We, as the Designer Interviews ("DI") had the distinct pleasure and opportunity to interview award-winning, most creative and innovative Yuzhou(Joe) Wu ("YW").
Yuzhou(Joe) Wu is a senior partner and creative director at AmbiWishes Technology, actively engaged in fostering cross-cultural exchange between China and international markets. With a diverse background spanning architecture, brand incubation, visual arts, and technological innovation, he emphasizes sustainability, intelligent interaction, and human-centered design. His work integrates urban space optimization, cultural project development, and digital experiences, aiming to bridge the gap between art, technology, and commercial impact. Dedicated to innovation and interdisciplinary collaboration, Mr. Wu continues to push boundaries, shaping the future of design and cross-industry integration while promoting international dialogue in creative industries.
Yuzhou(Joe) Wu Designs
We are pleased to share with you original and innovative design work by Yuzhou(Joe) Wu.
Yuzhou(Joe) Wu Design - Timeless Grove Digital Park Experience
Designer Interview of Yuzhou(Joe) Wu:
DI: Could you please tell us more about your art and design background? What made you become an artist/designer? Have you always wanted to be a designer?
YW : I didn’t start out as a designer in the traditional sense. In fact, I studied data analytics in university. My entry into design was completely unplanned—and honestly, driven by necessity. While studying in the U.S., I needed to support myself financially, so I started taking part-time jobs. I organized student events, and to save costs, I created all the posters, flyers, and banners myself. That was my first hands-on experience with design. Later, I helped friends in film school, first as an actor, then behind the scenes doing lighting, editing, and camera work. Slowly, I began to appreciate the power of visual storytelling. I’ve always believed in “learning by doing.” Looking back, having limited resources turned out to be a gift—it forced me to be resourceful, hands-on, and creative in ways I didn’t expect. Eventually, while designing a bubble tea shop I had invested in, I met my future business partner in real estate. That connection opened the door to the architecture and interior world. One thing led to another, and I found myself managing spatial design projects—hotels, offices, retail spaces. You could say I’m a self-taught designer—what some might call a “design generalist.” But really, I’m just someone who’s curious, adaptable, and never afraid to start from zero.
DI: Can you tell us more about your company / design studio?
YW : I work through a flexible, interdisciplinary structure. My practice blends creative direction, branding, spatial strategy, and cultural development. Instead of anchoring myself to a single company identity, I collaborate across industries—especially where design intersects with business, storytelling, and human experience. A turning point came during my time in the U.S., where I met like-minded creatives who believed, as I did, that design should connect cultures, shape narratives, and open conversations beyond borders. That shared vision led me to join AmbiWishes as a partner—a creative consultancy rooted between China and the U.S., committed to cross-cultural collaboration and long-term impact. As a Chinese designer, I’ve always felt a responsibility to bridge creative values between East and West. At AmbiWishes, I lead creative direction and spatial strategy, focusing especially on projects that explore cross-cultural potential. Since joining, I’ve also been actively mentoring and collaborating with emerging Chinese designers—helping more voices from China enter the global conversation. To me, promoting Chinese design isn’t just about global visibility; it’s about mutual understanding, meaningful storytelling, and building a long-term cultural presence.
DI: What is "design" for you?
YW : For me, design is not a discipline—it’s a way of thinking, framing, and connecting. It’s about shaping perception, not just shaping objects. Design is the invisible rhythm behind what we see and feel. It organizes complexity into clarity, transforms constraint into creativity, and turns abstract ideas into lived experience. Whether it’s a space, a system, or a story, good design always reveals relationships—between people, between culture and context, between the seen and the felt. I don’t believe design should only solve problems; it should also ask better questions. In that sense, design is not the final step—it’s the opening act for possibility.
DI: What kinds of works do you like designing most?
YW : I’m most drawn to works that involve systemic thinking and cultural layering—projects that are not just about aesthetics, but about meaning, rhythm, and resonance. I enjoy designing spaces or experiences that tell a story—not necessarily in a literal way, but in how the structure, materials, and transitions evoke something deeper. Projects where architecture meets identity, or where branding and environment merge, are particularly exciting to me. I also enjoy working in the “in-between” zones—between industries, between formats, between cultures. I like projects that can’t be easily labeled, because they often open new questions, new methods, and new relationships. In short: I love designing things that are hard to define but impossible to forget.
DI: What is your most favorite design, could you please tell more about it?
YW : One of the places that has influenced me most deeply is the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. It’s not just the architecture that moved me—though the way it engages with light, topography, and silence is extraordinary—but also the thinking behind it. It’s a space that makes you reflect, not just observe. What I truly admire is the vision behind the museum. J. Paul Getty didn’t just build a place to display art—he built a platform to democratize culture, to make beauty and history accessible to everyone. That kind of long-term, public-facing thinking resonates with me far beyond design. In many ways, it planted a seed in me. One of my long-term dreams is to one day create a museum or cultural foundation of my own—not only as an architectural project, but as a platform to bring Chinese design and ideas into the global cultural conversation. To me, design has always been about building bridges, and the Getty Museum is a beautiful example of how that can be done through space, vision, and generosity.
DI: What was the first thing you designed for a company?
YW : The first thing I ever designed for a company was actually for my own business. I had just graduated and wanted to start something small, so I opened a bubble tea shop. We didn’t have a big budget, so I took on everything myself—from branding and interior design to packaging and signage. Looking back, I didn’t even know the “right” way to design. But I knew how I wanted people to feel when they walked into the space. I paid attention to flow, mood, material, and how the brand would connect with its neighborhood. That experience taught me a lot—not just about design tools, but about design thinking. It wasn’t about making things pretty; it was about making things work, with meaning. And oddly enough, that small project led to bigger opportunities in interior and architectural design later on.
DI: What is your favorite material / platform / technology?
YW : I’m drawn to materials that hold silence—like matte stone, untreated wood, brushed metal, or even shadow. What matters to me is not how expensive or complex something is, but how it interacts with space, light, and time. I also have a deep respect for “invisible” technologies—systems that don’t call attention to themselves, but shape how people experience space. Smart lighting, climate-responsive materials, or even algorithmic flows in architecture—they fascinate me when they disappear into the background and just make the space feel right. Ultimately, my favorite “material” is the one that allows meaning to breathe. Whether it’s a surface or a system, I look for elements that don’t speak loudly, but resonate deeply.
DI: When do you feel the most creative?
YW : I often feel most creative when I’m driving—especially on long self-driving trips. The road reveals unexpected beauty: a wall’s color, light breaking through trees, the rhythm of passing structures. These quiet visuals often return as seeds in my design work. Semi-autonomous driving gives me moments to loosen my grip, observe more freely, and let ideas surface. But I also remind myself—driving demands attention and instinct. That balance between focus and fluidity feels a lot like design itself: staying relaxed enough to see clearly, but sharp enough to act decisively. In that sense, driving becomes a kind of moving rehearsal for how to design—with presence, awareness, and control.
DI: Which aspects of a design do you focus more during designing?
YW : When I design, I pay the most attention to relationship—between elements, between people and space, between ideas and emotion. I start by thinking about how a space makes people feel—not just in one moment, but across time. I look for rhythm: how the light shifts, how the materials age, how one movement leads to another. If a space can guide you without shouting, if it can hold silence and allow presence, then I know the design is starting to work. I also care deeply about cultural tone—how form, texture, and proportion come together to express something you don’t need words for. Beauty, for me, is not a surface—it’s a tension between clarity and mystery.
DI: What kind of emotions do you feel when you design?
YW : Design puts me in a strange emotional space—a mix of clarity, obsession, and quiet excitement. At its best, I enter a kind of flow state where time dissolves. I feel fully present, almost like the work is thinking through me, not the other way around. There’s joy in aligning things—when proportion, rhythm, and tone suddenly click into place, it’s like tuning an instrument to just the right frequency. Of course, there’s also frustration. Things don’t always work, and sometimes the hardest part is knowing when to stop pushing. But even that tension becomes part of the process. I’ve learned to respect confusion, because it often means I’m on the edge of something new.
DI: What kind of emotions do you feel when your designs are realized?
YW : When a design is realized, I don’t feel explosive joy—I feel something quieter, almost like a release. There’s a moment of stillness where the work shifts from being mine to being part of the world. Sometimes I walk through a space I designed and observe how people use it without even noticing its structure. That’s when I feel most satisfied—not when the design is obvious, but when it simply fits into daily life, seamlessly and silently. Of course, I’m also critical. I see every imperfection, every detail that could have been better. But I try to replace judgment with curiosity: Why did this detail work? Why did that gesture fall flat? Realization is not the end—it’s the beginning of a new feedback loop.
DI: What makes a design successful?
YW : To me, a successful design isn’t defined by how striking it looks—it’s about how well it listens. Good design creates alignment: between space and purpose, between message and material, between user behavior and emotional rhythm. It works not because it forces attention, but because it invites presence. You don’t have to explain it—it simply feels right. A successful design also leaves room—for growth, for reinterpretation, for the unknown. It doesn’t try to say everything at once. Instead, it knows when to speak, when to pause, and when to let others complete the story.
DI: When judging a design as good or bad, which aspects do you consider first?
YW : The first thing I notice is not how something looks, but how it feels—how it behaves in context, how it relates to its users, and whether it carries clarity in intention. Does it solve a need while also sparking imagination? Does it hold tension between structure and softness, function and atmosphere? These are often the questions that guide my judgment. A good design doesn’t need to shout. It should reveal itself over time, offering both immediate resonance and lasting depth. Bad design, on the other hand, often reveals itself too quickly—and then leaves nothing behind.
DI: From your point of view, what are the responsibilities of a designer for society and environment?
YW : Designers don’t just shape objects or spaces—we shape behaviors, expectations, and values. That’s where our responsibility begins. To me, a designer’s role is to mediate between what is and what could be. That means designing not only for efficiency or beauty, but for empathy, longevity, and care. Whether we’re working with physical materials or social systems, we’re always influencing how people relate to each other and to the world around them. In terms of the environment, I believe design should tread lightly—not only in terms of resources, but in psychological and cultural space as well. Good design should make room—for nature, for slowness, for reflection. We don’t need to fill every gap. Sometimes, our job is to protect the silence.
DI: How do you think the "design field" is evolving? What is the future of design?
YW : I believe design is moving from form-making to system-shaping. It’s no longer just about creating beautiful objects or spaces—it’s about orchestrating relationships, facilitating meaning, and designing how things connect. We’re entering an era where design is less about “things” and more about experiences, ecologies, and ethics. Designers are no longer just stylists—we’re becoming translators, mediators, even curators of behavior. The questions we face are no longer just “how should this look,” but “how should this live,” “who does it include,” and “what kind of world does it shape?” The future of design, I believe, lies in slowness, subtlety, and sincerity. In a fast-moving world, the most valuable work will be the kind that listens deeply, adapts with care, and builds with time.
DI: When was your last exhibition and where was it? And when do you want to hold your next exhibition?
YW : My most recent exhibition was at the Red Dot Design Museum in Xiamen, as part of a showcase exploring traditional Chinese craft and its contemporary reinterpretation. We presented a project called Chillwild (草物之外) — a design for a modern herbal tea brand rooted in traditional Chinese medicine, which also won a Bronze A’ Design Award in the packaging category. That project means a lot to me—not just because of the recognition, but because it reflects my ongoing love for Chinese culture. I’m not interested in copying tradition; I’m interested in continuing it, reshaping it, letting it live in new forms and contexts. For my next exhibition, I’d love to go deeper into that space—where culture, identity, and design meet. Ideally, it would be in a city that’s not just visually open, but culturally layered—somewhere like Kyoto, Lisbon, or again, perhaps Shanghai.
DI: Where does the design inspiration for your works come from? How do you feed your creativity? What are your sources of inspirations?
YW : Driving is when I get the most unexpected ideas. There’s something about the combination of motion, solitude, and passing landscapes that opens up a different kind of thinking. I often catch myself noticing a building’s rhythm, the color of a hill, or how signage blends—or fails to blend—into a place. Outside of that, I get inspiration from moments that aren’t obviously “creative”: conversations, fragments of films, misread signs, walking in unfamiliar cities. I also write a lot—not full texts, but spatial phrases, emotional temperatures, raw metaphors. Those notes form a quiet archive that keeps feeding back into my work. I don’t chase inspiration. I design my daily life to leave space for it to arrive—in silence, in friction, in motion.
DI: How would you describe your design style? What made you explore more this style and what are the main characteristics of your style? What's your approach to design?
YW : I don’t think of “style” as a fixed label. For me, style is a kind of tone—the way a space breathes, pauses, and holds its own rhythm. If I had to describe it, I’d say my work often leans toward restraint, clarity, and structural emotion. I’m drawn to what’s not said: the space between elements, the tension between material and meaning, the emotional pacing of light and silence. My interest in Chinese spatial logic—gardens, framing, paths—has shaped how I think about composition and sequence. But I always pair that with a contemporary logic of usability, openness, and cultural remix. My approach is slow. I listen a lot—before sketching anything. I try to design from inside the atmosphere, not just the shape. Because in the end, what stays with people is not what they saw, but how the space made them feel.
DI: Where do you live? Do you feel the cultural heritage of your country affects your designs? What are the pros and cons during designing as a result of living in your country?
YW : I split my time between China and the U.S., but China is home—and it’s also the cultural soil that shapes how I see and design. Chinese cultural heritage runs deep in my work. Not in decorative ways, but in how I think about space, sequence, rhythm, and restraint. I’m influenced by garden logic, architectural silence, and the idea that meaning can be implied rather than shown. Working in China has incredible advantages: rich material traditions, centuries of spatial wisdom, and a cultural philosophy that values subtlety. But there are also challenges—design discourse is still catching up with global fluency, and sometimes the pace of development outgrows the space for reflection. The result is a tension I find creatively valuable: how to be both rooted and forward-facing.
DI: How do you work with companies?
YW : When I work with companies, I don’t position myself as a service provider—I see myself as a strategic and cultural collaborator. I spend a lot of time up front understanding the people behind the project: their aspirations, limitations, unspoken logic. I try to uncover the emotional and cultural layers of a brand or space before making any visual decisions. In many cases, my role is to translate business goals into spatial or narrative systems that feel human and long-term—not just marketable. I also believe in co-creation. Good design doesn’t happen in isolation. It requires trust, listening, and sometimes challenging each other to go deeper. The most successful projects I’ve done were never just “well designed”—they were well aligned.
DI: What are your suggestions to companies for working with a designer? How can companies select a good designer?
YW : The best collaborations happen when companies don’t just hire a designer—they invite one into their thinking process. My first suggestion is: choose a designer whose values match your vision, not just your style. A good designer isn’t just executing—they’re helping you define what matters. That requires trust, time, and shared language. Second: be open, but also honest. The more clearly you express your challenges and expectations, the more meaningful the design response can be. Good design comes from constraints, not from vague freedom. And finally: don’t just ask “what will it look like?”—ask “what will it change?” The best designers don’t just deliver visuals. They bring clarity, emotion, and direction.
DI: Can you talk a little about your design process?
YW : My process always starts with listening. Before I draw anything, I try to understand the emotional, spatial, and cultural layers of the context. I ask: what is this space trying to say, and what kind of experience does it want to hold? From there, I move into rhythm—how things should unfold, where tension sits, when to pause. I sketch in words before I sketch in lines. I write phrases, draw sequences, test emotional flow. Only after that do I move into material, structure, and scale. I believe the process should stay porous and iterative. I test through conversation, through walking the site, through seeing how people move. A lot of my design decisions come not from inspiration, but from structured editing—knowing what to leave out, and where to leave room.
DI: What are 5 of your favorite design items at home?
YW : 1.A stone incense holder I found in Kyoto—simple, unpolished, and strangely grounding. I don’t use it daily, but I like the way it anchors a quiet mood in the room. 2.An old rice paper lamp from my grandmother’s house. It’s fragile and uneven, but the way it diffuses light reminds me that imperfection can carry calm. 3.My car key—not for what it opens, but for what it allows: movement, solitude, and that suspended state where ideas often surface. 4.A plain oak tray I use for almost everything. To me, it’s a perfect object—neutral, functional, and humble enough to disappear when needed. 5.A stack of unfinished notebooks—some filled with spatial metaphors, some just with single words. They aren’t objects of display, but tools for thinking. And they grow with me.
DI: Can you describe a day in your life?
YW : I usually wake up around 7am. I take the dog out for a quiet walk, then come back to make breakfast for my family. It’s a small ritual, but one that keeps me grounded before the day starts moving. By 9am, I’m at the studio. I think best in the morning—recently I’ve been keeping a more disciplined schedule, training regularly, and staying physically clear so my mind can stay focused. My work spans several industries, so my days are full. I meet with different teams, clients, collaborators. Most of what I do now is talking—listening, aligning, translating between worlds. It’s intense, but it’s part of building anything meaningful. That’s why, no matter how the day goes, I protect my two hours at night. That time is for reflection. I don’t fill it with content—I use it to sit with what the day gave me, and to return to myself. My life is full, but I try to design its rhythm with care. Not just for efficiency, but for clarity and continuity.
DI: Could you please share some pearls of wisdom for young designers? What are your suggestions to young, up and coming designers?
YW : Don’t rush to define your style. First, find your sensitivity—what you notice, what disturbs you, what you can’t unsee. Style will come later. Clarity comes first. Second, learn to listen. Not just to clients, but to space, to silence, to your own discomfort. The best designers aren’t the loudest—they’re the most attuned. Third, protect your pace. It’s easy to burn out trying to prove something too soon. Depth doesn’t come from speed. Give yourself time to build your own rhythm. Lastly, design is not about showing how much you know. It’s about knowing what not to say, and having the confidence to leave things unsaid.
DI: From your perspective, what would you say are some positives and negatives of being a designer?
YW : The best part of being a designer is that you get to shape experience. You’re not just solving problems—you’re creating meaning, emotion, rhythm. When it works, you feel like you’ve translated something invisible into something inhabitable. That’s powerful. But the hardest part is also emotional. Good design requires you to stay open, sensitive, and questioning—but that same openness can be exhausting. You notice too much. You care too much. And sometimes, you’re asked to solve problems that aren’t actually design problems. There’s also a constant negotiation between vision and compromise, clarity and noise, speed and depth. It’s not an easy path—but if you can hold your ground, and hold your curiosity, it becomes more than a job. It becomes a way of understanding the world.
DI: What is your "golden rule" in design?
YW : Say only what the space cannot say on its own. Design is not about adding more—it’s about knowing what’s essential, what’s silent, and what’s missing. The best design doesn’t speak louder. It listens longer.
DI: What skills are most important for a designer?
YW : The most important skill is not drawing, not rendering, not even communication. It’s discernment—the ability to sense what matters, what doesn’t, and when to act. A good designer knows how to edit—not just visuals, but ideas, expectations, and energy. You need sensitivity, yes—but also the strength to hold the line when needed. Other crucial skills: listening between the lines, framing problems instead of just solving them, and building rhythm—not just aesthetics, but in how people move, feel, and remember. In the end, design isn’t about how much you can do. It’s about what you choose to do, and why.
DI: Which tools do you use during design? What is inside your toolbox? Such as software, application, hardware, books, sources of inspiration etc.?
YW : My toolbox is a mix of the technical, the analog, and the atmospheric. I use the standard design software—Rhino, AutoCAD, Adobe Suite, Keyshot, Enscape—mainly for development and delivery. But I don’t start there. I start with writing tools: Apple Notes, Notion, and a stack of paper notebooks. I write phrases, spatial rhythms, metaphors. These are my sketchbooks—less visual, more conceptual. I also rely on movement-based tools: driving, walking, site visits. My iPhone camera roll is full of details—textures, alignments, accidents. It’s a kind of unconscious archive. As for books, I always return to a few: Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows, Atlas of Emotion by Giuliana Bruno, and anything by Peter Zumthor. I don’t use them for ideas—I use them to remember how to feel. Ultimately, tools don’t make the designer. The way you filter and connect is the real system.
DI: Designing can sometimes be a really time consuming task, how do you manage your time?
YW : I don’t try to control time—I try to shape energy. Design is not linear. Some days you’ll have ten hours and make no real progress. Other days, one conversation can unlock everything. So I stopped treating time as a straight line, and started thinking in layers: thinking time, building time, talking time, resting time. What helps me most is setting clear thresholds: when to pause, when to decide, when to let go. I don’t aim to “use every minute”—I aim to create room for clarity. Also, I treat my schedule like I treat a floorplan: not everything has to be filled. Leave space. That’s where the best work enters.
DI: How long does it take to design an object from beginning to end?
YW : It depends on what you’re really designing. Sometimes, the form takes a week—but the decision behind it took years of silent questioning. Other times, the object is done quickly, but you spend weeks figuring out what it’s really for. So for me, design doesn’t start when you open your software. It starts when you begin to care—and it doesn’t end when you deliver a file. It ends when the object is understood, used, and felt. That said, yes—technically it can take anywhere from 3 weeks to 6 months. But real design time is layered. Some parts are fast. Some parts need to wait.
DI: What is the most frequently asked question to you, as a designer?
YW : Honestly? Probably: “Can you make it look cooler?” It’s usually said casually, but it always opens up a deeper conversation: What do you mean by “cool”? For whom? For how long? What emotion are you trying to trigger? I’ve learned to take those moments seriously—not to reject them, but to translate them. Because behind every vague request, there’s usually a real need. A good designer listens not just to the words, but to the uncertainty behind them.
DI: What was your most important job experience?
YW : Looking back, the most important turning point wasn’t a big-name project—it was when I designed my first bubble tea shop. I had invested in it with almost no budget, so I had to do everything myself: the branding, the interiors, the construction plan. I wasn’t trained in design, but I had no choice but to solve problems by sensing them—what felt right, what didn’t, how people moved, what the space communicated. That experience changed everything. It taught me that design wasn’t about making things look good—it was about making things make sense. It also led me to meet my current real estate partner, which opened the door to larger projects—hotels, offices, cultural spaces. That one small shop gave me a career.
DI: Who are some of your clients?
YW : My clients come from different industries—real estate, hospitality, wellness, F&B, and cultural initiatives. What connects them is not the industry itself, but the fact that they are all building something long-term—an experience, a narrative, or a new kind of presence. I’ve worked with real estate developers on office and hotel projects, independent brands on spatial strategy, and cultural curators on exhibitions or public installations. Some projects are commercial, others are more experimental—but in both cases, I’m invited not just to design, but to co-think. I value clients who don’t see design as decoration, but as part of their core thinking process.
DI: What type of design work do you enjoy the most and why?
YW : I’m most drawn to projects that involve transformation—not just of space, but of perception. I love working on places that already carry a memory: old buildings, forgotten corners, in-between zones. I enjoy finding out what’s still alive there, and what wants to be reawakened. There’s something deeply moving about designing not from scratch, but from what’s already there but unseen. I also enjoy projects that blur the line between space and story—where layout is a kind of narrative, and materials hold emotional weight. Those are the moments where design becomes more than problem-solving. It becomes a conversation between past and future.
DI: What are your future plans? What is next for you?
YW : I’m currently expanding my practice across both design and cultural strategy. I want to keep working on spaces and objects—but also on the stories around them, the systems they sit in, and the futures they suggest. One of my goals is to help more Chinese designers be seen internationally—not through surface aesthetics, but through structure, rhythm, and deep cultural logic. I’m continuing that work through collaborations, mentoring, and building new platforms. And personally, I still hold onto a quiet dream: to one day build a museum—not for trophies, but for ideas, atmospheres, and unfinished conversations. A space where design isn’t shown, but felt.
DI: Do you work as a team, or do you develop your designs yourself?
YW : At the beginning of a project, I don’t start by making plans—I start by asking questions. I lay out the problem and listen. I want to see how far the team can take it without me defining the direction. Most of the time, I let people explore first, observe how they respond, and only step in when the core logic starts to blur. I see my role as a backbone, not a spotlight—someone who holds the structure and rhythm. I don’t speak first, I speak last. That way, what I say isn’t the starting point—it’s a summary of everything we’ve built together. In that sense, I lead not by declaring answers, but by creating alignment.
DI: Do you have any works-in-progress being designed that you would like to talk about?
YW : There’s one project I’m especially excited about—it’s still in progress, so I can’t share too many details, but I can share the structure. It’s a hybrid cultural space that brings together hospitality, independent retail, and publishing. What interests me most is not the functions, but the storyline that connects them—how the spatial sequence can become a kind of narrative loop. I’m working on this not just as a designer, but as a creative strategist. I’m shaping the concept, spatial logic, emotional atmosphere, and even the way visitors move and pause. It’s still forming—and that’s what makes it exciting. Some of the best design moments happen before they’re ready to be shown.
DI: How can people contact you?
YW : For collaborations, media inquiries, or project discussions, please contact me through my company: AmbiWishes Technology Website: ambiwishes.com Email: Ambiwishes@gmail.com
DI: Any other things you would like to cover that have not been covered in these questions?
YW : Maybe just one thing—something I think about often, but isn’t always asked: How do we design for what we don’t fully understand yet? So much of design today is about certainty—clear goals, sharp visuals, fast impact. But what about the spaces that hold doubt? The objects that are slightly off? The narratives that take time? I think part of a designer’s role is to create structures for the uncertain—spaces that let questions stay open a bit longer, that hold emotional ambiguity, that don’t rush to be resolved. Not everything we design has to explain itself. Sometimes, it just has to make someone pause.