The Proven Mathematics Behind My Pattern Designs

Kris Kehlet
Feb 11
5 min read

How I put together memorable patterns that resonate – and why it almost always contains a bird.

Collection item: Freckled Frog (Wait - this pattern does not contain a bird?)

“The perfect repeat.” There it is. Flowing effortlessly over any surface. Makes you happy, doesn’t it? Makes you want to wear it or share it with someone. Put it on a cake and eat it? That is what we are after — a pattern that will put smiles on people’s faces and sell products.

The reason behind a great pattern is mathematical! Absolutely mathematical. The underlying grid, the repeat system (like half-drop or brick repeat), not to mention the visual physics where shapes carry different “weights.” Big dark objects pull, tiny ones float, and if too much happens in one corner the whole thing can feel lopsided. Timbeer.

We talk about balance, rhythm, scale, and proportion. Rulers out, baby. Measure that flower.

But in my end of the ipad? Nope. I don’t sit there calculating visual weight or measuring symmetry. So what is the proven maths formula behind the designs that have worked well for me? What I will take note of are the following three things.

No. 1. Be really precise when you’re working with your pattern tiles – we don’t want these white lines interrupting our beautiful work, do we?

No. 2. Only put stuff in that pattern tile that inspires you, because then there is a marginal chance that you will finish it and, in sharing it, have conveyed it in a way that inspires others too. (For me, what usually happens is starting out trying to draw a classic, pretty, delicate pattern – like flowers – then getting bored with the whole thing and adding a mustache in there, or something that doesn’t fit – and everyone knows we need more flower/mustache patterns).

No. 3. If it feels wrong – it is. Period. If it feels just right – well same result. Easy maths.

So yup, no calculator for me. I just keep shifting things until the pattern feels calmer, or more alive, or more cheeky — whatever it needs to be. Sometimes moving an item one milimeter changes the whole shabang.

So while there’s a quiet grid and some real maths holding everything together, what actually guides me is whether the pattern feels right when I look at it. That’s it – it’s a feeling. (my very mathematical husband loves me despite the fact).

The hidden worlds of surface pattern design

I didn’t plan to be a pattern designer. Not even remotely. Buut, I started drawing for the sheer joy of it, and over time I realised that surface pattern design gave me the freedom to create little universes of my own. That’s really what excites me: the possibility to invent worlds where anything can happen. I mean I watch all the movies with my kids like I am a kid – all the possible universes that have been created and that I can be part of that are not real – what a treat.

That's because in these worlds, the rules of reality don’t apply. Robots can dance among oranges. Monkeys and cheeky chickens can balance on sewing shelves. Elephants might have stripy ears, wandering through jungles filled with bathtubs, clocks, and candy-like palm trees. Lobsters can wear sweaters. There’s no “correct way” to do this – just experimenting, seeing what feels fun, and checking if it looks good together.

There isn’t a “correct way” to do any of this. It’s really just: let’s try something, see if it looks good together, and laugh a bit if it doesn’t.

If it works — wuhu. If not — let’s try again.

Then there are my more classic patterns… okay, I do have a few. But even those rarely stay fully “classic.” I usually start with a flower (for some reason I keep going back to those — nice, pretty, classic – all the things — and then a bit of cartoon, or a weird detail, or a slightly odd colour, and suddenly it feels like mine again. Done and dusted.

Plants + a bit of cartoon - pattern done and dusted. Collection item: Freckled Frog

Ok, so how do I actually build a pattern?

I think I said it before: my patterns never turn out the way I imagine them in my head. However, I’ve learned to accept that now, and more often than not I really love the outcomes I create through pattern design.

Many pattern designers usually produce a lot of different items and then play around with how they might fit together. I never really do that. I much prefer to just draw an item — then the next — and work the motifs around what I’ve already drawn. I feel it gives a nice flow to the pattern and keeps inspiration going.

From there it’s mostly moving things around: layering, erasing, shifting, re-drawing — until the pattern starts to feel alive instead of just placed. Also heaps of checking the master pattern, where you can really see what flows and what doesn’t.

In sum, for me, patterns aren’t equations. They’re more like conversations between shapes, colours, and little stories that sneak in along the way. (Okay, yes — I do throw in the occasional scallop pattern every once in a while.)

Patience really isn’t my strong suit, so I don’t know why I chose this profession because God knows you do need that for this. Sometimes I work for hours and then realise something is off — a shape that interrupts the rhythm, a colour that just doesn’t belong. I’ve learnt to walk away for a day or two if I have time for that. When I come back, the answer is often obvious, as if the pattern was quietly solving itself while I wasn’t looking. And nope, I never got better at that patience thing.

No frogs were harmed in the process of making this pattern

So yes — pattern design can look mathematical from the outside, but in my world it really isn’t. It’s messy, playful, slightly chaotic, and full of surprises. I guess the best word to describe it is just about trusting that things will eventually fall into place even when I can’t quite see how yet. Also, for me, the best part of pattern design isn’t getting everything perfect — it’s being able to build these tiny, strange, joyful universes where robots can meet oranges, lobsters can wear sweaters, and birds can fly anywhere they like.

Which leads me to the final point in my headline — why is there almost always a bird in my patterns? Well… actually there isn't but I got you to read this far.