Szabolcs Nemeth

My parents were teachers, so I didn't come from an artistic family. It became clear at a very young age that I could draw much better than average, and I genuinely loved drawing. Even in elementary school, I won several drawing competitions. I've wanted to become an artist since I was a child, although I wasn't exactly sure what kind. For a long time, I imagined myself as a constructor, but eventually I became most interested in graphic art and visual expression through graphics.

I founded our design studio more than a quarter of a century ago together with sculptor Katalin Kalmar. Through this company, we have completed various projects for Hungarian, international, and multinational clients. Our activities extended beyond graphic design and implementation—we were also engaged in traditional sculptural work. We participated in public competitions announced by local municipalities in Hungary for the creation of public sculptures, and we won several of these tenders. As a result, I gained in-depth experience in three-dimensional execution—on the one hand, in metalworking related to bronze casting, and on the other hand, in digital metal processing with the advent of CNC machines.

Since I graduated as a visual communication designer and graphic designer, I consider this my primary field of expertise. Later, I also began designing objects—particularly those that had not existed before. I especially enjoy creating things that are entirely new and unique.

Undoubtedly, my largest and most successful project to date is the ‘Wormy Compact Fishing Systems.’ This is a compact fishing rod I designed with the goal of creating a tool that is extremely small in size, versatile, and virtually unbreakable. In the concept category, I won the Hungarian Design Award with this fishing rod. Later, the product was realized and led to several patent successes: it received patent protection in the world’s largest markets, including the United States, China, several countries in the European Union, Australia, and South Korea.

Immediately after graduating, I received a commission from Siemens Hungary to create a promotional calendar of my own design, for which I was also responsible for full production, manufacturing, and delivery. It was a conical anamorphic calendar, the original prototype of which I developed as part of my graphic design thesis at the Hungarian University of Applied Arts. The Siemens marketing director saw this piece at an exhibition and, based on it, commissioned me to create a version adapted specifically for Siemens.

I am particularly drawn to natural materials – it is important for me to establish a direct connection with the material from the earliest stages of the design process. I enjoy sketching by hand on paper and working with clay in three dimensions. I believe that manual modeling supports thinking and helps to shape ideas into tangible forms. During the initial phase of form development, I often rely on traditional tools. At the same time, contemporary digital technologies also play a key role in my work, especially during product development and prototyping. In my practice, traditional craftsmanship and modern manufacturing techniques complement each other in a natural and harmonious way. Working with metals constitutes a significant part of my professional activity. Metal casting and CNC machining have become central to my process – both as a result of my personal interest and the direction my professional journey has taken.

I feel most creative when I can think in terms of a system and search for the key to solving one of its components. I am typically drawn to tasks that are on a scale I can fully comprehend – where I can imagine answering every question and resolving each challenge on my own. I believe that every big solution is made up of many small ones. The creative process for me lies in organizing and aligning these smaller answers into a coherent whole. There is always a larger objective or a central challenge, but reaching it involves a series of smaller questions that must first be addressed. When I manage to bring together all these fragments into a complete solution, that's when I feel at my most inventive.

When I design, I focus on creating a strong dialogue between function, form, and material. My process often begins with understanding the system or context in which the object will exist – I think in terms of relationships rather than isolated objects. I pay particular attention to: Material integrity – How the material can speak for itself, whether it's natural, like clay or wood, or industrial, like metal. I want the material’s character to remain visible in the final piece. Functionality and usability – I enjoy solving problems through clear, thoughtful design solutions. Every part should have a reason to exist. Manufacturing and feasibility – I work closely with traditional and digital fabrication techniques (including CNC and casting), so I’m always aware of how an object can be produced – not just theoretically, but in practice. Tactility and human interaction – Especially in physical products, how something feels, how it invites use, and how it lives in the hand or space is crucial to me. Systemic thinking – I often see design as a layered structure of interconnected elements. I'm at my most creative when I can work through small details while holding a broader system in mind.

Designing often takes me through a range of emotions, but above all, I experience a deep sense of curiosity and focus. At the beginning of a project, there's usually a spark of excitement – the unknown is energizing. As I start exploring ideas, that turns into engagement, almost like solving a puzzle that keeps unfolding. For example, when I was designing a fishing rod, it was especially important for me to achieve a perfect harmony between functionality and ergonomics. During the fine-tuning of material selection and form, I felt a deep satisfaction when the details came together into a tool that is not only efficient but also enjoyable to use. When I reach a moment of clarity – when different parts come together into a working whole – I feel a quiet form of satisfaction, even joy. It’s not loud, but it’s meaningful. There are also times of frustration or doubt, of course, especially when something doesn’t work as expected. But even those moments are part of the process – they lead somewhere if I stay with them. Ultimately, design makes me feel alive, because it connects thinking, sensing, and making into one continuous flow.

When I design, I experience a rich spectrum of emotions, but what stands out most are curiosity and focused engagement. At the outset of a project, there’s an energizing excitement about the unknown possibilities. As I dive deeper into exploring ideas, that excitement evolves into a deep focus, almost like unraveling a complex puzzle. For instance, while designing a fishing rod, I was deeply absorbed in balancing functionality with ergonomic comfort. Each decision—whether about material choice or subtle shifts in form—brought moments of quiet satisfaction. When all these details aligned into a coherent and practical tool, I felt a profound sense of accomplishment and even joy. Of course, frustration and doubt also arise, especially when things don’t behave as intended. Yet, these moments are integral to the creative process—they challenge me to find new solutions and push the design further. Ultimately, designing makes me feel truly alive. It’s the seamless flow where thinking, sensing, and creating come together, making every project a unique emotional journey.

A successful design balances function, beauty, and user experience. It solves a real problem and feels natural to use. It respects the material’s character and brings all parts into harmony. Practicality and sustainability are key—if a design can’t be made or used well in real life, it falls short. The best designs combine tradition and innovation to create meaningful, enjoyable experiences.

The first things I look at are functionality and user experience. Does the design solve the problem it sets out to address? Is it easy and intuitive to use? If these basics aren’t met, other qualities matter less. Next, I consider material honesty—whether the design respects and highlights the character of the materials used. I also pay attention to aesthetic coherence and how well the elements work together as a whole. Finally, I think about feasibility: can this design be realistically produced and sustained? A great idea must also be practical to have true value.

As a designer who loves nature and spends countless hours by rivers and lakes, I believe our responsibility is to create with respect—respect for the environment, for the people who use our designs, and for future generations. Just like a healthy ecosystem depends on balance and care, design must be thoughtful and sustainable. We should choose materials and processes that minimize harm and waste, and strive to create products that last, not just serve a fleeting trend. Designers are also storytellers and guides. We shape how people interact with the world and with each other. So it’s vital that our work supports community well-being and fosters a deeper connection to nature, inspiring users to appreciate and protect the environment just as we cherish it by the water. In essence, a designer’s role is to bridge creativity with responsibility, crafting solutions that honor both people and the planet.

Design is evolving much like a river’s course—always shifting, adapting, and responding to the world around it. Just as water finds new paths but never loses its essence, design today blends tradition with innovation, craft with technology, and sustainability with creativity. The future of design lies in deeply listening to nature and society. Designers will need to be even more mindful of their impact, creating solutions that not only solve problems but also restore balance to our environment. I see a future where design embraces circularity—materials flow in loops instead of straight lines, waste is minimized, and products have life cycles that honor the earth. Technology will be a helpful tool, but the heart of design will remain the human connection to nature and the materials we work with. In short, design’s future is about harmony—between old wisdom and new ideas, between function and beauty, and above all, between people and the planet.

My design inspiration flows from the timeless beauty of classical arts and the profound wisdom of nature. The balance and harmony found in ancient sculptures, architecture, and paintings teach me about proportion, rhythm, and elegance—principles that never grow old. Nature, on the other hand, is an endless wellspring of ideas. From the delicate veins of a leaf to the rugged textures of stone, from the changing light of dawn to the quiet strength of ancient trees, I find constant reminders of how to blend strength with grace, and simplicity with complexity To feed my creativity, I immerse myself in these worlds—walking among old masterpieces, spending time outdoors, observing natural forms and patterns. I believe that true creativity is born when we listen deeply to the stories told by both human craft and the earth itself. In essence, my work is a dialogue between the heritage of classical art and the ever-changing, living canvas of nature.

I don’t see my work as having a fixed design style. Rather, I am guided by the needs of the project and the best way to solve the specific task at hand. My approach respects tradition and craftsmanship, while embracing modern technologies and processes where they add value. Instead of fitting my work into a particular style, I focus on understanding the problem deeply and finding the most fitting, balanced solution. This means blending timeless principles with innovative methods, adapting to the materials, context, and purpose. My design approach is flexible and practical, always rooted in respect for the past but open to the possibilities of the future. It’s about letting the task lead the way, rather than forcing the work into a predefined aesthetic.

I live in Hungary, surrounded by rich cultural traditions, folk craft, and a deep appreciation for natural materials. This cultural heritage shapes how I approach design—with thoughtfulness, simplicity, and a respect for what came before me. At the same time, I feel a strong emotional and aesthetic connection to the Mediterranean world—to its warmth, clarity, and timeless balance. The sea, in particular, inspires me with its colors, rhythms, and natural elegance. This duality—Central European depth and Mediterranean openness—creates a unique tension and harmony in my work. Living and working in Hungary comes with both opportunities and limitations. On one hand, there is a strong tradition of problem-solving with modest means, which pushes creativity in grounded, honest ways. On the other, resources and access to international networks can sometimes be more limited. But perhaps this very contrast helps me find a design voice that blends craft and innovation, rootedness and openness. I let the local heritage guide me, while the sea reminds me to think freely and breathe.

As the developer and producer of my own designs, I’m closely involved in every step of the production process—from concept to the final product. My work requires the use of multiple technologies, often involving specialized tools, materials, and techniques from different suppliers and locations. In the beginning, coordinating all these elements was definitely a challenge—finding reliable partners, understanding lead times, and ensuring consistent quality across different processes. But over time, I’ve built a strong and flexible network of trusted professionals and workshops. Now I’m able to navigate the entire production chain with confidence, choosing the right tools and methods based on the specific needs of each project. For me, production isn’t just about execution—it’s a creative part of the design process. I enjoy the problem-solving aspect of it, and I see technical limitations as opportunities to refine and improve.

Working with a designer is not just about aesthetics—it's about solving complex problems together. My advice to companies is simple: bring your designer in early, trust them not just with the visuals, but with your questions, your uncertainties, even your constraints. Designers think in systems, not just in shapes. Choosing a good designer isn’t about picking the trendiest portfolio. It's about finding someone who listens, who asks the right questions, who can adapt without losing their clarity. Someone who’s curious—not just about form, but about how your users live, think, and feel. And remember: great design doesn’t come from perfect briefs. It comes from open dialogue, trust, and patience. When a company shares their real story, and lets the designer be part of it, that’s when meaningful results happen.

My design process begins with understanding the core problem and the user’s needs. I start with hands-on exploration—sketching, modeling, and experimenting with materials to get a feel for the concept. From there, I blend traditional craftsmanship with digital tools to refine the design. Throughout, I stay flexible and open, letting the project’s unique challenges guide each step. Whether crafting the precise functionality of a fishing rod or the visual playfulness of an anamorphic fountain, I aim for solutions that are both practical and meaningful.

I have been working as a designer in the creative industry for over thirty years. I began my studies at the Hungarian University of Applied Arts, where I was admitted to the industrial design program in 1992. I earned my Master of Arts (MA) degree in Visual Communication Design, specializing in graphic design, in 1997. During my university years, I actively engaged with computer-based graphic software, which made digital tools and modern technology a fundamental part of my work from early on. Thanks to this, I was able to take on significant assignments right after graduation, working for notable international companies such as Oracle, Siemens, and Telewestel—one of Hungary's pioneering telecommunications firms. Shortly after earning my degree, I co-founded my own design studio with sculptor Katalin Kalmár. Our work focused on both two- and three-dimensional design, covering visual communication, corporate identity design, and public art projects. We participated in several successful sculpture competitions organized by Hungarian municipalities, winning multiple awards. As a result, we installed bronze sculptures in public spaces across various towns in Hungary, including Budapest’s Castle District. Our clients have also included the Hungarian Presidential Office and the Prime Minister’s Office. Over the past decades, I have combined traditional design approaches with contemporary technological tools, creating works that reflect both cultural context and opportunities for visual innovation.

I come from a family of educators, and none of my ancestors were artists. Neither of my siblings showed particular inclination or interest in the arts. However, from a very young age, it became clear that I had a special talent: my drawings were far beyond the level of my peers. Although I won several drawing competitions, I didn’t really enjoy competing; I much preferred finding my own solutions and creating works that brought me personal joy rather than producing them at a competitive level. When I was admitted to university, I was extremely happy and enjoyed every moment of my studies. Thanks to the university, I also had the opportunity to travel to several major European cities through scholarships. I participated in the Erasmus program, studying at a university in Kraków, Poland. Additionally, I attended workshops in Hannover and Ljubljana, where I further expanded my professional experience and inspiration. In Hungary during the 1990s, amid the emergence of the market economy, university students had a tremendous opportunity to become directly involved in international commercial processes. With the arrival of the first multinational corporations in Hungary, the advertising market was still unsettled following the political transition. Although various media, marketing agencies, and advertising studios had already appeared, their numbers were still small. As a result, it was quite common for a young graphic designer to work directly for a multinational company without an agency intermediary. Additionally, university students could also work for different advertising agencies even before graduation, which I actively did myself.

I consider myself a traditional artist who believes deeply in the value of classical skills and techniques. I think it is much harder to create meaningful work without them. These are the tools and abilities I learned from classical fine and applied arts, long before the digital era. For example, during university admission, essential criteria included life modeling, study drawing, perspective drawing, portrait drawing, and full-figure drawing. From my experience, those who master these traditional techniques and later embrace digital design tools gain a significant advantage. I count myself among them: I am capable of thinking and designing without a computer, using just a single sheet of paper and a simple line—much like Renaissance masters did. When it comes to refining the designs and the realization phase, I turn to digital tools to carry out parametric and computer-based processes. The same philosophy applies to sculpture. Although today it is easy to 3D print figures based on digital models, we always handcraft the original forms first. For example, I model the handle of a fishing rod by hand in sculpting wax before it undergoes digital processing and final refinement.

In visual communication design, I fundamentally enjoy creating two-dimensional graphics, as it is an exciting task. However, many times I feel that this type of design doesn’t offer enough challenge for me. For some reason, life has led me towards creating three-dimensional objects, which is a very exciting field for me. When I first imagine the core idea, it already creates a state of excitement. After the initial research and conceptual thinking, when I realize that my idea has validity and feasibility, it brings an even higher level of enthusiasm. Then the creative process begins, which, in my case, is very lengthy. I believe that whenever I create an object, I can only confirm its functionality through numerous tests. Therefore, the creative process for me is often long and persistent, requiring the production of many prototypes to be sure that the design truly works. This is also true for something like an anamorphic fountain, where I create a plan for how a mosaic matrix will visually align on a cylindrical mirror surface. I first create a small-scale model and adjust the graphic in various ways to find the optimal solution. In the case of a fishing rod, the process is especially exciting because, for example, developing a spring that forms the rod body cannot be done simply based on hand drawings or computer measurements. The spring needs to be tested by actually using it, catching fish, gathering feedback, and then modifying the design accordingly. This process often takes years.

I believe that a designer’s work is truly successful only when there is a strong drive for innovation. It is not enough to simply follow existing patterns or replicate trendy solutions. It is important to have the courage to seek out solutions that do not yet exist at the current moment — true, independent innovation. To achieve this, one must be able to distance themselves from the current situation and envision things that have never existed before. However, the question is how big those dreams are. A successful designer needs to choose projects that are realistic in scale, both financially and in terms of the required work. If the dream is too big, no matter how fantastic the idea is, it will likely never come to fruition because it may be difficult to secure funding or to present the project convincingly enough to attract investors. That is why I advocate for working on projects of a scale that does not depend on the skills or intentions of others, but can be realized solely through my own will and capabilities.

Some of my plans have already come to fruition, as I’ve had the opportunity to explore many areas throughout my life. Among them is one particular project that I’ve grown especially fond of, and which has become a central component of my long-term vision: the development of a compact fishing rod. This is a type of innovation that is never truly finished. I’ve already developed a base system that is compatible with a wide range of reels and can be used for many different fishing methods — from casting from the shore or a boat, to ice fishing, and even underwater snorkeling-based fishing. I truly feel that this is my "dream project" — something I want to keep refining and evolving in the years to come. My belief in this project is further validated by the success of its patenting process, which lasted eight years. In every country where I applied for protection, the patent was granted. The Wormy products are now protected with 20-year patents in the world’s largest markets. That means no one else can produce or sell them for two decades from the date of filing — and I still have about 12 years remaining under this protection. I see this as the foundation of my long-term work — a project that I will continue to nurture with dedication, creativity, and care in the coming years.

My advice to younger creators is this: the younger you are, the more important it is to stay connected to where we come from — to remember that some of the world’s most beautiful and enduring works were created without any digital tools. I often see young people trying to bypass traditional creative processes. They avoid working with physical materials, never pick up a pencil, don’t sculpt or draw by hand, and instead rely entirely on digital tools — and today, increasingly on artificial intelligence. No one yet knows exactly where this will lead in the long term. It’s a fascinating new paradigm, but also one full of deep and unanswered questions. Still, I believe that a truly good designer — even in the age of AI — must be capable of independent creation. Like AI, they must absorb the knowledge and achievements of their time, but then take one inventive step beyond, synthesizing those inputs into something entirely new, perhaps even something that never existed before. That’s what I believe defines true innovation.

I believe that anyone who is born with the ability to create something new — and who chooses to put that gift in service of humanity — has received one of life’s greatest blessings. My advice to young designers is to recognize the value of their talent and try to make use of it every single day. Every creation, no matter how small, is a contribution to progress. At a young age, this may not always feel meaningful. But in the long run, we can begin to see how our work might actually influence the world — even within our own lifetime. And when that realization comes — that your knowledge and creativity have served a greater purpose — it is one of the most fulfilling feelings imaginable. It’s also why I believe that every creative person should deeply value and continuously develop their abilities. Talent is a gift, yes — but it’s the dedication to growth, to practice, and to self-improvement that gives it true meaning. For me, the act of creation is mostly a joy — I would say 75% enjoyment and only 25% difficulty. And that 25% is the part that excites me the most: the challenge itself, the search for solutions, the process of figuring things out. It’s also important to understand that an idea is just the beginning — a spark. The real work comes after. A great idea alone doesn’t guarantee success; it takes time, testing, and determination to even prove its potential. But once that’s done, the creative journey truly begins — and for me, that journey is often more rewarding than the final result. That fulfillment applies not only to the creation of a product, but also to the journey toward recognition. Winning an award is a wonderful experience — but often, it’s the path you take to get there that brings the greatest joy and meaninng.

My workday begins like most people's — with a cup of coffee and switching on my phone. Then I go through the most urgent tasks for the day and try to reach that point as soon as possible where I can focus on what I do best: design. Since I have a family and run a business, I can’t dedicate as much time to pure design work as I would like. But that’s the nature of life — and I accept that. The key is to find those moments when I can fully immerse myself in the creative process. Whenever possible, I try to signal to those around me that I need uninterrupted time to concentrate on tasks that only I can carry out. This is especially important for complex projects — such as my award-winning compact fishing rod — where so many small details are interconnected that only I, as the original creator, truly understand the full system. Whether it’s as a designer, a fisherman, an engineer, or a company director, I’m often the one who can give the most effective answers to design or construction challenges. So my days are complex — a constant balancing act between design, operations, family life, and entrepreneurship. And to be honest, I may never have as much time for pure design work as I would ideally want. But that, too, is part of building something real — part of the process of creating and maintaining a brand.

I hadn’t really thought about this before, so I’m glad you asked—because I believe my answer differs from what most people might say. Of course, I follow design trends and observe the directions the field is heading in, but they have never been the source of my inspiration. I don’t aim to borrow elements from them or align my work with current styles. My way of thinking is much more retrospective—I look to the past. I examine what design has produced over the years and seek to offer contemporary yet entirely personal answers to timeless questions. I’m not interested in integrating the current solutions of others into my work; rather, I aim to respond to enduring creative challenges in my own way. A perfect example of this is my anamorphic mosaic. In that project, I combined classical, traditional techniques with modern technology. I created a four-square-meter surface made of tiny mosaic tiles that initially appears to form a chaotic, unreadable pattern. But when a person looks into the mirrored cylinder of the drinking fountain placed in the center, the mosaic transforms into a figurative image—a mounted royal figure arriving with his army. The original composition was drawn by hand using graphite, and later I used digital tools to build the mosaic matrix from that image. So the piece is rooted in classical craftsmanship while being realized through modern means. In essence, I’m always looking for unique solutions. I connect traditional methods with today’s technologies to create something new. This is my individual path—independent of any current trend.

In my view, design—whether it's product design, visual communication, or any other form—must always begin from a rational foundation, and that part must be fully resolved. As I’ve mentioned earlier in this interview in response to another question, it comes down to function and form. If I’m designing an object for use, it must first and foremost function properly. The function is fundamental. But I must resolve it in a way that also results in a form that is aesthetically pleasing, one that is visually satisfying. I wouldn’t even speak so much about proportions as I would about balance. If these two elements—function and form—are both fully present and in harmony, then we’re talking about good design. It doesn’t matter which comes first, because one cannot exist without the other. The essence of good design lies in the perfect balance between the two. For me, a design truly works when I look at it and instinctively say, “Yes, that’s it!” Even if I don’t consciously analyze it in that moment, it’s the balance I’m sensing. That’s why I say “aha”—because it works, and I like it.

In my view, design is an infinite process – a design is never truly “finished.” Of course, there can be certain phases within the design process that represent temporary endpoints. These moments may result in an actual product or even lead to mass production, and the result may be an excellent product – but that doesn't mean the story ends there. In fact, it's much more likely that the life of a product stretches far beyond that initial phase. I believe that reason, market conditions, and the surrounding business context always dictate when I raise my hand from the table and say, “This phase is now complete” or “This is ready.” But this “ready” only applies to the current state. From that point, it can become a product – but I’m absolutely certain that there’s always room for improvement. And even beyond that improvement, there’s always more to be done – development can continue endlessly. That’s why I look at everything I do as a milestone, rather than a final destination. Whether it’s product design or brand identity, I design the entire visual communication of my own brands – from trademarks and visual identity elements to packaging and presentation. And here too, the same applies: it’s a continuous evolution with key milestones along the way. Yes, sometimes a milestone may also represent a major goal achieved, and we may feel we’ve arrived somewhere meaningful – but I still believe the journey never truly ends.

My greatest design work, although it started small, eventually grew into something big because I put an enormous amount of energy, time, and love into it. This is my project called Wormy Compact Fishing Systems. The fundamental reasons behind how this came to be are as follows: I grew up by Central Europe’s largest lake, Lake Balaton, spending my entire childhood there until adulthood. Naturally, my grandfather introduced me to the secrets of fishing, so we fished together from a very young age. Meanwhile, I pursued a career in design in Budapest, and a few decades later, I once searched for a particular fishing product I wanted to buy. I realized that there wasn’t a device on the market that met my expectations. Only some of my requirements for such a fishing system were fulfilled, so I was instinctively motivated to create one myself. After I made the first prototype, I understood that there was much more potential in it, and a lot could be improved so that it would not just be a small, individual fishing tool but a complete system that could be used with many different fishing methods. Thus, my desires and skills came together and materialized in a concept that I then realized. At first, selfishly, I made it for my own use, but I spent a lot of time testing it. It’s interesting with such developments that once you have a prototype, you need to test it continuously in various locations and with different methods. There are many pitfalls with a mechanical device, and this phase reveals how well the different expectations are met. I had to manufacture and test many different prototypes, which took a lot of time. However, I enjoyed the process of designing and testing — basically, I was fishing the whole time. Of course, it wasn’t always enjoyable because not every prototype worked perfectly, but I kept moving forward and was always able to improve the product. My original goal was just a single product for myself, but I realized that if it’s good for me, it could be good for others, too. So I started designing a broader system and developed a product line. Initially, the materials used were suitable only for small-series production, and I wasn’t prepared to produce large-scale, low-cost products. However, this changed over the years, and now I’m ready to launch fishing rods made from quality materials with modern CNC technology, featuring carbon composite injection-molded reel seats and cork handles replacing the former hardwood grips. This manufacturing method allows cost-effective, large-scale production at a competitive price, so I hope the product will become available to a much wider audience.

I would gladly have a conversation with him, and fortunately, he is still alive. I would ask Dieter Rams about his philosophy of 'less but better' and the harmony between functionality and aesthetics.

My lifestyle and cultural identity — which I am deeply proud of — are closely intertwined with my family and the creative path we’ve chosen. I have two children, one of whom is already an adult. My partner is a sculptor, and for over 25 years, we’ve run a creative business together — so it’s fair to say we are a true artist family. Our younger child recently began studying sculpture at one of Hungary’s most prestigious secondary art schools. In our household, this has become a family tradition: my partner’s parents were artists too, though I myself didn’t come from an artistic background. Yet today, creation is part of our everyday life. We live in a small town just outside Budapest, nestled in the Danube Bend, surrounded by the beauty of the Pilis mountains. The closeness of nature, a vibrant local cultural scene, and especially the presence of water are deeply important to us. Water, in fact, has always played a key role in my life — I grew up by Lake Balaton, the largest lake in Central Europe, and now we live near the Danube River. At the moment I’m giving this interview, I’m in Rovinj, Croatia, on the Adriatic coast — one of the dearest places to my heart. I purchased a small apartment in the old town about twenty years ago, and it’s since become our family’s summer retreat. I spend as much time here as I possibly can. Rovinj (or Rovigno, in Italian) is a thousand-year-old coastal town that was once a humble fishing village. It carries a rich Venetian heritage, and its winding alleys, Mediterranean charm, and historic architecture offer endless inspiration. The climate, the food, the pace of life — all these elements deeply shape how I live, think, and create. Additionally, one of my partner’s siblings married and settled in Italy over thirty years ago, and we now have a large Italian family with whom we maintain a very close relationship. Their influence, and this inherited Mediterranean sensibility, continues to shape our lives — both personally and artistically.

Is it easy to work with me? I believe it is. At heart, I’m a mediator-type person who values collaboration based on mutual respect. Honestly, I don’t feel very comfortable within rigid corporate hierarchies — probably because I’m not really a businessperson. I’m a designer. And in structures where roles are clearly divided — owner, CEO, lead designer — I often feel out of place. Yet in my own company, I have to take on all of those roles myself, which can be overwhelming. Ideally, I would spend most of my time designing — that's where I truly feel at home. Operational tasks, financial responsibilities, delegating work, team building — all of these are challenging for me. Still, I try to create a working environment where people are treated as equals, where collaboration is key. I’m not interested in lecturing or instructing others; I want to work alongside people and learn from them as well. That’s why I naturally gravitate toward studio environments built around mutual creativity and shared ownership. At the same time, when developing a product of my own for the international market, I can’t ignore the need for professional growth in business areas too. Brand-building, business strategy, and understanding the operational side of running a company are just as important — and I’m still learning those skills. I like working with people whose strengths complement mine — people with whom I can "merge" ideas and co-create something new. I also value team members who may not focus on creativity but are reliable in execution and consistency. To me, one of the most important qualities in a good designer is that the materials they deliver should be of such high quality that even those less experienced can confidently use them as a solid foundation for their own work. But this only comes with a significant investment of time and attention. I consider myself a thorough and detail-oriented person. Not only because it’s my nature, but because I’ve come to understand that in design, many of the subtleties simply can’t be handed off to someone else — unless they’re fully thought through and worked out in detail. That’s why I often feel the need to dive deep and complete those parts myself.

As much as my possibilities allow, I try to take an active role in the smaller communities where I live, particularly by contributing my artistic, curatorial, and professional perspective to support the preservation of the town’s visual identity and to assist the work of the local arts council. I take on this role entirely voluntarily, without financial compensation, because I believe it is important to contribute to the cultural development of the community with my experience, taste, and skills. As part of this work, we initiate and manage various art competitions, establish local art prizes, and participate in the jury process. I see this as a meaningful, non-profit activity that serves the public good. In addition, we operate a public community space called “Szabadság Tér” (Freedom Square) in our property, which also houses our studio. This venue is dedicated to showcasing artistic content. We organize exhibitions for local and regional artists, provide a platform for emerging talents, not only in design, fine arts, and applied arts, but also in musical performance.

I believe international design competitions hold incredible significance for the advancement of designers. It is extremely important that anyone capable of creating a high-quality intellectual product shares it on the right platforms to reach a global audience. However, I think many creators still haven’t realized this or hesitate—or simply don’t want—to submit their work to these awards. Meanwhile, with the incredible expansion opportunities provided by the internet, this is arguably the best way for a designer to gain recognition, respect, and achievements. Winning an award is flattering on its own, but I believe that for an international design prize—such as the A’ Design Award—this is especially true. Receiving such recognition is a wonderful experience, as is attending a Mediterranean evening gala, which remains a beautiful memory. Yet, the true significance of such an award lies primarily in its promotional and marketing value. For someone like me, who not only participates in these competitions but also has their own product, winning a credible international award is invaluable—not only for raising my personal profile but also for strengthening the recognition of my brand.