SABRAZ
How do you give a collection of handcrafted, heritage sabres a digital home an investor will take seriously?
SARBAZ (сарбаз — "warrior," literally "one who risks their head") is a souvenir collection of three sabres — Zhyltyr, Oyan, Ashu — inspired by Kazakh ethnic culture, developed by Sabali Sabina, a student at HSE Art and Design School as an art-project and brand.
My job was the digital layer: turning that physical, culturally-rooted collection into a website that presents it clearly and pitches it to potential investors and building the UX and measurement underneath it.
My job was the digital layer: turning that physical, culturally-rooted collection into a website that presents it clearly and pitches it to potential investors and building the UX and measurement underneath it.
Role: Group project — concept, collection and brand identity by the team. My contribution: no-code website build, UI prototyping, SEO and analytics.
1. Starting with what was already there
The material came from a previous project — cardboard tiles I’d painted dark green and taped into a large, carpet-like floor piece for a mundane, office-like space. Stacked and leaning, the same tiles read as something you could build from: abstract 3D shapes with different edges, densities, and personalities. Rather than buy fresh canvases, I gave the cardboard a second (and third) life.
The material came from a previous project — cardboard tiles I’d painted dark green and taped into a large, carpet-like floor piece for a mundane, office-like space. Stacked and leaning, the same tiles read as something you could build from: abstract 3D shapes with different edges, densities, and personalities. Rather than buy fresh canvases, I gave the cardboard a second (and third) life.
2. White on green
My tutors pushed me to work physically rather than in Photoshop, and they were right — there’s more character in the object. I started in white, painting abstract shapes pulled from memory and half-seen things, deliberately avoiding established graphics like street signs or smiley faces. Each shape had to hold its own in negative space while still resonating with the others, then get arranged on the wall like a puzzle with no instructions.
My tutors pushed me to work physically rather than in Photoshop, and they were right — there’s more character in the object. I started in white, painting abstract shapes pulled from memory and half-seen things, deliberately avoiding established graphics like street signs or smiley faces. Each shape had to hold its own in negative space while still resonating with the others, then get arranged on the wall like a puzzle with no instructions.
3. Introducing orange
Orange came next: dramatic against green and its opposite on the colour wheel. I began with the pieces I liked least, mixing orange into other colours to see what it could do, then rebalancing whenever one colour dominated at scale. The hardest part was staying abstract — shapes kept drifting toward emoji eyes or an accidental dragon. There’s no logic for it; you feel your way. When a piece failed outright, I cut it up and stitched the fragments into new ones, Frankenstein-style.
Orange came next: dramatic against green and its opposite on the colour wheel. I began with the pieces I liked least, mixing orange into other colours to see what it could do, then rebalancing whenever one colour dominated at scale. The hardest part was staying abstract — shapes kept drifting toward emoji eyes or an accidental dragon. There’s no logic for it; you feel your way. When a piece failed outright, I cut it up and stitched the fragments into new ones, Frankenstein-style.
4. Composing the exhibition
For the final stage I printed miniatures of every piece and moved them around in Photoshop to plan how the full set would sit before committing to a wall — so dozens of independent experiments read as one composition.
For the final stage I printed miniatures of every piece and moved them around in Photoshop to plan how the full set would sit before committing to a wall — so dozens of independent experiments read as one composition.
The brief and the work shifted the whole way through and became something I didn’t plan but liked more than what I set out to make. Trust the process — and take a leap when you feel stuck.