Interviews with Zahra Hamzelou

I did not initially become interested in design because I wanted to become a designer. It began with a very personal need.

As a literature student, I wanted something soft and comfortable where I could sit and continue reading and studying for hours. I couldn’t find exactly what I was looking for, and that led me to the idea of a beanbag.

What began as a search for comfort gradually became a much deeper interest in design. I became fascinated by the possibility of creating an object that could change the way a person experiences sitting, resting, reading, or simply spending time alone.

Today, I am motivated by that same idea: creating objects that are not only functional or visually appealing, but that create a particular feeling and experience for the person using them.

I didn’t consciously choose design at the beginning. In many ways, design found me through my work. What started as working with beanbags gradually became an interest in creating forms, solving problems and understanding how an object could affect people’s experience. At some point, I realized I was no longer simply producing furniture—I was designing it.

In a way, neither. I think I found design through necessity.

When I first had the idea of making a beanbag, there was only one manufacturer in my country at the time, and I wasn’t able to get the answers or level of information I needed from them. So I decided to make one myself.

I certainly wasn’t thinking, “I am going to become a designer.” I was simply trying to solve a problem for myself. But once I started making things, I became increasingly interested in how form, materials, proportions, and functionality could be changed and improved.

Eventually, making the product was no longer enough for me. I wanted to understand and create the design itself.

I don’t think becoming a great designer is about trying to become a “design legend.” It is about developing your own way of seeing. Learn the fundamentals, observe people carefully, question what already exists, and don’t be afraid to develop your ideas slowly. Most importantly, don’t design simply to follow what is currently popular. Find a problem, a feeling or a question that genuinely interests you and keep working on it until you have something that feels truly yours.

I think a good designer can solve a problem, but a great designer can see the problem differently.

A great designer doesn’t simply make something functional or beautiful. They question assumptions, understand people, and find a balance between function, emotion, aesthetics, and meaning.

For me, another important distinction is persistence. A design rarely becomes its best version in the first attempt. A great designer should be willing to question their own decisions, accept criticism, and keep refining the work without losing the original idea.

For me, good design begins with purpose. I ask whether the object genuinely solves something and whether its form is appropriate to that purpose.

Then I look at the relationship between function and aesthetics. A beautiful object that doesn’t work well is not good design, and a functional object that completely ignores the human experience is also incomplete.

I also ask whether the design has its own identity. If an object can be replaced by dozens of similar products without losing anything, I don’t consider that a particularly strong design.

Ultimately, I think good design should feel natural to use while still giving you something to discover in its form.

Good design affects our everyday lives, often in ways we don’t consciously notice.

We interact with furniture and objects every day, and their proportions, materials, ergonomics, and visual qualities can influence our comfort, behavior, and even our emotional experience.

For me, investing in good design isn’t necessarily about buying expensive things. It is about choosing things that have been thoughtfully designed and that genuinely improve the experience of using them.

I would continue exploring furniture centered around comfort, peace, and the human experience.

My major purpose is to help people find a sense of peace in a modern world full of noise and constant stimulation. I am particularly interested in designing for people who spend time reading, studying, thinking, or simply needing a quiet and comfortable space for themselves. That is where my own journey began.

For me, the ultimate goal of good furniture is to create a feeling of peaceful silence—not necessarily complete silence, but a moment of calm and separation from the outside world. I would like to explore how furniture can support these moments without becoming overly complicated: how a simple object can make a person feel more comfortable, relaxed, and connected to their own space.

designing a chair that allows the elderly with knee problems or back pain, and people with obesity or limited mobility, to enjoy the comfort and ergonomic support of a beanbag-style chair.

One major limitation of traditional beanbag chairs is that they can be difficult to get out of. As a result, many people who could benefit from their softness and comfort cannot use them independently.

My goal would be to rethink the chair’s structure so it remains comfortable and supportive while making it easier for users to sit down and stand up. I would explore features such as increased height, supportive contours, and a more stable internal structure without losing the relaxed experience that makes beanbag chairs appealing.

For me, this project would bring together comfort, ergonomics, accessibility, and dignity. It would be an opportunity to design not only for appearance or function, but also for people who are often excluded from certain types of furniture.

I don’t think there is a secret recipe. If I had to name one ingredient, I would say persistence.

I tend to keep questioning a design even after I have reached a version that works. I look at it again, change something, remove something, and sometimes go back to an earlier idea.

Curiosity is probably the other half of it. I don’t like accepting that something is simply “the way it is.” I want to understand why it is that way and whether it could be better.

At this stage, I would say the Cloud Beanbag Chair is the design that represents me best.

The idea began with the relationship between comfort and nature. I wanted to create something that didn’t simply imitate the appearance of a cloud, but captured some of the qualities we associate with one—softness, lightness, calmness, and a feeling of being held.

The asymmetrical backrest and armrests were developed as part of that idea rather than as purely decorative elements. I wanted the form to feel organic and less rigid than conventional seating.

What makes this design particularly important to me is that the concept, form, material, and intended emotional experience are connected. It feels like a design with its own language rather than simply another variation of a beanbag.

I think the most important quality for becoming a better designer is persistence.

The best ideas often come from personal experience and careful observation, but persistence allows those ideas to develop into something meaningful.

For me, becoming a better designer means trusting the experiences that inspire an idea while continuing to question, refine, and improve it.

I probably would have remained focused entirely on literature and academic work. My background is in English Language and Literature, and I am still pursuing my PhD, so that path has always been an important part of my life.

In fact, I don’t see design and literature as completely separate worlds. Both involve observation, interpretation, and finding meaning in human experiences.

For me, design is a way of responding to a need through thoughtful decisions about form, function, materials, and experience.

I don’t think design is only about making something look beautiful. It is about understanding why something should exist and deciding how it can exist in the best possible way.

My journey has been largely independent, but I have benefited greatly from the guidance and encouragement of Amir Ahmadinasab, whose expertise in chairs and seating design has been invaluable. He encouraged me to trust my process, remain open to learning, and not be discouraged by criticism.

Hands-on experience with real products and users has helped me most, along with learning from mistakes and continually refining ideas. I believe good design comes from curiosity, close observation, and the willingness to question and improve every decision.

I wouldn’t call myself a design master, but one of my biggest challenges has been entering design without a formal education in the field.

I had to learn many things through practice, research, experimentation, and sometimes simply by making mistakes and trying again. At times, not having a conventional design background was difficult, but it also allowed me to approach problems from a different perspective.

Designers should present both the final object and the thinking behind it, including the problem, concept, key decisions, and development process. However, the presentation should leave room for the design itself to communicate.

I am currently considering designing another beanbag chair inspired by a giant green leaf. Its form would be similar to a couch, while its shape and visual character would be based on the leaf of the Coccoloba tree.

My goal is to create objects that have a genuine reason to exist—objects that are useful, distinctive, and capable of creating a meaningful experience for the people who use them.

I would also like to develop a design language that feels genuinely my own.

I believe designers are often expected to impress people. For me, that expectation becomes less important with experience. The work does not need to prove anything about me; it needs to be meaningful and useful.

Design shapes many of the things we interact with every day, so even small decisions can influence how people live, work, move, rest, and interact with their surroundings.

I think good design can make everyday experiences more accessible, comfortable, meaningful, and sustainable. Its impact does not always have to be dramatic; sometimes improving an ordinary everyday experience is already valuable.

I am currently focused on continuing to develop my beanbag furniture and exploring how small changes in form, proportion, and construction can improve both comfort and the overall experience of the object.

The Cloud Beanbag Chair has probably given me the most satisfaction so far.

It was one of the projects where I felt that the concept, form, material, and emotional experience came together particularly well. It also gave me the opportunity to move beyond simply making a comfortable beanbag and think more deeply about what the object could communicate.

I would like to see more value placed on originality and thoughtful design processes, rather than only on trends, speed, and commercial success.

I think design will become increasingly concerned with the relationship between technology, sustainability, and human experience.

At the same time, I hope that as technology becomes more powerful, the human perspective will remain at the center of design.

There isn’t a fixed timeframe. It depends on the complexity of the idea and how much experimentation and refinement it requires.

Some designs develop relatively quickly in few weeks, while others need months before I feel that the form is right.

I usually start with a need, a problem, or an observation rather than a particular shape.

I try to understand the experience I want to create first, and then I begin exploring form, materials, proportions, and construction as possible ways of achieving it.

That’s easily “keep going”

I think it works both ways. Trends inevitably influence designers, but strong design can also create new directions rather than simply following what already exists.

Personally, I try not to let trends become the starting point of a design.

Technology is a tool that helps me explore, test, communicate, and refine ideas. But I don’t think technology should determine the idea itself; The concept and the human experience should come first.

My work is still very hands-on. I use digital tools mainly for developing and communicating ideas, while a significant part of the design process happens through sketching, physical experimentation, pattern making, and working directly with materials.

My approach is more closely connected to the workshop than to a purely digital design environment.

36. What is the role of color, materials and ambient in design?

They strongly influence how an object is perceived and experienced.

In furniture, especially in something as tactile as a beanbag, material is not simply a visual choice. Its texture, softness, weight, and behavior all contribute to the experience. Color and the surrounding environment then affect how the object feels within a space.

I don’t wish people to ask a specific question. I believe that a good design should speak for itself and communicate through the feelings it creates.

As the person behind the design, I hope the object can be experienced directly rather than explained through questions.

Usually, I become curious about the story behind it.

I want to understand what problem the designer was responding to, what decisions were made, and why the final form became what it is.

Yes, I believe in co-design, especially when different areas of knowledge can genuinely contribute to the project.

The people who use my products have probably influenced my design more than anyone else.

Their experiences, reactions, questions, and sometimes even complaints have helped me understand what works and what needs to be reconsidered. Working directly with customers has taught me things that could not have been learned only from books or theory.

I am not sure I can point to particular books that directly influenced my design. However, my way of thinking about life has been influenced by the philosophical ideas of Friedrich Nietzsche and Arthur Schopenhauer.
I think these influences have shaped the way I observe people, experiences, and the world around me, and that inevitably finds its way into how I approach design.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a master designer. I am still developing my skills.

Most of my learning has come through practice: making things, observing how they work, listening to users, researching, making mistakes, and then trying to improve the result.

I don’t have one particular person in mind. I would actually be more interested in meeting people from very different cultural backgrounds and learning about their experiences and the way they see the world.

I find it fascinating how every person carries a different version of life. Listening to their stories gives me the feeling of collecting small pieces of different lives, almost as if I have had the opportunity to live more than one life through them.

I am grateful for the recognition my work has received. Awards are encouraging because they suggest that an idea has communicated something beyond my own expectations.

At the same time, I don’t consider myself famous, and I don’t think recognition should become the reason for designing. For me, the most valuable part is still the process of making and improving the work, and experiencing myself.

My favorite color is sky blue. It reminds me of peace, silence, and calmness.

My favorite food is probably something very simple: a boiled egg, especially for breakfast. I usually boil it for exactly four and a half minutes, which gives me the soft, almost liquid yolk that I like.

To be honest, my favorite place is home. More specifically, my bedroom is where I feel most at peace. At the end of the day, I like to read a few pages of a book before going to sleep. That small routine represents peace and happiness to me.

One interesting thing I noticed while showing my Cloud Beanbag Chair to friends was that people seemed to either really like it or really dislike it. Almost nobody had a neutral reaction.

At first, I found this a little surprising, so I asked a friend about it. He told me that this is often true of art: some people connect strongly with a work, while others simply don’t.

That comment stayed with me. It made me realize that perhaps a design does not need to please everyone. If an object creates a strong response in someone, even if that response is not always positive, it means the design has managed to communicate something.

I still see myself primarily as a manufacturer who gradually found her way into design.

What makes my day is hearing from customers who are genuinely happy with something we have made for them. When they send a message or a photo with excitement and appreciation, it reminds me why all the effort behind the product matters.

That kind of response is probably my strongest motivation to keep improving.

Consciously, no. As a child, I imagined myself having an academic career or another profession that required higher education. At different times, I even imagined becoming a university professor or an astronaut.

Unconsciously, perhaps there were some signs. I was always making or rearranging things. I enjoyed creating small decorative objects and finding new ways to use things around the house.

I remember once painting some fruit from a pine tree and arranging them in a crystal bowl to create a decorative piece for our home. I remember being genuinely proud of how beautiful I thought it looked.

So I certainly wasn’t thinking about becoming a designer, but looking back, I can see that the impulse to make, arrange, and transform things was already there.

I imagine that life will become easier in many practical ways. When I consider how much our lives have changed compared with those of previous generations, it seems likely that this progress will continue.

In a thousand years, people may have access to technologies, facilities, materials, and tools that are difficult for us to imagine today. I hope design will help make these advances more accessible and improve the quality of everyday life.

Truthfully, I have no clear idea what the world will actually look like then. That uncertainty is part of what makes the future so interesting.

I don’t really think about what I want people to think of me, and I don’t design with the intention of creating a particular image of myself.

What I do care about is how people feel when they interact with something I have made. If one of my designs can give someone a moment of comfort, calm, or peace in the middle of a busy day, that means much more to me than being perceived in a certain way.

Perhaps that is the simplest thing I would like people to know about my work: behind all the forms, materials, and ideas, there is a very simple intention—to create something that makes people feel a little more at ease.

Caspiloun is not a large company or design studio; it is a small workshop in Tabriz, Iran. We produced our first beanbag chair around nine years ago, and the Caspiloun brand has existed for almost five years. What matters most to me is the atmosphere inside the workshop. It is a calm, friendly place where people enjoy working together, and I believe that sense of peace becomes part of the products we make. Many of our customers request customized pieces, so every project is also an opportunity to solve a new design challenge.

For me, design is where beauty and purpose meet. Unlike art, which may exist simply to express an idea or emotion, design also has a practical responsibility. A well-designed object should be visually meaningful, pleasant to use, and capable of improving everyday life. I think the most memorable designs succeed because they combine aesthetic quality with genuine usefulness.

I often feel most creative when I am facing a problem. Difficult situations, whether personal or professional, encourage me to think differently and search for solutions I would not have discovered otherwise. In that sense, creativity is less about waiting for inspiration and more about responding to challenges with curiosity and persistence.

I pay attention to many aspects of a design, including form, comfort, materials, and functionality. However, I always return to one simple question: “Would I genuinely want to live with this object?” If the answer is no, I continue refining it. Designing for myself first helps me remain honest about the decisions I make.

A successful design attracts attention at first sight, but its real value becomes clear through use. If an object continues to improve someone’s everyday experience long after the first impression has passed, I believe it has achieved something meaningful.

I believe designers have a responsibility to improve everyday life in thoughtful ways. Sometimes that means making products more sustainable or practical. Sometimes it means paying attention to emotional well-being, because the objects we live with can influence how we feel. Even small improvements, when thoughtfully designed, can have a meaningful impact over time.

Nature has always been my strongest source of inspiration, particularly the softness and lightness of clouds. Beyond nature, I am inspired by philosophy, literature, and everyday conversations with people. I often find that meaningful ideas emerge from observing ordinary life rather than searching for extraordinary experiences.

I would describe my approach as emotionally driven, human-centered, and quietly minimalist. Rather than following a particular visual trend, I try to create objects that feel calm, comfortable, and welcoming. My goal is not only to solve functional problems but also to contribute positively to the emotional atmosphere of the spaces people live in.

I live and work in Tabriz, Iran. I believe our cultural background influences us in many ways, even when we are not consciously aware of it. Persian culture has a long tradition of appreciating craftsmanship, hospitality, poetry, and the idea of home as a place of comfort and belonging. Looking back, I think those values naturally found their way into my work.

Designing in Iran also comes with practical challenges. Access to certain materials can be limited, and economic conditions have made manufacturing increasingly demanding in recent years. At the same time, these constraints have encouraged me to become more resourceful, to work closely with local manufacturers, and to appreciate the value of thoughtful craftsmanship rather than relying on unlimited resources.

My design process usually begins with a question rather than a sketch. I spend time thinking about a problem or an experience I would like to improve before moving into physical prototypes. From there, the project develops through observation, repeated testing, and refinement. I rarely expect the first version to be the final one. User feedback plays an important role, and I often discover the most valuable improvements only after seeing how people naturally interact with a prototype.

My golden rule is simple: would I genuinely choose to live with this object myself? If I wouldn’t want it in my own home, or if I wouldn’t confidently recommend it to someone I care about, then it isn’t ready yet. That question helps me stay honest throughout the design process.

My most important tools are observation, imagination, and physical prototyping. I spend a great deal of time visualizing an object before making it, sometimes closing my eyes and mentally exploring its proportions, materials, and the way it might feel to use. Nature is also an important reference for me, not because I copy its forms directly, but because it reminds me how simplicity and function often exist together. Once an idea reaches the workshop, the real design process continues through making, testing, and refining each prototype.

I used to make very detailed long-term plans, but over time I have learned that creative work rarely follows a straight path. Today, I prefer to have a clear direction rather than a fixed destination. I hope to continue developing thoughtful furniture inspired by nature and emotional well-being, while remaining open to unexpected opportunities and ideas. More than anything, I simply want to keep learning, making, and improving with each new project.

I develop the initial concepts myself, but every design benefits from collaboration once it enters the workshop. My team plays an important role during prototyping, testing, and manufacturing. Their practical experience often leads to valuable improvements, and many ideas become stronger through discussion and experimentation. Although the original concept usually begins with me, bringing it to life is very much a shared effort.

Yes. I am currently developing another seating design inspired by nature. The first prototypes have already been built, and I am now refining the details through testing and observation. It is still too early to reveal much, but I hope it continues my exploration of emotional comfort and human-centered furniture.

People can learn more about my work through my website at Caspian Home, or follow my ongoing projects on Instagram at @moblsheni. I am also happy to be contacted by email at hamzelouzahra@gmail.com.

I hope my work encourages people to think about furniture not only as something we use, but as something that quietly shapes the way we experience everyday life. If a piece of furniture can help someone feel a little calmer, more comfortable, or more at home, then I believe it has already fulfilled an important purpose.

From the beginning, I wanted to understand not only whether people found the Cloud Beanbag comfortable, but also how they emotionally responded to it. For that reason, I combined three simple but complementary methods: questionnaires, direct observation, and video documentation. Eight participants with different ages, body sizes, and sitting habits were invited to use the chair naturally rather than follow strict instructions. Instead of focusing only on posture or pressure points, I paid close attention to body language, facial expressions, the amount of time they chose to remain seated, and the words they used immediately after the experience.The most valuable insight was that emotional comfort revealed itself through spontaneous behavior rather than direct questions. Several participants stayed seated longer than expected, adjusted themselves very little once they found a comfortable position, and naturally leaned into the surrounding support. What surprised me most was that different people independently described the experience using almost the same expression: they said it felt like being hugged. That description had never been suggested by me, which made it especially meaningful. Their feedback confirmed that the chair was offering more than physical softness; it was creating a feeling of security and emotional ease. Those observations strengthened my confidence that emotional well-being can be considered a legitimate design objective, alongside ergonomics, aesthetics, and functionality.

For me, sustainability is not defined by a single material choice. It begins with designing a product that people will want to keep, maintain, and use for many years. The Cloud Beanbag was therefore developed with a refillable inner liner and a removable cover, allowing users to clean, repair, or replace individual components instead of discarding the entire product. I believe extending a product’s useful life is one of the most meaningful forms of responsible design.Another important aspect is transportation. Although the Cloud Beanbag has a generous, sculptural appearance, its construction allows the outer cover and inner liner to be shipped compactly and filled locally after delivery. By integrating this capability into the product, shipping volume can be significantly reduced, making transportation more efficient while lowering the environmental impact associated with distribution.Material selection has also been an ongoing part of the project. I personally visited and held discussions with Iranian textile manufacturers, particularly Kalar, where I examined high-quality upholstery fabrics produced from recycled plastic materials. I also explored sustainable textile options with Arta Shokouh Yazd. These experiences showed me that environmentally responsible textiles are becoming increasingly available in Iran, although they currently remain more expensive than conventional upholstery fabrics. For the Cloud Beanbag, however, softness is not simply an aesthetic preference; it is fundamental to the emotional experience of the design. My goal is therefore not just to adopt recyclable materials, but to ensure they preserve the tactile warmth and comfort that define the product. This perspective also aligns with Jonathan Chapman’s concept of emotional durability: when people develop a meaningful relationship with an object, they are more likely to care for it, repair it, and keep it in use for many years. I believe true sustainability is achieved when environmental responsibility and emotional attachment reinforce one another rather than compete.

Although my doctoral research is in English Literature rather than design, it has profoundly influenced the questions I ask when creating objects. Throughout my academic journey, I have been particularly drawn to Friedrich Nietzsche’s reflections on resilience, self-overcoming, and the human capacity to rise again after hardship. Rather than seeing comfort as a luxury, I began to think of it as self-care, as something that can support people in restoring themselves so they can return to life with renewed strength.The Cloud Beanbag is not intended to rescue anyone. Rather, it provides a quiet environment in which people can restore themselves. That distinction is important to me because, in Nietzsche’s writings, growth ultimately comes from within the individual rather than from external rescue. I wanted the object to support that process without replacing it.That perspective influenced several physical decisions during the prototyping process. I wanted the chair to do more than feel soft; it needed to provide a sense of gentle support without completely collapsing under the body. This led me to develop a structured form, compartmentalized filling, and a construction that embraces the user while maintaining its overall silhouette. The intention was to create a piece that encourages moments of pause and recovery without becoming passive or shapeless.If there is one conceptual thread from my academic background that is most visible in the finished piece, it is the idea that rest is not the opposite of strength; it is one of the conditions that make strength possible. In that sense, the Cloud Beanbag is not designed to help people escape life, but to help them recover, regain balance, and return to it with greater resilience.

One of the biggest challenges was preserving the Cloud Beanbag’s sculptural form while maintaining the flexibility people naturally expect from a beanbag. Conventional beanbags tend to collapse completely over time, and simply adding more filling would have compromised comfort rather than solving the problem. I was determined not to sacrifice either quality. Instead of changing the design concept, I refined the construction through repeated prototyping, experimenting with sewing techniques, internal compartmentalization, and filling distribution until the chair could gently support the body while retaining its identity.Working in Iran certainly added practical challenges. Access to some specialized materials was limited, and economic uncertainty made product development more demanding. However, these conditions did not change the essence of the project. They encouraged me to become more resourceful, to work more closely with local manufacturers, and to continue refining the design rather than simplifying it. Looking back, I do not feel that the Cloud Beanbag is a product of compromise. Instead, it is the result of persistence and iterative problem-solving under real-world constraints.

The solution emerged gradually through prototyping rather than all at once. My earliest attempts focused mainly on pattern cutting. I hoped that by carefully shaping the fabric panels, I could control how the EPS micro-beads behaved inside the chair. In practice, however, the filling followed gravity rather than the intended geometry. Under pressure, it simply displaced itself and pushed the fabric into a formless shape.That experience led me to rethink the problem. I eventually realized that I was not trying to fight gravity, but to guide how the filling responded to it. I learned that pattern cutting alone could not control a material that is inherently dynamic. Instead of asking the fabric to do all the work, I began experimenting with the internal construction itself. Through multiple prototypes, I gradually developed a compartmentalized dual-layer system and a sewing technique that guides the distribution of the filling while allowing the chair to remain flexible. The objective was never to make the beanbag rigid, but to help it preserve its identity while continuing to respond naturally to the user’s body.Receiving Industrial Design Registration No. 49570 was meaningful not because it suggested perfection, but because it marked the moment when an idea that had existed only in sketches, experiments, and repeated failures became a recognized design. As an independent maker working in a small handcraft workshop in Iran, that recognition gave me confidence that careful observation, persistence, and craftsmanship can lead to work that has its own identity. More than anything, it reinforced my belief that creating something genuinely valuable—something that improves everyday life, even in a small way—is one of the most rewarding aspects of making things for people.

Rather than assuming how international markets will respond, I see the A’ Design Award as an opportunity to begin a conversation. Every culture has its own understanding of comfort, and I am genuinely curious to learn how people from different countries interpret the Cloud Beanbag and the emotions it is intended to evoke.The multilingual communication tools, international press exposure, and global visibility provided through the A’ Design Award make that conversation much more accessible for an independent designer working from Iran. They help reduce barriers that would otherwise be difficult to overcome and allow the project to reach audiences that I could not easily connect with on my own.More than expanding into specific markets, I hope the Cloud Beanbag reaches people who appreciate thoughtful, human-centered design and who believe that furniture can contribute to emotional well-being as well as physical comfort. I would be especially interested in connecting with manufacturers, design professionals, and users who value products that combine craftsmanship, emotional design, and long-term usability.

For me, the Cloud Beanbag is not an isolated product; it is the beginning of a design language for Caspiloun. The name Caspiloun combines the Caspian Sea with the Persian word for “nest,” reflecting the values that have guided the brand from the beginning: peace, emotional comfort, and a sense of belonging. Every future project should express those values in its own way rather than simply repeating the same visual style.I have become increasingly interested in the idea that furniture does more than serve a practical function. Certain objects can influence the emotional atmosphere of a space through their presence, quietly affecting how people feel when they enter a room. I hope every Caspiloun piece contributes to that atmosphere by encouraging calm, rest, and emotional balance.The Sky and Earth versions of the Cloud Beanbag are only the first expressions of that philosophy. Rather than creating variations for purely aesthetic reasons, I see them as explorations of different emotional experiences. In the future, I hope to continue designing seating that responds not only to the body but also to the emotional needs of everyday life. If Caspiloun develops a recognizable identity, I hope it will not be because all of its products look alike, but because they consistently help people feel safe, comfortable, and emotionally supported.

One of the most important lessons I learned while developing the Cloud Beanbag is that many design limitations begin as assumptions rather than physical realities. Beanbags are often expected to be either extremely soft or structurally supportive, as though these qualities cannot coexist. Instead of accepting that assumption, I treated it as a question to investigate through prototyping.The process showed me that material behavior does not have to dictate the entire experience of a product. By rethinking internal construction, filling distribution, and sewing techniques, it became possible to preserve softness while giving the chair a recognizable identity and consistent support. Rather than asking the material to behave differently, I focused on designing a system that guides its natural behavior.More broadly, I hope the project encourages furniture designers to question inherited assumptions; not only about materials and form, but also about the purpose of furniture itself. A seating object can do more than support the body; it can influence the emotional atmosphere of a space and contribute to a person’s sense of calm, security, and well-being.For me, the future of furniture design lies not in choosing between function and emotion, or between engineering and poetry, but in allowing them to strengthen one another. I believe good design often begins not with an answer, but with the willingness to question assumptions that have quietly become accepted as inevitable.

One lesson that stayed with me throughout the project was the importance of continuing even when the outcome was uncertain. During the prototyping process, there were moments when people questioned the direction I was taking, and there were many more moments when I questioned it myself. Looking back, I think the most helpful response was not to argue or to seek constant reassurance, but simply to build the next prototype and let it teach me something.If there is one thing I wish I had known at the beginning, it is that uncertainty is not necessarily a sign that an idea is weak. Sometimes it simply means you are exploring unfamiliar ground. I also learned that external opinions, whether encouraging or discouraging, can be valuable, but they should never replace careful observation, honest experimentation, and your own curiosity.At last, one thought I hope to carry into future projects, it is the quiet reminder to keep going. Whenever I felt uncertain, I simply tried to make the next prototype a little better than the previous one. Looking back, that steady process taught me far more than certainty ever could. I hope this project is not seen as a conclusion, but as the beginning of a much longer process of learning, making, and listening.