Interview with Vahid Mirzaei

Vahid Mirzaei ("VM") interviewed on Sunday, 25 May.

Could you please tell us about your experience as a designer, artist, architect or creator?

VM : I’ve been immersed in the world of visual storytelling for over a decade. My journey began in Eslamabad Gharb, a small town in western Iran, and has since taken me across borders through exhibitions, awards, and collaborations. While my background is in graphic design, my work extends far beyond that title. I design experiences, not just visuals—whether through powerful poster collections, conceptual book covers, or cause-driven visual campaigns. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege to work with cultural institutions, independent filmmakers, and social movements. Each collaboration has been more than a project—it’s been a chance to give form to silence, to make stories visible that might otherwise fade away.

How did you become a designer?

VM : I didn’t choose design for its profession—I chose it for its potential. Growing up, I was always drawn to the quiet power of symbols, the way an image could speak louder than any speech. My love for literature and poetry—especially Persian classics—gave me a deep respect for metaphor, and design became a natural extension of that. After pursuing formal education in graphic design, I started to see how design could be more than just problem-solving. It could be an act of remembering, resisting, and healing. No one told me to take this path. It wasn’t a marketable decision—it was a personal one.

What are your priorities, technique and style when designing?

VM : For me, every design begins with intention. I start by asking: why should this exist? I’m drawn to themes that speak to memory, absence, and social impact. My style leans toward flat, symbolic compositions with minimalist palettes—visually calm, but emotionally loud. I often begin with sketches by hand and then move into digital platforms for refinement. Technology serves the idea—not the other way around. I also spend a lot of time in research before starting any visual work; the concept must be grounded in something deeper than trend.

Which emotions do you feel when designing?

VM : There’s always a sense of quiet urgency. Designing, for me, feels like walking a tightrope between grief and beauty. Especially when I’m working on projects that deal with extinction, violence, or injustice, I feel like I’m holding space for stories that haven’t been heard. That emotional responsibility becomes the fuel. But there’s also joy—particularly in the process of refining, simplifying, and arriving at a visual that feels inevitable. The moment a concept clicks visually is like a quiet revelation.

What particular aspects of your background shaped you as a designer?

VM : I think my biggest strength comes from outside the design world. My connection to Persian poetry, philosophy, and social issues gave me a foundation that’s both cultural and critical. I’ve always been curious about silence—about things we no longer speak about. That curiosity drives my visual work. Also, growing up in a place with limited access to design resources taught me to do more with less. That sense of constraint helped shape a discipline of clarity and conceptual depth.

What is your growth path? What are your future plans? What is your dream design project?

VM : I see my future as a continuation of storytelling—but on a larger scale. I dream of building a multidisciplinary studio where artists, designers, and researchers come together to archive endangered cultures through visual expression. I also want to curate traveling exhibitions around themes like forgotten dialects, ecological grief, and refugee narratives. These aren’t just projects—they’re ways to preserve what’s slipping away. In the long run, I’d love to collaborate with international museums or universities to bring these stories into global consciousness.

What are your advices to designers who are at the beginning of their career?

VM : Don’t rush. Don’t follow. And don’t fear silence. So much of design today is about speed and visibility, but real work comes from depth and patience. Listen to your discomfort—it often points to your true themes. Stay curious about everything that isn’t design: poetry, politics, history, psychology. Let life shape your work. And most importantly, make something you care about, even if no one sees it right away. That’s where your voice lives.

You are truly successful as a designer, what do you suggest to fellow designers, artists and architects?

VM : Success, for me, is not about awards or reach—it’s about relevance. I think we all need to hold our work accountable: Is it honest? Is it necessary? Does it create space for others? It’s tempting to chase trends, but lasting work often comes from staying in your lane—especially if that lane is narrow, quiet, and true. Be intentional with collaborations, keep your ethics visible, and never treat your audience like consumers. Respect their time and their attention.

What is your day to day look like?

VM : My mornings are slow. I usually begin by reading—something poetic or philosophical—to clear my head before starting any creative work. Then I sketch, ideate, or write. I work both alone and with collaborators, depending on the project. Some days are heavy with production, others with research. I try to create a rhythm where I’m not only making but also thinking. And in the quiet moments, when I revisit old designs or notes, I often find the seeds for my next piece.

How do you keep up with latest design trends? To what extent do design trends matter?

VM : I don’t chase trends, but I observe them. They’re part of the visual conversation. That said, my focus has always been on building a timeless language. I draw more from literature and history than from social media or trend reports. I believe good design should be rooted, not seasonal. Trends can inspire technique, but never dictate intention.

How do you know if a product or project is well designed? How do you define good design?

VM : A well-designed work feels inevitable—like it couldn’t have been anything else. Good design for me isn’t flashy or flawless; it’s thoughtful, clear, and emotionally honest. If a piece lingers in the mind of the viewer, it has done its job. I value meaning over polish, depth over detail.

How do you decide if your design is ready?

VM : I know a design is ready when it feels quiet to me—when it no longer demands revision or questions. But I also believe in openness. Some of my works continue evolving over time. I often revisit them with new context. Completion is not a hard stop—it’s a soft landing.

What is your biggest design work?

VM : The Extinction Exhibition, based on my “Endangered Animals” collection, has been the most personal and globally resonant. It wasn’t just about biodiversity—it was a meditation on loss. Each piece became a silent protest, a visual obituary for species we’ve forgotten to mourn. It was exhibited in Villa Sufia Gallery in Tehran and continues to be a project I carry forward in new forms.

Who is your favourite designer?

VM : I deeply admire Shigeo Fukuda for his ability to say so much with so little, and Siah Armajani for turning design into democratic poetry. If I could sit down with any creative mind, it would be Armajani—his work exists at the intersection of architecture, literature, and resistance, which aligns closely with my own philosophy.

Would you tell us a bit about your lifestyle and culture?

VM : I live in Iran, and my cultural heritage is inseparable from my work. Persian poetry, architecture, and symbolism often guide my visual language. Music—especially traditional and minimalist—is also part of my creative process. I see design not as a job, but as a way to reflect the complexities and contradictions of the world I live in.

Would you tell us more about your work culture and business philosophy?

VM : I keep my studio intimate—less bureaucracy, more freedom. I work with people who care more about meaning than marketing. When selecting collaborators, I look for curiosity, humility, and a shared sense of urgency. My work culture is rooted in trust and silence—space to think before we create. I believe in fewer, deeper projects—not constant output.

What are your philanthropic contributions to society as a designer, artist and architect?

VM : Most of my campaign work—for mental health, anti-violence, or environmental issues—has been done pro bono. I also mentor young designers and speak at cultural forums about ethics in visual communication. I see design as a civic act. It must give back—it must serve more than just aesthetics.

What positive experiences you had when you attend the A’ Design Award?

VM : Being recognized by the A’ Design Award gave me a broader platform to connect with global creatives and present my work within a more international dialogue. The experience expanded my network, sharpened my confidence, and helped position my projects in front of curators and organizations that value both concept and conscience. It wasn’t just a prize—it was a new beginning.

Vahid Mirzaei Profile