries, not just for the sake of novelty, but to keep evolving as a designer. Moving forward, I’ll continue to focus on creating bold, original work that stands out and hopefully sets a new standard in how we think about comfort, form, and emotion in furniture.
There were a few key pivot moments that really shaped the final design. The first was transitioning from pen and paper to VR. I had high hopes for one particular paper sketch, but once I tried translating it into 3D space, it just didn’t work. That’s when I realized I needed to let go of the original plans and start freehanding directly in VR.Initially, I was aiming for something more monumental, grounded, almost brutalist, with a hint of streamlining. Many of my early forms were heavy and anchored. But in the middle of that exploration, I had drawn a wide floating ribbon. It was light, expressive, and dynamic. It won over my heart and ultimately became the foundation of the final design.Last big moment was when I scaled the form. The surfacing was nearly finalized when I decided to double-check how large it really was. Turns out, it was hilariously wide, basically a two-seater sofa. I built a 1:1 Styrofoam model, saw how excessive it looked, and began trimming it down slice by slice until it felt right. I updated the VR model accordingly and from there on, it was smooth sailing.
Statement pieces are meant to stand out. They’re bold, often opulent, and unapologetically central to a space. And that’s exactly what I set out to create. I wanted the Aeriform to feel like a monument, something iconic. But for me, beauty alone isn’t enough. I believe true design greatness happens when form and function elevate each other.To get there, I dug deep into ergonomic studies, anthropometric research, and even explored comfort as a broader concept, beyond just angles and measurements. I wanted to understand how people actually use furniture over time, not just in a static pose. Then came prototyping, testing, and iterating. Without this process, this would’ve just been a nice sculpture. But thanks to all that groundwork, I believe I ended up with a statement piece that not only looks powerful, but feels amazing to sit in too.
I approached the sculpting of the final form with a clear manufacturing concept in mind. Initially, I imagined a bent steel tube frame with netting and cushioning. But as I got closer to the production phase, I realized that shaping complex bends, even with a CNC pipe bending machine, would be far too complicated and restrictive. So I pivoted.The design’s aerodynamic qualities naturally pointed me toward composites, materials often used in aerospace and automotive applications. Processes like injection molding or rigid polyurethane casting were on the table, but I wanted something more hands on. Something I could control. Fiberglass became the perfect solution. It was straightforward: assemble CNC cut XPS foam sections, laminate them with a few layers of fiberglass fabric, and infuse it with resin. Surprisingly, the process went very smoothly.The bigger challenge came with upholstery. I wanted a natural fiber, something durable, breathable, and ideally with a bit of stretch. I visited countless shops and came up empty handed until I finally stumbled on a suitable wool fabric. Leather would’ve been a dream, but it was out of my scope for the prototype. Still, I think the final result worked out beautifully, and I’m leaving the door open for other materials in the production version.
I think we need to stop treating “ergonomic” as a buzzword slapped onto uncomfortable furniture. The industry loves to market rigid lumbar supports and “correct posture” as a universal fix, but let’s be real, what’s the point of a perfect posture if you lose circulation in your legs or your cheeks go numb after 20 minutes?One of the ideas I explored with the Aeriform Armchair is the dynamic nature of sitting. Humans move. We shift, recline, slouch, twist. Yet most chairs are designed for one static position. I think the future of seating should fully embrace this movement. Not just with adjustable levers, but by rethinking the very way we sculpt form around the human body. Maybe in the future we won’t even “sit” at all. Who knows? Magnetic suspension might be the next frontier.I also hope more designers explore virtual reality as a serious design tool, not just for flashy concept videos or clickbait. VR gave me a totally new way to shape and feel out the design. Sculpting from within, instead of drafting from above. But just using the tech isn’t enough. We need to pair it with real prototyping, testing, iteration. That’s how we move the field forward.Lastly, I think there’s a cultural shift waiting to happen. Furniture can be expressive. Emotional. Italians get this. But much of the world has fallen into soulless mass production. Cheap, disposable, and environmentally irresponsible. I believe truly great furniture should last for generations, both in quality and presence. Aeriform is my small step toward that future.
