Interviews met Hsieh-jen Lee

My practice is rooted in furniture and spatial design, with a strong focus on the relationship between human behavior, comfort, and atmosphere. Over the years, I have developed my design approach through a combination of formal learning, hands-on project experience, and continuous cross-disciplinary observation.

Rather than seeing design as a purely aesthetic profession, I view it as a discipline that connects emotion, material, and spatial experience. My work increasingly explores how objects—especially seating—can influence not only physical comfort but also psychological well-being.

Becoming a designer was less a sudden decision and more a gradual recognition of how I naturally observe the world.

Even before understanding design as a profession, I was highly sensitive to proportion, arrangement, and atmosphere. Over time, I realized that design offered a way to translate that sensitivity into something tangible and meaningful.

What drew me in was design’s quiet power—the ability to improve daily life without demanding attention.

Three priorities consistently guide my design process: proportion, emotional resonance, and clarity.

Proportion ensures visual harmony. Emotional resonance determines how a design feels beyond function. Clarity ensures every design decision has purpose.

My process usually begins with observation and sketching, followed by digital modeling and iterative refinement. I move repeatedly between intuitive thinking and precise evaluation.

Designing brings a mixture of curiosity, tension, and fulfillment.

The beginning is often driven by excitement and possibility. The middle phase can be demanding, filled with uncertainty and difficult decisions. The most rewarding moment comes when complexity suddenly becomes clear.

That moment of clarity is deeply satisfying.

Beyond design itself, observation, patience, and critical thinking shaped me the most.

Observation taught me to notice subtle relationships. Patience taught me refinement. Critical thinking taught me to question assumptions instead of accepting the obvious solution.

These non-design skills became essential to my design growth.

My growth path has been a gradual movement from solving functional problems toward designing emotional experiences.

In the future, I hope to build a more complete design language across furniture, interiors, and architecture. One of my dream projects is creating a holistic living environment that fully expresses contemporary Eastern sensibility on a global stage.

I hope to be remembered as a designer who created quiet yet meaningful impact.

My advice to young designers is simple: build depth before chasing visibility.

In the early stage of a career, it is tempting to pursue recognition, trends, or quick results. But strong foundations matter far more. Train your eye, understand proportion, study materials, and learn how things are actually made.

Most importantly, learn patience. Good design rarely emerges from speed alone; it grows through observation, iteration, and refinement.

I would suggest maintaining both curiosity and intellectual discipline.

Creativity without discipline can become superficial, while discipline without curiosity can become rigid. Strong design often emerges when imagination is supported by rigorous thinking.

I would also encourage designers to resist imitation. Inspiration is valuable, but originality grows when you develop your own way of seeing.

My daily routine usually balances observation, design development, communication, and reflection.

A typical day may involve reviewing sketches, refining 3D models, discussing ideas with collaborators, or studying materials and references. Even outside work, I continuously observe spaces, products, and human behavior.

For me, design does not fully stop when work ends—it continues through awareness.

I pay attention to trends, but I do not let them dictate my design decisions.

Trends can reveal cultural shifts and emerging behaviors, so they are worth observing. However, trend awareness should serve understanding—not replace independent thinking.

I am more interested in timeless relevance than seasonal novelty.

I evaluate design through three essential qualities: proportion, clarity, and longevity.

Proportion creates harmony. Clarity ensures that form, structure, and purpose are aligned. Longevity reveals whether a design remains meaningful after trends fade.

For me, good design feels inevitable—as if nothing could be added, removed, or changed without weakening it.

A design is ready when further changes no longer improve its essence.

I do not believe design reaches absolute perfection, because there is almost always room for refinement. However, there comes a point where additional adjustments only create noise rather than clarity.

That is usually when I stop—when the design feels resolved, coherent, and true to its original intention.

At this stage of my career, Day Go Armchair represents one of my most significant works.

What makes it meaningful is not only its physical form, but the idea it carries. The project began with a simple yet profound question: Can a chair offer more than physical comfort? Can it create emotional comfort as well?

Day Go was developed around the relationship between body support and psychological calm. Its enveloping geometry, carefully refined proportions, and soft sculptural language were all designed to create a sense of quiet protection.

I consider it one of my most important works because it successfully translates an abstract emotional concept into a tangible experience.

It is difficult to choose only one, but I deeply admire designers whose work balances clarity, humanity, and timelessness.

I particularly respect Dieter Rams for his disciplined philosophy, Hans J. Wegner for his extraordinary mastery of chair design, and Tadao Ando for his ability to shape silence through space.

What inspires me most is not merely their aesthetic language, but the rigor and integrity behind their thinking.

My lifestyle naturally values balance, observation, and quiet reflection.

I am drawn to environments with strong spatial atmosphere—places where light, material, and silence coexist meaningfully. Music, architecture, travel, and cultural observation all contribute to my creative process.

As an Asian designer, I believe Eastern sensibilities—such as restraint, subtlety, and respect for emptiness—have deeply influenced my work. These values shape how I understand comfort, space, and emotional experience.

My work philosophy is centered on trust, rigor, and long-term value.

I value collaboration with people who are thoughtful, open-minded, and willing to pursue excellence through honest dialogue. I believe the best creative environments are built on mutual respect and constructive challenge.

From a business perspective, I prefer sustainable growth over short-term visibility. I would rather build meaningful work slowly than pursue rapid expansion without depth.

I believe designers have a responsibility beyond commercial output.

Design shapes everyday life, which means it also carries social influence. Contributing to society can take many forms—sharing knowledge, mentoring younger creatives, supporting design education, or participating in projects that improve public well-being.

I believe one meaningful contribution is helping cultivate better design awareness, because better awareness leads to better environments and, ultimately, better quality of life.

Participating in the A' Design Award & Competition was both rewarding and meaningful.

Beyond recognition, the award offered something more valuable: global dialogue. It provided an opportunity to position my work within an international design context and to see how design communicates across cultures.

I believe design awards offer three major benefits.

First, they provide objective validation and recognition.

Second, they create international visibility and professional opportunities.

Third, they encourage reflection, pushing designers to articulate the deeper value behind their work.

Being recognized as a Designer of the Day is both an honor and a responsibility. It motivates me to continue creating work that contributes meaningful value to the design community.

The core idea behind Day Go Armchair is to create a seating experience that feels like a gentle pause within fast-paced modern life.

The design was inspired by the contrast between movement and stillness. I wanted to create an armchair that not only supports the body ergonomically, but also offers emotional comfort. Its soft enveloping form is intended to give users a sense of protection, calm, and quiet retreat.

My main focus was balancing visual softness with structural clarity.

I wanted the chair to feel soft and inviting, yet maintain a strong sculptural presence. Achieving ergonomic comfort while preserving clean proportions was one of the most important challenges. I aimed to create a chair that feels equally satisfying visually and physically.

I hope to further develop Day Go into a broader furniture collection.

This may include variations in scale, materials, and complementary pieces such as ottomans or lounge systems. I also look forward to collaborating with international furniture brands to bring the design into wider production.

The concept development took several months, including sketching, proportion studies, and iterative refinement.

While the final form appears simple, reaching the right balance required many subtle adjustments. Most of the time was spent refining curves, volumes, and ergonomic relationships.

This design was driven by a personal observation rather than a commission.

I noticed that many contemporary chairs prioritize visual impact but often overlook emotional comfort. I wanted to explore whether a chair could offer both sculptural beauty and psychological warmth.

The design is currently open for production collaboration and licensing opportunities.

I am actively interested in partnerships with manufacturers and brands that share a strong commitment to craftsmanship, quality, and thoughtful design.

I have always been deeply interested in seating design.

Among furniture categories, chairs demand one of the most sensitive relationships between body, proportion, and structure. That complexity makes chair design endlessly fascinating to me.

Rather than being influenced by a single designer, this work was shaped by broader inspirations from architecture, sculpture, and nature.

Organic curves, quiet spatial tension, and balanced mass all played important roles in shaping the final form.

Day Go is designed for users who appreciate thoughtful living and refined comfort.

It is suitable for residential interiors, hospitality spaces, and premium lounges where both comfort and visual identity matter.

What distinguishes Day Go is its balance between emotional softness and architectural clarity.

Many chairs are either highly expressive or purely functional. Day Go seeks a quieter balance—soft enough to feel welcoming, structured enough to feel timeless.

The name Day Go comes from the Minnan (Taiwanese Hokkien) word for teapot.

What drew me to this name was not only the object itself, but also the cultural meaning behind it. A teapot represents more than a functional vessel—it symbolizes pause, warmth, hospitality, and human connection. In Taiwanese daily life, a teapot often sits at the center of conversation, shared moments, and quiet reflection.

This idea strongly resonates with the essence of the armchair. Much like a teapot holds and gathers warmth, Day Go Armchair is designed to embrace the body and create a sense of comfort, protection, and calm. Through this design, I wanted to transform a familiar cultural object into an emotional spatial experience.

A teapot holds tea, this chair holds moments of rest.

That sentence captures the spirit of Day Go most precisely.

The development of Day Go combined both traditional and digital design tools.

I began with hand sketches, as drawing allows ideas to move freely and intuitively. Once the overall direction became clearer, I moved into 3D modeling to refine proportion, volume, and ergonomic relationships with greater precision. Physical material samples also played an essential role, especially when evaluating tactile softness, surface quality, and seam detailing.

For me, tools are not merely instruments for making things—they are different ways of thinking.

The most distinctive aspect of Day Go is its balance between emotional softness and sculptural clarity.

Many armchairs emphasize either visual expression or comfort alone. Day Go intentionally bridges these two qualities. Its form feels calm yet memorable, soft yet architecturally grounded. Beyond physical comfort, it is designed to offer emotional comfort as well.

The conceptual direction of Day Go was developed independently, but realizing the design required valuable technical dialogue with specialists.

I exchanged ideas with model makers, material specialists, and manufacturing professionals, particularly regarding structural feasibility, upholstery detailing, and production constraints. These collaborations helped translate design intention into practical reality without compromising the original concept.

Technology played a crucial role in validating and refining the design.

Digital modeling allowed me to precisely evaluate curves, proportions, and structural transitions that would have been difficult to judge through sketches alone. Technology helped bridge intuition and precision, enabling the design to retain its softness while ensuring manufacturability.

Yes, the design was informed by both analytical research and observational study.

I studied ergonomic seating dimensions, posture behavior, pressure distribution, and arm support angles to better understand how the body interacts with lounge seating. At the same time, I conducted visual and behavioral observations of how people naturally sit, rest, and shift posture in relaxed environments.

This combination of measurable data and human observation helped shape the final design.

One of the greatest challenges was achieving visual lightness while preserving a strong sense of support.

A highly enveloping chair can easily appear heavy or oversized. I spent significant time refining curvature, thickness, and proportion so the chair could feel welcoming and protective without becoming visually bulky.

Often, the smallest adjustments created the most meaningful improvements.

I decided to submit Day Go because I felt the design carried a clear and universal message.

Although the chair is rooted in personal and cultural references, its core theme—comfort, pause, and emotional well-being—resonates beyond geographical boundaries. An international design competition felt like the right platform to test whether this design language could connect with a global audience.

Day Go deepened my understanding of restraint.

This project taught me that simplicity demands discipline. The more minimal a design appears, the more careful every decision must be. I became more sensitive to subtle differences in proportion, transition, and visual balance.

It reinforced my belief that refinement is where design truly matures.

Beyond form and function, I believe design has the power to influence emotional well-being.

With Day Go, I was not simply designing an armchair—I was exploring how furniture can create moments of psychological pause within everyday life. In a world that constantly demands speed and attention, I believe quietness has become a meaningful design value.

I hope Day Go reminds people that rest is not passive—it is restorative.

My design background is rooted in spatial thinking, furniture design, and a long-term interest in the relationship between people and the environments they inhabit.

Over the years, my education has come not only from formal training, but also from continuous observation, practice, and interdisciplinary learning across architecture, interior design, craftsmanship, and material studies. I believe design education never truly ends; it evolves through every project, every failure, and every refinement.

What motivates me most is the possibility of transforming abstract ideas into meaningful experiences.

Design allows me to shape how people feel, move, rest, and interact with space. I became a designer because I was drawn to that invisible influence—the power of design to quietly improve daily life without demanding attention.

I chose this path.

It was never about following a trend or external expectation. Design felt natural to me because it aligned with how I observe the world. I have always been sensitive to proportion, atmosphere, and spatial relationships, long before I consciously understood design as a profession.

My work primarily focuses on furniture and interior-related design, especially pieces that shape human experience through comfort and atmosphere.

I am particularly interested in designing more seating systems, collectible furniture, and spatial objects that blur the boundaries between function, sculpture, and emotional experience.

I do not think anyone should aim to become a “legend.”

Instead, young designers should focus on becoming deeply observant and intellectually honest. Train your eye before chasing originality. Learn proportion, understand materials, and develop patience.

Recognition may come later, but strong design grows from discipline, not ambition alone.

A good designer solves problems.

A great designer understands problems people cannot yet articulate.

The difference often lies in depth of perception. Great designers see beyond explicit needs and recognize emotional, behavioral, and cultural layers hidden beneath the surface.

I evaluate design through three essential qualities: proportion, clarity, and longevity.

Proportion determines visual harmony. Clarity ensures that form, structure, and purpose are aligned. Longevity reveals whether a design remains relevant after trends fade.

A truly good design continues to feel right over time.

Good design creates long-term value beyond aesthetics.

It improves usability, elevates everyday experience, and reduces unnecessary friction in life. Investing in good design is not simply about buying something beautiful—it is about investing in better quality of living.

If time were unlimited, I would love to design a holistic living environment—from furniture to architecture.

I would design for people seeking stillness within contemporary life—those who value quietness, craftsmanship, and emotional depth in the spaces they inhabit.

One of my dream projects is to create a furniture collection or spatial experience that fully expresses contemporary Eastern sensibility on a global stage.

I am interested in exploring how restraint, emptiness, material tactility, and emotional calm can be translated into a modern design language that resonates internationally.

If there is a secret ingredient, I believe it is sustained refinement.

Good ideas can appear quickly, but strong design is rarely born from the first idea. I trust iteration, patience, and the willingness to revisit decisions repeatedly. Over time, I learned that refinement is where design gains depth, clarity, and character.

I am inspired by designers and architects who pursue clarity with depth.

I admire figures such as Dieter Rams for his disciplined minimalism, Tadao Ando for his mastery of spatial silence, and Hans J. Wegner for his extraordinary understanding of chair design and craftsmanship.

What inspires me most is not style, but the integrity of their thinking.

I am often drawn to designs that feel inevitable—as if nothing could be added or removed.

I deeply admire works where form, material, and purpose feel inseparable. Some of my favorite designs are classic chairs, refined architectural spaces, and objects whose beauty emerges from structural honesty rather than decoration.

At this stage, Day Go Armchair represents one of my most meaningful works.

What makes it significant to me is not only its form, but the clarity of the idea behind it. It successfully expresses something I deeply care about—the relationship between physical comfort and emotional calm.

I consider a design meaningful when it communicates beyond function.

I believe improvement begins with learning how to observe.

Before trying to create something new, learn to see more deeply. Study proportions, materials, behaviors, and human habits. I improved by continuously analyzing why certain designs felt right and others did not.

Training your eye is a lifelong practice.

I might have pursued architecture, art, or something related to making physical experiences meaningful.

I have always been drawn to disciplines that shape how people perceive space, atmosphere, and emotion. In many ways, even outside design, I think I would still be searching for similar questions.

To me, design is the act of giving form to intention.

It is where function, emotion, culture, and human behavior intersect. Good design solves practical problems, but great design also shapes perception and feeling.

Design is not only about making objects—it is about shaping experience.

No designer grows in isolation.

I am grateful to mentors, collaborators, clients, and the people who trusted my vision even in early stages. Equally important were those who challenged my assumptions, because growth often comes through thoughtful critique.

Support is not always encouragement—sometimes it is honest feedback.

I am still learning, so I do not think of myself as having “arrived.”

What helped me most was consistency—the willingness to keep working, keep observing, and keep refining, even when progress felt slow. Design maturity is usually built gradually rather than suddenly.

One of the biggest challenges was learning to balance vision with reality.

In the beginning, it is easy to become attached to ideas. Over time, I learned that design requires negotiation between idealism and constraints—budget, manufacturing, material limitations, and user needs.

Learning to preserve essence while adapting to reality was one of the most important lessons.

I believe designers should present their work with both clarity and honesty.

A presentation should not merely showcase polished visuals; it should communicate the thinking behind the design—why certain decisions were made, what problem was addressed, and what emotional value the work creates. Good presentation helps people understand not only what they see, but what they feel.

In the near future, I hope to expand my work into a more complete furniture language.

You can expect projects that continue exploring comfort, sculptural clarity, and emotional ergonomics, but with greater depth in material experimentation and modular systems. I am interested in creating designs that function as both objects and experiences.

My ultimate goal is to create designs that remain meaningful over time.

I am less interested in short-lived attention and more interested in long-term relevance. I hope to create work that people continue to appreciate not only for its appearance, but for how it improves their lives and emotional well-being.

I believe people expect not only creativity, but clarity of perspective.

As designers gain recognition, there is also greater responsibility. People look for meaningful viewpoints, thoughtful solutions, and a deeper understanding of how design can influence life. I see that responsibility as something valuable rather than burdensome.

Design improves society by improving daily human experience.

Well-considered design reduces friction, encourages accessibility, and creates environments that support physical and emotional well-being. Even small improvements in daily life can accumulate into meaningful societal change.

Design shapes behavior, and behavior shapes society.

I am currently exploring furniture concepts that push further into emotional comfort and spatial interaction.

What excites me most is investigating how minimal form can generate maximum psychological impact. I am especially interested in pieces that create quiet but memorable emotional resonance within a space.

The most satisfying projects are those where concept, execution, and emotional outcome remain aligned.

I feel greatest satisfaction when a design successfully preserves its original intention throughout development and eventually creates a meaningful user experience. Projects like Day Go are especially rewarding because they translate abstract emotional ideas into tangible reality.

I hope the industry places greater value on longevity and depth rather than speed and novelty.

The current design culture often rewards rapid output and visual immediacy. I would like to see more appreciation for thoughtful refinement, craftsmanship, and work that matures over time.

I believe design is moving toward deeper integration between technology and human sensitivity.

AI, digital fabrication, and computational tools will dramatically accelerate design possibilities. Yet as technology advances, human qualities such as empathy, intuition, and judgment will become even more important.

The future of design will likely be more technological—but also more human.

There is no universal timeline; each project demands its own rhythm.

Some ideas arrive quickly, but refinement always takes time. In furniture design especially, subtle adjustments in proportion, ergonomics, and detailing can significantly affect the final result.

Good design rarely happens fast.

I always begin by asking questions before sketching solutions.

I try to understand the deeper purpose of the project: who it is for, what experience it should create, and what emotional or functional gap it needs to address. Only after that do I begin translating ideas into form.

For me, design starts with understanding, not drawing.

Refine until it feels inevitable.

I believe strong design reaches a point where every line, curve, and decision feels necessary. That sense of inevitability is something I constantly pursue in my work.

Trends influence design, but they should not define it.

Trends reflect cultural shifts and can offer useful signals, but meaningful design should go deeper than surface aesthetics. The strongest designs often outlast trends rather than follow them

Technology helps transform intuition into precision.

It allows me to test proportions, structures, and manufacturability with far greater accuracy. However, technology remains a tool, not the source of design itself. Human judgment still determines what feels right.

My workflow typically combines sketching, digital modeling, rendering, and physical material evaluation.

I use 3D modeling software to refine geometry and proportions, visualization tools to study spatial presence, and physical samples to evaluate tactile qualities such as texture, softness, and finish.

Digital precision and physical perception are equally important to my process.

Color, material, and ambient quality shape emotional perception.

Form defines structure, but materials and atmosphere determine how a design is felt. The same object can evoke entirely different emotions depending on its tactile quality, color temperature, and surrounding environment.

These elements transform design from object into experience.

I appreciate when people ask not only how a design looks, but why it feels the way it does.

Questions about emotional intent, proportion, and human experience often lead to the most meaningful conversations. Surface beauty matters, but deeper dialogue begins when people ask what a design is trying to make them feel.

My first reaction is usually curiosity.

I immediately begin asking: Why does this feel right? What decision makes it powerful? Is its strength in proportion, material, restraint, or conceptual clarity?

Great design often teaches through subtlety.

I strongly believe in meaningful collaboration.

My ideal design partner is someone who brings expertise, honesty, and intellectual rigor while respecting the essence of the design. Co-design can be extremely powerful when collaboration strengthens the idea rather than dilutes it.

The best partnerships challenge and elevate each other.

People from diverse disciplines have shaped my perspective.

Architects taught me spatial discipline, craftspeople taught me respect for material reality, and clients taught me empathy toward real-world needs. Sometimes influence comes not from famous names, but from meaningful conversations.

Design grows through dialogue.

Books related to architecture, philosophy, and art have influenced me the most.

I am especially drawn to works that discuss space, perception, and human consciousness. Beyond design books, philosophical writing has also shaped how I think, because design is ultimately not only about objects, but about how people experience existence through their surroundings.

My skills were developed through repetition, observation, and continuous self-critique.

Every project became a form of training. I learned by sketching, refining, making mistakes, and asking difficult questions. Over time, experience teaches you not only what works, but why it works.

I would love to speak with Leonardo da Vinci.

What fascinates me about him is his refusal to separate art, science, engineering, and observation. His way of thinking reminds us that creativity becomes most powerful when disciplines intersect.

Awards are meaningful because they validate effort, but they are not the destination.

Recognition can open doors and create opportunities, but it also brings responsibility. I try not to focus too much on fame itself. What matters more is whether the work continues to grow in depth and relevance.

I am naturally drawn to earthy and neutral tones—colors that feel calm and timeless.

I enjoy places with strong spatial atmosphere, especially those where silence feels meaningful. My favorite season is autumn for its balance and quietness. As for brands, I admire those that value craftsmanship, restraint, and longevity over temporary attention.

One humorous reality of being a designer is that you begin noticing details everywhere.

Sometimes I cannot enter a café, hotel, or showroom without mentally analyzing chair proportions, lighting temperature, or spatial circulation. Friends occasionally tell me, “Can you stop designing for five minutes?” I usually cannot.

A great day is when something suddenly becomes clear.

It could be a proportion finally feeling right, a concept finding its form, or a difficult problem becoming simple. Those moments remind me why I design.

Curiosity remains my strongest motivation.

Not explicitly, but the signs were there.

I was always sensitive to visual balance, arrangement, and atmosphere, even before I understood design as a profession. Looking back, I think the mindset existed long before the title did.

Technology will transform civilization in unimaginable ways, but human emotional needs may remain surprisingly constant.

Even a thousand years from now, I believe people will still seek comfort, connection, beauty, and meaning. Tools may change dramatically, but fundamental human desires may remain timeless.

If there is one thing I hope people understand about my work, it is this:

I do not design merely to create objects.

I design to create meaningful experiences.

Whether it is a chair, a space, or a future collection, my intention remains the same—to create design that quietly improves how people live, feel, and relate to their surroundings.

I believe the most powerful design is not always the loudest.

Sometimes, the deepest impact comes from quiet presence.

My path into design did not begin with a single dramatic moment. It grew gradually through years of observing how spaces, objects, and materials influence the way people feel. I have always been sensitive to proportion, balance, and atmosphere—even before I fully understood design as a profession.

What attracted me to design was the realization that objects are never purely functional. A chair, a room, or even a small detail can change posture, emotion, and behavior. That idea fascinated me. Over time, design became the language through which I could translate intuition into form. Today, I see design as a way of shaping not only physical environments, but also human experiences.

My design practice focuses primarily on furniture and spatial design. I am particularly interested in creating works that feel calm, timeless, and emotionally supportive. Rather than pursuing visual complexity, I often search for clarity in form and depth in experience.

The studio values craftsmanship, material sensitivity, and thoughtful refinement. Every project is approached with the belief that good design should feel natural—almost effortless—while carrying substantial consideration beneath the surface. I aim to create work that feels contemporary, yet retains warmth and humanity.

For me, design is the discipline of giving form to invisible qualities—comfort, emotion, memory, and human behavior.

I do not see design as decoration. I see it as translation: translating needs into function, emotions into form, and ideas into experiences. Good design often feels quiet. It does not demand attention aggressively, yet it continues to improve life in meaningful ways.

I am most drawn to seating design, especially armchairs and lounge furniture. Among all furniture categories, seating has the most direct relationship with the human body.

A chair is never just an object. It determines posture, pressure, relaxation, and even emotion. I enjoy designing pieces where ergonomics and sculptural presence can coexist.

Day Go Armchair is the piece that feels closest to my design philosophy.

I wanted to create a chair that offers more than physical comfort. I wanted it to feel like a quiet pause within a fast-moving world. The chair embraces the body with gentle curves while maintaining structural clarity. To me, Day Go is about stillness, softness, and emotional balance.

One of my earliest professional projects involved designing communal residential spaces. That experience taught me an important lesson: design succeeds only when aesthetics, function, and human behavior are considered together.

It shaped how I think today.

I am particularly drawn to materials that age beautifully—leather, solid wood, refined textiles, and carefully crafted upholstery.

I appreciate materials that become richer over time rather than losing value. In technology, I value digital tools for precision, but I still rely heavily on sketching and physical material samples. Design decisions often become clear when materials are touched, not just rendered.

I often feel most creative late at night, when the world becomes quiet.

Silence helps me think more clearly. Without constant noise, I can focus on subtle questions—small changes in proportion, curvature, or tension that can completely transform a design.

I pay close attention to proportion first.

Before details, materials, or finishes, proportion determines whether a design feels balanced. After that, I focus on comfort and emotional response. I often ask myself: when someone sits here, what will they feel within the first few seconds?

Designing feels like moving between uncertainty and clarity.

At the beginning, there is curiosity and sometimes doubt. As ideas become more refined, that uncertainty gradually transforms into excitement and focus. I enjoy that transition—it is where design truly happens.

When a design becomes real, the first emotion I feel is not excitement, but relief.

During the design process, many decisions remain abstract until they are physically built. Once the piece exists in real scale, material, and weight, everything becomes honest. After that initial relief comes gratitude—especially when I see someone naturally interacting with the work. That moment tells me the design has truly started its life.

A successful design is one that continues to feel right even after the initial visual impact fades.

Good design should not rely only on first impressions. It should reveal more value through repeated use. I believe a design becomes successful when people return to it—not because it demands attention, but because it quietly improves their daily life.

I first look at proportion and honesty.

Proportion tells me whether a design feels resolved. Honesty tells me whether the form genuinely belongs to its function, structure, and material. I am often skeptical of design that feels overly expressive without clear purpose.

Designers have the responsibility to think beyond appearance and beyond short-term trends.

Every design decision influences resources, production, and human behavior. Because of that, I believe designers should create with greater awareness—choosing longevity over novelty, quality over excess, and responsibility over waste. A well-designed object should remain relevant long enough to avoid becoming disposable.

Design is moving toward deeper integration between technology and human sensitivity.

Tools such as AI and digital fabrication will dramatically accelerate production and exploration. However, I believe the future of design will make emotional intelligence even more important. As technology becomes more powerful, human sensitivity—empathy, judgment, and intuition—will become more valuable, not less.

Recently, my work has mainly reached audiences through international design platforms and award exhibitions.

Looking ahead, I would love to present my work in Milan or Tokyo. Both cities have strong design cultures but very different sensibilities. I am interested in how my work would be perceived within those contexts.

Inspiration rarely arrives as a complete idea.

For me, it usually begins with fragments—a shadow on a wall, the curve of a branch, the rhythm of architectural lines, or the posture of someone sitting quietly. I am especially drawn to subtle forms of tension between softness and structure.

I feed creativity by observing slowly. Sometimes the most valuable inspiration comes from paying closer attention to ordinary things.

I would describe my design language as restrained softness.

I am interested in forms that feel calm yet substantial—soft without becoming weak, minimal without becoming cold. My work often uses controlled curves, quiet surfaces, and carefully balanced volumes.

I was drawn to this direction because modern life already contains enough visual noise. I want my work to offer visual clarity and emotional calm.

I live in Taiwan, and I believe that has deeply shaped my design sensitivity.

Taiwan exists at an interesting cultural intersection, where eastern philosophy and global contemporary influences coexist. This environment has taught me to appreciate subtlety, restraint, craftsmanship, and layered cultural dialogue.

The advantage is creative openness. The challenge is maintaining depth in a fast-moving culture. I try to preserve both.

I see collaboration as alignment before execution.

Before discussing form, I prefer understanding the company’s values, ambition, and long-term vision. Once that foundation is clear, design decisions become more focused and meaningful.

The best collaborations happen when both sides trust the process and remain open to dialogue.

I think companies should look beyond style when choosing a designer.

A portfolio can show visual ability, but it does not always reveal how a designer thinks, solves problems, or responds to constraints. What matters more is whether the designer can understand the brand’s values and translate them into meaningful design.

The strongest collaborations happen when both sides share trust, patience, and long-term vision.

My design process usually begins with observation rather than sketching.

Before drawing, I spend time understanding behavior, context, and emotional expectations. I ask simple but important questions: How will the body approach this object? Where does pressure occur? What emotional state should it create?

Only after those questions become clearer do I begin sketching and developing form. From there, the process moves through proportion studies, digital modeling, prototyping, and constant refinement. Most of the work is actually refinement.

Five objects I especially appreciate at home are an armchair, a floor lamp, a bookshelf, a ceramic tea set, and a carefully crafted table.

What connects these objects is not complexity, but presence. I am drawn to objects that quietly shape atmosphere and improve everyday rituals.

My day usually begins quietly.

I prefer spending the first part of the day organizing thoughts before responding to external demands. Mornings are often for research, sketching, or reviewing ongoing projects. Afternoons involve meetings, technical discussions, or material reviews.

Even outside work, I continue observing details—light, shadow, proportion, posture. Design rarely stops at the studio.

Train your eye before chasing originality.

Many young designers worry too early about being unique. In my view, uniqueness grows naturally from deep observation and consistent practice. Learn proportion, understand materials, and study how people actually use objects.

Also, be patient. Refinement often matters more than inspiration.

One of the most rewarding aspects of being a designer is the ability to turn invisible ideas into tangible experiences.

The challenge is that design rarely offers perfect answers. There are always trade-offs between vision, production, cost, and practicality. But perhaps that tension is also what makes design meaningful.

My golden rule is simple:

Good design should support both the body and the mind.

If a design looks beautiful but fails the body, it remains incomplete. If it functions well but lacks emotional depth, it is forgettable. I strive for both.

I believe observation is the most important skill.

Before creativity comes perception. A designer must learn to notice what others overlook—small discomforts, subtle behaviors, and hidden patterns. Beyond that, communication is equally important, because good ideas must also be understood and realized.

My toolbox includes both analog and digital tools.

I still rely heavily on sketching because drawing allows ideas to move faster than software. At the same time, digital modeling helps me evaluate proportion and structure more precisely.

Beyond tools, I consider material samples, architecture books, and daily observation as equally essential parts of my toolbox.

I manage time by separating exploration from decision-making.

In the early phase, I allow openness because creativity needs room. Later, I become much more disciplined, setting clear deadlines for refinement and decisions.

I have learned that time management in design is not about working faster—it is about knowing when to explore and when to stop.

There is no fixed timeline, because every project carries different levels of complexity.

A design may begin with a quick intuition, but reaching maturity takes time. For furniture, the real challenge often lies in refinement—adjusting proportion by small margins, testing ergonomics, and resolving construction details. What appears simple on the surface is often the result of many iterations.

Good design rarely happens quickly.

The question I hear most often is, “Where do your ideas come from?”

People often imagine creativity as sudden inspiration, but in reality, ideas usually emerge through accumulation. I rarely wait for inspiration to arrive fully formed. Instead, I trust observation, repetition, and refinement.

One of the most important lessons in my career has been learning to balance idealism with reality.

In design, vision alone is never enough. A strong concept must also survive manufacturing constraints, structural logic, cost, and user expectations. Learning to preserve design integrity within real-world limitations has been one of my most valuable experiences.

My clients include private residential clients, developers, and design-conscious brands seeking thoughtful furniture and spatial solutions.

I especially value collaborations with clients who understand that design is not only an investment in aesthetics, but also an investment in long-term quality and experience.

I enjoy furniture design the most, especially seating.

Among all product categories, chairs demand an unusually precise relationship between form and body. A difference of just a few centimeters can change posture, comfort, and emotional response. That level of sensitivity makes seating design endlessly fascinating to me.

I hope to continue developing a body of work that deepens the dialogue between emotional comfort and contemporary living.

In the future, I would like to build a furniture collection with strong identity—pieces that are internationally relevant yet rooted in my own design sensibility. I am also interested in collaborations that allow design, craftsmanship, and culture to intersect in meaningful ways.

Most concepts begin with my own independent exploration.

The early stages require deep focus, especially when studying proportion and overall form. As projects develop, collaboration becomes essential. I work closely with manufacturers, craftsmen, engineers, and production specialists to bring ideas into reality.

I value both solitude and collaboration; each serves a different purpose in the design process.

I am currently exploring new furniture concepts that continue my interest in softness, support, and sculptural clarity.

These projects further investigate how furniture can create psychological comfort while maintaining strong visual presence. I am especially interested in how minimal gestures can produce meaningful emotional responses.

People can reach me through my professional website, email, or social media platforms for design collaborations, project discussions, or professional inquiries.

I always welcome conversations with people who value thoughtful design and meaningful creative exchange.

I believe the most meaningful design is often quiet.

It does not need to be loud or overly expressive to leave a lasting impression. Sometimes its value is felt in subtle ways—in how a body relaxes, how a space feels calmer, or how daily routines become more comfortable.

That belief continues to guide my work.

I hope to create designs that people not only see, but genuinely feel.

The origin of Day Go can be traced back to a very familiar object in Taiwanese daily life: the teapot. In Taiwanese Hokkien, the word for teapot is pronounced “Te-Koo,” and over time, the sound naturally evolved into the name “Day Go.” What fascinated me was not merely the form of the teapot, but the cultural role it plays. In Taiwanese households, offering tea is one of the most instinctive expressions of hospitality. A teapot becomes a vessel that connects people, creating moments of conversation, welcome, and companionship.When I began sketching the project, I asked myself how that emotional experience could be translated into a piece of furniture. Rather than literally reproducing a teapot, I extracted its essential qualities: warmth, containment, and generosity. This led to the armchair’s enveloping silhouette, where the continuous armrests wrap around the user much like the body of a ceramic vessel. The rounded geometry was carefully refined to communicate softness and protection rather than visual dominance.The result is a chair that carries a subtle cultural memory without relying on decorative symbolism. Day Go transforms the spirit of Taiwanese hospitality into a contemporary object, allowing users from different cultural backgrounds to experience the same sense of welcome, comfort, and human connection.

I believe sustainability should not be treated as an additional feature but as a fundamental design responsibility. For decades, the furniture industry has largely operated under a linear model in which products are manufactured, consumed, and eventually discarded. Day Go was developed as a response to that pattern through a Design for Disassembly strategy that allows the chair to be easily separated into distinct material streams for maintenance, repair, and future recycling.More importantly, I hope this approach can redefine the meaning of luxury. Traditionally, luxury has often been associated with rarity, exclusivity, or excessive material consumption. In contrast, I believe responsible luxury is measured by longevity. A well-designed object should be capable of evolving with its owner, remaining useful and desirable over many years rather than becoming disposable.The modular architecture of Day Go enables components to be replaced individually instead of requiring the entire product to be discarded. By making repairability and material recovery part of the design language, the chair encourages users to view furniture as a long-term relationship rather than a short-term purchase. My hope is that consumers will begin to associate quality not only with aesthetics and comfort but also with transparency, durability, and environmental responsibility.

One of the most demanding aspects of developing Day Go was ensuring that the chair could be disassembled effortlessly while maintaining the seamless appearance inspired by ceramic craftsmanship. From the beginning, I wanted to avoid visible fasteners because they would interrupt the calm and fluid character of the design. However, concealing the connections while preserving structural integrity required numerous iterations and engineering experiments.The final solution divides the chair into three primary modules: the recyclable outer shell, the heavy-duty swivel mechanism, and the upholstered seating component. Each element is connected through mechanical fastening systems rather than adhesives, allowing components to be separated when necessary without damaging adjacent materials. During prototyping, we repeatedly evaluated assembly sequences, maintenance accessibility, and long-term durability to ensure that hidden connections remained reliable under everyday use.This process revealed an important lesson. Circular design is often perceived as a technical challenge, but it is equally a design challenge. The success of a disassemblable product depends on whether sustainability can be integrated without compromising the emotional and aesthetic qualities that attract users in the first place. Day Go became an exploration of how engineering logic and visual simplicity can coexist within a single object.

Receiving the Bronze A’ Design Award was meaningful because it recognized Day Go not for a single attribute, but for the integration of several dimensions that are often treated separately in contemporary furniture design. Cultural relevance, environmental responsibility, engineering feasibility, and emotional experience were all evaluated together, which closely reflects the intentions behind the project.For me, the award confirms that cultural storytelling does not need to be nostalgic, and sustainability does not need to be invisible. Both can become active contributors to a product’s identity and value. Day Go demonstrates that a furniture object can communicate local heritage while simultaneously addressing global concerns such as circularity and resource efficiency.As we prepare for an international market launch in 2027, this recognition serves as an important validation that the project resonates beyond its cultural origin. It encourages us to continue developing products that are rooted in Taiwanese culture while engaging in broader international conversations about responsible design. More than an achievement, the award represents a starting point for a longer journey toward creating furniture that is emotionally meaningful, commercially viable, and environmentally conscious.

The most difficult challenge was reconciling two seemingly contradictory objectives. Structurally, the chair required a robust swivel mechanism capable of supporting long-term daily use. Visually, however, I wanted it to feel light, calm, and almost effortless, like a handcrafted ceramic vessel.During development, several prototypes successfully met performance requirements but appeared too mechanical. Others achieved the desired visual softness but lacked structural confidence. The breakthrough came when we stopped treating engineering and aesthetics as competing priorities and instead considered them parts of the same system.By integrating the swivel mechanism entirely within the recyclable shell and refining the geometry around the base, we were able to preserve the visual purity of the form while maintaining strength and durability. This experience fundamentally changed my understanding of design. Heritage-inspired aesthetics and industrial engineering are often presented as opposites, yet Day Go taught me that meaningful innovation emerges precisely where those worlds overlap. The challenge was never about hiding technology; it was about allowing technology to serve a more human and culturally resonant experience.

One of the most distinctive aspects of Day Go was the sequence in which the project was developed. Many furniture projects begin with technical requirements, manufacturing constraints, or market positioning. In contrast, Day Go began with a cultural question: how can a piece of furniture embody the spirit of Taiwanese hospitality?This question guided the entire process. Cultural research informed the emotional objectives. Those objectives influenced the formal language. Only after the design narrative had become clear did we begin solving structural and engineering challenges. In other words, meaning came before mechanism.This approach produced a more coherent outcome because every design decision could be evaluated against a central idea rather than a collection of unrelated requirements. The project reinforced my belief that structure and meaning should not exist independently. When a product’s technical solutions emerge from its narrative foundation, users can sense a deeper level of authenticity. Day Go taught me that engineering defines how a product works, but cultural meaning often determines why people choose to keep it in their lives.

Although Day Go is a single product, it was never intended to remain an isolated object. From the beginning, it was conceived as the first exploration of a broader design philosophy centered on modularity, longevity, and cultural storytelling.As we move toward the planned international launch in 2027, I hope Day Go can demonstrate that circular design principles are not limited to environmental performance; they can also shape aesthetic identity and user experience. The Design for Disassembly framework developed for this project provides a foundation that can be expanded into future seating collections, hospitality furniture, and other domestic products.For holding + partners Associates and Moo’s Home, the project represents a shift toward designing systems rather than standalone products. The long-term goal is to build a family of objects that share a common language of repairability, adaptability, and cultural relevance. In that sense, Day Go is not the conclusion of a process but the beginning of a larger conversation about how contemporary furniture can remain meaningful across generations.

The most valuable lesson I learned from Day Go is that sustainability becomes significantly more powerful when it carries cultural meaning. Technical solutions alone can improve efficiency, but they rarely create emotional attachment. Conversely, cultural narratives may inspire people, but without practical implementation they remain symbolic gestures.The strength of Day Go emerged from bringing these two dimensions together. The chair’s cultural story gave purpose to the design, while its modular architecture gave credibility to its environmental ambitions. Neither dimension was sufficient on its own.For designers working at the intersection of heritage and sustainability, my advice is to avoid treating culture and technology as separate conversations. The most enduring products are often those in which practical innovation and human meaning reinforce one another. When sustainability becomes part of a story people genuinely care about, it has a far greater chance of influencing behavior and creating long-term impact.

I have always been fascinated by objects that appear simple but contain remarkable complexity beneath the surface. Traditional teapots embody this idea beautifully. Their forms often appear calm and effortless, yet they integrate considerations of balance, heat, pouring performance, ergonomics, and craftsmanship within a single object.Day Go follows a similar philosophy. While the exterior presents a smooth and uninterrupted silhouette, internally it contains a carefully engineered system of structural supports, fastening strategies, and a concealed swivel mechanism. This contrast between visual serenity and technical sophistication reflects my broader design belief that complexity should serve users rather than announce itself.Many contemporary products celebrate technology by exposing it. I respect that approach, but for Day Go I was more interested in creating a sense of quiet confidence. The object communicates comfort and hospitality first, while the engineering works silently in the background. In many ways, this balance reflects an Eastern perspective in which restraint and subtlety can be just as expressive as visibility.

One piece of advice I would offer emerging designers is this: do not begin with symbols; begin with values. When designers attempt to represent culture by directly reproducing visual motifs, the result can easily become superficial. Meaningful cultural design emerges when we understand the beliefs, behaviors, and relationships that exist beneath those symbols.In the case of Day Go, I was less interested in replicating the appearance of a teapot than in understanding why the teapot remains important within Taiwanese culture. The answer was hospitality, generosity, and human connection. Once those values became clear, the form could evolve naturally.At the same time, cultural meaning should never become an excuse for ignoring performance. The most successful products are those that balance emotion and practicality. Designers should strive to create objects that tell stories, solve real problems, and remain relevant over time. When culture, function, and sustainability support one another, design moves beyond decoration and becomes a meaningful contributor to everyday life.