Interview with Hasti Haj Khan Mirza Saraf

What motivates me most about design is the possibility of turning an idea, a feeling, or even a cultural memory into something tangible. I have always been fascinated by the fact that an object can communicate with people without using words. Its form, proportions, material, light, and the story behind it can create an emotional connection with the person experiencing it.

I became a designer because I was naturally drawn to observing things and imagining how they could exist differently. For me, design has never been only about solving functional problems. I am equally interested in asking what an object can make us feel, what story it can carry, and what makes it meaningful enough to be remembered.

This is also why culture and history frequently appear in my work. I do not want to reproduce the past; I am interested in extracting its essence and translating it into a contemporary language. I find this process especially fascinating because it allows an object to belong to the present while carrying traces of something deeper.

Lighting eventually became one of my main areas of exploration because light gives me another layer with which to tell these stories. A lighting object can have one identity during the day as a sculptural object and reveal another through illumination at night.

Ultimately, what keeps me designing is curiosity. Every project gives me an opportunity to discover a new relationship between form, emotion, identity, and human experience. I do not want to simply create objects; I want to create objects that have a reason to exist and leave something in the memory of the people who experience them.

I definitely chose to become a designer; it was never a path that was forced upon me.

The decision came from a genuine interest in creating, observing, and reimagining the world around me. From the beginning, I was fascinated by how everyday objects could carry emotion, identity, and meaning beyond their practical function. Design felt like the field where creativity and purpose could exist together.

Of course, like many designers, my path has evolved over time. I did not begin with all the answers, and my interests gradually led me toward lighting design, storytelling, and the relationship between culture and contemporary design. But the choice to become a designer was always my own, and it remains one of the most meaningful decisions of my life

At the moment, my main focus is lighting and product design. I am particularly interested in lighting objects that go beyond illumination and become part of the emotional and visual identity of a space. Many of my designs therefore have a sculptural quality and are developed around a narrative, an interaction, or a particular cultural idea.

However, I do not see myself as a designer who should remain limited to one product category. What interests me most is creating objects with a strong identity. Lighting is currently my primary medium, but the way I think about design, through form, storytelling, culture, emotion, and user experience can extend into furniture, objects, installations, and other areas of product design.

In the future, I would especially like to work on more interdisciplinary projects where product design, art, culture, and brand identity intersect. I am fascinated by the idea of understanding the deeper DNA of a culture or a brand and translating it into physical experiences and objects without simply reproducing recognizable symbols.

Ultimately, I would like to design across different scales and categories while maintaining a recognizable point of view. For me, the category of the object is less important than the identity, experience, and story that the design is able to create.

I still consider myself a designer in progress, with much more to learn and explore, so I would hesitate to describe myself as a “design legend.” However, if there is one lesson I would share with young designers, it is to invest time in discovering their own point of view rather than trying to become a version of someone they admire.

Today, we are constantly exposed to trends, successful projects, social media, and an enormous amount of visual information. These can be valuable sources of inspiration, but they can also make designers unconsciously repeat the same visual language. I believe one of the most difficult and important tasks for a young designer is to understand what genuinely attracts them: what forms, stories, cultures, experiences, or questions repeatedly capture their attention, and why.

I would also encourage young designers to experiment and put their work into the world. Competitions, exhibitions, professional projects, collaboration, and even unsuccessful attempts can teach lessons that cannot always be learned in a classroom. Recognition is valuable, but the process of preparing your work to be evaluated by others can be even more valuable.

Most importantly, I believe designers should remain curious and allow themselves to evolve. A personal design identity is not something you decide once and repeat forever. It develops through experience, research, mistakes, and continuous self-reflection.

I do not think becoming a significant designer is about creating one perfect object or collecting titles. It is about gradually building a body of work and a way of thinking that genuinely belongs to you. If young designers can protect their curiosity while developing their own voice, recognition can become a consequence of their journey rather than its only purpose.

I believe a good designer knows how to create a successful solution, while a great designer develops a way of seeing.

A good designer understands function, proportion, materials, aesthetics, and the needs of the user. These are essential foundations of design. But I think a great designer goes further by asking deeper questions: Why should this object exist? What does it communicate? How does it make people feel? And what can it contribute beyond solving the immediate problem?

Another important distinction is identity. Great designers do not necessarily have to repeat the same visual style in every project, but there is often a recognizable way of thinking behind their work. Even when the forms, materials, or categories change, you can sense a consistent perspective. To me, this is much more powerful than simply having a recognizable aesthetic signature.

I also believe great designers know how to observe. They pay attention not only to objects, but also to people, behavior, culture, history, technology, and changes in society. They are able to connect things that may initially seem unrelated and translate those connections into something meaningful.

Finally, greatness in design requires the ability to evolve. A designer who only repeats what once made them successful may eventually become predictable. The designers I admire most preserve their identity while continuing to question themselves, experiment, and change.

For me, the difference is ultimately this: a good designer can create a good object; a great designer can create a perspective through which we see that object, and sometimes the world around it differently.

ood design creates value on several levels at the same time. It can improve function and usability, create emotional connection, communicate identity, and ultimately influence how people perceive a product, a space, or even a brand.

I believe people rarely experience design as separate elements. They may not consciously analyze the proportions of an object, the material choices, the lighting, or the details of an interaction, but they experience all of these decisions together. Good design can make something feel intuitive, desirable, trustworthy, or memorable without needing to explain why.

From a business perspective, this makes design an investment rather than simply an expense. Products can often be manufactured by many companies using similar technologies and materials, but what makes people recognize, remember, and develop an attachment to one of them is frequently the experience and identity created through design. Good design can therefore become part of a company's long-term value and differentiation.

There is also a responsibility attached to design. Every product we create consumes materials, energy, time, and resources. If something is going to exist in the world, I believe it should deserve its existence. Designing products that are useful, meaningful, durable, and emotionally relevant can encourage people to value and keep them for longer rather than constantly replacing them.

This is why I believe investing in good design is ultimately an investment in quality: the quality of function, experience, identity, communication, and longevity. Good design does not simply make things look better; at its best, it makes them more meaningful and valuable.

If I had more time, I would like to explore design beyond lighting and work across furniture, objects, installations, and other forms of collectible and bespoke design. However, regardless of the category, I am particularly interested in creating pieces with a strong identity rather than products intended for mass consumption.

The audience I naturally design for is connected to the world of luxury. I am interested in people who value individuality, craftsmanship, narrative, cultural depth, and the experience of owning something that does not feel generic or widely reproduced. My approach is therefore closer to custom and bespoke design, where the object can respond to a particular person, space, identity, or story.

For me, luxury is not simply about expensive materials or exclusivity. I see it increasingly as the possibility of creating something with a high degree of intention and personalization something that has been considered in detail and has a meaningful relationship with its owner or environment.

Given the opportunity, I would like to develop more limited, collectible, and custom-designed pieces and collaborate with luxury brands, private clients, and creative institutions that appreciate this approach. I am especially interested in projects where I can understand the deeper DNA of a client or brand and translate it into a physical object or experience.

Ultimately, I am less interested in designing one object for everyone and more interested in designing something meaningful for someone specific. I believe this level of personalization can create a much deeper relationship between a person and the objects they choose to live with

One of my dream projects would be to collaborate with a luxury house with a strong history and distinctive identity to create a bespoke collection that translates its DNA into physical objects and experiences.

What interests me is not simply designing a product and applying the visual codes of a brand to it. I would want to begin much earlier in the process: researching its history, understanding the decisions that shaped its identity, studying its materials, rituals, cultural references, craftsmanship, and even the emotions people associate with it.

From that research, I would like to extract a deeper design language and reinterpret it through contemporary objects. The result could be a limited collection combining lighting, furniture, and collectible pieces, where every object expresses a different dimension of the same identity while still belonging to one coherent world.

I would especially enjoy creating pieces that are highly personalized or produced in limited numbers, where craftsmanship, technology, and narrative can coexist. Ideally, the collection would also include an immersive installation or spatial experience so that people could not only see the objects, but actually enter and experience the world behind them.
For me, the dream is not simply to design for a famous name. It is to be trusted with an identity that has been built over decades, or even generations- and find a respectful but unexpected way to carry that identity forward.

That kind of project would bring together many of the subjects I am most passionate about: design, culture, history, storytelling, luxury, personalization, and identity. I hope that one day I will have the opportunity to realize it.

If I had to name one secret ingredient, I would say it is the ability to connect things that do not seem connected at first.

I rarely begin a project by looking only at products from the same category. I might find inspiration in a cultural ritual, a historical detail, an emotion, a piece of architecture, a story, or even a particular human behavior. The interesting part for me is discovering the invisible connection between that reference and the object I am designing.

I believe this helps me avoid designing only from existing visual references. Instead of asking, “What should this object look like?” I prefer to ask, “Where could its identity come from?” Once I find that core idea, decisions about form, material, interaction, and light begin to have a reason behind them.

Another important ingredient is allowing an idea to evolve. I do not become too attached to the first version of a concept. I question it, change it, sometimes remove what initially seemed most interesting, and continue until the idea and the form begin to support each other.

So perhaps my recipe is a combination of observation, curiosity, and connection, but the secret ingredient is always meaning. I want to understand why I am making a particular design before deciding exactly what it should become.

For me, when a design has a meaningful reason behind it, it has a much better chance of developing its own identity.

The designer who has inspired me most is Zaha Hadid. My admiration for her goes far beyond the visual language of her work.

Of course, I have always been fascinated by her designs, the fluidity, movement, sculptural quality, and the way she challenged conventional ideas of form and space. But what inspires me even more is the way she thought. She had the courage to imagine possibilities outside the established framework, even when those ideas initially seemed too radical or difficult to realize.

Her journey as a woman is equally meaningful to me. She built an extraordinary career in an environment and at a time when architecture and design at that level were largely dominated by men. She faced rejection and criticism, yet continued developing her own language rather than adjusting her vision simply to become more acceptable. As a female designer myself, I find that determination extremely inspiring.

What I learn from her is not that a designer should create forms that resemble hers. It is the importance of having the courage to protect your own perspective, particularly when it does not fit comfortably within existing expectations.

Zaha Hadid remains my strongest source of inspiration because she represents something I deeply believe in: design can move forward when we are willing to question the boundaries that already exist.

For me, her greatest influence is not a particular form or aesthetic. It is the permission to think beyond the frame.

I believe becoming a better designer begins with becoming a better observer, not only of design, but also of yourself and the world around you.

One of the most important things I did was try to understand my own preferences more deeply. Instead of simply collecting images I liked, I started asking myself why I was attracted to certain forms, objects, cultures, stories, or atmospheres. Over time, I began to recognize patterns in my own choices. That process helped me understand my design identity much more clearly.

I also deliberately look beyond the design world for inspiration. History, culture, art, architecture, fashion, human behavior, and brand identity can sometimes teach me more than looking at another product in the same category. Expanding the sources you learn from also expands the connections you are capable of making as a designer.

Competitions have been another important part of my development. Preparing projects for international evaluation forced me to look at my work more critically. Winning is rewarding, of course, but rejection can be equally educational. It makes you return to a project, question your decisions, and understand what could be communicated or developed better.

Teaching has also unexpectedly made me a better designer. When you have to explain to someone else why an idea works, how to develop a concept, or how to discover their own direction, you are forced to examine your own thinking more carefully.

Most importantly, I try not to become too comfortable with what I already know. I research, experiment, question my own work, and remain open to changing direction. I believe improvement in design does not come from finding one successful formula and repeating it; it comes from continuously expanding the way you see, think, and understand yourself.

If I had not become a designer, I believe I would have found my way into brand strategy and luxury brand management.

I have always been fascinated by what creates a strong identity, why certain brands, objects, or experiences become recognizable and emotionally meaningful while others do not. I enjoy looking beyond the visible elements of a brand and understanding the deeper system behind it: its history, values, cultural codes, storytelling, positioning, and the decisions that allow its identity to remain consistent while still evolving.

The world of luxury is particularly interesting to me because design, craftsmanship, culture, heritage, experience, and business strategy are so closely connected within it. It requires both creative sensitivity and strategic thinking, which is a combination I find very appealing.

In fact, I do not see this interest as completely separate from my work as a designer. Increasingly, I see design and brand strategy as two perspectives on the same question: How do you create an identity that people can recognize, experience, and remember?

So perhaps if I had not become a designer, I would still have been working with creativity and identity, just from a different side of the process.

For me, design is the process of giving form to meaning.

It begins before the form itself. It begins with understanding why something should exist, who it is for, what it needs to do, and what kind of experience or emotion it should create. Form, material, function, technology, and aesthetics then become tools for translating that intention into something tangible.

I believe functionality is fundamental to design, but functionality alone is not enough. The objects we choose to live with become part of our environments, memories, behaviors, and even identities. A well-designed object can communicate something without words; it can create curiosity, attachment, comfort, or a sense of recognition.

This is why narrative is important in my own work. I am interested in the meaning behind an object and in how culture, history, human behavior, or a personal story can be translated into contemporary design without becoming literal.

I also see design as a bridge: between past and future, emotion and function, culture and technology, the designer and the user. The most interesting design happens when these elements are not treated as opposites but are brought into a meaningful relationship.

Ultimately, I do not believe design is simply about making things look different. It is about giving things a reason to be different.

I am not sure I would call myself a great designer yet. I still feel that I am building my path, and perhaps that feeling itself has helped me continue growing.

What has shaped me most is a combination of curiosity, persistence, and the willingness to question my own work. I have learned not to assume that the first idea is the best one and not to become too comfortable with a successful formula. I try to understand why I make each decision and whether it truly belongs to the concept.

International design competitions have also played an important role in my development. They exposed my work to different standards and perspectives and taught me to evaluate my projects more critically. Both recognition and rejection have been valuable: one builds confidence, while the other often forces deeper reflection.

Teaching has influenced me as well. Helping other designers discover their own interests and develop their ideas has made me more conscious of my own process. Sometimes explaining design to someone else reveals things about your own thinking that you had never articulated before.

But perhaps the most important factor has been learning to trust my own perspective. Over time, I have become less interested in designing what I think I am expected to design and more interested in understanding what genuinely belongs to me, my attraction to narrative, sculptural form, culture, identity, and the emotional side of objects.

I believe growth as a designer happens when external experience and internal understanding develop together. Awards, projects, education, and professional opportunities can open doors, but knowing what you want to say through your work is what eventually gives those experiences direction.

I still see myself as a designer in development rather than a design master, but there have certainly been obstacles that have shaped my journey.

One of the most significant has been building an international design career while coming from Iran. Access to the global design industry is not always equal. International competition fees, financial restrictions, limited access to certain services and platforms, travel difficulties, and the challenge of building professional connections across borders can turn opportunities that seem straightforward for others into much more complicated processes.

Rather than allowing these limitations to define the scale of my ambitions, I tried to find alternative ways forward. International competitions became one of the ways I could place my work in front of a global audience and allow the design itself to travel even when physical borders or circumstances made other forms of access more difficult.

Being a woman has added another dimension to this journey. In many areas of design and related industries, women can still face additional challenges in being recognized, trusted, and taken seriously, particularly when trying to establish themselves internationally. Coming from the Middle East made me even more conscious of how cultural expectations and limited opportunities can sometimes influence the professional paths available to women.

Over time, however, this challenge became part of my motivation. I decided that I did not simply want to overcome these barriers for myself. I want my journey to eventually become an example, particularly for young women in the Middle East, that their background or gender does not have to determine the limits of what they can pursue.

I do not believe being a role model means presenting a perfect story in which everything succeeds. I think it is more meaningful to show the persistence behind the achievements: the rejected projects, the difficult circumstances, the uncertainty, and the decision to continue anyway. If another young woman can look at my journey and think, “Perhaps I can pursue what I truly care about too,” that would be one of the most meaningful outcomes of my career.

Another obstacle was learning to trust a design language that did not always follow dominant trends. My natural attraction is toward sculptural, narrative-driven, and emotionally expressive objects. At times, it would have been easier to follow more familiar or commercially predictable aesthetics, but I gradually understood that removing the characteristics that made my work personal would also remove much of its reason for existing.

Like many designers, I have also experienced rejection. Some projects I strongly believed in were not selected or recognized. Over time, I learned not to interpret rejection simply as failure. Sometimes it reveals weaknesses; sometimes it reflects context, timing, or a difference in perspective. The important part is learning to distinguish between feedback that should change your work and rejection that should not change your identity.

These obstacles have ultimately made me more resourceful and more conscious of what I want from my career. They taught me that a designer cannot always control the circumstances surrounding an opportunity, but can continue improving the quality of the work, finding new routes, and building a voice strong enough to travel beyond those circumstances.

My ultimate goal is to build a body of work that has a recognizable identity and remains meaningful beyond a particular trend, product category, or moment in time.

I do not want to define my future only through lighting. Lighting is an important part of my journey and has taught me how strongly an object can influence emotion and atmosphere, but I see my design language expanding into furniture, collectible objects, installations, and eventually broader collaborations within the world of luxury.

One of my greatest ambitions is to work at the intersection of design, culture, and identity. I would like to collaborate with luxury houses, cultural institutions, and private clients, understanding their deeper DNA and translating it into bespoke objects and experiences. What excites me is not simply creating something visually beautiful, but creating something that feels deeply connected to the identity it represents.

At the same time, I hope to eventually build my own design brand, a world where my approach to storytelling, cultural references, personalization, and contemporary design can develop without being limited to a single category.

But I think my ultimate goal goes beyond the objects themselves. I would like my career to leave a trace: through the work I create, the ideas I contribute to design, and the people I may encourage along the way. As a woman from the Middle East, it would be especially meaningful if my journey could help another generation of women believe that they can build an international career around what they genuinely love.

So, ultimately, success for me would not simply mean becoming well known. It would mean reaching a point where my work has its own voice, where that voice contributes something meaningful to contemporary design, and where the path I have built makes it a little easier for someone else to imagine a path of their own.

I think the more recognition a designer receives, the greater the responsibility becomes. People begin to expect more than simply another beautiful object; they expect a point of view, consistency, integrity, and perhaps most importantly, evolution.

For me, this means not becoming comfortable with previous achievements. Recognition can easily create pressure to repeat what has already been successful, but I believe an established designer should continue experimenting, questioning their own work, and taking creative risks. I would rather allow my design language to evolve than turn it into a formula.

I also think people expect authenticity. They want to understand what a designer stands for and to see a genuine connection between their ideas and their work. In my case, I hope people can gradually recognize my interest in identity, narrative, culture, emotional experience, and the dialogue between historical references and contemporary design.

There is also a responsibility beyond creating objects. As designers gain visibility, their words, decisions, and journeys can influence younger creatives. I believe sharing knowledge, being honest about both success and failure, and encouraging emerging designers to develop their own voices are also part of that responsibility.

Ultimately, I think people expect an esteemed designer not simply to produce more work, but to continue contributing something meaningful. For me, the challenge is to remain recognizable without becoming repetitive, ambitious without losing authenticity, and successful without losing the curiosity that made me want to design in the first place.

Design has an enormous influence on society because it quietly shapes the way we live, behave, communicate, and experience the world around us. Almost every object, space, service, or system we interact with has been designed in some way, which means designers have the ability and the responsibility to influence everyday life.

At its most fundamental level, good design can make life safer, more accessible, intuitive, and comfortable. It can respond to real human needs and create solutions that improve people's daily experiences. But I believe its role can go much further than problem-solving.

Design can also influence behavior and values. The choices designers make about materials, durability, production, repairability, and emotional longevity can affect how people consume and how quickly they replace the objects around them. I believe creating something that people value, care for, and want to keep can sometimes be as important as simply creating something new.

Another important role of design is preserving and evolving culture. We live in an increasingly globalized visual world, and there is a risk that objects and environments begin to lose their connection to place, history, and identity. Design can carry cultural memory forward, not by copying the past, but by interpreting it for contemporary life.

I also believe design can create emotional value. Beauty, atmosphere, light, storytelling, and meaningful objects may not always solve an obvious practical problem, but they influence how people feel in their environments. Quality of life is not defined only by efficiency; emotion, belonging, identity, and beauty are also part of the human experience.

For me, a better society is therefore not simply one with more products or newer technology. It is one where what we create is more thoughtful, inclusive, responsible, culturally aware, and meaningful. Design has the power to help build that society because, ultimately, when we design the objects and environments around people, we also influence the way people experience their lives.

One of the projects that has given me the greatest satisfaction is Eternal Flame. Of course, the international recognition it received is meaningful to me, but that is not the main reason I feel so connected to the project.

What makes Eternal Flame particularly important to me is that it represents many of the ideas that define my approach to design: storytelling, cultural identity, emotion, and the transformation of meaning into contemporary form.

I am especially interested in the challenge of working with cultural or historical references without reproducing them literally. I believe the past becomes much more interesting when a designer can understand its essence and translate it into a new visual language that belongs to the present. Eternal Flame allowed me to explore that relationship through light and form.

The project also strengthened my belief that a lighting object can exist on more than one level. It can perform its functional role while simultaneously becoming a sculptural and emotional presence within a space. This balance between function, narrative, and expression is something I continuously search for in my work.

The recognition the project received was certainly rewarding, but the deeper satisfaction came from seeing that something rooted in my own way of thinking could communicate with people beyond my own cultural and geographical context.

For me, that is one of the most rewarding moments in design: when something deeply personal in its origin becomes universal enough to connect with someone somewhere else in the world.

One change I would like to see is a stronger return to identity in design.

We now have access to an extraordinary amount of visual information, references, digital tools, and increasingly, artificial intelligence. These developments offer designers possibilities that previous generations could not have imagined, and I see enormous value in them. At the same time, they also make it easier for design to become visually homogenized. When everyone has access to similar references and tools, having a genuine point of view becomes even more important.

I hope the coming years will place greater value on understanding where an idea comes from, rather than only how impressive the final image appears. I would like to see more designers exploring their own cultures, histories, personal experiences, and local knowledge, not to reproduce traditional symbols, but to reinterpret them and contribute new perspectives to contemporary design.

I also hope we develop a healthier relationship with artificial intelligence. I use new technologies as part of my own creative process, and I believe they can dramatically expand what designers are able to explore. But technology should amplify the designer's imagination rather than replace the thinking behind the design. As tools become more powerful, I believe human judgment, authorship, storytelling, and identity will actually become more valuable.

Another change I would like to see is greater accessibility within the international design industry. Talent exists everywhere, but access to opportunities, competitions, exhibitions, education, networks, and financial resources is still very uneven. I would especially like to see more opportunities for designers from regions that are less represented internationally and for women who may still face additional barriers in building global careers.

Ultimately, I hope the future of design becomes simultaneously more technologically advanced and more human: more open to different voices, more culturally diverse, more responsible, and less afraid of individuality.

The more powerful our tools become, the more important it will be to remember that the most valuable thing a designer brings to the process is not the tool itself, but a perspective that belongs to them.

I think the design field is moving toward a future where the boundaries between disciplines become increasingly blurred. Product design, technology, fashion, architecture, art, branding, and experience design are already influencing one another, and I believe designers will increasingly need to think beyond a single category.

At the same time, I see a shift from designing objects toward designing complete experiences and identities. People are not only asking what a product does or how it looks; they are increasingly interested in how it fits into their lifestyle, what it represents, how it makes them feel, and whether they can form a personal connection with it.

For this reason, I believe personalization will become increasingly important. As mass production and digital technologies make products more accessible, individuality may become a new form of value. Especially within luxury design, I expect greater attention to bespoke experiences, limited production, craftsmanship, and products that can respond to a particular person, environment, or identity.

I also think the role of the designer itself will expand. Designers may become less defined as specialists who simply create forms and more as people who connect different worlds: technology with emotion, business with culture, heritage with innovation, and brands with human experience.

This is particularly interesting to me because I believe the future will require designers who can understand not only how to create an object, but also why it should exist, what identity it carries, and what relationship it can build with people.

So I do not think the next chapter of design will be defined by one aesthetic movement or one new technology. I believe it will be defined by connections: between disciplines, between physical and digital experiences, between global innovation and local identity, and ultimately between objects and people.

There is no fixed timeline for me. Depending on the complexity of the project, a design can take anywhere from a few weeks to several months to reach a stage where I consider it resolved.

Interestingly, the most time-consuming part is not always creating the final form. I often spend a significant amount of time researching, collecting references, understanding the context, and trying to identify the core idea of the project. I need to understand what gives the design its identity before I can confidently decide what it should look like.

Once I find that central idea, the process usually becomes more focused. I explore different directions, develop the form, test proportions and details, and repeatedly return to the original concept to make sure the design has not lost its meaning during development.

I also tend to revisit projects after leaving them alone for a while. Distance can be very useful in design. Something that seems completely resolved after working on it continuously may look very different when you return to it with fresh eyes.

For me, a project is finalized not simply when there is nothing more I can add, but when I feel there is nothing unnecessary left to remove or change. It is the moment when the concept, form, function, and identity begin to support one another naturally.

So I measure the completion of a project less by time and more by clarity. A design feels finished to me when I can explain why it is the way it is.

I usually do not start a new project by sketching a form. I start by asking questions.

I want to understand the context first: Who is this for? Where will it exist? What should it communicate? What makes this project different from another project in the same category? Most importantly, I try to discover where its identity could come from.

Research is therefore a very important first stage for me. Depending on the project, I may explore culture, history, architecture, art, human behavior, a particular story, or the identity of a client or brand. I collect references, but I try not to look only at existing products from the same category because I do not want the starting point of the design to simply be another design.

Once I identify something meaningful, I begin making connections. Sometimes two references that initially appear completely unrelated can create the foundation of a concept. This is actually one of my favorite parts of the process: finding the invisible relationship between different ideas and asking how that relationship could become a physical object.

My form exploration is also quite digital. I do not rely heavily on traditional sketching; I often use digital and AI tools to explore early possibilities quickly. I see these tools as a way of having a visual conversation with an idea rather than allowing them to make the design decisions for me. I select, reject, combine, and redirect possibilities until I begin to recognize a direction that belongs to the concept.

From there, I move into more controlled development, refining the geometry, proportions, details, functionality, and eventually the technical aspects of the object.

So my process usually moves from question → research → connection → concept → exploration → refinement.

I rarely begin by asking, “What should this look like?”
I prefer to begin with, “Why should this exist, and where should its identity come from?”

My motto as a designer is:

“Don’t design to be different. Design with a reason to be different.”

In a world where we are constantly surrounded by new images, trends, and objects, creating something visually different is relatively easy. What is much more difficult is creating something whose difference has meaning.

I try to remind myself that every decision in a project should have a reason behind it. A form can come from a story, a cultural reference, an interaction, an emotion, a particular person, or the identity of a brand, but it should not exist only to attract attention.

This motto also reminds me not to chase originality for its own sake. I believe originality often appears naturally when a designer understands deeply what they want to communicate and develops the courage to translate it through their own perspective.

Ultimately, I want people to remember not only what my designs looked like, but why they were created that way.

I think the relationship works in both directions, but the most interesting design does not simply follow trends; it understands what is creating them.

Trends rarely appear from nowhere. They often reflect larger changes in society, technology, culture, economics, and the way people live. Designers naturally respond to these changes, so in that sense, trends influence design. But designers also have the ability to introduce new ideas, behaviors, materials, and ways of experiencing objects that can eventually influence what becomes desirable or culturally relevant.

Personally, I prefer to observe trends rather than design according to them. They can be useful signals because they tell us something about the moment we are living in, but I do not think they should become instructions.

This is especially important today because visual trends travel extremely quickly. If designers respond only to what is currently popular, many objects can begin to share the same visual language and lose their individual identity.

I believe influential design often begins slightly outside what is expected. It may initially feel unfamiliar, but if the idea is meaningful enough, it can eventually change expectations and sometimes become the trend that others follow.

So for me, the relationship is circular: society creates change, change creates trends, designers interpret them, and strong design can then influence society again.

I would rather understand a trend than follow it, and if possible, create work with enough identity to remain relevant after that trend has disappeared.

Technology plays a fundamental role in my design process because I believe it continuously expands what a designer is able to imagine, develop, and ultimately create.

Every advancement in technology gives us a larger territory in which to think. New digital tools allow us to explore ideas faster, test more possibilities, work with greater complexity, and visualize concepts that might previously have remained only in our imagination. For me, this encourages designers to think further outside conventional boundaries.

Artificial intelligence is one example. I use AI during the exploratory stages of my process because it allows me to investigate a much wider range of visual and formal possibilities in a relatively short time. Sometimes an unexpected result can challenge my initial assumptions and lead me toward a direction I had not considered before. I then develop and control those ideas more precisely through tools such as Rhino.

But I think the influence of technology goes far beyond the ideation stage. Developments in manufacturing, digital fabrication, materials, engineering, and production techniques are constantly changing what can actually be made. Forms or structures that might once have been considered too complex, expensive, or even impossible can gradually become realistic possibilities.

That relationship is particularly exciting to me: as our ability to make things expands, our ability to imagine them expands as well. Designers no longer have to think only within the limitations of traditional production methods.

I therefore see technology not simply as a tool for making the design process faster or easier, but as something that can expand the creative capacity of the designer. It can open new directions in ideation, development, personalization, interaction, and fabrication.

Of course, technology still needs human direction. But I believe the more possibilities technology gives us, the more freedom we have to question existing boundaries and imagine what design could become next.

For me, one of the most exciting aspects of being a designer today is exactly this: the boundaries of what we can imagine and the boundaries of what we can make are expanding together.

I see color, material, and ambience as part of the language of a design. They are not elements that should simply be added after the form is created; they can fundamentally change how an object is understood, experienced, and remembered.

Material, for example, communicates before we even touch an object. It can suggest warmth, precision, permanence, softness, craftsmanship, technology, or even a connection to a particular culture or period. For this reason, I believe material should support the identity and narrative of a project rather than being selected only for its appearance.

Color works in a similar way. It can completely change the emotional character of the same form. Sometimes color needs to become a strong part of the identity; in other projects, it should remain quiet and allow the form, texture, or light to become more dominant. I do not believe there is one correct approach; the decision should come from what the project is trying to communicate.

Ambience is particularly important to me because of my work with lighting. An object never exists completely independently from its surroundings. Light, shadow, reflections, neighboring materials, and the atmosphere of a space can transform how we perceive its proportions, surfaces, colors, and even its emotional character. The same object can create an entirely different experience during the day and at night.

This is one reason I find lighting so fascinating: light can reveal a material, transform a color, create a shadow, and change the emotional presence of an object without physically changing the object itself.

Ultimately, I see form, color, material, light, and environment as interconnected rather than separate design decisions. When they support the same idea, the result becomes more than a visually successful object; it becomes a coherent experience.

The question I would most like people to ask about my work is:

“Why is it like this?”

For me, that question goes much deeper than asking what inspired the form or how the object was made. It opens a conversation about the decisions behind the design: why a particular form exists, where its identity comes from, what story or cultural reference may be hidden within it, and what kind of relationship I wanted it to create with the person experiencing it.

I actually enjoy when a design creates curiosity before giving away its entire story. I do not necessarily want people to immediately recognize every reference behind my work. Sometimes discovering those layers gradually creates a stronger connection with the object.

If someone looks at one of my designs and becomes curious enough to ask why a certain detail, material, light, proportion, or interaction exists, then the object has already started a conversation.

This is important to me because I do not want my work to be experienced only visually. I want there to be something to discover beyond the first impression.

So perhaps the question I value most is not simply, “What is this?” but “Why did it become this?”

Because that is where the real story of a design begins.

When I see a truly great design, my first reaction is usually curiosity. I want to understand how the designer arrived there.

After the initial visual impression, I naturally begin to analyze the decisions behind the object. What was the central idea? Why was this particular form chosen? How do the material, proportions, details, function, and interaction support that idea? I am especially interested in discovering the moment where an ordinary solution became an unexpected one.

I also ask myself what I can learn from the project without copying its visual language. For me, studying good design is not about collecting forms to use later; it is about understanding ways of thinking. Sometimes the most valuable lesson from another designer's work is not the final object at all, but the question they decided to ask.

The designs I admire most usually have a certain sense of inevitability. Once you understand the idea, the decisions feel connected as if the object could not have developed in exactly the same way without that particular concept behind it.

And sometimes, when I encounter an exceptional project, I feel a mixture of admiration and creative restlessness. It makes me want to return to my own work, question it again, and push it further.

I think that is one of the greatest values of seeing excellent design: it does not only make you admire someone else's answer; it makes you reconsider your own questions.

I still consider my skills to be developing, and I hope that never really stops. For me, becoming a stronger designer has not followed one conventional path; it has been a combination of formal education, self-learning, professional practice, specialized courses, exhibitions, competitions, teaching, and direct experience within the design industry.

One particularly influential experience was a three-month, in-person internship and project experience at WAXY Design Studio in Istanbul, a studio specializing in lighting products. Being physically present in a professional environment focused specifically on lighting gave me a very different kind of education. It allowed me to experience the design process beyond academic or conceptual work and observe more closely how ideas are discussed, developed, refined, and approached within a specialized studio. That period had a significant influence on my development and strengthened my interest in lighting design.

Working on real projects has continued to be one of my most important ways of learning. Every project reveals something new—sometimes a weakness I need to improve, sometimes a technical question, and sometimes an entirely different way of approaching a design problem. Over time, these experiences helped me build a process that fits the way I naturally think and create.

Continuous learning is equally important to me. I have taken different courses to expand my knowledge beyond formal education, and I do not believe a designer's education should ever really finish. Technologies, tools, production possibilities, and people's expectations continue to evolve, and designers need to evolve with them.

I also spend a great deal of time looking at and analyzing the work of other designers. I try to go beyond deciding whether I simply like a project aesthetically. I ask why it works, how the designer arrived at the final solution, what makes it memorable, and what I can learn from the thinking behind it without copying its visual language.

Visiting exhibitions has also been an essential part of developing my eye. There is an enormous difference between seeing an object through an image and experiencing it physically. Exhibitions allow me to understand real scale, materials, textures, construction, details, light, and the relationship between an object and its surrounding environment.

Beyond design itself, I deliberately research culture, history, art, architecture, brands, technology, and other creative disciplines. I believe that expanding what we observe eventually expands what we are capable of imagining.

International design competitions became another form of education. They pushed me to develop concepts more thoroughly, communicate ideas more clearly, and evaluate my work within an international context. Both recognition and rejection have contributed to my growth.

Technology has expanded my abilities as well. My process is highly digital, and I continuously explore tools that allow me to investigate ideas and forms beyond what I might have been able to explore through more conventional methods.

Teaching has added another dimension. Explaining ideation and design thinking to others forces me to examine my own process more carefully, and sometimes a student's question can make me reconsider something I thought I already understood.

Perhaps the most important skill I have developed, however, is not technical. It is the ability to look critically at my own work without losing confidence in my own voice. Designers need both: enough self-criticism to continue improving and enough trust in their perspective to avoid becoming copies of what already exists.

For me, developing as a designer has therefore never resulted from one course, one studio, one project, one competition, or one method. It has been a continuous accumulation of learning, professional experience, observation, experimentation, questioning, creating, and evolving.

I am very grateful for the awards and recognition my work has received, but I would not describe myself as famous. I still see myself as a designer who is building her career, learning, and trying to develop a stronger body of work.

Receiving international recognition has been meaningful to me for several reasons. An award is not only a title; for me, it is a moment when people from different professional and cultural backgrounds look at something I created and find value in it. Coming from Iran and trying to build an international design career, that has been particularly encouraging. It showed me that an idea can travel beyond the place where it was created.

Awards have also given me confidence at important moments in my career. Design involves a great deal of uncertainty, and you spend a lot of time questioning your own decisions. Having your work evaluated and recognized by experienced professionals can reassure you that there is something worth continuing to develop in your approach.

At the same time, recognition creates a different kind of pressure. After receiving an award, I do not want my next project simply to prove that I can repeat what I have already done. I want it to show growth. In that sense, every achievement raises the standard I set for myself.

I also try not to allow awards to become the reason I design. They are important milestones, and I am genuinely proud of them, but they are not the final destination. I would rather build a meaningful and recognizable body of work over time than be defined by a list of awards.

As for fame, I cannot really speak about the difficulty of being famous because I do not consider myself to be there. What I am experiencing is recognition, and I am grateful for it. If greater visibility comes in the future, I hope I can treat it in the same way: not as a status, but as an opportunity to do more meaningful work, take greater responsibility, and perhaps create opportunities for others as well.

A great day for me as a designer does not necessarily mean finishing a project. Sometimes it is simply the moment when something that has been unclear for days suddenly begins to make sense.

I really enjoy that turning point in the design process when research, references, ideas, and experiments that initially seem disconnected begin to come together. Finding the right concept, discovering an unexpected form, or solving one detail that changes the entire project can be enough to make my day.

I also get a great deal of energy from discovering things. Seeing an inspiring exhibition, encountering an exceptional piece of design, learning something through a course, discovering a new technology, or even finding an interesting reference from history or culture can immediately make me want to create something.

My motivation, however, is not constant. There are days when ideas come very naturally and others when I can spend hours without reaching the result I want. I have learned not to depend entirely on feeling inspired. When creativity is not flowing, I change the type of work I am doing. I might research, analyze references, learn a new tool, revisit an older project, or simply step away from the design for a while and return with fresh eyes.

I am also motivated by progress rather than only by final results. A project does not have to be completed for me to feel that the day was productive. Sometimes understanding one problem more clearly or eliminating one wrong direction is already progress.

And perhaps one of my strongest motivations is knowing that there is still so much I have not explored. There are materials I have not worked with, technologies I have not learned, cultures and stories I have not researched, and types of projects I have not designed yet.

That sense of possibility keeps me moving. A great design day, for me, is a day when I understand something today that I did not understand yesterday.

ooking back, I think there were definitely signs, although of course I could not have known exactly where they would lead me.

I was fascinated by art and making things from a very young age. I remember collecting discarded materials and turning them into different objects. I enjoyed the simple idea that something ordinary, or even something other people considered useless, could become something completely different through imagination and making.

One of my clearest memories is from the second grade. My art teacher drew a fashion figure for me, and I became fascinated with it. I kept copying the figure again and again and designing different clothes for it. It became a small creative world for me, and I could spend a great deal of time imagining new variations.

Interestingly, whenever adults asked me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” my answer was a jewelry designer. I did not know much about the professional world of design at that age, of course, but I was already attracted to the idea of creating objects that combined imagination, beauty, detail, and personal expression.

I eventually became an industrial designer and found a particularly strong connection with lighting, so the category changed, but the instinct behind it remained surprisingly similar. I still enjoy transforming an idea into a physical object, working with form and detail, and creating something that carries an identity beyond its basic function.

So, was it obvious that I would become a “great designer”? Certainly not, and I still consider myself to be developing as a designer. But was it obvious that creating and designing would somehow become part of my life? Looking back at that child making objects from discarded materials, designing clothes, and dreaming of jewelry, I think the answer is yes.

To me, design is the bridge between an idea and people's everyday lives. It is the process of transforming creativity into something meaningful, functional, and lasting.

But beyond solving practical problems, I believe design has another important role: it should make people feel unique. Every individual has different needs, tastes, and emotions. A successful design should respond not only to functional requirements but also to people's psychological and emotional needs. When someone feels that a product truly reflects their personality or creates a meaningful emotional connection, design has achieved something far greater than functionality.

As a lighting designer, I see light as more than illumination. It shapes atmosphere, influences emotions, and changes the way we experience a space. That is why every project I create begins with a simple question: how can this design make someone feel better, more connected, and more valued? If it can do that while serving its purpose beautifully, then I believe it is truly good design.

I am most passionate about designing lighting and decorative products because they exist at the intersection of function, emotion, and art. Unlike many everyday objects, lighting has the unique ability to transform the atmosphere of a space and influence how people feel within it.

I especially enjoy projects that allow me to explore new forms, materials, and technologies while creating an emotional connection with the user. I am drawn to designs that tell a story rather than simply fulfill a function.

In every project, I try to create something that people will not only use but also remember. I want my designs to become part of meaningful moments in their lives and give them a sense of individuality. For me, that is what makes designing lighting products so rewarding.

Among all of my projects, *Eternal Flame Pendant Light* holds a special place in my heart. It represents not only my design approach but also my belief that lighting can tell stories and create emotional connections.

The inspiration came from the image of an eternal flame, a symbol that exists across many cultures and represents hope, continuity, passion, and the enduring spirit of humanity. I wanted to transform this timeless idea into a contemporary lighting object that feels elegant, warm, and meaningful.

What makes this project especially meaningful to me is the balance it achieves between emotion and function. Every detail, from the overall form to the way the light is diffused, was carefully considered to create an atmosphere rather than simply illuminate a space.

For me, *Eternal Flame* is more than a lighting fixture. It reflects my belief that design should make people feel something. If a product can create a lasting emotional impression while serving its purpose beautifully, then I believe it has truly succeeded.

I don't have a single favorite material because, for me, the best material is always the one that can express the story behind a design in the most authentic way. Material should never be chosen simply because it is beautiful or popular; it should strengthen the concept and help communicate the design's narrative.

I also believe that successful design comes from the relationship between material, technology, the surrounding environment, and the people who interact with the product. None of these elements should exist independently. They need to work together to create a meaningful and complete experience.

This is why I enjoy exploring different materials and manufacturing technologies rather than limiting myself to one approach. Every project has its own identity, and I believe the material should be selected to support that identity and bring the design to life.

I feel most creative when I fully understand the purpose behind a project. Once I know the story, the people I am designing for, and the experience I want to create, ideas begin to develop naturally.

Creativity rarely comes to me in a single moment of inspiration. It grows through observation, research, sketching, and constantly asking questions. Sometimes the best ideas appear while I am working, walking, traveling, or simply paying attention to everyday life. I have learned that creativity is less about waiting for inspiration and more about staying curious.

I also find that quiet moments, away from distractions, help me connect ideas that initially seem unrelated. Those moments often lead to the concepts that later become the foundation of my designs.

The first thing I focus on is the purpose behind the design. Before thinking about form or aesthetics, I try to understand what the product should communicate, who it is for, and what kind of experience it should create.

From there, I pay close attention to the relationship between function, emotion, material, technology, and the environment in which the product will exist. I believe these elements should support one another rather than compete. When they are in balance, the design feels natural and meaningful.

Finally, I focus on the details. Small decisions such as proportions, the way materials interact with light, or how a user experiences the product over time, often make the biggest difference. In my opinion, thoughtful details are what transform a good design into a memorable one.

For me, designing is much more than creating an object. It feels like lighting a flame in the darkness, bringing an idea into existence and giving it the power to connect with people.

Every design holds a special place in my heart because it reveals a part of who I am. Each project carries my thoughts, emotions, and the way I see the world. In many ways, designing is one of the most honest forms of self-expression I know.

Most of my work seeks to build a bridge between cultural heritage and contemporary life. I am deeply inspired by history, craftsmanship, and the stories passed down through generations, yet I always try to reinterpret them through a modern perspective. This process makes me feel connected both to my ancestors and to future generations.

What excites me most is witnessing the evolution of an idea. From the first sketch to the final product, every stage brings a sense of discovery and growth. That feeling of continuous evolution is one of the reasons I love being a designer.

For me, a successful design is one that goes beyond solving a problem. While functionality is essential, I believe great design should also create an emotional connection with the user.

A product becomes truly successful when it makes people feel something when it invites them to pause, reflect, and discover a deeper meaning the very first time they encounter it. I want my designs to spark curiosity rather than simply be understood at first glance.

I also believe that successful design should make people feel unique. Every individual has different emotions, memories, and aspirations, and a product should be able to resonate with those personal experiences. When users develop a genuine emotional bond with a design and feel that it somehow belongs to them, I believe the design has achieved its true purpose.

For me, the most successful designs are the ones that people don't simply use they remember, connect with, and carry with them long after the first impression.

The first thing I look for is the intention behind the design. I always ask myself why this product exists and whether every design decision supports that purpose. A beautiful form alone is never enough if it lacks meaning or clarity.

Next, I consider the relationship between the user and the product. Does it solve a real problem? Does it create an emotional connection? Does it make people feel curious, comfortable, inspired, or even unique? To me, these questions are just as important as technical performance or aesthetics.

I also pay close attention to honesty in design. Materials, manufacturing methods, and technology should all serve the original concept rather than exist as decoration. When every element works together naturally and nothing feels unnecessary, the design has integrity.

Ultimately, I believe the best designs are the ones that leave a lasting impression. They continue to resonate with people long after the first interaction because they offer more than function they create a meaningful experience.

I believe a designer's responsibility extends far beyond creating beautiful products. Every design becomes part of people's lives, and for that reason, every decision we make carries a responsibility toward both society and the environment.

From an environmental perspective, designers should create products that are durable, thoughtful, and made with responsible use of materials and resources. Good design should reduce unnecessary waste and encourage people to value and keep products for longer instead of treating them as disposable.

I also believe designers have a cultural responsibility. Every object we create reflects the values of its time, but it can also preserve the stories, identity, and craftsmanship of the past. I always try to create designs that build a bridge between heritage and contemporary life, so that innovation does not come at the expense of cultural identity.

Above all, I believe designers have a responsibility to improve people's quality of life. Whether through function, emotion, or meaningful experiences, design should make everyday life more thoughtful, more inspiring, and more human.

I believe design is entering one of the most transformative periods in its history. Technologies such as artificial intelligence, digital fabrication, and advanced manufacturing are changing not only how we design, but also how we think, collaborate, and create.

At the same time, I don't believe that luxury products can ever be psychologically replaced by artificial intelligence or purely digital experiences. People seek luxury not only for function, but also for craftsmanship, authenticity, emotional connection, and the feeling of owning something meaningful and unique. These are deeply human needs that technology alone cannot replace.

Instead, I see a future where luxury design, artificial intelligence, and emerging technologies converge. AI will become a powerful tool for research, personalization, and production, while luxury products will continue to provide emotional value, cultural identity, and lasting human experiences. Rather than competing, they will complement one another by fulfilling different needs.

Ultimately, I believe the future of design belongs to those who can balance innovation with humanity embracing new technologies without losing the emotional depth, cultural richness, and craftsmanship that give design its lasting value.

My most recent exhibition was at Tehran Design Week, where I presented my project, **ARCNOVA**. It was a memorable experience, and I was honored to see the project receive significant attention from visitors and the design community. The conversations and feedback I received during the exhibition were just as valuable to me as the opportunity to present the work itself.

As for my next exhibition, I don't have a specific date or location in mind. I believe a design should reach its own level of maturity before it is presented to the public. I would never want to shorten or compromise the creative process simply to meet an exhibition schedule.

For me, an exhibition is not the goal, it is a milestone in a design's journey. When a project is truly ready, it naturally finds the right audience, the right place, and the right moment to be shared.

I would describe my design approach as narrative-driven and emotionally expressive, with a strong focus on form, concept, and atmosphere.

My work is not based on reduction for the sake of simplicity. Instead, I aim to create designs that carry meaning through their form, proportions, and interaction with light and material. I see each project as a three-dimensional narrative, where every element plays a role in communicating a deeper idea.

A major influence in my work is the dialogue between culture and contemporary design. I am inspired by historical references and symbolic meanings, but I translate them into bold, modern, and sometimes sculptural forms. This creates a balance between memory and innovation.

My design process always starts with a concept or emotion rather than a predefined style. From there, I explore how form, material, and technology can work together to express that idea in the most powerful and honest way.

Ultimately, my goal is not to follow a specific style category, but to create designs that feel alive objects that invite curiosity, emotion, and interpretation.

I am currently based in Iran.

Yes, I strongly believe that cultural heritage plays a significant role in shaping my design perspective. Growing up in a country with a rich history of art, architecture, symbolism, and craftsmanship has deeply influenced the way I think about form and meaning. I often find inspiration in the dialogue between traditional concepts and contemporary life, and I try to reinterpret these influences in a modern and personal way rather than reproducing them directly.

One of the greatest advantages of working in this context is the depth of cultural and historical references available. There is a strong sense of storytelling embedded in our visual language, which naturally feeds into my design process and helps me create more meaningful narratives.

At the same time, there are challenges as well. Access to certain global platforms, resources, and production technologies can sometimes be limited, which makes the process more complex. However, I see these limitations not only as obstacles but also as conditions that encourage creativity, problem-solving, and finding alternative approaches.

Ultimately, I believe that design is not defined by geography, but by perspective. My environment has shaped me, but my goal is always to communicate ideas that can connect with people universally, beyond cultural and geographical boundaries.

The design objects I am most drawn to at home are those that shape everyday experience through form, function, and atmosphere.

1. Lighting objects in all their forms are the most important to me. Light has a strong emotional presence in space, and I am always observing how different lighting designs influence mood, perception, and intimacy.

2. Decorative objects also play an important role in my environment. I am particularly interested in pieces that carry symbolic or sculptural qualities objects that go beyond decoration and introduce a sense of meaning or curiosity into a space.

3. Clocks are another object I appreciate. They represent the relationship between time, design, and daily life. I am interested in how designers interpret time not just functionally, but visually and conceptually.

4. Bedroom systems and bedding design are also fascinating to me because they are deeply connected to human comfort, rest, and personal space. They reflect a quieter but very essential aspect of design.

5. Furniture completes the experience of a space. I value furniture that balances structure, comfort, and identity pieces that define how we live within an environment rather than just fill it.

Overall, I am drawn to objects that are not only functional, but also shape emotion, behavior, and atmosphere in everyday life.

As both a designer and an educator, I always encourage young designers not to be afraid of exploring different fields within design. Working across various areas helps them discover where their true talent and passion lie.

I also believe it is essential for every designer to understand their own creative process and develop a personal methodology. This awareness gradually leads to the formation of a unique design signature.

At the same time, I advise them not to compromise the design process just for the sake of speed or output. Every stage of the process deserves attention, from research and concept development to execution.

Finally, I encourage young designers to embrace challenges as opportunities for growth. Whenever they encounter difficulties, they should use those moments to expand their knowledge, refine their thinking, and continuously evolve in every project they undertake.

My golden rule in design is that every work must carry a clear intention and an emotional reason for existing.

A design should not rely on the presence of its designer to be understood. It should be able to speak for itself. When a designer is not physically present, the work itself should communicate the idea, the thinking process, and the philosophy behind it. In that sense, a design becomes a form of silent language that represents its creator.

This is what I consider a true “design signature” not a visual style or repetition of forms, but a consistent way of thinking that can be felt in every project. It is the ability of a design to reveal its own story, its purpose, and the mindset behind it without explanation.

When form, function, material, and technology all serve a single intention, the design becomes self-explanatory, honest, and memorable. Ultimately, good design is not only about creating objects, but about creating meaning that can communicate independently.

For me, time management in design is not about rushing the process, but about understanding its different phases and respecting them.

I usually begin with a period of exploration, where I allow myself enough time to research, observe, and define the core idea behind a project. I believe that if this stage is rushed, the entire design loses depth later on.

After that, I move into a more focused phase where I develop concepts and refine directions. During this stage, I try to work with clear priorities and avoid distractions by concentrating on the essential decisions that shape the design.

Finally, I dedicate time to refinement and detail. I don't see this as a minor stage, but as a critical part of the process where the design becomes complete and coherent.

In general, I try to balance structure and flexibility. I plan my process, but I also allow enough space for ideas to evolve naturally. For me, good time management in design is not about speed, but about giving each stage the attention it deserves.

The most frequently asked question I receive is: "Where do your ideas come from?"

I think people often expect a simple answer, but my response is always that ideas are not sudden moments of inspiration. They come from observation, research, experience, and a continuous dialogue with the world around me.

Another common question I get, especially from young designers, is: "How can I find my own design style?" My answer is usually that style is not something you force or decide in advance. It naturally emerges when you focus on understanding problems, exploring ideas, and developing your own way of thinking.

These questions show me that many designers are looking for shortcuts, but in reality, design is a long and evolving process of learning, questioning, and refining.

The type of design work I enjoy the most is conceptual and experiential design, especially projects that involve lighting and spatial atmosphere.

I am particularly drawn to lighting design because light has the ability to completely transform perception and emotion within a space. It is not only a functional element, but also a powerful storytelling tool that shapes how people feel and experience their environment.

I also enjoy projects where I have the freedom to explore form in a more sculptural and narrative way. I am less interested in purely functional or purely decorative work, and more engaged with designs that exist in between where function, emotion, and concept intersect.

What I enjoy most is the process of turning an abstract idea or emotion into a tangible object that communicates with people in a silent but meaningful way. For me, that moment of translation from concept to experience is the most rewarding part of design.

My design process is primarily driven by independent thinking, especially in the early conceptual stages. I usually prefer to develop the core idea, narrative, and direction of a project myself, as I believe this stage requires a very personal and focused exploration.

However, I also strongly value collaboration. As a design evolves into more technical and production-oriented phases, I often work with specialists, engineers, and craftsmen to refine and realize the concept in the best possible way. I see this collaboration as an essential part of the process, where ideas are challenged, improved, and brought to life with greater precision.

For me, design is not about choosing between working alone or in a team, but about knowing when each approach is needed. The initial vision often comes from an individual perspective, but its realization becomes stronger through collective expertise.

People can contact me through email or my professional LinkedIn profile.

Email: Hastisaraf1998@gmail.com
LinkedIn: Hasti Haj Khan Mirza Saraf
Instagram: Hasti Saraf

I am always open to meaningful collaborations, exhibitions, and design-related discussions.