What inspires your work in general? “I find a lot of design very formulaic. Take a ‘concept’ (which usually means simple visual inspiration) and then water it down.  For me, it’s always been the opposite.  I try and let anything that’s happening in my life into the work. We have this idea that design shouldn't be too complex, but the objects I love are always very difficult to place. Lately I've been thinking about how there’s no longer separation between any kind of spaces or thoughts. I think that kind of haphazardness needs to show up in design. In the studio I call it the wild card; for instance, the wedge on the neon table is totally the wild card. The surface is very Memphis, but gouged into an ebonized wood chunk. They feel right together, but it’s because we're getting so accustomed to this phenomena.”

24-Year-Old Misha Kahn May End Up Being Our Biggest Discovery Yet

The first time we met Misha Kahn, he was slapping gold metallic wallpaper with long-lashed googly eyes onto the walls of a tiny room we’d given to four RISD students at our 2011 Noho Design District showcase. We were never sure quite what to make of the wallpaper — was it technically even “furniture design,” or was it more a piece of Surrealist art? — but we knew from first sight that we loved it. Which is pretty much how we’ve felt about all of the work that’s followed from the Brooklyn-based, Duluth, Minnesota–born designer’s studio, whether it’s a pink bench made from layers of resin and trash, a series of tables that resemble Froebel blocks on acid, or sewn cement pieces that look like the work of a woozy Jeff Koons.

“My process usually starts with a pretty rigid vision, but because I’m manufacturing my own things, something always happens that throws everything off,” Kahn explains. “I actually imagine my designs being these insanely crisp Pop-Art objects. I know they’ll never end up that way but that’s the fun in making them. With the sewn cement pieces, for example, I was just too cheap to buy Plexiglas so I was stretching vinyl over plywood to simulate that finish and there ended up being ripples. In my head they were these rigid geometric shapes but then there were all these kinks and silly surface textures.”

“Silly” is one of Kahn’s favorite words to throw around, and while there is comedy in much of his work — one of his first projects at RISD was a “giant waffle table” — there is also a seriousness of purpose and the infusion of narrative that comes from experience. That might sound ridiculous considering Kahn won’t even be turning 30 any time soon, but he’s crammed as many experiences — both here and abroad — as he can into his short career. There was the year in Belgium when he was 16, travel in the Middle East, a Fulbright scholarship that brought him to Tel Aviv to study shoe design under a Bezalel master, and an internship at a Vietnamese factory where he ended up assisting ex-Moschino creative director Vincent Darré in his eccentric attempts at furniture. Most recently, there was a fellowship at the Creative Glass Center of America in New Jersey, where he made the tinfoil, glass, and resin pieces that debuted tonight at a joint exhibition with his frequent co-conspirator Katie Stout — because oh yeah, did we mention that all of his recent work had been acquired by New York’s prestigious Johnson Trading Gallery?

If Kahn has achieved a certain measure of success in a small amount of time, it’s because he thinks big, both about individual pieces and his career in general. Even in answering the questions for this interview, he would frequently reference his desire to move into the realm of living rooms, log cabins, or palaces (with serious Archizoom vibes). Having such an expanded sense of the future can be good but it can also be a curse, Kahn says. “Like this year, so many exciting things have happened and I’m still like wait, what about the department store? When do I get to open that? There’s always something bigger on the horizon.”

First thing you ever made?
“When I was five, I made everyone in my extended family tiny pants that hold pens and turned them into necklaces. They were called pen pants. I also made tons and tons of Claymation films, mostly about the adventures of an otter.”

If you had an unlimited budget for a single piece, what would you make?
“I would love to make a whole neon wood grain floor — or a marbled marble palace. Or make a whole log cabin out of trash trees.”

If you weren’t a designer, what would you be?
“A plastic surgeon! I could still make the switch in 10 years.”

Favorite Google Image search:
“I think my first step is buying a computer.”