Designer (Architecture and Interior), founding partner of YY Projects. Lecturer at the University of Hong Kong and the Technological and Higher Education Institute of Hong Kong. Holds a M.Arch from Harvard University and a B.A. (Arch) from UC Berkeley. Previously in Brooklyn, currently based in Hong Kong.
Osaka Expo 2025 Japan Pavilion / Nikken Sekkei. Image Courtesy of Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry
In certain parts of the world, construction is still dominated by wet systems—concrete, masonry, and cementitious materials that are poured, cured, and fixed in place. While this has long been considered the norm in some south-east Asia countries, such as Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, and China, in most of these regions, they typically share a common trend where labor is relatively inexpensive. This serves as one of the reasons to make concrete more easily available, as one of the typical downside of concrete is its intensive labour cost - this further differentiates concrete as a cheaper and more efficient material system to be building out of.
However, not enough considerations in the region are given to the sustainability aspect when using these wet construction materials,often overlooking the significant drawbacks of its material lifecycle and the difficulty to recycle it without downcycling - making it one of the more unsustainable materials available to be built out of.
Situated in one of the fastest-developing regions over the past decade—the southern part of China, including Hong Kong and the Greater Bay Area—urban growth has been driven by an overwhelming wave of commercial ambition. Projects here are often designed for maximum density, height, and efficiency, resulting in developments of enormous scale that can easily span several acres. Prioritizing transit-oriented development, these complexes frequently take the form of sprawling malls built directly above major transportation hubs. Designed to disorient and prolong foot traffic to encourage economic activities, these mega-structures have become commonplace in cities like Hong Kong and Shenzhen.
While this typology of megastructures offers clear advantages—economic efficiency, high development returns, and convenience for transit users—it almost invariably ignores its urban context and environment. These developments often turn a blind eye, deliberately so, to their environmental footprint and the city's walkability. At such overwhelming scales, the human walking experience is diminished, if not outright neglected. Pedestrians become interiorized—trapped within the insulated world of these complexes.
When designing a space—whether at the scale of interiors, architecture, or infrastructure—materiality is a central concern. Beyond aesthetics, materials determine how a project functions, ages, and endures. Some architects—such as Wang Shu and Kengo Kuma—have built their practices on a deep sensitivity to the potential and limits of materials. But even in the most pragmatic sense, the question arises: What lasts? What doesn't? And how do materials change over time? Naturally, materials shape atmosphere and appearance—qualities that often matter most to clients. Yet increasingly, the discourse around materiality has shifted from structural substance to surface treatment. When did we start focusing more on "decorating" our spaces by layering one material over another, rather than relying on the inherent beauty and performance of the building fabric itself?
In Venice, surrounded by an overwhelming abundance of architectural beauty—the grandeur of landmarks like the Basilica di San Marco, St. Mark's Square, and the Rialto Bridge, to name just a few—it is easy to become swept up in the iconic imagery and spatial majesty of the city. One could lose sight of the quieter, yet equally masterful, moments found in the execution of details across its built fabric. Beyond the grandeur, the city offers a richness in its winding alleyways, narrow canals, and vibrant street life—each contributing to the cultural tapestry that makes Venice so unique. Amidst these celebrated elements, however, lie subtle but remarkable architectural details that often go unnoticed. These deserve closer observation and reflection, as they offer their own kind of mastery—one grounded in material precision, craft, and the lived rhythms of the city.
Just steps away from the iconic Piazza San Marco, a quiet architectural dialogue unfolds between two celebrated figures. Within a one-minute walk, two projects—each meticulously crafted—sit in close proximity: the Olivetti Showroom by Carlo Scarpa, a long-revered pilgrimage site for architects and designers, and the recently reopened Procuratie Vecchie, restored by David Chipperfield Architects. A closer look at the architectural details embedded within each work reveals a compelling exchange across time—one that unfolds through material language, spatial precision, and an unwavering commitment to craft.
When we speak of intelligence at the 2025 Venice Biennale, the main exhibition broadly categorizes it into three domains: natural, artificial, and collective. While much attention has been drawn to robotic performances, future-forward material experiments—such as Boonserm Premthada's elephant dung bricks, or Canada's display of mesmerizing picoplankton, one often overlooked yet critical form of collective intelligence lies in the act of archiving.
Several national pavilions showcase this collective intelligence through beautifully curated exhibitions—the Spanish Pavilion's witty play on scale, for instance, features meticulously crafted models that invite close reading and delight. These curated collections offer a snapshot of the present, and in some cases, gestures toward the future. But without critically engaging with the past, without documenting and making sense of our shared spatial and architectural knowledge, the potential of collective intelligence remains incomplete. Archiving is not simply an act of preservation; it is a generative tool for projecting new futures.
When we talk about the future intelligence of architecture, much of the historical effort has centered on pushing boundaries—challenging norms, exploring alternatives, and projecting bold visions of what architecture could become. The advent of modernism exemplified this approach: radical new materials and construction methods gave rise to a vastly reimagined architectural future. This momentum continues today, with research institutions and leading practices constantly exploring innovative techniques, materials, and systems of making.
Yet one method of imagining architectural futures often remains overlooked: the act of critically revisiting the past. Learning from, uncovering, and documenting lesser-known spatial and communal practices is just as essential. These quieter forms of knowledge—how spaces have been used, adapted, and inhabited—can reveal enduring insights that shape more grounded, culturally resonant futures. Rather than chasing novelty for novelty's sake, perhaps an equally meaningful path lies in building a cohesive architectural archive that bridges the past and future.
Humans and pets have long shared a deep and inseparable bond—and today, how we live alongside them is becoming increasingly important. Beyond offering companionship, pets are now often regarded as life partners, providing powerful support for mental health and emotional well-being. Yet it is not only the emotional connection that matters: the way we design and curate spaces for cohabitation with them plays a critical role in shaping meaningful spatial relationships between humans and their animal companions.
Whether through custom-designed furniture or more seamlessly integrated solutions like wall cavities and built-in nooks, an increasing amount of attention is being paid to how we can better coexist with pets in our homes. This shift reflects more than just affluence or pet ownership; it signals a broader evolution of companionship—one rooted in mutual support, emotional health, and shared environments.
Santuario de la Naturaleza Humedal Río Maipo.. Image Courtesy of Fundación Cosmos
On Earth Day 2025, observed annually on April 22, we are once again reminded of the urgent environmental and sustainability challenges that face our planet—challenges that continue to evolve alongside global economic, political, and cultural shifts. The building and construction industry remains one of the most critical sectors in the effort to manage and reduce global carbon emissions. This year, these issues are being addressed through increasingly diverse lenses, calling for more holistic and integrated approaches. It's vital that we view sustainability not as a one-size-fits-all solution, but as a multi-scalar effort—one that spans from large-scale urban development and strategic planning, to the advancement of sustainable materials, and even to temporary, thought-provoking interventions like exhibitions and installations. In doing so, we reaffirm our commitment to reducing our collective carbon footprint, while shaping a built environment that promotes human well-being and planetary health.
The bamboo scaffolding building typology—temporary, agile, and deeply rooted in tradition—particularly, the bamboo shed theatre building technique, is recognized as an item of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Hong Kong. As one walks through the city, especially in busy urban districts, it's nearly impossible not to encounter a bamboo scaffold within a five-minute radius. Bamboo scaffolding is arguably the most iconic construction material in Hong Kong, valued for its abundance, sustainability, flexibility, adaptability, and—most importantly—scalability. These qualities have contributed to its widespread use in temporary construction, from building maintenance and renovations to festival stages and sporting events.
However, this once-ubiquitous feature of the urban landscape may be slowly fading from view. A dwindling pool of skilled, younger workers—combined with evolving construction regulations—has contributed to its decline. On March 17, the Development Bureau announced plans to "drive a wider adoption of metal scaffolds in public building works." In practice, this means the Architectural Services Department (ArchSD) will soon require at least 50% of its capital works projects to utilize metal scaffolding. While not a formal ban, the policy signals what many see as the beginning of a gradual phase-out of bamboo scaffolding in public-sector construction.
In contemporary urban development, the concept of Privately Owned Public Space (POPS) has gained increasing prominence. These are spaces that, while built, owned, and maintained by private developers, are legally required to remain publicly accessible. Often the result of negotiated planning incentives—such as zoning bonuses or increased floor area—POPS have become especially prevalent in dense urban environments where land is limited and demand for public amenities is high.
Integrating natural elements into architectural design has long been a fundamental pursuit in creating comfortable, sustainable environments that enhance both individual well-being and the relationship between buildings and their surrounding context. In areas with vast landscapes, incorporating natural elements is essential for seamlessly connecting architecture with its site. Conversely, in dense urban environments dominated by built structures, introducing greenery becomes also increasingly vital, reintroducing nature into the so-called "concrete jungle."
However, beyond conventional landscape features—such as water fountains, green walls, gardens, or courtyards—architects are redefining what it means to build with nature. The focus has shifted toward deeply integrating architecture with its natural surroundings, creating immersive spatial experiences that blur the boundaries between the built and the organic - in a way, "taming" nature. When successfully executed, these designs go beyond fostering well-being or promoting a healthy lifestyle; they evoke a profound sense of tranquility, power, and harmony, transforming the way we perceive and inhabit space.
The choice of door types plays a crucial role in defining the spatial experience and atmosphere of architecture. Beyond material or style, the way a door is detailed—its movement, weight, and method of operation—can drastically influence how a space is perceived and navigated. However, what truly enables the functionality of different door types is the often-overlooked element of door hardware. Even within the same door type, the selection of hinges, tracks, pivots, and handles can significantly affect how users interact with and interpret the space.
Historically, public bathing was a fundamental necessity for hygiene, giving rise to communal bathhouses in regions where private bathrooms were a rarity. In Japan, for instance, sento bathhouses emerged during the early Edo period, serving as essential facilities when most households lacked their own bathing spaces. Similarly, in other parts of the world where plumbing and water management were considered luxuries, shared public baths became vital components of urban life. Over time, these spaces evolved beyond their functional role, becoming venues for socializing, relaxation, and a temporary escape from daily routines.
However, in the modern era, private bathrooms have become ubiquitous in contemporary homes, effectively addressing the hygiene concerns that once made public bathhouses indispensable. With the rise of alternative social spaces—cafés, fitness centers, bars, and jazz lounges—the traditional communal bath no longer serves the same essential function. While some may still appreciate the social aspect of public bathing, the inconvenience of changing clothes and getting wet in front of strangers can deter many from engaging in the experience.
Architecture and its atmospheric qualities have long been a subject of discussion, yet reaching a consensus on the matter remains elusive. This is largely because spatial experience is deeply personal—rooted in emotions, sensory perceptions, and individual preferences that are difficult to articulate in words alone. The way one perceives, feels, and interacts with a space adds another layer of complexity, making it challenging to define and agree upon its atmospheric impact. Nevertheless, architects and designers continuously strive to shape environments that are not only functional and comfortable but also capable of evoking emotions and leaving a lasting impression on their occupants.
Prefabrication is one of the most transformative innovations in architecture and construction, redefining how buildings are designed, manufactured, and assembled. While not a new concept, its application has evolved to offer a broader range of advantages. Traditionally valued for its precision and quality, prefabrication is now equally recognized for its cost and time efficiencies, particularly in leveraging regional differences in labor and production. This shift has fueled its resurgence across high-end, design-driven projects and large-scale, cost-efficient public buildings.
Transit-Oriented Development (TOD) is a comprehensive urban planning strategy aimed at creating dense, walkable, and vibrant neighborhoods centered around public transportation hubs. By seamlessly integrating residential, commercial, and recreational facilities within close proximity to transit nodes, TODs seek to reduce automobile dependency, increase public transit ridership, and stimulate local economic development. Government agencies play a pivotal role in supporting these developments through zoning reforms, easing floor area ratios (FARs), selling air rights, and facilitating public-private partnerships to secure capital for public infrastructure. While TODs have gained global traction, East Asia boasts some of the most successful examples. Conversely, efforts to replicate these models in different contexts—such as New York City—highlight the importance of adapting TOD principles to local conditions, geographical characteristics, and community needs.
Doors are among the most frequently used architectural elements in any occupied building, serving as movable thresholds that negotiate between private and public spaces. They facilitate both connection and separation among co-inhabitants. Yet, despite their fundamental role, doors are often one of the most overlooked design elements, particularly by clients. In discussions with industry professionals on various interior projects, a common consensus emerges—clients typically pay little attention to door types and details as long as the opening direction aligns with their expectations. However, the world of door design is an intricate one, offering a wealth of possibilities in finishes, installation methods, and modes of operation—each of which can significantly shape the spatial experience beyond the simple matter of swing direction.
The choice of door type and detailing can define or redefine a space entirely. Some doors offer superior sound insulation, while others remain open to connect spaces, enhancing spatial fluidity seamlessly. Certain designs require meticulous installation and ongoing maintenance, while others are virtually hassle-free. Moreover, the type of door selected, particularly that of the hinge, influences not only wall construction but also flooring layers and transitions, adding further complexity to the design process.
Co-living in East Asia has been rising since 2020, rapidly expanding while remaining in its early stages. At the same time, it continues to fulfill a significant demand from young professionals working in major cities. A 2020 study by real estate services firm JLL highlighted the growing demand for co-living in China and Singapore, citing key advantages such as affordability compared to private studio apartments and a contemporary urban lifestyle that fosters openness and shared experiences. Much like other industries where ownership is becoming less relevant—such as streaming services for music, films, and television, or mobility solutions like car- and bike-sharing—co-living appeals to a similar demographic that values flexibility and access over long-term commitments.
Unlike co-living initiatives in Spain, which often focus on multigenerational shared spaces, East Asian co-living primarily targets young professionals with dynamic career paths. Often required to relocate every few years, these individuals prioritize convenience and adaptability over investing in a permanent home. For them, committing to a long-term residence may not be practical, making fully furnished, professionally managed co-living spaces with built-in amenities and hygiene services an attractive option. These environments cater to fast-paced urban lifestyles, where networking at professional events often precedes solitary downtime at home.
