Interview with XU Jiawen Karmen

I did not follow a traditional design path. My background is in business and geopolitics, but I have always loved working with my hands. The real drive came from a personal frustration: I loved wearing meaningful cultural jewellery, but most necklaces caused me neck strain and discomfort. I thought, “Why can’t jewellery honour the body as much as it honours tradition?” So I started designing for myself. I began collecting raw materials – jade, agate, antique beads – and working directly with them. A master jade carver saw my rough material studies and encouraged me to take design seriously. I then immersed myself in ergonomics, material science, and traditional craftsmanship. My meditation practice taught me patience and listening – to the material, to the body, to silence. No single person pushed me; it was an internal drive to create objects that serve the wearer physically, emotionally, and culturally. My MBA gave me strategic clarity, Cambridge gave me global empathy, and meditation gave me stillness. Together, they made me an oriental jewellery designer, and led me to develop the concept of Contemplative Wearables – where every piece supports both body and spirit.

Three priorities guide every design I create, all rooted in the philosophy of Contemplative Wearables.

First, ergonomic integrity. I test every piece on myself for weeks. The rear counterbalance in my award‑winning necklace came from this.

Second, cultural coherence. Philosophy must be embedded in structure, not decoration. Ancient Eastern concepts – round heaven/square earth, the Middle Way – become the logic of my pieces.

Third, material dialogue. I work with natural materials and sourced carved elements – jade, agate, antique beads. I do not carve them. I listen to what each piece carries: colour, weight, history. The design emerges from that conversation.

My technique is intuitive, not technical. I do not use software or jewellery drafting tools. When needed, I make a quick hand sketch – but the real work happens with my hands. I arrange beads, balance pendants, adjust by feel. I use simple aids like cardboard or wire to feel weight and gravity. I trust my eyes, my touch, and my cultivation of Chinese aesthetics. My style is contemplative minimalism – quiet, rooted in Eastern wisdom, completely modern. Every piece invites you to pause and feel.

Designing for me is not an emotional roller coaster – it is a calm, meditative state. Through years of mindfulness practice, I have learned to observe without clinging. The most exciting phase is not the final product but the moment of discovery – when I hold a raw piece of jade or an antique bead and suddenly see its potential. That is a quiet joy, not loud excitement. The journey of prototyping – testing weight ratios, adjusting lengths, feeling the necklace settle into balance – feels like a dance between intention and surrender. When the design is finally realised and I wear it for the first time without any discomfort, I feel deep gratitude, not pride. Gratitude to the material, to the craftsmen, to the ancient wisdom that guided me. Designing fulfils me because it is a practice of service – serving the wearer’s body, mind, and cultural identity. This is the essence of Contemplative Wearables: jewellery that does not distract, but focus. The pleasure I derive is not from applause but from knowing that someone will wear this piece for years, and it will make their life slightly easier, more beautiful, more meaningful.

Three non‑design skills have been essential to my success, and together they form the foundation of my Contemplative Wearables approach.

First, meditation and emotional regulation. Design requires patience. When a prototype fails – and many do – meditation helps me return to calm curiosity instead of frustration. This skill also helps me listen to materials and collaborators without ego. It allows me to sit with uncertainty until the right solution emerges.

Second, strategic thinking from my MBA. I see design not as isolated objects but as part of a larger ecosystem – how a piece is worn, cared for, repaired, or passed on. This systems view helps me create jewellery that delivers long‑term value, supporting both the wearer and the planet.

Third, cross‑cultural empathy from my middle eastern geopolitics studies and living in Hong Kong. I design for globally minded individuals – people who move between Shanghai, London, and New York. I understand their need for subtle cultural identity, not loud national symbols. My award‑winning works speak this language: deeply Eastern in reference, yet universally accessible in beauty.

The biggest influence on my design work has been ancient Chinese philosophy – the Middle Way, Yin‑Yang, and the Confucian idea of harmony. These are not abstract theories to me; they are daily practices. My journey so far has been from business to craft, from intellect to intuition, from forcing to receiving. I am still learning, and that is what keeps me excited. Contemplative Wearables is the name I give to this lifelong exploration – jewellery as a quiet companion for the mindful life.

My growth path has been from business strategy to hands‑on creation, from intellectual understanding to embodied intuition. I started with an MBA and geopolitics, then spent years learning ergonomics, material behaviour, and traditional craftsmanship through direct practice. Meditation taught me to listen – to materials, to the body, to silence. Moving forward, I want to deepen the philosophy of Contemplative Wearables: jewellery that serves as a quiet anchor for the wearer’s daily life. My future plans include expanding this concept into a small collection of pieces that share the same principles – ergonomic integrity, cultural coherence, and material authenticity. I also want to collaborate with museums and cultural institutions to create limited editions that tell stories of ancient Eastern wisdom through contemporary form. My dream design project would be a full body‑awareness set – a necklace, bracelet, and perhaps a ring – each designed to support posture, breath, and presence. Not as a medical device, but as a piece of poetry you can wear.

My first advice is: learn to listen before you learn to draw. Listen to your own body – what is comfortable, what is not. Listen to materials – they have weight, texture, temperature, history. Listen to silence. I started designing because I was frustrated by uncomfortable jewellery, but the real breakthrough came when I stopped forcing ideas and started observing. My second advice: do not chase trends or awards. Chase a genuine problem you personally care about solving. If you solve it well, recognition may follow, but that should never be the goal. The best advice I received from a master craftsman was: “Make one thing a hundred times, not a hundred things once.” Repetition with attention reveals what works. I also warn young designers against over‑relying on digital shortcuts. Your hands and your eyes are your best tools. Sketch, make mock‑ups, test on yourself. Only then, if needed, use software. But never let the tool drive the design.

Success means staying true to your philosophy and serving the user. My advice: design for longevity, not seasons. Embed meaning in structure, not decoration. Collaborate with master artisans instead of doing everything yourself. Trust your own body – wear your prototypes, feel what works. Cultivate stillness through meditation; the best solutions emerge when you stop forcing. Never chase tools or trends. Your greatest assets are your cultivated taste, your hands, and the wisdom of your ancestors.

I love the deep quiet of late night all the way till early morning. When the world falls silent, I sit with my materials – jade, agate, antique beads, old amber, carved elements. The work begins not with a sketch, but with the material itself. I hold each piece, turn it in the light, listen to what it wants to become. Then, a quiet flow takes over. No hunger, no fatigue, no need to speak. Time dissolves. I move between handling materials, adjusting arrangements, and sometimes – only when needed – a quick hand drawing. But the drawing follows the material, not the other way around. I stop when the work finds its natural pause. This is my meditation, my rhythm, my way of being.

Instead of asking “what is popular this season?”, I ask “what is missing? what is a genuine human need that jewellery is not addressing?” My inspiration does not come from trend forecasting or social media. It comes from ancient Chinese philosophy (the Middle Way, Yin‑Yang), from natural materials, from museum artefacts, from poetry, and from my own physical experience of wearing jewellery. That said, I stay aware of the broader design world – not to imitate, but to understand where my work stands. I look at what other oriental jewellery designers are doing, but my goal is never to fit in. It is to offer a different voice: quiet, contemplative, ergonomic, and culturally rooted. Trends matter very little to me. What matters is whether a piece will still feel right ten years from now – to the wearer’s body and to their spirit.

Good design, for me, is defined by three things: service, silence, and longevity.

Service means the design serves the user’s body and mind without demanding attention. A well‑designed necklace does not shout “look at me”; it makes the wearer feel more at ease, more themselves. The rear counterbalance in my award‑winning piece is a good example – you do not see it, but you feel its effect.

Silence means the design does not add visual or cognitive noise. Every element has a reason – ergonomic, structural, or symbolic. If a bead or a curve does not serve a purpose, it should not be there.

Longevity means the design can be worn, repaired, and cherished for many years. It resists the pressure to be replaced by next season’s trend.

To judge a design as good or bad, I first ask: does it cause any physical discomfort? If yes, it fails regardless of beauty. Then I ask: does the cultural symbolism feel authentic or pasted on? Finally, I ask: would I want to wear this every day for a month? If the answer is yes on all three, it is good design.

Design is always about trade‑offs. I decide to stop when the trade‑offs are balanced to my satisfaction. A design can never be absolutely complete – there is always room to refine – but at some point you must let it go and move on. I keep a notebook where I write down ideas for future iterations of older pieces. That way, I do not feel the pressure to perfect one project forever. The moment of “ready” also comes when a master craftsman looks at the design and says “I can make this beautifully, with no hidden problems.” Their practical wisdom is my final checkpoint. A design becomes a success not at the drawing table, but when it is worn, loved, and repaired over time.

My biggest design work so far is the piece that won the Silver A’ Design Award – a necklace that integrates a rear counterbalance system with the Eastern philosophy of the Middle Way. It is not the most decorative or expensive piece I have made, but it is the most conceptually complete. What makes it special is that the philosophy is not decorative – it is structural. The round hollow inside a square pendant embodies “round heaven, square earth”. The rear counterbalance physically manifests balance as a living practice. The initial aspiration was simply to solve my own neck pain. But as the design evolved, it became a vessel for ancient wisdom. The biggest challenge was achieving precise weight balance without making the rear pendant too heavy or visually dominant. That required sourcing a historically rich antique bead that was dense yet visually light. The satisfaction of finally wearing it for a full day without any strain was immense. That piece now guides all my future work. I am currently developing more pieces within the Contemplative Wearables philosophy, but they are not yet ready to share publicly.

Within the field of jewellery, the designer I admire most is Hong Kong’s Kai-Yin Lo. She is a true pioneer, often celebrated as the "colour gemstone pioneer" and the "originator of reinterpreting antiques for modern wear". As one of Asia's first internationally acclaimed brands, her work has long paved the way for designers like myself. What I find deeply inspiring is her approach to design. She has a unique gift for "making history wearable," seamlessly integrating ancient artefacts and cultural motifs into contemporary pieces. This philosophy, of embedding profound cultural heritage into designs for everyday life, resonates strongly with my own commitment to cultural coherence in my work. As The Financial Times aptly described her, she is a designer who "makes history wearable". Her contributions have been globally recognised through numerous honours, including the "World's Leading Chinese Designer" award from the Hong Kong Design Centre and the Hong Kong SAR Government's Silver Bauhinia Star. Lo’s work is a masterclass in what it means to be an oriental jewellery designer: not to merely decorate with symbols, but to ensure the past is not just seen, but worn, felt, and carried into the future.

My most inspiring city is Hong Kong. It is a place where East and West do not simply meet but negotiate, clash, and harmonise. Living here, I see clearly the needs of globally mobile elites – professionals who move between Shanghai, London, New York and beyond. They carry multiple identities. They seek ways to express their cultural confidence without loud nationalism. They want to be seen as reliable, long‑term partners – in business, in relationships, in life. Oriental jewellery, when designed with authentic philosophy and ergonomic integrity, serves as an identity anchor. It says: I am rooted in a great civilisation, yet I am fully contemporary. I understand harmony, reciprocity, and the long view.

My culture – the great, ancient Chinese civilisation with its worldview, humanism, and philosophy of symbiosis, mutual flourishing, and enduring wisdom – is not a decorative theme for me. It is the very source of my design decisions. The round heaven, square earth; the Middle Way; Yin‑Yang as complementary forces; the idea that all beings flourish together – these become structural logic, not ornament.

Right now, I am in my Hong Kong studio, working quietly on new pieces that extend the Contemplative Wearables philosophy. I cannot share details yet, but the mission remains: to honour the wearer’s body, spirit, and cultural heritage.

Good design is necessary for society because it reduces friction – physical, emotional, and cultural. A well‑balanced necklace removes neck strain; a well‑designed object removes the need for constant replacement; a culturally coherent design removes the anxiety of “am I representing my heritage correctly?” In my own life, I introduced the practice of wearing every prototype for two full weeks. That small change taught me what true comfort means. I also redesigned my meditation cushion to support longer sits. These incremental changes, thanks to design, have made my daily life more present and more at ease.

Attending the A’ Design Award was a humbling and energizing experience. I met designers from completely different fields – furniture, medical devices, social impact projects – and realized that good design shares the same core values across all disciplines: empathy, clarity, and service. The jury feedback was precise and respectful; they pointed out a minor ergonomic refinement I had missed, which improved my final piece.

Three main benefits of participating in design awards:

First, validation of your philosophy on a global stage. Awards tell you that your voice – rooted in ancient Chinese worldview and humanism – is not only personal but relevant to an international audience. It confirms that the mission of promoting the beauty and wisdom of Chinese civilization has universal resonance.

Second, a network of like‑minded creators. I still exchange emails with two jury members and three fellow winners. Those connections have led to material sourcing tips, collaboration opportunities, and deeper understanding of how other cultures approach heritage.

Third, a platform to advocate for what you believe in. Winning allowed me to speak about Contemplative Wearables and the role of oriental jewellery as an identity anchor for global elites – something I could not have done alone.

Design competitions are important because they set a standard. They encourage designers to aim higher, to test their work against rigorous criteria, and to learn from peers. Without such platforms, good work might remain invisible, and the quiet mission of cultural transmission through design would lack amplification.

How do I feel about being the Designer of the Day? It is an honor, but more importantly, it is a responsibility. Being featured means my design philosophy – that jewellery can embody the symbiosis, mutual flourishing, and long‑term wisdom of Chinese civilization – reaches more people, especially young oriental designers who may feel that their heritage is not “modern enough”. I want them to see that ancient worldviews, when translated into ergonomic integrity and structural coherence, are not only relevant but award‑winning. I am grateful, but I am also aware that a title does not make the work. The work itself – silent, patient, hand‑drawn, body‑tested, and deeply rooted in the beauty and wisdom of Chinese philosophy – is what truly matters.

I design for joy. Not the loud kind, but a quiet, meditative joy. Design, for me, begins as play, not duty.

My second motivation is to let the beauty, wisdom, and philosophy of Chinese civilization be seen — its values, its way of being, its deeply humanistic spirit. I want these qualities to travel beyond books and museums, to be felt on the skin, carried into ordinary life. Not as symbols that shout, but as quiet truths that wait to be discovered.

I became a designer because I found no other path where joy and meaning meet so naturally. Each piece is a small offering: may you feel your body, honor your heritage, and recognize a little of your own story in this ancient, living culture.

I chose to become a designer freely, but the choice came from an inner need, not a career plan. After years of studies and working in the business sector, I have made it to top management position, just about a good time to explore new boundaries. I wanted to create objects that serve the body and spirit. I feel lucky to have found a path that blends my love for Chinese philosophy, my meditation practice, and my hands‑on curiosity. It was a choice of the heart, not of the market.

I design oriental jewellery — necklaces, bracelets, pendants — that integrate ergonomic integrity with cultural depth. My award‑winning piece, The Balance of Wisdom, uses a rear counterbalance system to reduce neck strain while embodying the Middle Way philosophy. I wish to design more Contemplative Wearables: jewellery that serves as a daily anchor for mindfulness, physical ease, and cultural continuity. I also want to explore small modular systems where a few components can be reconfigured for different occasions, reducing waste and encouraging long‑term use. In short: meaningful, wearable, sustainable objects that carry the quiet voice of Eastern wisdom.

First, do not chase tools or trends. Your hands, eyes, and cultivated taste are your greatest assets. Second, learn to listen — to materials, to your own body, to silence. I never force an idea; I let it emerge from the material. Third, find a genuine problem that you personally care about solving. For me, it was neck pain from heavy pendants. Solve that problem well, and recognition may follow, but never make awards your goal. Fourth, stay still. Meditate or sit quietly every day. The best solutions come when you stop searching. Finally, respect your cultural heritage but translate it into structure, not decoration. A legend is not someone who shouts; it is someone who serves quietly over a long time.

A good designer makes beautiful, functional objects. A great designer makes objects that disappear into the user’s life, serving the body and spirit without demanding attention. A great designer also thinks in systems — not just one piece, but how it wears, repairs, ages, and reduces waste. And a great designer has humility: they do not impose their ego on materials or users. They listen — to jade, to the human spine, to ancient philosophy. They become a channel. That, to me, is the difference. A good designer solves a problem. A great designer dissolves the problem so quietly that the user forgets it ever existed.

A good designer makes beautiful, functional objects. A great designer makes objects that disappear into the user’s life, serving the body and spirit without demanding attention. A great designer also thinks in systems — not just one piece, but how it wears, repairs, ages, and reduces waste. And a great designer has humility: they do not impose their ego on materials or users. They listen — to jade, to the human spine, to ancient philosophy. They become a channel. That, to me, is the difference. A good designer solves a problem. A great designer dissolves the problem so quietly that the user forgets it ever existed.

Good design reduces physical, emotional, and environmental friction. A well‑balanced necklace removes neck strain. A durable, repairable object removes the need for constant replacement. A culturally coherent design removes the anxiety of “am I representing my heritage correctly?” Investing in good design means investing in well‑being, cultural confidence, and sustainability. It saves money in the long run because you buy once and keep forever. It also elevates daily life: when you wear something that truly fits your body and spirit, you move differently, feel differently. Good design is not a luxury; it is a quiet tool for a better life.

If I had unlimited time, I would design a full Contemplative Wearables collection for globally minded, cross‑culturally educated individuals — professionals who move between Shanghai, London, and New York. They need jewellery that expresses cultural confidence without loud nationalism. I would design necklaces, bracelets, and rings that support posture and breath, using natural materials and ancient symbols translated into modern, ergonomic forms. I would also design a small modular system — not yet public — that allows the wearer to reconfigure pieces for different occasions, reducing the need to own many separate items. Time is the only limit.

My dream project is a body‑awareness set — a necklace, a bracelet, and a ring, each designed to support a specific aspect of mindful presence. The necklace would balance on the shoulders to encourage upright posture. The bracelet would have a subtle weight that reminds the wearer to breathe. The ring would fit so comfortably that it becomes an extension of the finger, yet carry a hidden symbol of the Middle Way. I want to create a set that is not jewellery as decoration, but jewellery as meditation tool. I have the concepts drawn in my notebook, but I need more time to source the right materials and test prototypes on myself.

My secret ingredient is stillness. I do not force ideas. I meditate daily, and I sit with materials in silence. When I stop searching, the design often reveals itself. Another ingredient is material dialogue — I let the jade, the agate, the antique bead speak first. I do not impose a sketch onto them. The third ingredient is testing on my own body. I wear every prototype for two weeks. If it causes any discomfort, I go back to the bench. Success, for me, is not awards or sales. It is the quiet feeling when a piece finally serves the wearer so well that they forget they are wearing it.

Within jewellery, I deeply admire Hong Kong’s Kai‑Yin Lo. She pioneered the idea of “making history wearable” — integrating antiques and cultural motifs into contemporary pieces without losing their soul. Her work shows that oriental jewellery can be modern and meaningful at the same time. Beyond jewellery, I also respect designers who work with silence and material honesty. But my greatest inspiration remains the deep well of Chinese civilization itself.

My greatest design is The Balance of Wisdom, the Silver A’ Design Award necklace. It is great because the Middle Way philosophy becomes structural logic: a square jade Cong with a round hollow, and a rear counterbalance that eliminates neck strain. The wearer feels nothing but ease. That quiet service — no discomfort, no noise — makes it great.

I improved by cultivating stillness. Meditation taught me to listen — to materials, to my own body, to silence. When I handled materials, I listened to them - jade, agate, turquoise, beeswax and antique beads. I tested every piece on my own body. Anyone can improve by doing the same: cultivate stillness, trust your hands, and design from a real need you have felt. Do not chase trends or tools. Chase truth.

I would have continued in cross‑cultural strategy or academia, using my MBA and philosophical studies. But I would have missed the physical joy of handling jade and seeing someone wear my work. Design allows me to combine my love for Chinese civilization, meditation, and hands‑on creation. That fulfillment is irreplaceable.

Design is creating conditions for ease, clarity, and connection. A well‑designed object disappears into daily life, letting the wearer feel more themselves. It honors the body (no strain), honors the mind (no visual noise), and honors the planet (no waste). Design is a servant, not a master.

My biggest support came from my own meditation practice. It gave me the stillness to keep going when no one understood my work. My family supported my unusual path from business to art and design. But ultimately, I relied on my own intuition, patience, and deep respect for Chinese civilization.

Mindfulness and inner peace helped me most. Meditation taught me to observe without forcing. Testing on my own body — wearing prototypes for weeks — taught me real comfort. My deep respect for Chinese civilization gave my work content. Without that cultural root, my designs would be empty.

I faced internal obstacles: impatience and the temptation to rush. Meditation helped me slow down. Being self‑taught meant I had to develop my own methods through trial and error, which took time. But every obstacle became a lesson in patience and self‑trust. I am grateful for that journey.

Mindfulness and inner peace helped me most. Meditation taught me to observe without forcing. I sit with a piece of jade, and the design emerges. Testing on my own body — wearing prototypes for weeks — taught me real comfort. My deep respect for Chinese civilization gave my work content. Without that cultural root, my designs would be empty.

I remain focused on my established mission: promoting the beauty and wisdom of Chinese civilization through ergonomic jewellery. You can expect more designs that honor the body and carry quiet cultural depth. My philosophy of Contemplative Wearables will continue to guide everything I create.

I remain focused on my established mission: promoting the beauty and wisdom of Chinese civilization through ergonomic jewellery. You can expect more designs that honor the body and carry quiet cultural depth. My philosophy of Contemplative Wearables will continue to guide everything I create.

People expect authenticity, integrity, and quiet confidence. They do not expect trends or cheap copies. They expect my work to honor Chinese civilization without loud nationalism. They expect me to listen — to their needs, to the material, to the craft. A renowned designer does not impose. They serve.

Good design reduces physical and emotional friction. A balanced necklace prevents neck pain; durable objects reduce waste; culturally authentic designs remove the anxiety of misrepresenting one’s heritage. When people live with less discomfort and more meaning, society becomes more present, respectful, and sustainable. Small honest solutions add up.

I am always deepening my exploration of the Middle Way philosophy in wearable form. My excitement comes from handling materials — aged jade, antique beads — and letting them reveal their potential. The specific projects are not yet ready to share, but the direction is clear: quiet, ergonomic, culturally rooted jewellery.

The Balance of Wisdom gave me the most satisfaction because it solved a real problem — my own neck pain — and turned it into a philosophical statement. Wearing the final prototype for a full day without discomfort brought deep gratitude. That quiet moment of personal success meant more than any external recognition.

Less noise, more silence. Fewer trend‑chasing collections, more objects designed for decades. Designers respecting their own bodies — testing on themselves — and respecting their cultural roots instead of pasting shallow symbols. Value craftsmanship over software skills. A design that cannot be felt comfortably is not good design.

Design will move toward systems and meaning — not just single objects, but systems that reduce waste, support longevity, and serve human well‑being. More designers will integrate spiritual practice: meditation, mindfulness, cultural depth. In jewellery, Contemplative Wearables will become a small but respected category. The future is quieter, slower, and more rooted.

I start with a material, not a sketch. I hold a piece of jade, an antique bead, or a carved element. I feel its weight, color, and history. I sit with it in silence. If the material does not speak, I wait. When it does, I begin arranging it with other materials — using only my hands and a piece of string. Only then, if needed, a quick hand drawing.

“Love what you do, do what you love.”
Authenticity is everything. When you connect with your true self, you gain a deep, endless power. That power becomes the energy to live fully and to create without force, and to grow vibrant every day. Design is not a performance. It is a practice of being real. It is not an excuse to be picky or avoiding hard work. Learning to give and to embrace is a life-long practice. Therefore, very often we need to first love what we do until one day we can do what we love.

Trends set designs for most of the industry, but great design sets its own path. I do not follow trends. I follow a genuine need and my own cultural root. Trends are temporary; good design lasts decades. I never ask “what is popular?” I ask “what is missing? what does the body need?”

I wish people would ask: “What does this piece mean? Why did you choose this material? How does it feel to wear?” The meaning, the material story, the wearer’s comfort — those questions honor the design and start a real conversation.

I think: does it serve the body? Does it carry authentic meaning? Does it waste or last? And I feel respect for the designer who worked slowly, tested on themselves, and did not chase trends. A great design makes me quiet.

I have been most influenced by ancient Chinese philosophy, by the materials I hold, and by my own meditation practice. The wisdom of the Middle Way, the quiet beauty of Hetian jade, and the stillness of deep night shaped me. I learned to trust my own intuition and my own body. That inner guidance has been my greatest teacher.

The book that influenced me most is Zhong Yong (the ancient Confucian text on the Middle Way). Even more important than books is my daily practice of Vipassana (mindfulness meditation). I have practiced it for many years. It taught me to observe without clinging, to be present in the here and now, and to let creativity emerge from joy and inner peace. That training has shaped my work deeply.

To me design is more like a hobby than a profession. I feel grateful, but fame is not my focus. My first goal is to have fun in the act of creation — that deep, meditative flow where time disappears and I feel fully alive. My second goal is to share the beauty and wisdom of Chinese civilization that I see and feel every day. I want others to see the beauty, to be curious, to know the story behind and resonate with the values upheld If my work touches someone’s heart or opens a quiet conversation about our shared heritage, that is more valuable than any prize. Fame is neither sought nor avoided. It simply does not matter.

To me design is more like a hobby than a profession. I feel grateful, but fame is not my focus. My first goal is to have fun in the act of creation — that deep, meditative flow where time disappears and I feel fully alive. My second goal is to share the beauty and wisdom of Chinese civilization that I see and feel every day. I want others to see the beauty, to be curious, to know the story behind and resonate with the values upheld If my work touches someone’s heart or opens a quiet conversation about our shared heritage, that is more valuable than any prize. Fame is neither sought nor avoided. It simply does not matter.

In a thousand years, I hope some of my jewellery will still be worn — not in a museum, but on a body. I hope Contemplative Wearables will spread: jewellery that serves physical ease and cultural memory. And I hope Chinese civilization’s wisdom — the Middle Way, harmony, symbiosis — will be recognized as a global design philosophy.

I design for joy. The starting point is always the material, something that speaks to me with beauty, resonance, and rich human geography. I look for the story within it that echoes my own authentic self. When I find that echo, I let it grow and bring it forward. Doing what I love is a luxury, I know. But it is also a condition where real creativity can happen. When you are not driven by pressure or worries, the magic begins deep within.

Whatever we do in life, we shall always try to dig into each experience and find the part that truly resonates with your real self. Find it, nurture it, and let it shine. That is my heartfelt blessing.

I am a co‑founder of 9H Business Innovation Consultancy. We focus on strategic planning and brand‑driven innovation through Design Thinking. Our mission is to help creative leaders reframe problems, build sustainable systems, and integrate cultural depth into product development. At 9H, we believe that design is not a finishing touch but the starting point of every meaningful solution. I bring my perspective as an oriental jewellery designer into our collaborations, ensuring that craftsmanship, material authenticity, and philosophical coherence are always part of the conversation.

Design, for me, is not about creating objects. It is about creating conditions – for ease, for clarity, for connection.

A well‑designed thing should disappear into the background of daily life, allowing the person wearing or using it to feel more themselves. It should honour the body (no unnecessary strain), honour the mind (no visual noise), and honour the planet (no planned obsolescence).

So what is designed for me? A necklace that balances itself on my shoulders so I forget I’m wearing it. A modular system that lets me express different moods without buying seven different pieces. A material that ages beautifully and can be repaired, not thrown away.

Design is also a practice of humility. I don’t impose my will on a material or a user. I listen – to jade, to coral, to the human spine, to a meditator’s need for stillness. Then I become a channel. What emerges is not “my” design – it is a collaboration between nature, culture, craft, and the person who will ultimately wear it.

So finally: design, for me, is a servant, not a master. It serves life, not the other way around.

I deeply enjoy designs that carry cultural silence – not loud symbols, but quiet structures that translate Eastern philosophy (Yin‑Yang, round and square, the Middle Way) into physical logic rather than decoration. When a wearer doesn’t immediately see the philosophy but feels its effect – balance, ease, presence – that is the most rewarding kind of work.

So in short: I love designing wearable, sustainable, culturally meaningful systems that serve the body and spirit quietly over a long time.

I feel most creative when I am collecting natural materials or handling objects with historical and cultural traces – a piece of Hetian jade, a strand of ancient coral, a fragment of aged amber, or a lost ancient coin from a forgotten dynasty. The texture, the weight, the colour, the silent story embedded in the material – they open up a thousand possibilities. That is where creativity begins.

The second moment is after meditation. When my mind settles and stops forcing, ideas rise without effort. That is when I can organise those raw inspirations into clear structure, ergonomic logic, and system thinking.

So creativity, for me, starts with touching the old and raw, and then matures in the silence after meditation. One feeds the fire; the other shapes it.

I focus first on how it serves the body – ergonomics, weight distribution, comfort. Then on cultural coherence – is the symbol integral to the structure, not just decoration? Finally, system potential – can this single piece become part of a larger modular system to reduce waste and extend life?

Calm curiosity. I don’t chase excitement or frustration. Through meditation, I’ve learned to observe the process without clinging to any emotion. There is a quiet joy when a material or a structure “clicks” – but even that passes. I design from equanimity.

Gratitude, not pride. A design is realized through many conditions – materials, tools, light, the wearer’s body. I am grateful to have been the channel. When I see someone wearing my piece and it becomes part of their story, I feel a quiet sense of completion.

A successful design is one you forget is designed. It fits so well – physically and culturally – that the wearer feels more themselves, not more decorated. It also invites questions. If someone asks “What is that?” and a conversation begins, the design has succeeded beyond aesthetics.

I ask: does it respect the human body? Does it serve a genuine need or create an unnecessary one? Many “beautiful” designs ignore ergonomics or promote over‑consumption. A good design honors the user, the material, and the planet – in that order.

A designer’s first responsibility is to not add to the problem. Then, to actively reduce waste through modularity, repairability, and durability. Socially, we must design objects that carry meaning – not fast symbols, but lasting bridges between heritage and contemporary life. Designers are stewards of resources and culture.

Design is moving from object‑making to system‑making. The future belongs not to the most beautiful single product, but to the most intelligent, adaptable, and low‑impact system. We will also see design merging with wellness, spirituality, and cultural dialogue – jewellery as meditation tool, furniture as posture therapy, architecture as mindful space.

My painting "The Great Provider" was recently exhibited in Salon International d’Art Contemporain 2026, Carrousel du Louvre, Paris. The artwork portrays a majestic baobab tree nurturing generations of life and cultural heritage, honoring nature’s benevolence and conveys the lofty ideal of harmonious coexistence and universal unity of all beings.

My passion for ancient civilizations and spiritual traditions—including Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism—enhances my creative sensibility. I have devoted years to practicing mindfulness meditation, which significantly influences my artistic process, allowing me to approach design with introspection and awareness. I feed my creativity by travelling to museums, practising calligraphy, and most importantly, sitting in stillness. Creativity is not chased; it is welcomed when you are quiet.

My design style is contemplative minimalism with Eastern philosophical depth. It is not decorative; every line, every joint, every material serves a purpose – ergonomic, symbolic, or systemic. I avoid superficial “Chinoiserie”. Instead, I translate concepts like Yin‑Yang or “round and square” into structural logic. What led me here? A realization that jewellery can be more than ornament – it can be a daily meditation, a conversation piece, a sustainable system. My approach is: listen to the material, respect the body, design for the long now.

Hong Kong, China. As a fervent advocate of Chinese civilization, I design jewellery that captures the essence of oriental philosophy and aesthetic principles, embodying an elegance that is both subtle and profound. My creations pay homage to China’s rich understanding of the universe’s laws and the harmonious wisdom found in the concept of “the middle way.” For me, designing jewellery transcends mere craft; it is a cherished meditation that promotes self-awareness. Through my work, I invite others to appreciate the beauty of Chinese heritage and reconnect with timeless traditions and their intrinsic wisdom.

My process is unusual: I do not necessarily sketch on paper. I collect materials – jade, coral, wood, metal – and live with them. When a pairing feels inevitable, I begin three-dimensional thinking. I make simple cardboard or wire models to test weight distribution and ergonomics. Then I work directly with master craftsmen to solve structural challenges (like the rear counterbalance in The Wisdom of Balance). Finally, I test wearability on myself and a small group of users. Iteration is continuous. The whole process is slow, meditative, and collaborative.

1. Empathy – feeling what another body experiences.
2. System thinking – seeing how one piece becomes part of a larger ecosystem of use and waste.
3. Stillness – the ability to sit with a problem without rushing to solve it. The best solution often emerges when you stop imposing.

And of course, basic craftsmanship understanding.

“Where do your ideas come from?”
People always expect a story about a trip or a museum. But my honest answer: from silence. They come after I stop searching. The second most frequent is: “Can you teach me to design without sketching?” And I say: first learn to sit still for 30 minutes without checking your phone. Then we talk.

My target audience is modern elites with advanced international education, cross-cultural perspectives, and profound historical awareness, which deeply rooted in my personal path. In my creative works I aim to exhibit in full the true essence of Eastern beauty and wisdom with a proud and modern touch.

I enjoy system design within high‑touch, personal objects – like jewellery that is also a modular system, or a necklace that is also an ergonomic tool. I love the tension between the intimate and the systemic. It is the most challenging – and most meaningful – because it requires engineering thinking, philosophical depth, and poetic sensitivity all at once.