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A sheet of mountain rain freezes mid-fall: that’s the first impression the Water Drop Chair leaves. Designer Daijie Wu cast the entire frame in one pour of synthetic crystal, coaxing the resin until its rim hangs like clear icicles. Before the liquid set, he tucked dried lychee leaves and twigs inside; look closely and you can still see their veins, suspended as though time itself had paused. The effect is uncanny in daylight—sunlight refracts through the seat, sketching ripples on the floor—and downright dreamlike under spots, when the embedded leaves glow amber against the glass-cold shell.
Wu’s studio in Shenzhen spent months refining the mold so no seams betray the process, even hiding structural ribs that keep the 12-kilogram chair rigid. That quiet obsession paid off: Water Drop took home Gold at the 2024 London Design Awards for Home Furniture, and the first edition sold out at Design Shenzhen before lunchtime. There’s no upholstery, no hardware, only the slow curve of the drop—a nod, the designer says, to Taoist ideas of water as both yielding and unstoppable. Sit down and the chair flexes almost imperceptibly, reminding you that what looks like ice is, in fact, solid and warm to the touch.
Wu harvested the leaves during a typhoon that battered Guangdong last year, sealing that single storm inside a chair meant to last for decades. In an age of throw-away plastic, Water Drop asks whether we can keep hold of fleeting moments without smothering them—and whether furniture can be both a place to rest and a clear lens onto nature’s own design.
Photo credits: Courtesy of Shenzhen Boking Art & Culture Co.
