Tom Chung

You grew up in Vancouver, studied in Vancouver, then built a studio in Toronto, and now you're based in Amsterdam. How has your design language shifted with each move? What drew you across the ocean?

When I was studying in Vancouver, I had the opportunity to do a semester abroad in Stockholm at a small wood furniture school. Before that, I didn’t have much experience or knowledge of the European design scene, my expectations were to graduate and maybe build reclaimed wood furniture. When I arrived, my mind was kind of blown. I got a crash course in contemporary design; the school had close ties with the furniture design industry in Sweden, so we visited production companies, museum archives, and design studios. It was a whole new world for me, coming from Canada where the focus was more on working at a corporate level. After school, I took a job at a large home goods company in Toronto designing bath accessories, and I also led a project that had me traveling across Asia to work with craft vendors for a new collection we were developing with external designers.

After a few years, by the time I was 25, I felt dissatisfied enough with working for other people that I decided to try starting my own studio. So I quit, used my savings to design a collection, and showed it at a European design fair, where I ended up meeting a lot of the companies I still work with today. That first collection really pushed me to find my own distinct way of working; most of it was developed using the industrial manufacturing around Toronto, leading to a simple industrial language. As I began working more in Europe, I started looking to relocate over here. I landed in Rotterdam in 2019, and more recently moved to Amsterdam. With COVID hitting right after I moved here, it’s only now that I feel like I’m really getting to take advantage of living here. I’m still looking forward to seeing how my work will continue to evolve by being in the city.

Your work often merges the precision of industrial production with something more poetic. Do you see design as a form of storytelling? And if so, what story are you trying to tell with your work right now?

It’s a good question, and I think as a designer it’s something you’re always trying to figure out for yourself. For me, I want the work to reflect the time we’re living in, it should feel contemporary. I want it to sit alongside other cultural things being produced right now, like food, music, art, or fashion, and feel like it belongs in that world. There’s a big trend at the moment, partly because we’re in a down economy, of brands reissuing pieces from the '60s, '70s, and '80s. I think that does speak to the durability of good design, that certain pieces can hold up over time. But I also think it’s important that the objects we live with speak to what’s happening now, and are in dialogue with current ideas. If I had to name one thread that runs through my work, it’s probably that things are often brutally simple, but with a small or slightly awkward detail that gives it character.

Your work often merges the precision of industrial production with something more poetic. Do you see design as a form of storytelling? And if so, what story are you trying to tell with your work right now?

It’s a good question, and I think as a designer it’s something you’re always trying to figure out for yourself. For me, I want the work to reflect the time we’re living in, it should feel contemporary. I want it to sit alongside other cultural things being produced right now, like food, music, art, or fashion, and feel like it belongs in that world. There’s a big trend at the moment, partly because we’re in a down economy, of brands reissuing pieces from the '60s, '70s, and '80s. I think that does speak to the durability of good design, that certain pieces can hold up over time. But I also think it’s important that the objects we live with speak to what’s happening now, and are in dialogue with current ideas. If I had to name one thread that runs through my work, it’s probably that things are often brutally simple, but with a small or slightly awkward detail that gives it character.

Your work often merges the precision of industrial production with something more poetic. Do you see design as a form of storytelling? And if so, what story are you trying to tell with your work right now?

It’s a good question, and I think as a designer it’s something you’re always trying to figure out for yourself. For me, I want the work to reflect the time we’re living in, it should feel contemporary. I want it to sit alongside other cultural things being produced right now, like food, music, art, or fashion, and feel like it belongs in that world. There’s a big trend at the moment, partly because we’re in a down economy, of brands reissuing pieces from the '60s, '70s, and '80s. I think that does speak to the durability of good design, that certain pieces can hold up over time. But I also think it’s important that the objects we live with speak to what’s happening now, and are in dialogue with current ideas. If I had to name one thread that runs through my work, it’s probably that things are often brutally simple, but with a small or slightly awkward detail that gives it character.