Interviews met Lumi Liu

I studied Communication Design at Pratt Institute in New York after completing a visual arts degree in China. I've worked with media, health, and lifestyle brands, designing everything from editorial illustrations to product systems.

I’ve always been drawn to storytelling. Design became the path where I could combine visuals, emotions, and purpose.

I value emotional clarity, sustainability, and cultural context. I combine hand sketches with digital tools like Rhino and Adobe.

The spark of the first idea excites me the most. But deep satisfaction comes when the design emotionally connects with others.

Curiosity, empathy, and writing skills. Storytelling across mediums shaped how I understand design as communication.

From visual work to brand systems, I now explore how design can change behavior. I hope to build a design studio bridging East and West, with values at its core.

Stay curious and don’t be afraid to start small. Listen more, compare less, and find your own rhythm.

Be honest with your values. Tools和风格都会更新，但初心不能忘。

I start my day reading or sketching. I balance design work with walks, tea, and journaling to stay grounded.

I observe trends but don’t chase them. My design is more about long-term resonance than short-term appeal.

Good design feels inevitable and leaves a memory. I value emotional impact and thoughtful structure.

When the intent is clear and the piece feels self-contained, I let go. But I always leave room for future evolution.

My modular sustainable makeup kit. It bridges cultural storytelling with responsible beauty.

Kenya Hara for his philosophical restraint. Also Tadao Ando—his silence speaks volumes.

I live between cultures—Chinese heritage and Western training. Nature, poetry, and solitude are important in my daily rituals.

I value collaboration rooted in trust. Whether working alone or with partners, clarity and respect are non-negotiable.

I’ve volunteered for mental health design initiatives and often mentor young creatives. Design is how I give back.

It gave my work international visibility, helped me reflect, and opened doors to new audiences. Awards aren't just about competition—they’re opportunities to share values.

I studied Communication Design at Pratt Institute in New York. Before that, I completed my undergraduate degree in visual arts at Tsinghua University in China. This cross-cultural experience deeply shaped my design thinking.

I’m motivated by the desire to connect ideas and people visually. Design helps me express things that words can’t fully capture.

It was a personal choice. I've always been drawn to creating things and communicating visually.

I work across editorial, packaging, and experience design. I’d love to explore more sustainable product systems in the future.

Stay curious and observe deeply. Keep designing with purpose and don’t be afraid to challenge norms.

A good designer solves problems; a great one reshapes how we see the world.

A really good design is intuitive, meaningful, and resonates emotionally. I value clarity and impact.

Good design elevates everyday life and fosters better communication. It adds lasting value to both product and user experience.

I would design educational tools for children in underserved areas. I believe design can nurture empathy and imagination.

A modular storytelling space that blends illustration, sound, and interactive design. It would be a space of wonder.

Empathy. I try to stand in the user’s shoes before touching a pen.

I admire Kenya Hara, Kazuyo Sejima, and Stefan Sagmeister. They embrace emptiness, emotion, and eccentricity.

MUJI’s visual system—it’s humble, coherent, and quietly revolutionary.

My modular makeup kit NeoBamoo. It combines sustainability, emotional value, and traditional craft.

Keep looking, keep listening. I always ask for feedback from people outside the design world.

I might be a writer or cultural researcher—still telling stories.

Design is thoughtful care. It’s how we shape emotions, time, and behavior.

My mother and my partner. They gave me both freedom and grounding.

Learning to pause and listen—especially to the problem behind the problem.

Self-doubt and cultural mismatch. But they also sharpened my voice.

Tell a story, not just specs. Show the “why” behind the form.

A children’s picture book rooted in Asian mythology and healing.

To build designs that live longer than trends and speak to inner life.

Authenticity and perspective. Not just style, but insight.

It fosters empathy, accessibility, and mindful living.

A wellness toolkit that uses illustration and breathing to ease anxiety.

The sustainable cosmetics kit—because it aligns design with values I care about.

Less overproduction, more care for afterlife and emotional impact.

Toward regenerative, emotional, and hyper-contextual systems.

From a few weeks to months—it depends on testing, iteration, and heart.

From asking “why now” and “for whom.” Empathy is step one.

“Make meaning, not noise.”

Timeless design often ignores trends and creates its own path.

It expands the scale of what’s possible—but heart still leads.

Adobe Suite, Blender, Rhino, KeyShot—and sketchbook always by my side.

Color evokes feeling, material creates memory, and ambience tells the story.

“What kind of world does this design invite me into?”

I wonder what need it answered, and how quietly it did so.

A curious, kind listener. Yes, co-design expands empathy and imagination.

My design mentors, traditional artisans, and readers who shared feedback.

Designing Design by Kenya Hara and The Future of Packaging by Tom Szaky.

By learning publicly, asking often, and creating things I wish existed.

I’d love to talk with Italo Calvino about invisible cities and gentle systems.

I’m grateful, but fame is fleeting. Connection is what I treasure.

Color: silver-pink. Place: bookstores. Food: hot pot. Season: summer. Thing: journals.

A prototype exploded in my bag on the subway—I laughed the whole ride.

Progress, poetry, and a good walk outside.

I was always drawing and rearranging furniture. I just didn’t know it had a name.

I hope we’ll design less things, more relationships.

I’m still learning, still failing. Design is how I care for the world.

My journey into visual and film-related design began in high school, when I was first introduced to design as a discipline. What attracted me most was how different it felt from fine art or environmental design. Rather than focusing solely on aesthetics, design offered a more direct way to communicate with society and engage with real-world issues. It wasn't just about creating something beautiful—it was about conveying ideas, information, and stories in a way that people could immediately understand.

In the early stages of my creative development, I was particularly interested in storyboarding and film scene design. I enjoyed thinking about how visual elements, composition, and sequences could be used to guide an audience through a narrative. Those early explorations shaped the way I think about visual storytelling today and ultimately led me toward a career in visual and film design.

I currently work as a visual journalist at a media company, where I help turn complex written content into compelling visual narratives. Our organization often covers in-depth reporting and research-based stories that can be difficult for general audiences to understand.

What excites me most about the role is the opportunity to learn from different fields. Every project allows me to step into a new world—whether it's science, health, history, or culture—and understand the stories behind the information. My job is to bridge the gap between expertise and the public by transforming those stories into clear, engaging visuals.

In many ways, I see myself as a visual storyteller: someone who listens, interprets, and communicates ideas through design.

I see design as a language and a bridge at the same time. Like language, it helps us communicate ideas. But more importantly, it connects things that might otherwise remain separate.

In my work as a visual journalist, design connects academic research and public knowledge. Many health and science topics are valuable but difficult for non-experts to access. Through design, I can help make that information more approachable and meaningful.

I think every design discipline plays a similar role. Industrial design connects innovation with users. Architecture connects people with the built environment. Design itself is rarely the final destination—it exists to create relationships and understanding.

That's why I see design not simply as a way to make things look better, but as a bridge that helps people connect with ideas, knowledge, and each other.

The type of design work I appreciate most is work that combines strong creative expression with practical value. I admire projects that are not only visually engaging and original, but also genuinely useful to the people who experience them.

As designers, creating refined and aesthetically pleasing work is a fundamental responsibility. We often have a deeper understanding of visual language and aesthetics than the general public, so a certain level of craftsmanship is expected. However, I believe the more important question is how that beauty can serve a purpose.

For me, great design is not just about making something look good—it is about using creativity and aesthetics to improve understanding, solve problems, or enhance people's daily lives. The challenge of balancing expression and functionality is what makes design meaningful, and it is something I constantly think about in my own work.

I’m especially drawn to playful design. Because I often work with highly academic and complex information, I think it's important to approach these subjects with curiosity and a sense of play.

The designs I admire most are visually lighthearted and engaging, yet still rich in content and accurate in their communication. To me, the ability to make complex ideas feel approachable without losing their depth is one of the most powerful qualities of design.

One of the first feature images I created for the company was about COVID-19. It was designed at the end of 2023 for a year-end article that reflected on the major COVID-related news and developments from the previous year. The project challenged me to summarize a complex and global topic through a single visual concept.

My favorite medium is colored pencil. I love its texture and the creative possibilities it offers. Like crayons, it carries a natural sense of playfulness and innocence, which resonates strongly with me and often influences the way I approach visual storytelling.

In terms of technique, I primarily work with digital illustration and occasionally use 3D rendering in my projects. However, I am always drawn to the texture and warmth of hand-drawn work. Even when working digitally, I often try to incorporate organic, handcrafted qualities because I find them more expressive and engaging than perfectly polished visuals.

I feel most creative when I am in nature. I enjoy sketching outdoors and observing plants, flowers, and animals in their natural environments. Their forms, colors, textures, and patterns are an endless source of inspiration for me.

Nature is full of unexpected details and visual richness, and I often find ideas simply by paying close attention to the way things grow, move, and interact. These observations frequently influence my work and help me bring a greater sense of curiosity and authenticity to my designs.

During the design process, I pay close attention to the audience's perspective. I try to put myself in the position of someone who knows nothing about the topic and think about how they would understand the information.

During the design process, I often experience mixed emotions. On one hand, there is the joy of creating. On the other hand, there is the struggle of constant trial and error, searching for the right solution. In the end, when I finally find the most suitable way to express an idea, there is a great sense of satisfaction and happiness.

When a project is finally completed, what I feel most is a sense of relief. By the time a piece is ready to be published, it has usually gone through multiple rounds of revisions and countless back-and-forth discussions with different stakeholders. So in the end, it often feels like taking a deep breath and finally letting it out.

I think there are many factors that determine whether a project is successful. The most straightforward one is audience response. In the media industry, that often means looking at performance metrics and whether the content resonates with readers.

From an artistic perspective, success can also be measured by whether the visual language or creative approach is innovative, and whether the design truly fits and enhances the content it is meant to communicate.

When evaluating whether a design is successful, I first consider the relationship between form and content. The visual form should not overshadow the message itself; instead, it should serve and enhance the content being communicated.

I believe designers are an important part of what brings new energy and positive change to society. We are not necessarily creating something entirely new, but rather using our creativity and artistic perspective to make society more beautiful, meaningful, and engaging.

In the age of artificial intelligence, I believe the future of design will become even more human-centered. In recent years, the design industry has been significantly impacted by AI and other technological advances. For example, some entry-level illustration work may increasingly be replaced by AI-generated images.

However, I believe the future of design lies in the human element. As more things become automated, inexpensive, and impersonal, the qualities that come from people—the emotions, experiences, perspectives, and sense of connection between the creator and the audience—will become even more valuable. That human presence, and the ability to create genuine resonance, is what I believe will remain at the heart of meaningful design.

My most recent exhibition was in New York and featured my neuroscience-inspired series. The work explores themes related to the brain and neural systems through visual storytelling and design.

My next exhibition will take place in July, and it will feature the same series and body of work.

My work draws inspiration from nature and from life itself. Because I work in the field of public health, I have come to realize how limited our understanding of ourselves can be.

On a macro level, our understanding of human society is still incomplete. On a micro level, many people know very little about the cells and biological structures that make up the human body. Exploring these subjects—from social sciences to life sciences—is incredibly inspiring to me. Whenever I have the opportunity to dive into these different scales of understanding, I often find new ideas and creative inspiration.

My design style exists somewhere between traditional spirituality and contemporary visual expression. I enjoy using elements such as light and color to convey emotion and create an emotional atmosphere.

I currently live in New York, and I believe its culture is shaped by influences from all over the world. Being exposed to such a diverse range of perspectives has greatly helped me expand my understanding of both design and art.

My role within the company is to translate ideas into visual communication. As I mentioned earlier, I am responsible for the visual presentation of content within a collaborative team environment. I work closely with editors and other team members to understand what they want to communicate, and then I transform those ideas into effective visual narratives.

My advice for collaboration between companies and designers is that it should be a two-way learning process. For designers who have just graduated, it is often difficult to fully understand the needs of the market and society. At that stage, it is important to study strong examples of mature design and learn from experienced professionals.

From the company's perspective, I think it is important to recognize and value the unique talents of different designers. Recent graduates often possess fresh perspectives and creative qualities that have not yet been shaped by market expectations, and those qualities can be incredibly valuable. At the same time, experienced designers bring a deeper understanding of the industry and a stronger ability to navigate complex projects.

Ultimately, there is no single approach that works for everyone. The most effective collaborations come from recognizing the strengths of each individual designer and creating opportunities for those strengths to flourish.

My design process usually begins with understanding the information. Then I explore possible visual directions, create sketches, communicate with different stakeholders, and gradually refine the details until the final work is completed.

I have collected many thoughtfully designed objects from the MoMA Store. For example, I have a small avocado-shaped vase that I really like. These kinds of objects maintain a simple aesthetic while adding a sense of joy and personality to everyday life.

Another example is the Apple Watch. Its design is very minimal, yet it integrates functionality in a way that genuinely supports and enhances daily life. I appreciate designs that can balance simplicity, usability, and a sense of delight.

A typical day for me begins with checking my emails and reviewing the request sheet. I then identify the priorities for the day and start researching the topics I’ll be working on. Throughout the process, I communicate with other members of the team, develop and revise designs based on feedback, and continue refining the work until the final version is completed.

For young designers, I think it is important to actively seek advice, ask for help, and learn from outstanding designers. These experiences provide valuable nourishment for growth. Over time, you can absorb those influences, make them your own, and allow them to take root in your own creative practice. Then, with patience and continued effort, they will eventually grow and flourish.

I think designers occupy a unique position between art and business. They are able to maintain a certain level of creativity while also working within practical and commercial contexts. I see that balance as one of the greatest advantages of being a designer.

The downside is that the work can be very demanding. It often leaves little time for personal projects or independent creative exploration. As someone with a strong desire to express ideas and create, I sometimes find those time limitations frustrating.

My golden rule in design is probably “seven parts learning, three parts making.” I believe it’s important to maintain an open mindset throughout the design process and constantly absorb inspiration from other designers, from nature, and from different industries and disciplines. Then, the key is to transform those influences into something that reflects your own perspective and creative voice.

I think the most important skill for a designer is communication—the ability to understand other people's needs while also clearly expressing your own ideas and perspectives.

The tools I find most useful in my design process are platforms like Miro and Notion. They provide a very intuitive way to organize mood boards, collect references, and document ideas.

Because my work often involves scientific research and complex written content, I need to combine visual thinking with information gathering. These platforms help me organize inspiration, structure research materials, and develop concepts in a way that makes the creative process much more efficient.

When it comes to time management, I like to set clear time limits for myself. For example, I might allocate three hours to a particular project. If I haven't solved a problem or finished the task within that time, I'll switch to something else and come back to it later.

I find that stepping away from a challenge often gives me a fresh perspective, and when I return, it's easier to evaluate whether the issue I was struggling with is actually important or worth pursuing.

From the initial concept to the final design, a project typically takes about one week to complete. This is the usual timeline for creating the visuals for an article in our workflow.

As a designer, the question I get asked most often is, “Where do your ideas come from?”

My ideas usually come from the content itself—from the articles I’m working on, from nature, and from the things I immerse myself in and explore. Inspiration often emerges through observation, research, and curiosity about the world around me.

One of the most important lessons from my professional experience has been learning to listen to the ideas and stories of the people I work with. It was through collaborating with others that I truly realized design is a bridge.

I came to understand that no matter how much I study, I will never become an expert in every field. However, by listening to experts from different disciplines, I can build upon their knowledge and perspectives. This allows me to quickly understand complex subjects and create designs that communicate their ideas effectively.

My clients include media companies, small business owners, and even Michelin-starred restaurants. For example, some restaurants have commissioned custom choking emergency posters tailored to their specific needs. I enjoy working with a variety of clients because each project presents different communication challenges and opportunities.

I’m particularly drawn to design projects where the information is clear and concise, but there is still plenty of room for creativity. I enjoy finding ways to communicate ideas simply and effectively while exploring unique visual approaches and creative solutions.

My future goal is to lead a team in creating stronger and more impactful visual storytelling in the field of health journalism. I hope to continue exploring new ways to communicate complex health information through design and help make important knowledge more accessible and engaging for the public.

I typically lead the design process myself, while actively gathering feedback from team members throughout the project. Their input helps refine the work and ensures that the final design communicates the intended message effectively.

One project I’m currently working on is an exploration of data visualization. I’m interested in discovering more interactive ways to engage audiences and exploring how playful illustration can be combined with serious data and information. My goal is to make complex topics more approachable without compromising the accuracy or integrity of the data.

You can reach me by email. Lumiliudesign@gmail.com

So far, no. :)

Dunhuang murals carry a profound sense of history and cultural identity. I believe that for any civilization, looking back at its own heritage is essential to sustaining its vitality in the present and future. Growing up in China, I was surrounded by a culture that is deeply rooted in mythology, spirituality, and symbolic narratives that often transcend everyday human experience. These cultural layers have always fascinated me as a designer.When I began working on this project, I wanted to find a contemporary visual language that young audiences could immediately connect with while still preserving the spirit of the original artwork. My goal was not simply to reproduce the mural imagery, but to reinterpret it through a modern medium that feels approachable, playful, and relevant to today's generation.Many of the original Dunhuang paintings have weathered over centuries. Their colors have faded, and parts of the imagery have gradually disappeared. By transforming the pipa(lute) figures from these ancient murals into collectible toys, I hoped to bring these cultural treasures back into public view and spark curiosity about the stories behind them.As both a designer and a cultural communicator, I see this as an important part of my practice: creating bridges between historical heritage and contemporary audiences, allowing traditional culture to be rediscovered through forms that resonate with modern life.(Note: The project was originally titled using the term "lute" to make the instrument more recognizable to Western audiences. However, I now prefer to use "pipa," as it more accurately reflects the instrument's unique cultural and historical identity.)

This is a very interesting question because Dunhuang art spans an exceptionally long period of history, from the Northern Wei Dynasty through the Tang, Song, and Yuan dynasties. Across these centuries, the visual appearance of the figures, their clothing, aesthetics, and cultural meanings evolved significantly.My challenge was to preserve the distinctive characteristics of each period while creating a unified toy series that would feel cohesive and accessible to contemporary audiences. To achieve this, I retained the historical differences through color palettes, silhouettes, costumes, and decorative details, while using a consistent designer-toy language to unify the collection.For example, in the Northern Wei period, mural paintings often featured strong black and red tones. These colors held special significance within the nomadic cultures that influenced the region at the time. Inspired by this historical context, I designed the Northern Wei character with darker skin tones and a bold color scheme that reflects the visual spirit of the era.In contrast, the Tang Dynasty celebrated fuller and more graceful feminine beauty. For the Tang-inspired figure, I emphasized soft facial features, rosy complexions, and a sense of abundance and confidence that reflects the aesthetic ideals of that period.The Song Dynasty presented a different cultural atmosphere. As urban life and civic culture flourished, the pipa became more closely connected to everyday society rather than existing solely within religious or celestial imagery. Historical records and stories from this period show the instrument appearing in fortune-telling, entertainment, and daily cultural life. As a result, my Song-inspired character feels more approachable and human-centered. The costume and visual details draw more heavily from Han Chinese traditions and everyday life, creating a contrast with the more sacred, Buddhist, or Central Asian influences seen in earlier periods.Throughout the project, I conducted extensive research into the artistic styles, social contexts, and cultural symbols of each dynasty. Rather than directly replicating historical imagery, I distilled these characteristics into a contemporary visual language, allowing each character to retain its historical identity while remaining part of a unified and engaging collection for today's audience.

This was one of the most practical and important challenges in the project. Dunhuang murals are essentially two-dimensional images, and my initial character designs also began as 2D illustrations. However, I felt that for young audiences, especially in the context of designer toys, the characters should not only be seen but also held, touched, and experienced physically. That made the transition into 3D essential.The main challenge was imagining what existed beyond the flat mural surface. When transforming the figures into three-dimensional forms, I had to consider spatial details that were not fully shown in the original paintings, such as the direction of the flowing ribbons, the structure of the garments, and the relationship between the front, side, and back of each costume.To maintain cultural authenticity, I researched clothing structures from different historical periods, including how garments were tied, layered, and shaped. For example, the Yuan Dynasty heavenly king figure has a more armored and military quality, which is very different from the graceful, dancing feeling of Tang Dynasty flying apsaras. These distinctions helped me define the personality and physical form of each toy.Instead of treating the mural figures as flat decorative patterns, I imagined each of them as a real character with a body, costume, posture, and cultural background. From there, I rebuilt them in 3D software and adjusted the forms so they could be physically produced while still preserving the spirit of the original imagery.For me, the process was not simply about converting 2D into 3D. It was about reconstructing a cultural image into an object that people can interact with, while respecting the historical logic behind its visual language.

One of the reasons I chose to include pipa figures from multiple historical periods—from the Northern Dynasties to the Song and Yuan dynasties—was that this timeline reveals something important about the development of Chinese culture itself.When people think about Chinese history, they sometimes imagine it as a single, continuous cultural tradition. However, the reality is much more diverse and dynamic. The China we know today was shaped through centuries of exchange, migration, and interaction among different ethnic groups, regions, and belief systems.Dunhuang provides a remarkable visual record of this process. For example, during the Northern Wei period, the ruling class originated from nomadic peoples of the northern steppes, and their artistic traditions influenced the imagery found in the caves. During the Tang Dynasty, China maintained extensive connections with Central Asia, Persia, and regions further west along the Silk Road. As a result, many mural figures display features such as deep-set eyes, prominent noses, and curled beards—characteristics that challenge the simplified image many people may have of what a “Chinese” figure looks like.As I studied Dunhuang, I became increasingly fascinated by how these artworks document cultural exchange across centuries. They show that Chinese civilization was not formed in isolation but evolved through continuous dialogue with neighboring cultures. I felt this story was highly relevant for contemporary audiences.By selecting characters from different dynasties, I wanted each figure to represent not only a musical instrument or a visual style, but also the social atmosphere, aesthetic preferences, and cultural values of its time. Together, these characters form a miniature timeline of history, allowing people to explore how ideas, fashions, beliefs, and identities changed over the centuries.From an educational perspective, I hope the series encourages viewers to look beyond the surface beauty of Dunhuang art and discover the rich cultural diversity behind it. These small figures become storytellers of their eras, helping younger generations understand how history, cultural exchange, and artistic innovation collectively shaped the civilization we know today.

This question touches on the core motivation behind the project.In recent years, there has been a growing interest in traditional Chinese culture, and many "Guochao" (China-style) products have emerged. While this trend has brought greater visibility to cultural heritage, I sometimes feel that traditional culture is reduced to a collection of recognizable symbols. Designers repeatedly use the same visual elements—a flying apsara from Dunhuang, Tang-style floral patterns, or ornate historical costumes—without exploring the deeper cultural narratives behind them.For me, cultural confidence is not about repeating familiar symbols. It is about understanding the history, values, and human stories that those symbols represent.When creating Dunhuang Lute, I did not want audiences to see Dunhuang as simply a beautiful image of celestial dancers floating through the desert. Instead, I wanted people to recognize it as a living record of centuries of history. Each character in the series reflects a different era, a different social environment, and a different understanding of beauty.This is why some of the figures may challenge people's expectations. Not every character is elegant, delicate, or conventionally beautiful. One might be a strong and heavy-set heavenly king. Another might be a dark-skinned, slender pipa player inspired by the cultural influences of the Northern Wei period. These differences are intentional. They encourage viewers to ask questions: Why does this character look this way? What historical context shaped this appearance? What does it reveal about the society that created it?I hope these toys can serve as an entry point for young people to engage with traditional culture in a more meaningful way. Rather than accepting cultural symbols at face value, they are invited to explore the stories, beliefs, aesthetics, and worldviews behind them.Ultimately, I believe genuine cultural confidence comes from understanding rather than imitation. By presenting a diverse range of characters and deliberately moving beyond familiar stereotypes, I hope to inspire curiosity about the richness and complexity of Chinese history, and encourage people to experience these cultural traditions within their original historical context rather than through modern assumptions alone.

Beyond the five collectible characters themselves, I also designed an illustrated storybook that accompanies the series. The book introduces the historical background and cultural context behind each character, creating a narrative layer that extends beyond the physical toys.I have always believed that the most meaningful learning does not necessarily happen in classrooms. Often, it happens in small everyday moments—before bedtime, around the dinner table, or during casual conversations between family members. With this project, I wanted to create an experience where history could be discovered naturally through curiosity and play.The interactive aspect of the project lies in the relationship between the toy and its story. A young person may first be attracted to a character because it looks interesting or distinctive. Then, through a short and accessible narrative, they can begin to understand the historical world behind that character.Rather than asking audiences to read lengthy museum texts or invest significant time learning the rules of a complex game, I wanted to lower the threshold for engagement. A toy can become an invitation to explore history. A brief story can open a window into a culture that might otherwise feel distant or unfamiliar.For example, through the characters, audiences may discover that more than a thousand years ago China was already connected to Central Asia through extensive cultural exchange along the Silk Road. They might learn how the construction of the pipa evolved over time—from strings made from animal tendons to later technological developments—and how these seemingly small changes reflected broader shifts in society, craftsmanship, trade, and daily life.In this sense, the project acts as a bridge between ancient mural art and contemporary forms of engagement. The toys provide an emotional connection, while the stories provide cultural depth. Together, they transform historical knowledge from something distant and academic into something personal, approachable, and memorable.Today, we live in a world filled with constant distractions and competing sources of attention. Through this project, I hope to create a small but meaningful space where people can pause, encounter an unexpected historical story, and develop a deeper appreciation for the cultural experiences of those who lived centuries before us.

One of my primary goals was to bring the extraordinary artistic and cultural heritage of Dunhuang—something that has remained hidden in the desert and preserved through centuries of history—into the view of a younger generation.The challenge, however, was how to make historical culture approachable without reducing it to pure entertainment. My answer was to create characters that feel inviting and emotionally accessible, while still preserving a sense of historical depth.Interestingly, I did not rely on the typical visual language of "cute" characters with oversized eyes and exaggerated expressions. In fact, all of the characters in this series have their eyes gently closed. This was a deliberate choice. I wanted to convey a feeling of calmness, contemplation, and quiet enjoyment—a state of mind that I often encounter when studying history and traditional art.Through my research on the pipa, I became fascinated by how differently people experienced the world in earlier centuries. Early pipa strings were made from animal tendons, producing a much softer sound than modern instruments. The instrument was often played with a wooden plectrum rather than contemporary materials. These details suggest a world in which people were more attuned to subtle sounds, changing light, and small sensory experiences.This sensitivity to quiet beauty became an important inspiration for the project. Rather than competing for attention through highly saturated colors, overwhelming visual effects, or immersive technologies, I wanted the work to invite a slower and more reflective form of engagement.If someone encounters one of these characters, I hope they first feel a sense of peace and curiosity. Then, perhaps later, a question begins to emerge: Why was the pipa shaped differently a thousand years ago? Why do some mural figures have darker skin tones or features that seem unfamiliar to modern audiences? What does that reveal about the people, cultures, and exchanges that existed at the time?For me, this is how design can strengthen the connection between learning and history. Rather than presenting information directly, it encourages people to ask questions. Curiosity becomes the starting point for exploration, and those small moments of wonder can lead to a deeper understanding of the past.Ultimately, my work is an invitation to look back at history with openness and imagination—to discover not only what people created in the past, but also how they perceived the world around them.

The illustrated book plays a crucial role in the overall experience of the project because it provides the historical and cultural context that the toys alone cannot fully communicate.I designed the book and the physical toys as complementary parts of a single storytelling system. While the toys create an emotional connection with the audience, the book provides the knowledge and narratives that help deepen that connection.The story begins with a map of Dunhuang. I felt this was important because Dunhuang's unique geographical location is central to understanding its cultural significance. Situated at the western edge of China's traditional heartland and connected to Central Asia and the Middle East through the Silk Road, Dunhuang became a crossroads where different cultures, religions, artistic traditions, and technologies met and interacted.By introducing the geography first, readers gain an understanding of why Dunhuang became such an important cultural center. From there, the book moves chronologically through different historical periods, introducing the characters associated with each era while explaining the social and cultural characteristics of that time.The evolution of the pipa serves as one of the key narrative threads throughout the book. Readers can discover how the instrument changed over centuries—for example, how the neck of the pipa evolved from a bent form to a straight form through cultural exchange and adaptation, how the number of strings changed, and how string materials developed over time. These seemingly small design details reveal broader stories about technological innovation, migration, and cultural integration.To make the information more engaging, each historical section is accompanied by a character from that period who acts as a guide. Rather than presenting history as a collection of facts, the characters help transform the learning experience into a conversation. Readers are not simply studying a timeline—they are meeting a companion from each era who introduces the customs, aesthetics, and stories of their world.This approach helps make historical knowledge more approachable, especially for younger audiences. By combining collectible toys with narrative storytelling, the project creates both an emotional and educational connection, allowing people to explore history through curiosity, imagination, and personal engagement rather than through passive observation alone.

When considering the production process for this project, my primary concern was preserving the cultural and visual authenticity of the designs while remaining realistic about what could be achieved as an independent creator.At the beginning, I developed the figures as digital 3D models. However, I quickly realized that many of the manufacturing methods commonly used in commercial designer toys were not ideal for this project. Contemporary collectible toys are often produced through a modular assembly process, where different colors are separated into individual components—for example, the face, hair, and accessories are manufactured as separate pieces and then assembled together.While this approach is efficient for mass production, it can also limit the level of detail and continuity that I wanted to preserve in these historically inspired characters. Many of the design elements in the series are quite intricate, including jewelry, costume ornaments, and the structural details of the pipa itself. Some features, such as the tuning pegs on the bent-neck pipa or delicate decorative accessories, are small but culturally significant details that contribute to the authenticity of each historical period.For this reason, I chose to use 3D printing as the primary production method. This process allowed me to maintain a much higher level of fidelity to the original digital models and preserve subtle details that might otherwise be simplified or lost during industrial manufacturing.After printing, the figures were finished through hand painting, which provided additional flexibility in reproducing the distinctive colors and decorative characteristics associated with different dynasties. This combination of digital modeling, 3D printing, and hand finishing enabled me to balance technical feasibility with artistic integrity.Ultimately, durability was important, but preserving the historical details and cultural character of the figures was even more important. I wanted each toy to feel not only like a collectible object, but also like a carefully crafted interpretation of a specific moment in Dunhuang's artistic history.

Looking ahead, I hope to continue exploring Chinese cultural heritage through focused, place-based storytelling. Rather than creating broad collections that cover many unrelated topics, I am interested in deeply researching a specific location, its history, and the cultural narratives that have developed around it over time.Dunhuang Pipa Tales began with Dunhuang, but there are countless other places throughout China that hold equally rich stories. For example, regions such as Jiuzhaigou, with its legends and natural wonders, or Tianchi in northeastern China, with its mythology and local traditions, all contain layers of cultural memory that extend far beyond their physical landscapes.What fascinates me is that many of these places are not remembered solely because of their geography. Over centuries, people have attached stories, beliefs, values, and imagination to them. Mountains are not merely mountains, and lakes are not merely lakes. They become symbols of spiritual aspirations, collective memory, and cultural identity.Dunhuang is a perfect example of this phenomenon. Despite being located on the edge of the desert, it became a brilliant center of artistic and cultural exchange along the Silk Road. Its significance comes not only from its physical location, but also from the ideas, stories, and human experiences that accumulated there across generations.In my future work, I hope to continue uncovering these cultural narratives and the intangible values they carry. I am particularly interested in exploring the spiritual, historical, and symbolic dimensions of cultural heritage—those aspects that go beyond physical artifacts and reveal how people understood the world around them.My goal is to translate these stories into forms that contemporary audiences, especially younger generations, can connect with. Whether through collectible toys, illustrated books, interactive experiences, or new storytelling formats, I hope to transform cultural heritage into something tangible, engaging, and emotionally meaningful.Ultimately, I see design as a bridge between the past and the present. By giving historical narratives contemporary forms, I hope to help preserve cultural memory while encouraging new generations to discover the richness and diversity of the traditions that shaped them.