Started by Colony founder Jean Lin and art director Madeleine Parsons, the residency doesn’t just accelerate careers—it reshapes them. Unlike traditional educational settings that might encourage conceptual exploration without commercial viability, or industry programs focused solely on marketability without creative depth, Colony’s approach balances both realities. It methodically constructs designers through an intensive eight-month curriculum, providing subsidized studio space, part-time employment at the gallery, and perhaps most valuably, guidance to a wealth of experience that transforms artistic vision into sustainable practice.

This year’s cohort, Youtian Duan and Yingxi Ji of Another World, Blake Carlson-Joshua of B.C. Joshua, and Maxwell Taylor Milner of MTM Studio, represent diverse backgrounds and approaches, from graphic design to art history. As opening night approaches on April 17, we spent time with each studio, witnessing firsthand the meticulous process behind their debut collections—the difficult back-and-forth of design decisions, material experiments gone awry, and the slow march towards exhibition day.

In a corner of their Brooklyn Army Terminal studio, Youtian Duan and Yingxi Ji are surrounded by an array of in-progress objects that seem plucked from a surrealist playground. The duo met during COVID while studying at RISD, bonding over forbidden hot pot gatherings and a shared appreciation for the whimsical and unexpected. After graduation, they reunited in Boston where the concept for Another World was born through late-night conversations in Duan’s basement apartment.

“We found out we have similar visions; we like goofy, whimsical ideas and objects,” explains Youtian, whose furniture design background complements Yingxi’s graphic design expertise. Together, they’ve crafted a studio mission that extends beyond aesthetics: “We envision a world where people can confront their inner demons with laughter, where vulnerability is celebrated and self-acceptance is the ultimate goal.”

As their collection materializes, it’s clear this ethos permeates every object. A love seat personifies two chairs leaning into each other, a metaphor for human connection made tangible through oak with two different finishes to signify distinct personalities. Their cabinet, shaped like a cloud with hand-crafted ceramic fish tiles adorning its surface, playfully suggests that “in Another World, fish don’t need to just swim under the water, they can fly up in the sky.” Perhaps most conceptually intriguing is their concave mirror clock, where numbers run backward and appear upside-down, creating the illusion of peering into an alternate reality.

Their material process is as meticulous as it is creative. In their workspace, Youtian steams and clamps plywood into curved forms for cabinet sides using a sketchy but effective setup, while Yingxi airbrushes underglaze onto handmade fish tiles. “Yingxi is a very well-planned person, and I’m the opposite,” Youtian laughs, “but I always make it before the deadline.” This creative tension carries through to their workbenches, where half-finished components reflect their different approaches—Yingxi’s methodically organized ceramic tiles contrast with Youtian’s more spontaneous wood experiments. With just days until completion, the pieces remain in flux, transforming from concept sketches into physical reality through a continuous negotiation between two distinct creative temperaments.

Just across from Yingxi and Youtian in the Brooklyn Army Terminal, Blake Carlson-Joshua splits his time between London and Minneapolis, but his “Harlem Cottage” collection speaks to a deeply personal American narrative. Originally trained at the Royal College of Art, his move to Colony’s residency represented a pivot from the conceptual territory often favored in academic settings toward a more grounded yet no less thoughtful approach.

His collection draws inspiration from his grandfather, who worked on the Panama Canal before settling in Harlem in the 1890s, and explores African American history through design. Currently fabricating components for his collection, he’s at the stage where his most experimental technique—hand-painting aluminum inlays for his Dogtrot stools—faces its critical test. “My biggest thing right now…I’m going to be hand-painting them. I’m used to drawing a lot. I’m not typically used to painting a lot,” he explains.

The Vincent Chair features a tall, throne-like back with wave patterns inspired by the natural hair movement, laser-cut with precision to transform what might be considered “imperfections” into intentional design elements. His Dogtrot stools incorporate hand-painted aluminum inlays depicting Black cowboys and Harlem Renaissance dancers—figures often omitted from mainstream historical narratives. Meanwhile, his Cottage Window wall sconces create the illusion of looking through a cabin window, merging lighting design with storytelling.

“They’re really trying to focus on you,” Blake says of Colony’s mentorship approach. “They help guide you to what you actually want your pieces to look like in the end so that it reflects you as a studio instead of just what looks good to other people.” As the deadline approaches, his workspace reveals the intensive iteration inherent to his process—multiple chair back variations line the walls, prototype components await assembly, and meticulously measured aluminum inlays stand ready for their hand-painted details. Blake acknowledges the time constraints: “Getting straight smooth lines and making sure everything is proportioned correctly adds a lot of extra time that I don’t always foresee.” Yet even in this uncertain moment, the power of his concept provides a clear throughline guiding each minute decision.

Maxwell Taylor Milner’s path to furniture design began in the unlikely setting of Donald Judd’s Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas. Coming from a background in art history and galleries, Milner initially approached furniture from a conceptual perspective, creating Judd-inspired pieces out of necessity for his unfurnished Hudson Valley apartment.

After transitioning from gallery work to industrial design during the pandemic, Maxwell now balances his residency work with a design role at West Elm. Building out of his Red Hook studio, his Colony collection represents a return to hands-on making and material exploration, with each piece functioning as what he calls “an essay in that material.”

“For this collection, what I really wanted to do was make three objects, each of which is an expression of a single material, almost like an essay in that material, trying to distill something about its inner capabilities or capacities,” Milner explains, drawing connections to minimalist sculptors of the 1960s and 70s who were similarly preoccupied with material possibility.

His aluminum mirror juxtaposes rough sand-cast surfaces with polished planes within a single object—some early attempts sit in his workspace, showing the learning curve of the casting process. A lamp composed of stacked translucent resin rings references both children’s toys and minimalist sculpture; he’s currently testing color formulations for the gradient effect he envisions. His desk transforms 18th-century silhouettes into shadow-like forms that will be scorched to reveal wood grain patterns.

For Maxwell, the most challenging aspect of the residency has been “finding the confidence to make work that’s really personal.” He credits Lin and Parsons with pushing him beyond his comfort zone: “They tell me, ‘This is too safe. You need to get out of the plane and open the parachute.’” In these moments, we glimpse Milner’s evolution from analytically-minded art historian to hands-on maker negotiating the unpredictable boundary between concept and physical reality.

As the exhibition approaches, we observe the hidden machinery of the residency at work. Where most creative programs emphasize either artistic expression or business acumen, Colony integrates both within a carefully structured ecosystem. Weekly critiques transform from conceptual discussions to pragmatic troubleshooting sessions; casual conversations between residents evolve into impromptu material consultations; and alongside their furniture fabrication, the designers sketch ideas for editorial photoshoots that will translate their three-dimensional works into compelling visual narratives.

“In school, our professors just encourage us to do whatever we want,” notes Youtian, “but here in the residency, they provide us with guidance on how you can be successful in the real world, how to do presentations, how to do marketing, everything’s all important.” This focus creates designers who aren’t just conceptually strong but professionally prepared—a crucial distinction in an industry where creative vision often collides with practical realities. As we document these final weeks of intensive work, we’re witnessing not just the creation of objects, but the formation of sustainable studio practices with clear identities and market viability.

In our next installment, we’ll return to Colony for the exhibition opening to see these works in their completed form, share the designers’ reflections on their residency journey, and explore how their experiences might offer a blueprint for nurturing the next generation of design talent. For now, we leave them as we found them—surrounded by materials, prototypes, friends, and the dizzying journey that characterizes design at its most authentic.