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The Hidden Part of Every Book Just Became a Sculpture

Every book you have ever held has a secret. Not a story buried between its pages, but a structural one, a quiet piece of craftsmanship stitched along the spine that most people never think to look for. A new work by Singaporean artist Adelene Koh not only knows about it. It makes it the entire point.
“Endless” (2025) is a large, ring-like sculpture built from paper, embroidery threads, and aluminum wire. It is meditative in form, circular in structure, and resembles a torus. It is also, depending on how much you know about bookbinding, either immediately legible or completely mysterious. Either way, it stops you. The scale of it, the density of color, the almost compulsive repetition of its construction, all of it registers before you even begin to understand what you are looking at.
Designer: Adelene Koh

What you are looking at is an endband. Or rather, what an endband becomes when it is freed from the book it was always meant to serve. If you have never heard that word, you are in good company. The endband is a structural and decorative element sewn along the head and tail of a book’s spine, a strip of colored thread that adds reinforcement and a quiet finishing touch. It is the part that usually disappears the moment a cover is glued on. Most readers never see it. Most of us never think to ask what is actually holding a book together. “Endless” takes that hidden element and builds an entire object around it, blowing the endband up into something that can finally be seen on its own terms.

The construction method is as considered as the concept. Koh used the front bead method, an 18th and 19th century English sewing technique, worked around a single aluminum wire core. Into that structure she integrated hand-folded and hand-cut pages formed into quires, with additional folds along the fore-edge. The result is not just visually striking but physically demanding to comprehend. The labor embedded in the piece is immense, and the closer you look, the more apparent that becomes. It is the kind of object that rewards slowness and punishes a quick glance.

The material choice deserves its own attention. Paper is usually the fragile thing in the room, the thing that tears, yellows, and eventually dissolves. Here, it becomes the structural backbone. It holds the entire form in place. That inversion feels intentional, a kind of material optimism that refuses to accept the obvious hierarchy between what is precious and what is expendable. Thread, wire, and paper, three materials associated with impermanence, come together to produce something that feels permanent and resolved.

“Endless” was shortlisted for the 2026 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, one of the more prestigious recognitions in contemporary craftsmanship, and the piece carries the weight of that context well. The prize consistently spotlights work that sits at the intersection of tradition and innovation, and this fits squarely in that space. It is technically rooted in centuries-old bookbinding practice while producing something that looks entirely contemporary. That balance is genuinely difficult to achieve, and rarer than it should be.

I keep thinking about what the design is actually arguing. We tend to celebrate the surface of things: the cover, the finish, the outer form. The integrity of any well-made object usually lives in the parts nobody shows you. “Endless” makes that invisible infrastructure visible, and in doing so, asks a quiet but pointed question about what we choose to hide and what we choose to show.
The 2026 prize was ultimately awarded to South Korean artist Jongjin Park for “Strata of Illusion,” selected by a jury that included architect Frida Escobedo, designer Patricia Urquiola, and curator Abraham Thomas. But the shortlist carries its own weight, and the presence of “Endless” on it feels like a signal worth paying attention to. Bookbinding rarely gets the cultural spotlight it deserves. As a design object, “Endless” makes the strongest possible case for why it should.

The post The Hidden Part of Every Book Just Became a Sculpture first appeared on Yanko Design.
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Tablets Sound Bad, So Motorola Just Put 9 JBL Speakers in One

Entertainment tablets have come a long way in terms of screen quality, but audio often tells a different story. Most of them ship with a pair of speakers that merely get the job done, leaving users reaching for headphones or a separate Bluetooth speaker the moment things need to get louder. The gap between how tablets look and how they actually sound has never been more apparent.
The Motorola Moto Pad 70 Groove is built around a premise that most tablets don’t dare fully commit to: making audio the centerpiece, not an afterthought. It arrives loaded with a nine-unit JBL Pro speaker system, a 12.1-inch 2.5K display, and a 360-degree built-in kickstand, addressing the kind of everyday entertainment scenarios where a standard tablet simply wouldn’t be enough.
Designer: Motorola


The display is well suited for this audio-first identity. The 12.1-inch IPS LCD panel runs at 120 Hz with a 2560×1600 resolution, HDR10 and Dolby Vision certification, and a peak brightness of 800 nits. It’s a smooth, vivid canvas for streaming content, though the real draw is what’s happening on the edges of that screen, where all those speakers live.

Nine speakers sound like a gimmick until you see what they’re actually made of: four tweeters, three woofers, and two passive radiators, all tuned by JBL and backed by Dolby Atmos. Together, they’re rated to push up to 48W of audio output, which is a lot to ask from a tablet-sized device. It’s the kind of setup that makes you rethink whether you actually need a separate soundbar.

What makes the audio system more interesting is the built-in Bluetooth speaker mode, which turns the Groove into a standalone speaker your phone can control wirelessly. It’s a clever trick for situations where you want music filling a kitchen or a living room during a gathering, without having to keep the tablet actively streaming the content. Dolby Audio further adds Dynamic, Movie, and Music modes for more tailored listening.

The 360° Kickstand 2.0 adds another layer of flexibility. It supports four positions named Lean, Stand, Theatre, and Hanging, each suited for a different viewing situation. Prop it up on a desk for a video call, tilt it back for a movie in bed, or hang it from a hook when counter space runs out. It’s a practical piece of engineering that doesn’t feel like an afterthought.

Under the hood, a MediaTek Dimensity 7400 chip handles daily tasks alongside 8GB of RAM and 256GB of storage. The 10,200mAh battery keeps extended streaming sessions going, and the 45W TurboPower charging keeps downtime short. The all-metal body in Pantone Blue Surf measures 6.8 mm at its thinnest, though the speaker array at the back raises that to 22.7 mm, creating a distinctive ridge. The Groove ships with Android 16 and Google Gemini out of the box, with Motorola committing to updates through Android 18 and security patches through 2030.

The post Tablets Sound Bad, So Motorola Just Put 9 JBL Speakers in One first appeared on Yanko Design.
Why the Galaxy Z Fold 9 Ultra Could Make Every Other Foldable Obsolete

The Samsung Galaxy Z Fold 9 Ultra is a bold step forward in the evolution of foldable smartphones, setting new benchmarks in design and engineering. With its ultra-slim profile, the device underscores Samsung’s commitment to innovation and portability. However, the absence of S Pen functionality, a feature highly valued by many users, raises important questions […]
The post Why the Galaxy Z Fold 9 Ultra Could Make Every Other Foldable Obsolete appeared first on Geeky Gadgets.
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The Sculptural Rocking Chair That Started as a Single Idea

Most furniture design starts with a question: How do people sit? Aleks Forystek Studio started with a completely different one. What happens when a heavy sphere presses into a structural loop? The answer, it turns out, is a chair. But not just any chair. It’s Dooal, and it might be the most conceptually satisfying piece of furniture I’ve seen this year.
The premise sounds almost too simple. A sphere meets a loop. The loop yields under the weight, compressing and curving into a form that becomes, all at once, a backrest, a seat, a leg rest, and a rocking base. One gesture, one cause-and-effect sequence, and suddenly you have a fully resolved object. The audacity of that economy is hard not to admire.
Designer: Aleks Forystek Studio

I’ll admit my first instinct when I saw the images was purely aesthetic. The black and white photography does everything right. The curves catch light in a way that makes the chair look more like a cast sculpture than a functional object, and the close-up shots reveal a fine-lined ribbed texture that layers real depth onto an already commanding silhouette. Shot in near-darkness, Dooal looks cinematic. It has the kind of presence that makes you stop mid-scroll and just sit with it for a moment.

But the longer I looked, the more the concept started doing something to me. Forystek’s Chicago-land studio describes its work as committed to “destabilizing the familiar,” and that phrase lands differently once you understand the logic behind Dooal. The chair is familiar enough, a seat you can rock in, a shape the body immediately recognizes. Yet the process that created it is almost foreign to how we typically think about furniture. No separate components engineered together. No piece-by-piece assembly of form and function. Just a single physical interaction, preserved.
That’s a philosophical statement as much as a design one. The studio’s whole methodology centers on finding the latent potential within ordinary objects, pushing past the surface of what something is to explore what it could become when a single variable changes. With Dooal, that variable is weight. Pressure. The simple, undeniable force of a sphere doing exactly what gravity asks it to do.

What makes this feel significant right now is the context we’re sitting in. We live in an era of maximal complexity, where products get layered with features, materials compete for attention, and design often signals effort rather than intelligence. Dooal does the opposite. It argues that constraint is where creativity actually lives. That stripping a design down to one decisive action can produce something richer and more resolved than a process built on a dozen competing decisions.

And it’s not just theoretical. The rocking chair is one of the oldest, most human pieces of furniture we have. It exists in farmhouse porches and modernist living rooms with equal ease. It’s comfort distilled into motion. The fact that Dooal arrives at that form through a logic of compression rather than craft tradition feels both subversive and strangely inevitable. Like the chair was always there, waiting to be discovered rather than designed.

That sphere at the base of the loop is easy to overlook in the photographs. It’s small, nestled low, nearly swallowed by shadow. But without it, none of this exists. It’s the cause the entire object is an effect of, and the fact that it remains visible in the final form is a choice that rewards people who look closely. That kind of embedded storytelling, where the origin of an object is literally written into its body, is rare in furniture design. It elevates Dooal from chair to argument.

Aleks Forystek Studio is not a household name yet. But Dooal is the kind of work that earns attention quietly. Not because it’s loud, but because it’s precise. Because it asks a stubborn, specific question and then answers it completely. Whether you care about objects for their beauty, their ideas, or the story behind them, this chair has all three. And it got there with one moment of contact.

The post The Sculptural Rocking Chair That Started as a Single Idea first appeared on Yanko Design.