It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when it began, but at some point, I became aware of an intangible presence that envelops the visual element of graphic design. For now, I’ll call it zi.
A more grounded way to define zi might be to borrow from the concept of qì — the vital force believed to flow through all living things. I believe that zi carries information, and understanding it requires tracing it back to its origin. I’ve tried to articulate zi through the poetry inherent in visual language, yet ultimately, it resists explanation. It is, perhaps, like the sensation of having one’s spiritual itch exquisitely scratched.
The first time I consciously perceived zi — something that exists beyond its visual vessel — was while reading the work of John Berger. I realised that zi exists not only in images, but also in words, music, events, and even in the spaces between. It can be transmitted within any imaginable context.
There’s no exact word in English that encapsulates what I’m trying to express. During a short-term fine art course I took in London, a lecturer said to us: “When these two colours are mixed together, it triggers a feeling of zi, doesn’t it?” (Perhaps the sensation of zi is better grasped when likened to an electric current — something unseen, yet profoundly felt.)
The work of many top-tier international designers evokes zi; one could even argue that certain awards and exchange platforms exist solely to gather zi. It’s not a matter of technique or aesthetic judgement. It’s more akin to a heightened awareness — an instinctual understanding that transcends language. You might say that the presence of zi is confirmed when a piece symbolises something ineffable, something that defies articulation or conventional knowledge.
Kazunari Hattori once said he often senses the exact moment a design is complete; to me, that is the essence of zi. Many of Hattori’s works radiate a powerful zi — his innate brilliance suggesting that zi may stem from the wild, untamed spirit that dwells within us at birth. The works of certain young creators also possess a potent zi, as does the music created by native peoples still living in the wilderness or jungle — even if, from a commercial perspective, their work might seem primitive or raw.
What is certain is that there’s a distinct separation between zi and form; form is merely the vessel through which zi flows. Hence, zi has nothing to do with style, technique, or aesthetic appeal — and these elements, though often conflated, can in fact obscure or hinder the presence of zi.
It seems that many creators have not yet been summoned by zi. They lack the ability to generate work imbued with it, and instead resort to mimicking the idea of it. This is true even of seasoned professionals. On the other hand, when a creator commits themselves to the pursuit of zi, their form gradually liberates itself from traditional notions of what is considered ‘good’.
For now, this is as far as I can go in articulating the concept. My ability to offer an objective explanation remains limited — but the feeling is real, unmistakable, and always just beyond reach.