Design that alienates speaks in a language too closed off to resonate. It prioritises abstraction over association, novelty over connection. It dazzles, yet leaves people untouched. I have always felt drawn to the opposite: designs that signal something familiar while opening space for wonder. Estrangement can be beautiful, but only when it allows for a point of entry.
Using recognisable elements as an entry point
For me, pattern is often that first step toward recognition. It can hold cultural codes or historical traces that draw people in. Colour can summon a memory, a mood, a place. These cues create a sense of familiarity, allowing innovation to feel fresh without feeling foreign.
Examples from my work
In Chromarama, I explore how people with colour vision deficiency perceive colour differently. Working with a peer group of colourblind individuals, I created graphic tapestries, embroideries and prints that reveal themselves differently depending on your perception. The result is a layered visual language that works across spectrums of visibility. Some designs reference Bauhaus aesthetics, others reflect patterns used in medical colour tests, but all are informed by visual cues that foster recognition and prevent alienation.
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| Chromarama |
Living Colour, for instance, uses pigment-producing bacteria to dye textiles, a process that might sound alien or even unsettling at first. But the visual outcome softens that perception. The patterns have something of tie dye in them, with their flowing shapes and organic rhythm. That familiarity creates a bridge. It taps into something tactile and playful, something stored in collective memory. Even though the technique is radical, the feeling is recognisable.
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| Living Colour |
I notice something similar during Tõzai, a project developed between Japan and the Netherlands. The garments we created spark recognition on both sides. Japanese viewers see them as a respectful nod to traditional silhouettes and dyeing techniques, while recognising that they aren’t kimono, yukata, happi, or samue, but a contemporary take. People elsewhere see them as distinctly Japanese. That overlapping sense of familiarity created an unexpected form of connection.
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| Tõzai |
What people reflect back about the work
When people encounter my work, they often say, “This reminds me of something I can't name.” That, to me, means the design has stirred a latent image or emotion without dictating meaning. It leaves room for projection, empathy, and openness.
Some feel recognised in the colour choices. Others are drawn to the tactility, or to the story behind the work. I've received messages from people with colour vision deficiency, thanking me for making something they can fully experience.
In the end, I believe design is most powerful when it resonates.
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