What is your background and what made you want to pursue curatorial work focused on global design narratives? How did your academic training in “art history in a global context” influence your approach to understanding modern design before you began your career at Vitra?

My path into design curating was not a straightforward one. I originally studied art history and media studies, but I was drawn very early on to courses that focused on design, architecture, and visual culture. What fascinated me was how design occupies a space of constant proximity to our lives—unlike art, which often requires a more deliberate encounter, design is something we live with and through every day. That immediacy made me curious about its histories and its futures.

When I pursued my master’s degree in art history in a global context at Freie Universität Berlin, I was given the intellectual tools to think across geographies and disciplines, and to look beyond the canon that had long defined art and design history in the West. This encouraged me to see art and design not as a singular, Western-driven narrative, but as a constellation of exchanges, entanglements, and contradictions. By the time I began my curatorial career at the Vitra Design Museum, I was already interested in asking: whose histories are told, and whose are still waiting to be included?

Your career has taken you across three continents and very different institutional contexts—from Vitra Design Museum’s canonical modernism to M+ Hong Kong’s contemporary Asian focus, and now to MoMA. How has this trajectory shaped your understanding of what design history actually encompasses, and what drew you to pursue this global curatorial approach?

Working in such different institutional contexts has given me a layered understanding of how design history is not a fixed entity but a living, shifting discourse. At the Vitra Design Museum, I contributed to exhibitions and publications on figures such as the Eameses and Gae Aulenti, as well as topics like the Bauhaus and Surrealism. These projects were rooted in a European and North American perspective and gave me a strong foundation in that tradition.

Moving to M+ in Hong Kong marked a decisive shift. The museum’s mandate is inherently global, but its vantage point is Asia. This meant reconsidering how modernity and contemporaneity had unfolded in distinctly different ways, and becoming more aware of the complex impact of Westernization and modernization on the region. Being immersed in that environment greatly broadened my understanding of what design history could encompass when viewed from Asia.

At MoMA, I now find myself at a globally recognized institution with enormous influence, and I feel a strong responsibility to bring these different perspectives together. What drew me to this approach is precisely the recognition that, if design history is to remain relevant, it must move beyond telling isolated stories of objects and styles. Instead, it should reflect on the exchanges, migrations and shared concerns that have always defined the modern condition.

Reflecting on your journey from Vitra to M+ to MoMA, what were some pivotal moments or discoveries that shifted your perspective on how design history has been constructed and presented?

Already during my time at the Vitra Design Museum, I began to notice how discussions in the field were shifting away from a predominantly Eurocentric lens toward a more global and inclusive perspective, both in exhibitions and in academic discourse. For me personally, moving beyond that Eurocentric framework became a decisive factor in my decision to join M+.

There, the shift was almost immediate: co-curating Madame Song meant situating art, fashion, and visual culture within the context of China’s opening up in the late twentieth century, which not only transformed Chinese visual culture but also redefined its place within global design history. In that process, I came to see more clearly than before that design history was about how different societies negotiated modernity under highly specific political, economic, and cultural conditions. That realization has remained fundamental to my approach.

Another pivotal moment came through my involvement in the Hyundai Blue Prize Design Award, where I developed a proposal around the idea of a “Future Normal.” The project was conceived as a way of addressing contemporary challenges caused by the pandemic, and it pushed me to think about curating not only as a way of reframing history, but also as a method for anticipating global challenges and imagining future possibilities.

“Madame Song: Pioneering Art and Fashion in China” at M+ was groundbreaking in presenting fashion, art, and commerce as interconnected rather than separate categories. Could you take us behind the scenes on this exhibition—what was your conceptual framework, and how did you navigate presenting such a complex cultural figure to international audiences?

Madame Song was an inherently interdisciplinary project, both in terms of the subjects it addressed and the team that shaped it, which brought together curators from different fields. Song Huai-Kuei herself was a cultural figure who resisted categorization: an artist, a fashion entrepreneur, and a connector of worlds, yet someone who often worked behind the scenes and therefore had not received the recognition she deserved. From the outset, we knew that telling her story within a museum context—where attention is often placed on iconic objects—would require us to think more creatively.

Our conceptual framework was to present her through the multiple identities she embodied: as an artist, entrepreneur, fashion figure, and modern global citizen. She personified the hybrid realities not only of China’s entry into global modernity, but also of modernization and globalization more broadly. We approached her life as a prism through which to understand the entanglement of art, fashion, and visual culture in late twentieth-century Asia, and its connections to the wider world.

For international audiences, the challenge was to balance contextual specificity with broader resonance. On the one hand, we needed to situate her firmly within China’s unique social and political transformations. On the other, we wanted visitors from Hong Kong and abroad to recognize the wider significance of her role in shaping modern and contemporary visual culture. Ultimately, it was less about “explaining China” than about expanding the vocabulary of global design narratives.

Your work with MoMA’s C-MAP East and Southeast Asia initiative positions you within the museum’s effort to expand beyond North American and Western European art histories. What does genuine institutional change look like in practice when you’re working with one of the world’s most influential design collections?

Institutional transformation is slow, but it begins with recognizing blind spots and making structural commitments to address them. At MoMA, C-MAP provides a framework for curators to engage with regions that have historically been underrepresented, and to actively explore vernacular practices, craft traditions, and transnational exchanges. Yet beyond research, real progress requires gradually embedding these perspectives into acquisitions, gallery displays, and other forms of output.

For me, meaningful transformation means ensuring that, over time, works from East and Southeast Asia are not presented as “additions” or “exceptions” to an established canon, but as integral to the narrative of modern design. This is an ongoing process, one that involves close collaboration with colleagues across departments to make sure that when visitors walk through our galleries, they encounter a history of art and design that feels plural, connected, and relevant.

As someone deeply engaged with both historical and contemporary design, where do you see the most exciting developments happening right now? Are there particular regions, movements, or approaches that you feel need more dialogue on the global stage?

One of the most exciting developments I see is the growing embrace of ecological and ethical responsibility in design. This takes many forms: from material innovation and circular economies to inclusive design practices that account not only for communities historically overlooked but, increasingly, for other species as well. Together, these shifts prompt a broader reevaluation of what we understand as “progress.”

Regionally, Asia strikes me as an especially dynamic space at the moment—not only because of rapid technological innovation, but also because of the ways designers are negotiating the relationship between tradition and modernity. Long-standing craft heritages are being reinterpreted in contemporary forms, while indigenous and sustainable practices are gaining new visibility, offering approaches that deserve far greater attention on a global stage.

Another important development is the ongoing effort to decolonize design history and discourse. There is a growing recognition that design has often functioned as a tool of exclusion as much as of innovation. The voices now emerging—from Africa, Latin America, and Asia—are expanding the conversation in urgent and profoundly inspiring ways.

One of your key areas of focus is the relationship between industrial design and craft, particularly from a global perspective. How do you see this relationship evolving, and what can this expanded view teach us about design’s future direction?

In Western discourse, the relationship between industrial design and craft has often been framed as a dichotomy with a clear hierarchy: the rational, mass-produced object on one side and the artisanal, hand-made one on the other. Yet on closer inspection, this division is more porous than it seems. Craft-based practices have always played a role in the modern movement, even in the West. And in Asia, I would argue that they have always held a much stronger standing, even if imported categories and hierarchies from the West sometimes had a distorting effect.

Today, that binary between industrial design and craft is breaking down in particularly productive ways. Many designers are reengaging with craft traditions for their cultural depth, embedded knowledge, and emphasis on meaningful creation rather than speed. This renewed interest also reflects broader shifts in the field: as AI takes on a growing role in design processes (particularly in industrial design), the human element of making—its tacit skills, irregularities, and cultural resonances—becomes all the more vital.

Design has never been solely about function or aesthetics; it has always carried cultural significance. Craft traditions in particular embody stories, values, and worldviews that can enrich contemporary practice. By acknowledging this dimension alongside technological innovation, we open the door to a future where design is more inclusive, resilient, and responsible—and, ultimately, more human.

For emerging curators who want to challenge existing frameworks and develop truly innovative curatorial practices, what guidance would you offer? And for our audience of contemporary designers who may not have considered how their work intersects with museums or galleries—what should they understand about the curatorial world, and how can they engage with institutional spaces in meaningful ways?

For emerging curators, my advice would be to cultivate both criticality and empathy. It is essential to question existing narratives and frameworks, but equally important to listen carefully to the voices of designers and communities. Curating is not only about putting objects on display—it is about creating conversations and contexts that matter. An additional layer is the awareness of our own biases and worldviews, which are inevitably shaped by where and how we grew up. As Donna Haraway reminds us, knowledge is always situated: where we think from and what we think about shape what we are able to imagine. I return to this insight again and again, and I try to use it as a tool for continually questioning my own assumptions and perspectives.

For contemporary designers, I would say: don’t see museums as distant or exclusive spaces. Curators are not gatekeepers so much as mediators. We are constantly looking for ways to connect design practices to broader publics, and we rely on designers to challenge us with new ideas. Engaging with institutions can take many forms—from participating in exhibitions to contributing to public programs—but it also means recognizing that design operates within a larger discourse, one that benefits from your active participation.

Your 2022 shortlisting for the Hyundai Blue Prize Design recognized your work in “addressing contemporary challenges through innovative exhibitions.” Why do you think this work of expanding design discourse is urgent right now, and what role do you see curators playing in addressing current global challenges through design?

I think expanding design discourse is urgent because the challenges we face—climate change, widening social inequalities, and technological disruption—are also design challenges at their core. They demand that we rethink how we live, how we produce, and how we connect with one another. Curators have a responsibility to create spaces where these issues can be addressed critically and imaginatively.

My project for the Hyundai Blue Prize revolved around the idea of a “Future Normal,” a collective reimagining of life after the pandemic. It underscored for me that curating is not just about reflecting the past or the present—it is also about anticipating and shaping conversations about our shared future.

Curators can play a vital role as connectors: bringing together designers, researchers, communities, and audiences to explore alternative possibilities. In doing so, we can expand the scope of what design is understood to be—not only an economic driver or aesthetic pursuit, but a tool for building more sustainable and equitable ways of living that benefit all of us.


Portrait photo by Peter Ross. Copyright 2026 The Museum of Modern Art, New York
Renderings by Ga-in Sim
All other photos by Tanja Hwang-Cunz