
The hardest part of moving from UX to hardware is committing
A lamp takes shape through its proportions, materials, and relationship with light. A voice interface has to make sense without giving someone a screen to navigate. A drone brings physical hardware, software, and operating conditions into the same design problem. Episode 25 of Design Mindset, Yanko Design’s podcast powered by KeyShot, connects these seemingly distant territories through a conversation with designer Anshuman Kumar. Hosted by Radhika Seth, the podcast premieres every week, exploring the thinking behind creative work and the decisions that shape a designer’s practice. This episode asks a particularly useful question: what carries over when a designer moves into a field they haven’t worked in before?
Kumar has plenty of experience with that transition. His career spans sports equipment at Decathlon, lifestyle products, six years at Samsung working across areas including voice intelligence, IoT, and generative AI, and a subsequent move into UAV design at ideaForge. Alongside that professional work, he teaches and develops personal explorations such as the nature-inspired Bloom Lamp. The range makes for an engaging interview, but the conversation goes deeper than a tour through different industries. Kumar explains how earlier experiences inform later decisions, why some ideas still need the slowness of drawing, and what changes when a design can no longer be revised through a software update. Together, those observations offer a grounded account of working across disciplines.
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A Career Built Through Iteration, Not Reinvention
“Every move I made was an iteration, not a reset. The domain changed, the question I was asking never did.” Kumar’s description of his career offers a useful way to understand its variety. Moving between physical products, intelligent services, and drones required new knowledge, but it didn’t make his existing experience irrelevant. Understanding a person’s needs, framing a problem, and working through uncertain possibilities remained useful across those transitions. The unfamiliar parts demanded learning rather than a wholesale replacement of his professional identity. Seen that way, a varied career becomes cumulative: each role adds another set of questions, constraints, and methods that can influence the next assignment, even when the eventual output looks entirely different.
That perspective also shapes his advice to students. Kumar recalls early encounters with electronics and science as opportunities for playful exploration, with his later education at NIFT providing a more systematic foundation. He worries about the pressure to adopt a narrowly defined professional label before those foundations have had time to develop. UX, textile design, motion design, and other specializations describe meaningful differences, but they can also become boundaries too early. His suggestion is to establish the roots before concentrating on the branches. For someone considering a change of direction, the implication is practical: examine which abilities already transfer to the new field before assuming that a different job title requires starting again from nothing.

The Bloom Lamp Translates Natural Observations Into Form
Kumar’s Bloom Lamp brings that way of connecting ideas into a physical object. Its starting points were a mushroom canopy and the spiraling movement of a small flower falling from a branch. One observation suggested a silhouette; the other introduced movement and a relationship with the surrounding air. Bringing them together required more than selecting an organic-looking outline. Kumar describes developing the lamp through multiple iterations and experiments with 3D printing, giving the concept a physical testing ground beyond visualization. “It was not just sitting as a good render,” he says. In the interview, Bloom emerges as a personal design exploration, with its interest lying in the translation from an observed natural behavior to a form that could be made.
The conversation also examines how consciously those natural references enter his work. Kumar describes room for both intuition and a deliberate framework, depending on the assignment. A commercial brief may require a closely defined direction, while a personal project can begin with an observation whose relevance becomes clearer through exploration. Intuition still needs examination, however. An appealing form has to be revisited to determine whether it communicates the intended idea and whether its proportions hold together. That qualification gives the discussion substance. Nature supplies a starting point and a vocabulary, but the designer still has to make decisions, test relationships, and recognize when an attractive reference hasn’t yet become a convincing object.

Knowing When to Move From Paper to Pixels
For Kumar, an idea that hasn’t acquired a clear direction often belongs on paper first. Drawing gives him room to discover what he is trying to make before a digital tool asks for more explicit decisions. “That slow process is very important for me to set a defined direction.” The value lies partly in the coordination between hand, eye, and thought, with each drawing helping him gain confidence in the emerging idea. Slowness has a purpose here, but it isn’t an invitation to sketch indefinitely. He also cautions against making hundreds of drawings without becoming more certain. The useful skill is recognizing when paper has answered its questions and another medium needs to take over.
Rendering enters that process as another way to investigate a design, rather than simply produce its final presentation. Discussing KeyShot, Kumar describes a working relationship between sketching, CAD, visualization, and physical prototypes that moves back and forth as questions arise. A CAD model can establish geometry while leaving the appearance of materials, textures, and surrounding surfaces unresolved. Rendering helps him examine those relationships and return to the model with a clearer intention. Physical iterations remain part of the exchange, answering questions an image cannot settle on its own. The process is less about completing a fixed sequence of stages than selecting the medium that makes the next uncertainty easier to examine and discuss.

Learning to Design Beyond the Screen
Kumar is candid about feeling scared when he joined Samsung and entered its voice intelligence group. The opportunity followed a national competition, but the assignment involved a field he hadn’t specifically trained to enter. Voice removed a familiar organizing surface: there was no screen on which to lay out every choice or explain the next step visually. Inputs could be ambiguous, and interactions had to work through a less explicit exchange. He credits mentors with helping him understand that layer and describes systems thinking as important to the transition. Eventually, a self-directed mobility project brought voice and vision intelligence together around driver assistance, progressing through Samsung’s C-Lab program, although he keeps the solution’s details confidential.
His later move to ideaForge brought those interests back into a distinctly physical setting. Kumar already enjoyed flying drones, and UAV systems offered an opportunity to connect that enthusiasm with his experience developing services around emerging technologies. Safety and security applications also contributed to the appeal. Leaving Samsung prompted disbelief from people around him, and he acknowledges the reach available within a large technology company. Still, the new role offered a combination of interests worth pursuing. The interview doesn’t unpack a particular drone or provide a technical case study of its development. Instead, it reveals the reasoning behind the move: Kumar recognized a field where several existing capabilities could become useful together, while leaving him plenty to learn.

Hardware Makes Commitment Harder to Reverse
One of the episode’s most practical exchanges begins with a hypothetical experienced fintech UX designer who wants to create physical objects for the home. Asked what that designer would need to unlearn, Kumar focuses on the expectation that a released experience can be corrected through a later update. Changing hardware may require another development cycle, a revised version, and substantial investment. Its physical form also establishes possibilities and constraints for the services that follow. This changes the timing and weight of design decisions. Experience in UX still matters, particularly in understanding people and interactions, but the new medium demands patience and a different relationship with commitment. Some choices become expensive to revisit much earlier than a software-focused designer might expect.
The same awareness of constraints shapes Kumar’s answer about creating delight. “At the same time, designers are not sitting in ivory tower, right?” An intended experience has to survive contact with technical capabilities, collaborators, and the dependencies between different parts of a system. A relatively simple personal object may be developed independently through digital manufacturing; a complex product requires many people to make compatible decisions. Kumar argues for keeping the overall experience in view while working through those realities, rather than treating either the original idea or an early limitation as untouchable. Across lamps, intelligent services, and drones, that becomes the recurring responsibility: learn what the medium allows, recognize what deserves another attempt, and understand which decisions the next stage will have to live with.
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This 3D-printed film camera can manipulate perspective for perfect skyscraper shots

Point your phone at a tall building and snap a photo, then look at it. The whole thing is leaning back like it’s trying to dodge a punch, and that effect has a name: converging verticals. Architecture photographers have spent about a century fighting it with view cameras and shift lenses, which tend to be heavy, pricey, or both. Lachlan Fysh, a Melbourne designer with a serious building habit, decided to fight it with a 3D printer, a CNC machine, and a wooden dowel. The result is the FTC-1, a 6×7 film camera that just took Gold for Cameras at the 2025 International Design Awards.
The FTC-1 shoots 120 film on Mamiya RB67 backs and borrows lenses from the large format world, whose oversized image circles leave plenty of room to move. Turn a knob and the lens rises up to 30mm (1.2 inches), keeping the camera perfectly level while the frame slides up to catch the top of the tower. A second mechanism handles 15mm (0.6 inches) of sideways shift, and the back spins between portrait and landscape on magnetic detents. The whole package weighs 2.4 pounds (1.1 kg) and sells for $1,200 AUD, roughly $850. The Swiss cameras that pull off the same trick start in the thousands before you’ve even bought a lens.
Designer: Lachlan Fysh (Fysh Technical)
Metal Only Where It Counts


Fysh’s first prototype was printed entirely in plastic, and it worked surprisingly well until he put it on a tripod. The body would sway for a beat after every adjustment before settling down, which is a dealbreaker on a camera you focus by squinting at ground glass. Over coffee in Japan, Oscar Oweson of Panomicron, who builds his own indie cameras, nudged him toward aluminum. Fysh brought in CNC-machined aluminum plates for the core and tripod base, where stiffness actually matters. Everything that just needs to hold its shape stayed printed, keeping the body light enough for a guy who still shoots from a bicycle.
Machining the FTC-1’s big hollow lens cones from solid metal would leave a mountain of aluminum shavings on the floor, which Fysh disliked on environmental grounds. Printing them uses a fraction of the material and still delivers all the stiffness they need. Because he runs FDM printers at home, he can print a cone to order for whatever lens you own, and reprint one fast if you pick the wrong size. The ring-shaped brackets holding the handle would be a nightmare to mill, so those are 3D printed metal, now titanium for a little weight saving. Even the ground glass is acrylic, which stays flat, survives being dropped, and keeps the price down.
A 3D Printer Part in Disguise


The rise mechanism runs on a TR8 lead screw, the same 8mm threaded rod that drives the vertical axis on loads of desktop 3D printers. Fysh started with smaller TR4 and TR5 screws to save weight, but they forced a choice between slow adjustment and reliable locking. A lead screw only holds its position on its own when its lead stays under roughly 60% of its diameter, so a speedy 4mm lead needed the chunkier 8mm rod. Now the lens moves quickly and stays exactly where you leave it, with no separate locking knob. Earlier prototypes used rack and pinion gears, and Fysh admits he kept forgetting to tighten those.
The brass part with the spring is an anti-backlash nut, and it’s the reason the rise feels so immediate. It’s essentially a nut split in two, with a spring pushing the halves against opposite sides of the thread so there’s zero slop when you change direction. Because TR8 hardware is everywhere in the 3D printing world, these nuts come off the shelf instead of being custom machined, which keeps costs sane. One Reddit commenter called the whole setup overkill, and Fysh is pretty confident it isn’t. I’m with Fysh here, since a buttery, slop-free rise is exactly what you want when nudging a frame by a millimeter on a windy rooftop.
Tilt, Locked In

Most technical cameras offer tilt, which angles the plane of focus (the Scheimpflug principle) so a landscape can stay sharp from the rock at your feet to the mountains on the horizon. Fysh left it out of the body on purpose. He worried that with a tilt mechanism built in, he’d never be totally sure it was sitting at zero, which is where he wants it about 95% of the time. His fix is a set of lens cones with a fixed tilt angle baked in, calculated for each focal length using a Scheimpflug visualizer he built himself. Swapping cones takes about a minute in the field, and the angle can never drift.
The FTC-1 sells for $1,200 AUD (roughly $850) on the Fysh Technical site, with fixed tilt cones at $50 AUD each. Alpa’s 12 STC body alone costs CHF 4,300, north of $5,000, for similar rise and shift. Fysh builds each camera around a full-time job, so stock arrives in small batches, and a 6×17 panoramic sibling called the FTC-W is already in development on the same cone system. IDA’s global jury judges concepts and finished products alike, which makes this Gold sweeter, since you can actually buy the thing. Turns out the cure for converging verticals was a bike trip, a shed full of printers, and a guy stubborn enough to do the math.
The post This 3D-printed film camera can manipulate perspective for perfect skyscraper shots first appeared on Yanko Design.
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