With NYC Design Week coming to its close, designers, artisans, and firms big and small converged across the five boroughs for group exhibitions, on-site installations, and trade shows like the annual ICFF furniture fair. While global names descend upon the Big Apple to establish a presence, it’s the emerging creators of the NYC community who enrich this annual celebration of design with local craftsmanship and alternative aesthetics.

One of those NYC-based talents is Vy Voi Studio, the practice of ceramicist and designer Steffany Trần. Her buoyant paper lighting designs were a highlight during NYCxDesign 2025, winning her the official Table/Floor Lighting award for her Rễ Cây Collection that also appeared at standout shows like Lichen’s Biome, Lyle Gallery’s Outside/In, and Hello Human’s Public Records showcase.

Trần has a background in industrial design, yet her objects and most notably, her lamps, are far from common notions of “industrial.” She works with her hands — molding earthen clay for the ceramic bases of lamps, and shaping Dó paper, from native Vietnamese trees, into sculptural lampshades. Vy Voi began with Trần’s love for ceramics, a medium that gave the designer an outlet from her day job, and more importantly, a vital connection to her Vietnamese heritage.

Similar to its neighbors, the Southeast Asian nation is home to a rich ceramics tradition that dates back more than 2000 years. To illustrate her influences during a studio visit, Trần held up an antique Vietnamese teacup next to her more rustic glazing, reminiscent of a natural oxidized patina. Atop the ceramic bases are her oversized, oblong Dó paper shades. “I liked the tension of having this oversized, light object weighed down by a small, precious piece of ceramic,” she explained. The bulbous lampshades draw their names from Asian root vegetables, like Cu Sắng (cassava) or Khoai Môn (taro). On her drafting table, prototypes of a sconce were modeled after banana leaf-wrapped delicacies from Vietnam and neighboring countries like the Philippines and Thailand.

As common Southeast Asian flavors like ube (khoai mỡ) and pandan (lá dứa) become trendy in US cafes, increasingly appearing in seasonal lattes and pastries, Western consumers still know little about the cultural roots of these plant-based ingredients from the region. In a city described as a “melting pot,” Trần’s work arrives at a moment when Southeast Asian identity is finally moving from the margins of American culture toward something closer to visibility.

While Trần’s work orbits her heritage, the designer’s work is also unmistakably contemporary in its expression. In addition to Japanese artist Ruth Asawa, Trần cited Sarah-Linh Tran from Lemaire as a contemporary inspiration: “There is a refinement and restraint in how she uses silhouettes and color that I really believe in.” From ancient indigenous craft to today’s design leaders, Vy Voi’s interaction with different design movements and histories bridges her culture’s collective past to her personal present in New York City.

The soft, full shapes and naturally-derived materials of Vy Voi’s lamps are a welcome contrast to the towering concrete buildings and steel scaffolding that fill the surrounding blocks of her studio. And it’s all by design, Trần explained. “My grandma instilled in me the importance of observing everything — the patina on a building, a bird’s nest, or a plant sprouting through a sidewalk crack. It’s about finding tenderness in everyday interactions.”

During an April visit to Vy Voi’s new showroom located in Midtown, Trần discussed transitioning from industrial design to a craft-focused practice, the cultural references that inform her work, and how close observation can yield profound inspiration.

Hypebeast: Can you tell me the meaning behind the name Vy Voi?

Steffany Trần: It’s a portmanteau of my Vietnamese name, Tuong Vy, and con voi, which means elephant. Growing up, I had a babysitter who always commented on how much I loved eating. She called me “little elephant” or “baby elephant,” and it became an alliterative nickname that stuck with me since I was four. My parents and family still call me that today. It felt like a sweet gesture to use as a foundation to explore my heritage through design.

Can you tell us more about your background in design?

I studied industrial design at San Jose State — 408 forever! I grew up surrounded by creativity, and industrial design felt like a happy medium. I worked at traditional firms, but eventually, I got tired of making projects underpinned by corporate interests. I wanted to explore design from my own point of view. It started with a mix of trying to understand Vietnamese art and wanting to work with my hands again. It was an exercise in “if you can’t find it, build it yourself.”

So it wasn’t always lamps?

No, I actually started with clay. It was a nice way to get my hands on raw earth, which inspired me to look into the history of Vietnamese ceramics and trade traditions. That opened a door for me to draw from my own background and where my parents came from.

Do you do this full-time now?

I do. I was honestly always scared — and to be frank, I’m still scared. For a while, I maintained a 9-to-5 design career while working on Vy Voi at night and on weekends. Over time, the split shifted from part-time to 75/25, and eventually, it became so overwhelming that I had to go 100%.

Can you tell me about the materials you use for the lampshades?

I primarily use Dó paper from Vietnam. I really wanted to highlight its beautiful materiality. Historically, it was used for royal paintings and decrees. It’s made from the bark of Dó trees in Northern Vietnam, and only a few families still produce it by hand. The process involves stripping the bark, boiling, pounding, and drying it. You can actually see subtle flecks of bark in the paper. I’m excited about bringing these heritage materials into a contemporary context.
The shapes are very distinct.

How did you land on these oversized, oblong forms?

I’m glad you used the word “oblong,” because that’s how I describe them! I wanted the paper to be the main character, and I liked the tension of having this oversized, light object weighed down by a small, precious piece of ceramic. The forms are actually inspired by root vegetables and are named accordingly — like Cu Sắng (cassava) or Khoai Môn (taro). I wanted them to convey a “nourishing” feeling.

Your work feels modern yet organic. Are there specific movements or designers that inspire you?

Inspiration comes from everywhere. A huge foundation is Vietnamese craft, like the diều sáo (flute kites) from the North. I also love Ruth Asawa; her wire sculptures are a wonderful example of how simple forms come together elegantly. Another big inspiration is Sarah-Linh Tran from Lemaire. There is a refinement and restraint in how she uses silhouettes and color that I really believe in.

What’s the most difficult piece you’ve ever managed?

Probably the kite floor lamp. I decided to make the tubing much thinner than average to create the illusion of a weightless kite in the sky. Thinner tubes are harder to bend and harder to wire, but those subtle details are what make it feel right.

What does a moment of inspiration look like for you?

It comes from nature and observation. My grandma instilled in me the importance of observing everything — the patina on a building, a bird’s nest, or a plant sprouting through a sidewalk crack. It’s about finding tenderness in everyday interactions.

When I research, I try to stay offline. I’m a “book person” and prefer looking through my library or visiting family back home to see how people live and work every day. We’re given the same natural building blocks as the rest of the world; animals use these same materials to build their nests, and we’re just doing the same thing with a bit more training.