Everything begins here—he points to his head. And it must be translated through this—he gestures toward his hands. Khodi Feiz, Iranian-born industrial designer based in Amsterdam, is a conscious observer of the world around him.

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He considers himself fortunate to have experienced design before the digital age took over—when ideas were sketched by hand rather than rendered on a screen. For him, the process remains sacred: first the mind, then the hands. Feiz is a true industrial designer in the full sense of the term—where industrial is not just a category but a philosophy. His work moves fluidly across many diverse disciplines, reshaping concepts and reinterpreting them in multiple contexts.

We visited his studio in Amsterdam to step into his world—an intimate, creative space where first drafts and ideas take form. It was here that Vika, the new acoustic product for Abstracta, was born. At the heart of everything he does is a deep conviction: design is not for designers, not for museums, not for galleries—it is for people. No matter the medium, no matter the project—his approach always circles back to this belief.

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Zuzanna: You moved to the States as a teenager with your parents, and I remember you mentioning that university was when you truly fell in love with design.

Khodi Feiz: Yes, that was a really important moment for me. I grew up until about 14 or 15 when the revolution happened, and my parents decided that the best option for us was to continue our education in America. So, we moved.

As a child, I had always loved drawing, being creative, and making things—that was just a natural part of my life. When we moved to the U.S., that passion continued. I took art classes and made sure to do everything I could in high school to stay on that creative path. When I graduated, I considered painting, architecture—something in that realm.

But at that point, I had no real understanding of industrial design in its traditional sense. It wasn’t until my first year at university, where you go through all the foundational courses, that I discovered design. That was a true eureka moment. I remember seeing mock-ups of chairs, all sorts of objects that people design—things we often take for granted, like plates, cutlery, glasses, chairs, furniture. It was fascinating to realize that someone has to create and design all of these things.

So, it all just clicked. There was this amazing, almost serendipitous connection between my interests and this field. And here I am—almost 38, 39 years after graduating. laughs gently

Z: I read in one of your interviews that you had a crucial conversation with your teacher about this…

KF: Well, I don’t know where you found that, but it’s true. At that time, I was truly passionate about painting—I still am. I had a close relationship with one of my professors in my painting courses, and I was kind of in the middle of my design studies, taking painting as well. I started having some doubts about whether design was the right path for me.

After talking to him, he told me, “Think about it this way—if you study design, graduate, and get a job, you’ll always have money to buy paint and keep painting.” I remember that conversation very well. One thing he forgot to mention, though, is that once you start working, there’s no time left to paint! Laughs But looking back, I completely understand what he meant. I found the same passion in design that I had in painting, and that’s what has kept me going all these years.

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Z: I’m also a big fan of your three core principles—let’s call them the “three C’s.” They feel like such a strong foundation, and I’d love for you to elaborate on them.

KF: It’s always important to have some kind of foundation in your work—something to guide you. Early in my career, I kept looking back at what I was creating, and I realized my approach was always very closely tied to these three principles.

The first is clarity. What you design needs to communicate something clearly—people should understand it. I’m not interested in ambiguity. Then, there's the concept. This is where innovation happens. If you shift an idea just slightly—look at it from a different angle—there’s potential for something new to emerge. Concept is especially crucial in industrial design because some products, like chairs, have evolved over centuries. At some point, we settled on a seat height of 46 cm, moving on from stones and logs, and that evolution has shaped how we design today. But with industrial design, a small shift in thinking can lead to entirely new possibilities. Take Vika, for example. The idea of combining acoustics and lighting—merging two functions to create something new—came from that kind of conceptual thinking.

And finally, context. I started to understand its importance when I worked at Philips Design in the early ’90s, in the medical systems group. We were designing MRI scanners, ultrasound machines, x-ray systems—highly specialized equipment where context is everything. It changes how you approach serviceability, how you create a calming environment for the patient, and how the doctor interacts with the system.

That experience shaped how I think about design to this day. Context matters in everything. A chair designed for a hospital is not the same as one designed for a home. It might look similar, but the thought process behind it is so different.

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Z: Context changes everything—an armchair at home is one thing, but for ex. in a therapist’s office, it’s completely different. Do you think ideas from one setting can work in another?

KF: Absolutely. A well-designed therapist’s chair could also make a fantastic armchair at home. But does it work all the time? Not always. And honestly, so many healthcare chairs are just plain ugly. They check all the boxes—ergonomics, durability, function—but I wouldn’t want them in my home. Even in hospitals, they don’t always feel inviting. That’s why context alone isn’t enough. The art, poetry, beauty, and gesture of a design matter just as much.

Z: Good design isn’t just about one thing, it’s about bringing all three elements together to create something meaningful.

KF: At least, that’s what I try to do. It’s not always a perfect balance, but it’s important to be critical of your work—to be an editor of your process. That’s key. For me, these principles have become almost my second nature. It’s no longer a checklist I go through—it is just how I approach design.

Z: And I know you’re a big fan of hands-on work—getting straight into the process, working manually. Even though technology is everywhere now, we have AI, advanced tools, and we can generate ideas faster than ever, you still seem to take a very physical, tactile approach. You make models, mockups—you work with your hands. Can you tell me more about that? Was it always natural for you, or is it something you developed over the years?

KF: For me, it all started back in university. I was lucky enough to study design at a time before computers and all these digital tools. So in that sense, I’m quite a naïve designer when it comes to high-tech tools. But I do appreciate them—I totally get their value. And of course, I have a team in the studio that supports me on that side.

But I learned design through sketching and making. Sketching, in particular, is such an important element because it’s the first translation of your thoughts onto paper. The deeper and clearer a sketch is, the better the transfer of information.

I’ve noticed that when we interview interns, a lot of schools seem to leave that part behind. Everything moves so quickly to the computer, to mood boards—to things that are important, but shouldn’t come first. The sketching phase, that hands-on beginning, is crucial. And from there, it’s amazing to sit in a workshop, bend some paper, cut some foam—just start making. Of course, today we also have 3D printers, which add another dimension to the process. But that constant back-and-forth between sketching and physical modeling allows you to spend time on an idea. And time, in my opinion, is the most valuable tool for creating good design.

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Collaboration is also key. My wife, for example—she’s a graphic designer, and her critical input is invaluable. She’s Dutch, so she’s very clear, very direct—to the point! laughs And those kinds of inputs are essential because, as designers, we can sometimes get too caught up in a form or a detail and lose sight of the bigger picture.

It only takes one question to challenge your thinking—How do you clean that? What happens when you place it against a window? These kinds of critical observations make you step back and reconsider things. So for me, sketching, making models, constantly going back and forth—it all allows for time. And time leads to quality. I truly believe no designer should be rushed to create a chair, a sofa—anything. Creativity shouldn’t be forced.

Z: I think time itself is a luxury, especially now, when everything moves so fast. Technology has flooded us with constant information, but we’re still human—we’re not built to absorb this much, this quickly. And design takes time…That actually brings me to something you once said about your design style. You described it as “not too modest, but also international,” and that stuck with me. I’d love to hear more about what you meant—unless you don’t even remember saying it? laughs

KF: No, no, I do remember. laughs I think, as a designer, it’s important to slowly develop your own set of references—almost like your own alphabet. A certain language that gives your work a distinct character, a personality. And if you do that well, you can see a kind of red thread running through everything you create. That’s something I strive for.

Maybe that’s what I meant when I said not too modest—because having that signature is important. But at the same time, as designers, we’re not creating for ourselves, or for museums, or for galleries. We’re designing for people. And that naturally brings in a more neutral, universal perspective.

I wouldn’t necessarily call it international in the sense of a global aesthetic, but rather in the way that design should serve people, no matter where they are. Good design should work in different contexts, across cultures, without being limited to one specific place. That’s something I care about deeply—making sure that what we create isn’t just ours but exists out there in the world with purpose. We’re not artists. As much as art is present in what we do, ultimately, we need to serve people. And that’s where beauty comes in.

If you look at the work of the Eameses, for example, their designs were both universal and deeply personal. Their work—whether it was a school chair or an exhibition at the World’s Fair—was about more than just function. There was poetry in it, a kind of depth that made it truly meaningful.

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Z: When you mentioned "international," I wondered if it’s linked to your background, living across continents and now being back in Europe, with your Dutch wife shaping your work. Do you think your international outlook comes from these cultural influences? Also, having worked with Dutch brands and now with Abstracta, do you see any key differences between Dutch and Scandinavian design, or have those distinctions blurred?

KF: Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to work with companies all over the world—from China and Japan to North America, Southern Europe, and Scandinavia. That exposure has enriched me, but it’s also made me acutely aware of the differences between design cultures. I can’t generalize for all of Scandinavia, but I do have a sense of the Swedish approach. And then, of course, there’s my work with Dutch brands, like Artifort, where I serve as art director.

The differences? I’d say the Swedes are much more diplomatic in their approach. Both Dutch and Swedish designers are incredibly efficient, structured, and detail-oriented. But the Dutch are very direct—blunt, even. They’ll tell you exactly what they think, with no sugarcoating. That can sometimes make you pause and think, Wait, am I doing this right?

The Swedes, on the other hand, are a bit softer.  They’ll take their time, reflect, and suggest, Maybe we should reconsider this? Or how about we come back to it later? There’s a different rhythm to the conversation. It’s fascinating to see how history plays into this. The Dutch have always been traders, so there’s this natural back-and-forth, deal-making mentality. Whereas the Swedes—well, even though they come from the Vikings, they tend to be gentler in their approach! laughs.

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Z: That’s interesting! Since we’re talking about the Scandinavian design approach—the soft, gentle Swedish way—I’d love to hear how Vika came to life. What was your first encounter with Abstracta like, and how did this project begin?

KF: Well, first of all, I already knew some people at Abstracta from my previous work in the Scandinavian design scene, so there was this mutual connection. We were aware of each other’s work, which made the introduction feel very warm and familiar.

I had always liked Abstracta as a company because they exist slightly outside the mainstream furniture industry. They have a very specific vision and mission, which I found intriguing. Unlike many brands that chase attention and volume, Abstracta focuses on qualitative growth rather than just quantitative expansion. That’s something I’ve admired for years, so collaborating with them felt like a natural fit.

When we first met, they said, We’d love for you to think about some new products for us, and they sent me a design brief. The brief was actually for acoustic solutions—things like ceiling panels and wall-mounted sound-absorbing systems.

I started exploring ideas, sketching, and thinking it through. But at some point, while walking through Amsterdam, I had this realization: I don’t think this brief is for me. I just couldn’t connect with it in a meaningful way. However, I had been toying with this concept of folded forms, which I knew worked well acoustically due to their shape and materiality. When combined with lighting, it had the potential to become something completely different—a fresh perspective on acoustics.

So, I followed that instinct. I sketched, built mock-ups, and refined the idea. When it was time to present, I showed them the concept. Their immediate reaction was something like, Oh, this is great! But... It’s not related to the brief at all. And I just laughed and said, Yeah, I know—I struggled with the brief, but this is where the process led me.

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Z: Quite interesting circumstances, not everything went as planned…

KF: The amazing thing was that they loved it. They saw how it opened up a completely new space for them, and they embraced it. This kind of thing has happened to me before. Sometimes, when you try to force yourself into a brief, you don’t find the right connection. But then, when you allow yourself to think freely, something unexpected emerges. And often, those unexpected ideas turn out to be the best ones.

Ironically, if Abstracta had given me total creative freedom—saying, Do whatever you want—I probably would have struggled just as much. There’s a balance between structure and intuition, and Vika was a perfect example of how that dynamic can lead to something truly special - just three products. One is a light fixture, designed to hover above a desk or table—really, it could go anywhere. Then there was the partition, or rather, a kind of screen. It wasn’t exactly a traditional partition wall, but something in that direction. And the third element was a single piece, more like a light sculpture—a standalone object.

Z: So, Vika is growing now—what’s changed? Why is it evolving?

KF: Exactly, Vika is expanding. The core concept behind Vika revolves around a single folded element made from recyclable PET felt. This basic idea serves as the starting point for a sort of “alphabet,” a foundation for things to grow. When you place these pieces next to each other and create a standing form, it transforms into a striking light sculpture. If you arrange them into undulating surfaces, like a screen or partition with integrated lighting, it becomes a whole new product. And when you hang it above a table, it offers a completely different context. The latest addition to the Vika family is a wall-mounted light element, which attaches to the wall and casts a soft, diffused light. It’s not just about the light, though; it also brings acoustic benefits. What I love about Vika is its versatility—its simplicity allows you to really imagine how and where it could be used. The minimalistic design adapts beautifully to a range of settings and needs.

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Z: You mentioned it’s made from recyclable PET materials. Can you tell me more about the sustainable aspect of this product? Is it something you consciously focused on, or has sustainability become a natural part of the process by now?

KF: I truly believe in sustainability. As designers, it’s something we should start with almost as an unspoken rule—like a given. We need to build our ideas around these principles. The beauty of working with this molded PET felt material is that it checks so many boxes. First, it has a wonderful visual appeal. Then, it has a great tactile feel. And perhaps most importantly, it offers excellent acoustic properties. I was super excited to work with this material. The soft, warm, nature-inspired aspect of this material is deeply intriguing. And on top of all that, it’s fully recycled and fully recyclable. That really makes it a stronger proposition. I’m so glad Abstracta is using this material in such a conscientious way..

Z: I read about Vika as a "beautiful hybrid product," and it got me thinking. The acoustic landscape has evolved a lot, with spaces like home offices and co-working areas. Vika truly captures this shift. Was this duality something you consciously thought about during the design process? Is Vika your first acoustics project, or have you worked on similar ones before?

KF: That’s a great question. Yes, Vika is our first true product within the acoustic landscape, as Abstracta calls it. We’ve been involved with acoustics in a different way before—like designing sound-absorbing elements or even speakers, but this is the first time we’ve ventured into this acoustic product world. For me, the concept of a hybrid is interesting. Not everything can be a hybrid, but when you can merge two functionalities—like sound absorption and lighting—it makes so much sense. It's not just about combining two features for the sake of it; there’s an economy to it, a practical benefit. I remember years ago, we worked on these small side tables with integrated lighting. We thought, "Why not combine them?" So the idea of hybrids has always been part of my approach. Of course, it can be hard for consumers to grasp initially—what is it? Is it a lamp? A screen? An acoustic panel? But over time, people come to appreciate the value. They realize that it offers ambient lighting while improving their sound environment, contributing to well-being. It’s really rewarding to see how this idea resonates.

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Z: I wanted to ask about something in your Instagram bio—the phrase from your geography teacher: “Observe, observe, observe.” It reflects your design process and how you bring fresh ideas to life through careful observation. How do you stay open to that? To be a good observer, you need to maintain a childlike curiosity, right?

KF: Yes, absolutely. That quote is really important to me. Mr. Rozashi—he was my geography teacher back in seventh grade in Tehran, Iran. Honestly, I wasn’t the best student, you know? I didn’t always do well in school. But his class was my favorite, and I still remember him. He’d always tell us, “When you’re on the bus ride to school, look out the window. Observe that fruit stand, that building, the gutters on the street. Look at everything, even when you’re traveling during the holidays with your parents—observe, observe, observe.” And that advice really stuck with me.

Through him, I learned how important it is to keep your eyes open to the world around you. And it’s something I carry with me every day. If you look at our portfolio, we've designed everything from consumer electronics to furniture, household products, and even medical systems. It’s been a broad spectrum of work, and I approach each new project with a sense of curiosity and naiveté, like I’m starting from scratch.

You know, sometimes we get briefs for things we’ve never worked on before, and that’s when that “inner child” comes into play. When we get a brief for a chair or a product, I don’t just think of what’s been done before. I approach it as if I’ve never seen it before. I think, “Okay, how can I make this new?” That’s what keeps me motivated. The diversity of projects helps too. Shifting from one project to another, exploring different contexts and stories, working with different clients—it keeps things fresh and exciting.

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