I’ve never believed that form simply follows function. An object doesn’t have a fixed form: we invent it, assign it, reinterpret it. The project was a way to expose that. Fiction isn’t fantasy, it’s the narratives we unconsciously use to interpret what we see. By working through fiction, I’m acknowledging that meaning is always constructed, contingent and in flux. Always mediated by context. So instead of pretending objects have an inherent truth, I build situations where the context around it becomes the structure.

• How did perception and subjectivity become such a central theme in your work? Was there a moment, or project, that crystallized your interest in how people make meaning of the world?
  

My interest in perception came from an early realization that I didn’t experience things the way other people said I should. The world made more sense to me as a set of shifting impressions rather than stable universal definitions. The moment it solidified was less a project and more a pattern, watching how people looked at the same thing and saw completely different worlds. That divergence became a recurring anchor in my practice and, most importantly, in the way I see the world.

• Can you share a project where your own perspective shifted substantially? What did you learn or discover in dismantling your own assumptions?

ADDPMP was the real turning point. I started it thinking it was just a way to bookmark the things I didn’t want to forget, a personal archive of fragments. But as it grew, it revealed something much bigger and more uncomfortable: the internal logic behind how I think. For a long time I believed ADHD made my mind chaotic in a purely disorganised way, but building ADDPMP forced me to confront the opposite. There was a pattern in the chaos, a structure I had been unconsciously following for years. Working on it felt like finally receiving the manual for a computer I bought 15 years ago. The process showed me that what looked random was actually a network of connections: meaning, colour, similarity, contrast, intuition, memory. Everything was in dialogue. Understanding that shifted my perspective entirely. Suddenly my way of thinking wasn’t seen as a limitation, it was a method. It taught me where my practice really sits: somewhere between anarchy and discipline. It was the first time I saw my own mind map clearly, and it changed the way I approach every project after it and everything that I have done before.

• In a recent interview, you said ILL STUDIO’s spaces speak less and evoke more. How do you balance offering a clear narrative with leaving room for interpretation?
  

I’m not interested in spaces that shout their intentions. I prefer atmospheres that guide you through implication. The balance is in setting a strong undercurrent, emotional and fluid architecture, leaving the surface open enough for people to project onto it. If a space tells you exactly what to feel, it’s not interesting. I like people to meet me half way. Not to tell them what to think or feel. The sweet spot is when it gives a direction and then lets you walk the rest of the path according to who you are.

• In a world full of visuals, how do you cope with image overload and nurture inspiration? Is there a particular technique, soundtrack, or ritual that helps you reset and see anew?
  

I cope by withdrawing and letting my senses cool down. It happens often. For me, it’s tied to what I call aesthetic fatigue, this constant visual saturation we live inside, where everything becomes instant language and where visuals have slowly overtaken words as our primary way of decrypting the world. When I feel that overload, I step back and try to expose myself to things that aren’t optimized for attention. I let myself observe without trying to interpret, without aiming for meaning or outcome. That kind of deprivation helps me see again. Inspiration only returns when I stop demanding it.

• Your project ADDPMP blends time capsule, archive, and cross cultural encyclopedia. Can you walk us through your process, what system shaped its content, how you decided what made the cut, and how you pictured it would impact people?
  

It began as a simple folder in my phone, a place to store the things I didn’t want to forget: notes, screenshots, words, fragments that caught my attention. Over time it became this porous, shape shifting system, part prosthetic memory, part time capsule, part subjective map of human knowledge. The selection process was never about hierarchy, it was about curiosity and associations. Everything in it resonates through meaning, color, similarity, contrast, or some strange intuitive link. What looks random is actually a dialogue. I wasn’t trying to educate anyone, I was trying to rearrange how we look at information, to show that there's logic inside what appears illogical. Building it made me understand my own mind map for the first time. That’s why the project feels both introspective and communal. It isn’t designed to teach facts, but to rearrange human legacy in time and space so people can look at information from a different angle. It’s a proposition, a fluid knowledge system, not a mood board. The goal is to shift perception rather than provide order.

• If all knowledge and imagery could be relevant, what’s your personal filter for discernment, how do you choose what’s meaningful to keep or share?
  

My filter is instinctual. I keep whatever reframes something in me, whether it’s a perception, a reference or a feeling. If an image or idea only confirms what I already know, I lose interest immediately. What matters are the things that spark a new connection or open a different angle of understanding—the things that trigger that small dopamine surge that tells me there’s something to decode. Kind of like the first time I heard about dinosaurs or ancient Egypt. Those moments of resonance become the real markers of meaning for me, because they expand my thinking rather than reinforce it.

• How has your identity evolved as the creative landscape shifts? Is there a recurring principle that continues to shape ILL STUDIO’s approach?
  

My identity keeps dissolving and reconstituting as the landscape shifts, and I’ve stopped trying to hold it still. I’m deeply undisciplined. Whether it’s an exhibition, a chair, a film or a fashion collaboration, it doesn’t really change anything for me. I’m not particularly interested in design as a discipline, I’m interested in perception. I believe creativity exists somewhere between the way you look at the world and the way the world looks at you. Images and objects are shaped far more by perception than by intention. My focus is on translating thoughts into systems, and that internal logic is what I try to apply to everything I do, including ILL STUDIO.

• What do you imagine for ILL STUDIO in the future?
  

I imagine ILL STUDIO becoming even more fluid, less about outputs, more about frameworks. Again, I’m interested in creating conditions rather than objects, in working across mediums in ways that don’t announce themselves as interdisciplinary. Ideally, the studio becomes a space where perception is the only medium.

• You’ve inspired many through your work. What advice would you offer to young creatives who want to build their practice today?
  

Stop waiting to be validated by a system that wasn’t designed with you in mind. Build your own operating logic. Protect your curiosity. Let it form its own gravitational field. And above all, work from conviction, not consensus.