Invisible Cities of Design: Zhenwen Zhang’s Map of Human Experience

It’s incredibly special. New York is where I found my creative voice — during my graduate studies at NYU, surrounded by artists, engineers, and dreamers. To receive this recognition here feels like coming full circle. The NY Product Design Awards celebrate not only functionality but also imagination. 

Winning here means that 'From Data to Sensation' succeeded in its mission — to prove that data can be poetic, and that technology can reconnect us with the physical world instead of separating us from it.

This recognition has opened up exciting conversations with researchers and innovators who are exploring sensory interaction and emotional computing. It’s led to new collaborations in the fields of sustainability storytelling and environmental visualization. 

For my team, it’s also a morale boost. It’s proof that experimentation pays off — that taking creative risks can lead to real recognition. It reinforces our belief that good design isn’t just about solving problems; it’s about awakening new perceptions.

Experimentation is the heartbeat of my process. I treat every project as a series of sensory experiments — ways to test how technology can evoke emotion. For 'From Data to Sensation', I spent months experimenting with materials and sensors to translate real-time weather data into tangible sensations. 

I tried combining heat elements, cooling fans, and diffused light — adjusting temperature and brightness in response to live environmental feeds. Some iterations failed spectacularly, but each failure taught me something about sensitivity, rhythm, and human perception. That process reminded me that experimentation isn’t just about invention — it’s about empathy through trial and error.

Steam from a kettle. I was fascinated by how steam moves — random yet rhythmic, ephemeral yet expressive. It behaves like data: invisible until you give it form. That observation inspired the product's motion pattern for temperature shifts — smooth, gradual transitions rather than abrupt changes. I wanted the device to breathe like nature, not blink like a machine.

That design isn’t decoration — it’s translation. Designers are translators between human emotion and technology. Every interaction, sound, or light cue is a language that communicates feeling. I wish more people understood that simplicity takes time. Every clean surface or intuitive motion represents countless hours of editing, testing, and rethinking. The best designs feel effortless because they’ve been iterated endlessly.

By grounding creativity in clarity. I always connect my ideas back to measurable outcomes — emotional engagement, accessibility, or sustainability metrics. Once clients see how my creative direction aligns with their goals, the conversation shifts from approval to partnership. It’s not about choosing between art and strategy — it’s about weaving them together so the result feels inevitable.

The greatest challenge was making 'From Data to Sensation' product technically reliable while preserving its emotional subtlety. Translating real-world weather into heat, color, and vibration meant dealing with unpredictable data and delicate sensory timing. At one point, the feedback felt too artificial — too mechanical. 

So I stepped back and looked at how natural light behaves through fog or how warmth lingers on the skin. That reflection helped me fine-tune the rhythm of response, creating transitions that felt alive. In short, I stopped designing like an engineer and started designing like a poet.

I step away from the screen and go outside — literally feel the weather. Observing how light changes throughout the day or how people react to it always gives me new perspective. Sometimes I shoot short videos, capture soundscapes, or just watch shadows move. These small sensory rituals remind me why I design — to translate the beauty of the everyday into something others can experience too.

Empathy, curiosity, and calmness. I design with the belief that technology should soothe, not overwhelm. My architectural background taught me to think spatially — to create rhythm and pause, not just action. I also value imperfection. Nature isn’t symmetrical, yet it feels complete. That’s something I try to reflect in my designs — small variations that make an experience feel human, not robotic.

Start by defining what success means to you — because awards and recognition are byproducts, not goals. Focus on projects that move you emotionally. Be willing to prototype fearlessly and fail gracefully. Learn to write about your process, not just show it — storytelling is what makes design understandable. And most importantly, never lose empathy. The best designers aren’t just skilled — they’re kind observers of the human condition.

I’d love to collaborate with Issey Miyake. His work transformed fabric into movement — merging technology, form, and emotion. That’s exactly what I aspire to do with data and interface design: make the invisible flow in a way that feels alive and personal.

Why focus on feeling when technology is about efficiency? Because emotion is the real interface. Efficiency makes a product usable, but emotion makes it memorable. In a world of automation, the future of design lies in reintroducing humanity — reminding people that technology can still feel like us.