In my opinion, an object is merely a physical item as long as it fulfills its function. When time, a story, effort, or a bond is attached to it, it begins to carry meaning. An old lighter, a watch passed down from a grandfather, or a record listened to for years; all of these were ordinary objects when they were first produced. What makes them special are the traces that accumulate on them.

Maybe that is why, when designing, I don't try to produce objects that just look pretty. I find it more valuable to design objects that will take a place in someone's life one day, be used, gain character as they age, and ultimately turn into a story.

I think both. At first, we choose the objects and assign meaning to them. But as time passes, they shape us as well. The pen on our desk, the camera we've been using for years, or the watch we wear every day; after a certain point, they turn into silent witnesses that tell who we are.

That's why I don't believe objects are merely things that are owned. When they enter our lives, they transform into a memory carrying our habits, our memories, and even our character. Perhaps the most valuable objects are not the ones that belong to us, but the ones that become a part of our story.

Yes, but I don't mean this in a supernatural sense. The memory of an item is formed by the scratches, wear and tear, texture, and the memories it evokes. The same object can carry completely different meanings for two different people. Because what creates the memory is not the object itself, but the relationship we build with it.

Maybe that's why even a mass-produced object can become unique and one-of-a-kind over the years. As it gets used, it ages; as it ages, it accumulates stories and eventually stops being just an item.

Function, form, and story complement each other. Without function, an object cannot sustain its existence; without form, it cannot show its character. But it is difficult for an object without a story to build a long-lasting bond with people. In my opinion, the true value of an object emerges through the meaning people attribute to it.

Yes. For me, vinyl records, posters, and toys are such objects. Even though they seem very different from one another at first glance, all three share a common trait: they carry the visual language, culture, and mood of an era. A record holds not just the music, but an entire world with its cover, print, and texture. A poster can bring the energy of its time to the present with a single image. Toys, on the other hand, build a very direct connection with childhood, imagination, and the characters we create...

...Over time, these objects taught me that they aren't just things to be looked at or collected. Studying them allowed me to see how different eras thought and expressed themselves. I think that's what transformed me: I started looking at objects not merely through their functions, but through the cultural and personal memory they carry.

When choosing or producing an object, I first look for a sense of curiosity. Does it stop me and make me look twice, do I want to pick it up, will it gain character over time instead of just wearing out... These are important questions for me.

Rather than an object being flawless, its sincerity draws my attention. I connect more easily with objects where I can feel the human touch, or those that carry a thought, an era, or a story. I think this is precisely what guides my choices; that it gives me a feeling of living with it for a long time, rather than just a desire to own it.

It would be a sketchbook. Because it is never finished. Inside, there are half-baked attempts, mistakes, and new beginnings as much as completed ideas. I see my life somewhat like this; a process that is constantly being added to, changing, and transforming. And its most valuable pages are usually the unplanned ones.

I suppose a sketchbook from Andy Warhol's or Saul Bass's desk, a ruler used by Massimo Vignelli, or one of Dieter Rams' prototypes... In short, a working tool that was actually used by a master.

Because what attracts me isn't its financial value, but the production memory it carries. Finding the traces of time, decisions, and human touch on an object feels deeply moving to me. When you look at that object, you can imagine not just an item, but the invisible side of the production process. I think the greatest collection value starts right there.

I collect reference books, illustration posters, vinyl records, action figures, sneakers, and band t-shirts. At first glance, they might seem very different from one another, but they all share a common point: they carry the cultural spirit and visual language of their era.

I think so. Giving a name to an object changes the relationship you have with it. From that moment on, it is no longer just an item; it starts to gain character. Giving it a name is, in a way, taking it out of anonymity and making it a part of your life.

I don't have a single object I've named, but over the years, the records, posters, and toys I've collected haven't formed individual identities, but a collective one together. I call them the "Noise Cabinet." To me, this name doesn't just represent a collection; it represents a world I draw inspiration from, keep returning to look at, and one that feeds me.