Free Time Corner :
Another Way To
Express Myself
This is my little personal corner, where I play around with design, illustration, and even some 3D. It’s a space outside of my professional work that helps me find balance and express myself differently. Here, I share the things I observe in everyday life and translate them into visuals—just for the joy of creating.
Flower Belongs To Whom
My inspiration comes from a funeral. I don’t want to focus on the sadness, but rather on the beauty within it. What moved me most was the moment when people placed flowers on the grave—like their last words of farewell.
I think back to my grandmother’s funeral, ten years ago. We walked her to the cemetery with sad songs playing, birds singing, and a gentle spring rain falling. It was a peaceful moment for me. I didn’t cry. I just stood there quietly, taking in everything around me, and seeing my grandmother one last time.
Around The Corner
It’s a little storage space, just three square meters, where I collect different things—memories, everyday moments, or imagined places.
Sometimes it’s somewhere I used to live, sometimes it’s a story I heard, and sometimes it’s only a place in my imagination. That’s what I like about isometric design: even though it looks like a small corner, you can see everything inside it. Each piece is paired with a song or melody that connects to it, making the story complete.
The idea came to me as Tết was drawing near—a warm, tidy living room filled with the spirit of a new year. It reminded me of the kind of Vietnamese homes we often saw in the early 2000s, simple yet full of warmth and family memories.
I found my inspiration while watching Adele’s NPR Tiny Desk concert. I loved the busy, cozy decoration—the music was played so simply, with just a guitar and piano. It gave me a dream: one day, I’d have a studio of my own. I imagine it in a basement or garage, like the ones I often see in movies. The shelves would be filled with my favorite albums, singles, and discs. I’d stand there every morning, choosing one to play for the day. Holding a physical disc still feels special to me—something digital formats can never truly replace.
Every Sunday morning, my father took me to his favorite café, tucked away on a small street in our neighborhood. He always ordered his iced black coffee, while I busied myself mixing sugar, milk, and whatever I could find on the table—pretending to be a little “chemist.”
The café closed more than ten years ago, yet the memory still lingers vividly. It became a small family story: my mother would sulk because my father left her alone at home every weekend. And there I was, caught in the middle, quietly watching it all unfold.
