The Soul of Architecture: A Journey of Creation
As an architect, I’ve come to realize the heart is generous, the brain is selfish. What does this mean in the context of architecture? The heart yearns to create spaces that connect, that give back to the world, while the mind often falls into the trap of logic and efficiency. Yet, in the pursuit of balance, architecture becomes a screen that can either reveal or hide who we are as people, just as much as it hides the natural world behind structures.
Architecture is more than the sum of its parts. It doesn’t begin with a building or end with a demolition. It lives through the experience of those who interact with it. To me, architecture has no beginning and no end. It’s an infinite creative process—one that’s as subjective as it is objective. Every material choice, every spatial decision, opens up infinite possibilities for interpretation.
Simplicity is key. We don’t need to overcomplicate our designs or our lives. Yet, simplicity is deceptive; it hides the infinite complexity beneath. Great architecture, like great art, is not about showing off complexity, but about discovering the hidden power of simplicity and clarity. As Louis Sullivan said, “Proportion is a result, not a cause”, and I take this to heart in my practice.
What truly drives me is the entrepreneurial spirit—the belief that we have the power to shape our destiny through our work, to express ourselves through built form. Life, like architecture, is instrumental, physical, and mental, constantly in a state of becoming. We are not just designing spaces; we are designing experiences. And the true goal is to evoke feelings—whether joy, peace, or even terror. Because without terror, we cannot truly appreciate beauty.
Architecture should not be seen as a discipline of words or abstract ideas, but rather as a form-making practice. At its core, it is about creating meaningful spaces. Spaces that are connected to the environment, shaped by nature and materials, guided by ethical simplicity.
But simplicity does not mean plainness. Architecture can—and should—be both eclectic and esoteric. It carries with it an infinite chain of signifiers, referencing not just other buildings, but our past, our experiences, and our culture. The ornament is not a decorative afterthought; it is a signifier, a reference to something deeper. In my designs, I aim to capture that—using the index of material and form to evoke emotion and connect people to their surroundings.
Ultimately, thought is superior to the senses, and intuition superior to observation. Great architecture reveals itself not in how it looks, but in how it feels and functions in the world. The voids, the negative spaces, are just as important as the solid forms. This void distinguishes the nature of things, allowing the architecture to breathe and resonate with the lives of those who inhabit it.
In the end, architecture is a practice. Love is the highest teaching, and I believe that in both life and architecture, we live in love. Whether designing a home, a community space, or a city, it’s this love that sustains us and keeps us connected to the world and each other.