Interviews med Ruiting Xu

The Vessel Type design is grounded in the principle of ecocentrism. It responds to the survival challenges faced by a small village in western Madagascar, where seasonal droughts and floods threaten both daily life and agriculture. Inspired by the need to collect, store and distribute rainwater sustainably, the design integrates with the land’s topography to serve both as infrastructure and cultural landmark. It functions as a vessel that collects surface runoff during the wet season, filters it using a rural sand and gravel filtration technique, and stores it in a water bank for use during the dry season. Beyond water infrastructure, the design creates communal spaces for engagement, reflection, and play - reinforcing a social and ecological network that supports equity and long-term resilience.

The main focus of The Vessel Type was to address the urgent need for a sustainable water system in a region facing extreme seasonal changes. The goal was to create a structure that not only captures and stores rainwater but also empowers the local community through equitable access to resources. By integrating water infrastructure with communal spaces, the design aims to support agricultural resilience, reduce social frictions, and promote collective engagement. Ultimately, the intention was to transform a survival challenge into an opportunity for ecological and social renewal through architecture.

As a conceptual project, The Vessel Type serves as a speculative proposal that explores how architecture can respond to ecological and social crises through integrated design. The future plan is to further develop the concept as a framework for dialogue, inviting discussions on sustainable infrastructure, climate resilience, and community-driven design. While it is not currently intended for construction, the design can inspire future research, collaborations and adaptations in regions facing similar environmental challenges. The goal is to continue evolving the idea as a catalyst for rethinking how architecture can embody both functionality and cultural meaning.

The design process for The Vessel Type spanned several months. It involved deep research into the environmental and social conditions of western Madagascar, followed by iterative development of the architectural response. The work progressed through phases of site analysis, conceptualization, technical detailing, and spatial storytelling - evolving gradually through continuous refinement and critical feedback.

This design was not commissioned - it was pursued as a personal and academic exploration. The inspiration came from a desire to address real-world issues through architecture, particularly the intertwined crises of water scarcity, flooding and social inequality in rural Madagascar. By grounding the project in ecocentric values, I aimed to explore how architecture can serve both as critical infrastructure and a cultural anchor, supporting not just survival, but dignity, community and long-term resilience.

The Vessel Type is a conceptual design and is not currently being produced or used by any company. It was developed to provoke thought and explore possibilities rather than immediate implementation. At this stage, there are no plans to sell or lease the production rights, but I am open to future collaborations with organizations or institutions interested in adapting the concept for real-world application, especially in regions facing similar environmental challenges.

The design of The Vessel Type was driven by a deep interest in how architecture can respond meaningfully to ecological and humanitarian crises. The specific conditions in western Madagascar marked by seasonal droughts, flooding, agricultural dependency and social tension, highlighted the need for an architectural response that goes beyond shelter. I was compelled to design a type of work that merges infrastructure with social space, where water collection, community engagement and landscape integration converge. This approach allowed me to explore architecture not just as a building, but as a living system rooted in environmental and cultural context.

Several precedents and designers influenced the development of The Vessel Type. I was particularly inspired by works that integrate architecture with landscape and infrastructure, such as the projects of Francis Kéré, whose designs respond sensitively to local climates and community needs. Additionally, vernacular water systems and traditional land-based practices informed the approach to water collection and distribution. Rather than referencing a single design, the project was shaped by an accumulation of ecological thinking, socially responsive architecture and a deep respect for context-specific solutions.

The target "customer" for The Vessel Type design is not an individual or commercial entity, but rather communities in regions facing similar environmental challenges, such as droughts and floods. The design is aimed at both rural populations in areas where access to water and social equity are pressing issues, as well as organizations, NGOs, and government bodies working in sustainable development. The concept seeks to address a broader humanitarian need rather than a traditional market, offering a framework for community resilience and environmental sustainability.

What sets The Vessel Type apart is its unique integration of water infrastructure with communal and cultural spaces. Rather than focusing solely on the technical aspects of water collection and storage, the design also emphasizes the creation of a social hub. It fosters community engagement, interaction and reflection, addressing not just environmental needs, but also social equity and resilience. The structure is inspired by the natural landscape and adapts to seasonal changes, acting as both protection and a causeway during wet seasons and providing accessible water storage during dry seasons. This holistic approach, which merges functionality with social and cultural significance, distinguishes it from other designs that may focus primarily on either infrastructure or community spaces separately.

The name The Vessel Type was chosen to reflect the central concept of the design: a structure that acts as both a vessel for collecting and storing water and a type of space that adapts to the needs of the community. The term "vessel" symbolizes the idea of containment, protection and transformation of resources - particularly water; while "type" emphasizes the modular, adaptable nature of the design. The name speaks to the project's function as a dynamic, evolving entity that serves both practical and communal purposes, shaping a sustainable relationship between people, water and the land.

For The Vessel Type, I primarily used Rhino for modeling which allowed me to develop and refine the complex forms and relationships within the design. For rendering, I used Unreal Engine to create immersive, high-quality visualizations that brought the project to life and helped communicate its spatial and environmental qualities. These tools enabled me to experiment with the design in both three-dimensional space and interactive, real-time environments, ensuring the final concept was both visually compelling and functionally coherent.

The most unique aspect of The Vessel Type design is its ability to blend water infrastructure with communal and cultural functions. Rather than focusing solely on utilitarian purposes, the structure serves as both a water collection and distribution system while also fostering community interaction, engagement and social equity. Its vessel-like form integrates with the landscape, responding to seasonal changes, and provides flexible spaces for daily use, contemplation, and connection. This dual-purpose approach addresses both environmental and social needs - sets it apart from traditional water management solutions.

I primarily worked independently for The Vessel Type. However, the development of the concept was informed by feedback and insights from professors, peers, and people who work in fields like sustainability, water management, and community design. While there were no direct collaborations with technical or specialized professionals during the design phase, the project drew heavily from existing research and real-world applications of water filtration systems and ecological architecture. These sources of expertise played a crucial role in shaping the technical aspects of the design.

Technology plays a significant role in The Vessel Type design, particularly in the integration of water filtration and distribution systems. The use of sustainable technologies, such as the rural submerged filter technique for water purification, is central to the design's functionality. Additionally, technology was crucial in visualizing the concept, as tools like Rhino for modeling and Unreal Engine for rendering allowed for a detailed exploration of the spatial and environmental aspects of the project. While the design is grounded in ecological principles, these technological tools enhanced its communication and refinement, enabling a deeper understanding of how the structure interacts with both the landscape and the community.

The Vessel Type design was heavily influenced by data and analytical research. The primary research focused on the environmental conditions in western Madagascar, particularly the seasonal droughts and flooding that impact local communities. I conducted research into water management systems, including traditional methods of rainwater collection and filtration, and how these could be adapted to the specific context of the site. Social research also played a role, looking into the needs and challenges of rural communities dependent on agriculture. This data-driven approach helped shape the design’s functionality, ensuring it was both contextually relevant and responsive to the unique needs of the region.

One of the key challenges in designing The Vessel Type was finding a balance between functionality and the cultural significance of the space. While the concept needed to address practical issues like water storage, filtration, and distribution, it also had to serve as a meaningful social and cultural space for the community. Another challenge was ensuring that the design was adaptable to the local environment, particularly in terms of its integration with the landscape and its ability to withstand seasonal changes. Additionally, while the project was conceptual, ensuring that the design was feasible and aligned with sustainable practices required navigating technical complexities around material choice and construction methods.

The decision to submit The Vessel Type to an international design competition was driven by a desire to share the concept with a broader audience and engage in a global conversation about sustainable architecture and community-focused design. I wanted to explore how the project could inspire other architects, designers and organizations working on similar issues, and to contribute to the ongoing discourse around climate resilience and social equity in architecture. Competitions offer a platform for visibility, feedback and potential collaborations, which can help further develop and refine the idea for future applications.

Throughout the design process of The Vessel Type, I learned to approach architecture as a tool for addressing complex, real-world challenges. I deepened my understanding of how design can integrate technical systems like water filtration with social, cultural and environmental needs. I also improved my ability to balance the technical aspects of a project with its broader conceptual goals, ensuring that the design was both functional and meaningful. Additionally, working on a project of this scale helped me enhance my skills in visualization, modeling and rendering, as I used tools like Rhino and Unreal Engine to communicate the design more effectively. Overall, the project pushed me to think more critically and holistically about the role of architecture in shaping resilient, equitable communities.

One important aspect I would like to highlight is the vision behind The Vessel Type, which goes beyond solving immediate environmental issues. The project aims to inspire a deeper connection between people and their environment, demonstrating how architecture can foster both sustainability and community resilience. Additionally, the design was an opportunity to experiment with integrating both modern and traditional techniques, such as rural water filtration methods. I hope this work encourages further exploration of how architecture can play a transformative role in regions where ecological challenges intersect with social needs.

I began my journey in design with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Interior Design, which gave me a strong foundation in spatial composition and material sensitivity. Wanting to push further into architecture’s broader social and environmental responsibilities, I pursued a Master of Architecture at the Southern California Institute of Architecture (SCI-Arc). My education there challenged conventional boundaries and encouraged a critical, experimental approach to design. That combination of interior sensibility and architectural thinking continues to shape how I work today, balancing human-scale experiences with systemic and contextual design strategies.

What motivates me to design is the possibility of creating something that resonates functionally, emotionally and ecologically. I became a designer because I’ve always been drawn to the way spaces and objects can shape how we live, feel and relate to the world around us. Design is not just about aesthetics or solving problems; it’s about asking the right questions, revealing connections and offering new perspectives. I’m especially driven by the potential of design to engage with environmental challenges and cultural narratives, and to contribute to more thoughtful and sustainable ways of living.

I chose to become a designer. It was a conscious decision rooted in curiosity and a desire to create. I was never forced into it; instead, I found myself naturally drawn to design as a way of thinking and making. It offered a space where imagination, logic and care for the world could come together. The more I learned, the more I realized how design could be a lifelong pursuit both expressive and purposeful.

I design across architecture, spatial installations, and object-based works which often explore the relationships between material, environment and human experience. I’m especially interested in designs that respond to ecological systems and social contexts, where form and function are rooted in deeper narratives. Moving forward, I’d love to design more public or community-centered projects that integrate infrastructure with culture, spaces that are not only sustainable but also invite reflection, engagement and a sense of belonging.

A good designer solves problems thoughtfully and creates functional, well-crafted work. A great designer goes further. They challenge assumptions, communicate ideas with clarity and depth, and design with a deep understanding of both people and the planet. Great designers have a distinct voice, but they also listen deeply to context, materials and users. They’re not just makers; they’re critical thinkers and responsible storytellers who shape lasting impact through their work.

A really good design is one that resonates on multiple levels. It not only performs its function well but also communicates a clear intention, evokes a response and endures over time. It feels effortless yet thoughtful. I evaluate good design by how well it responds to its context: culturally, environmentally, and humanly whether it offers something meaningful beyond utility. A strong design reveals itself gradually. The more you engage with it, the more you uncover layers of clarity, care and purpose.

If there’s a secret ingredient in my design process, it’s observation, really paying attention to the nuances of place, behavior and materials. I believe thoughtful design begins with quiet noticing. That, paired with persistence and a willingness to iterate, has been essential. I also try to stay curious and open to ideas outside of architecture - whether it’s from science, art or everyday life. Success, to me, comes from designing with intention while allowing room for surprise and discovery.

I’ve always been inspired by Herzog & de Meuron. Their work shows a deep sensitivity to material, place and atmosphere, while constantly evolving in form and expression. Their ability to balance abstraction with tactile richness is something I deeply admire. I also draw inspiration from a wide range of thinkers and makers—whether it’s the quiet intensity of Tadao Ando, or the experimental rigor found in emerging contemporary practices. For me, inspiration often comes from how designers question conventions and respond to context with clarity and nuance.

To improve as a designer, I believe it’s essential to stay curious and embrace a mindset of constant learning. This means not just refining technical skills, but also broadening one’s perspective by seeking inspiration from diverse fields such as art, science, culture and even nature. For me, it’s been about pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone and experiment, whether through new materials, digital tools or collaborating with people outside of architecture. I also found that feedback both from mentors and peers is invaluable, as it helps refine ideas and push them in unexpected directions. Ultimately, the key is to stay adaptable, challenge your assumptions and always remain open to growth both in designs and approach to life.

If I hadn’t become a designer, I would have likely pursued a career as a professional scuba diver. The idea of exploring the unknown whether through the depths of the ocean or within the built environment has always fascinated me. Scuba diving offers a unique way of engaging with the world, where every dive is an exploration of new, unseen ecosystems. That spirit of discovery and connection to nature is something I carry into my design work as well.

For me, design is a way of shaping experiences, environments and interactions. It’s the process of creating solutions that are both functional and meaningful, grounded in context and responsive to human needs. Design is not just about making things look aesthetically pleasing; it’s about understanding the deeper layers of a problem whether environmental, cultural or social, and crafting a response that resonates on multiple levels. It’s a way of telling a story through form, material and space, with the ultimate goal of improving the quality of life and fostering a more sustainable future.

My ultimate goal as a designer is to create work that not only serves its functional purpose but also has a positive impact on the environment and the communities it touches. I want to design spaces, objects and systems that respond thoughtfully to the world around them integrating sustainability, cultural relevance and social equity. Ultimately, my aim is to contribute to a future where design is a catalyst for positive change, helping people connect with one another and the planet in meaningful and lasting ways.

Design plays a crucial role in shaping the environments we live in and the ways we interact with each other. A well-designed space or object can elevate daily experiences, foster community engagement and promote sustainability. By addressing social and environmental challenges through thoughtful design, we can create spaces that enhance quality of life, reduce inequality and encourage more responsible consumption. Design has the power to spark conversations and ultimately help create a society that values empathy, collaboration and respect for the natural world.

The design field is rapidly evolving as we confront both new technological advancements and pressing global challenges. I believe we are moving towards a future where design is even more integrative and interdisciplinary, blurring the lines between architecture, technology, sustainability and social systems. The next wave of design will be deeply rooted in data-driven insights, with an emphasis on creating adaptable and resilient systems that respond to our changing environment. At the same time, we’ll continue to see a focus on human-centered design, with technology being leveraged to create more intuitive and accessible experiences. Ultimately, I think design will continue to move towards being more holistic, with an even greater emphasis on creating solutions that are both functional and meaningful, addressing long-term societal and environmental needs.

The time it takes to finalize a design project can vary greatly depending on the scope, complexity and type of project. For smaller, more straightforward designs, it could take a few weeks to a couple of months. However, for larger architectural or multidisciplinary projects, it can take several months or years to fully develop and implement. The process involves research, conceptualization, iterations and feedback cycles, all of which require careful consideration and time. Ultimately, I focus on quality over speed, ensuring that every aspect of the design is thoughtfully addressed before reaching completion.

When I begin a new design project, I start by thoroughly understanding the context whether it’s the community, the environmental challenges or the people involved. Research is key at this stage, as it informs the direction of the project and ensures it aligns with the needs and values of those it’s intended to serve. From there, I move into conceptualization, exploring different ideas and iterations. I prioritize creating a strong narrative for the project that ties all elements together, while also considering functionality, sustainability and aesthetics. My goal is to establish a clear vision early on, which can then be refined and developed throughout the design process.

I believe design both sets and responds to trends. Designers are often at the forefront of innovation, creating work that challenges existing conventions and introduces new ideas or technologies, which can set trends. At the same time, trends are influenced by cultural, social and technological shifts, and designers often draw from these to create relevant work that resonates with the current moment. Ultimately, good design doesn’t just follow trends; it has the power to shape and redefine them, pushing the boundaries of what’s possible while remaining grounded in meaningful contexts.

Color, materials and ambiance play integral roles in shaping the emotional and functional experience of a design. Color can influence mood, evoke specific feelings and create visual harmony or contrast, guiding how people perceive and interact with a space. Materials are not just about aesthetics; they carry meaning, tell a story, and can contribute to the sustainability and durability of a project. The choice of materials also connects the design to its surroundings, whether through texture, tactility, or cultural significance. Ambient elements such as lighting, acoustics and spatial arrangement, help create a sense of atmosphere that transforms a space from functional to experiential. Together, these elements work holistically to create environments that are not only beautiful but also deeply engaging and purposeful.

A great day as a designer happens when I feel that I’ve made meaningful progress whether that’s through a breakthrough in an idea, successfully collaborating with others, or seeing the elements of a project start to come together. The process of problem-solving whether it's working through design challenges or refining an approach, is incredibly rewarding. I motivate myself by focusing on the impact my work can have whether it’s creating a space that fosters community or exploring innovative ways to make the world more sustainable. Having a clear purpose in each project helps drive me forward, and I stay inspired by learning from the world around me through art, nature, or conversations with colleagues.

The future, especially a thousand years from now, is beyond our current comprehension, but it’s fascinating to think about the possibilities. I imagine a world where design continues to evolve in harmony with nature, where sustainability and technology are seamlessly integrated to create more resilient, self-sustaining environments. I envision cities that adapt to their surroundings, with buildings and spaces that not only serve human needs but also support ecosystems and biodiversity. Our relationship with the planet may have transformed with design playing a critical role in preserving and regenerating the natural world. At the same time, the boundaries between the physical and digital worlds might blur even further, creating new ways for people to experience and interact with their environment. I believe design will continue to evolve as a tool for positive change, driving innovation and improving quality of life, while maintaining a deep respect for the planet and humanity’s shared future.

My journey into art and design began with a deep fascination for how spaces shape human experience. I first studied Interior Design, which grounded me in spatial sensibility and material awareness. Later, I pursued a Master's degree in Architecture at the Southern California Institute of Architecture where I developed a more critical and conceptual approach to design; one that bridges environmental, social, and poetic concerns.

I didn’t always know I would become a designer, but I was always drawn to making things whether sketching, building models or observing the way people interact with their environments. What drew me in was the idea that design is not just about how things look, but how they function, how they endure, and how they carry meaning over time. Becoming a designer felt like a natural path where creativity meets responsibility and imagination meets structure.

I work independently as an architectural designer with a focus on sustainability, material experimentation and spatial storytelling. My work ranges from architectural projects to object and exhibition design, often exploring how form, function and context intersect. I’m especially interested in how design can respond to environmental challenges while also engaging with the emotional and cultural dimensions of space. Each project is an opportunity to ask questions, test ideas and refine a language that is both thoughtful and grounded.

For me, design is a process of inquiry and intention. It’s about more than aesthetics; it’s a way of thinking, observing and responding to the world. Good design reveals relationships: between people and space, between materials and time. I see design as a responsibility to create something that is not only functional, but also meaningful, something that endures, adapts and enriches experience. Whether it's architecture or an object, design is a dialogue between the tangible and the conceptual, the practical and the poetic.

I’m most drawn to designing works that engage with both environmental and human needs; projects where spatial design becomes a form of storytelling and problem-solving. I particularly enjoy working on architecture that responds to challenging contexts, such as water scarcity or social inequity, where the design must function as infrastructure, shelter, and cultural symbol all at once. I also enjoy creating objects and installations that explore material behavior and interaction, where design invites reflection, play or participation. Ultimately, I like work that asks meaningful questions and has the potential to create lasting, layered impact.

One of my favorite designs is The Vessel Type which is a project developed in response to the seasonal flooding and drought cycles in western Madagascar. It’s an architectural structure that collects, filters and stores rainwater, while also serving as communal space and agricultural infrastructure. The design integrates with the topography and local ecology, offering protection, water access and gathering spaces throughout the year. What makes it meaningful to me is how it operates on multiple levels. It’s functional, symbolic and deeply rooted in place. It was also a turning point in how I think about architecture as a living system, something that evolves with and supports the community it serves.

The first thing I designed for a company was part of a public plaza project. Specifically, I worked on the spatial layout and detailing of outdoor seating and circulation zones. It was a collaborative process where I learned how design decisions impact user experience at different scales, from the alignment of paving patterns to the positioning of shade structures. It taught me how even small interventions can shape how people move through and inhabit a space and how important it is to balance aesthetics with function and durability.

I’m particularly drawn to working with raw, tactile materials like clay, earth, and recycled composites that show their age, history or transformation over time. I like how these materials carry a narrative and often require you to work with their natural properties rather than impose control. In terms of technology, I enjoy using 3D printing as a tool for prototyping and testing structural relationships, especially in projects where interlocking components or layered assemblies play a key role. It allows for precision, but also encourages experimentation in form and assembly.

I feel most creative when I’m in the early conceptual phase of a project when I’m exploring ideas through sketches, models, or even just observing the site or materials. It’s that moment when constraints start to reveal opportunities, and I can begin to shape a narrative or system around them. I also find creativity flows when I’m working hands-on with materials, seeing how they behave, fail, or surprise me often leads to unexpected solutions.

I tend to focus on how a design performs across multiple layers which are functionally, socially, and environmentally. I start by understanding the context and the people it will serve, then think about how the form, materiality and spatial flow can support those needs over time. I pay close attention to the relationships between elements, how light moves through a space, how materials age, how people will move or gather. Whether it’s a building or an object, I try to make sure every aspect contributes to a cohesive system that feels intentional and grounded.

When I design, I often feel a mix of excitement and curiosity. There’s a certain thrill in discovering the potential of materials, spaces, and ideas, and how they can come together to solve a problem or tell a story. I also feel a sense of responsibility, designing with sustainability, community impact, and lasting relevance in mind can feel weighty at times, but it’s also incredibly fulfilling. At the same time, I experience moments of quiet contemplation, especially when working through complex problems. It's a balance of energy and introspection that makes the process feel alive.

When my designs are realized, I feel a deep sense of fulfillment and connection. It’s a rewarding experience to see something that started as an idea or a sketch transform into a tangible, functional space or object. There’s also a sense of relief and pride, knowing that the concept I envisioned is now interacting with the world in ways I couldn’t fully predict.

A design is successful when it effectively addresses the needs it was created for, whether that’s providing shelter, enhancing a user experience, or solving a specific problem. However, beyond functionality, I believe a successful design also resonates on a deeper level. It should engage the senses, evoke emotion, and have lasting relevance. A design is truly successful when it adapts over time, remains sustainable, and contributes positively to its context; whether that’s through material longevity, community engagement or environmental impact. It’s a balance of purpose, aesthetics and responsibility.

When judging a design, I first consider its functionality, whether it serves its intended purpose and meets the needs of the people it was designed for. I look at how the design responds to its context, both physically and socially. Is it sustainable? Does it consider the long-term impact on the environment and the community? After that, I assess its emotional and aesthetic qualities such as how it makes people feel and how it interacts with its surroundings. A good design strikes a balance between form, function and meaning, and can engage both the mind and the senses.

I believe designers have a profound responsibility to both society and the environment. We shape the spaces people live, work and gather in. For society, our role is to create inclusive, equitable and accessible designs that support well-being and foster a sense of community. For the environment, we must design with long-term sustainability in mind - minimizing harm, using resources wisely, and creating systems that adapt and endure. Design shouldn’t just respond to the present; it should anticipate the future and contribute positively to the ecosystems and cultures it touches.

The design field is becoming increasingly interdisciplinary and responsive, moving beyond traditional boundaries to engage with urgent global issues like climate change, social inequity and digital transformation. I see the future of design as more systemic and regenerative. Designers act not just as creators but as facilitators of change. There’s a growing emphasis on circular processes and material innovation where communities are part of shaping their environments. I think design will continue to evolve as a tool for resilience and connection, integrating nature, technology, and human experience in more thoughtful and adaptable ways.

My design style is adaptive and context-driven. I’m drawn to forms that emerge from necessity and meaning where aesthetics are shaped by environmental conditions, material behavior and cultural narratives. I often explore contrasts: coarse and smooth surfaces, openness and enclosure, permanence and impermanence. These tensions create layered experiences that invite reflection and interaction. What led me to this style is a deep interest in how architecture and objects can respond to both human and ecological systems, not as static solutions, but as evolving frameworks. My approach is always rooted in research, empathy, and iteration, letting the constraints of place, material and purpose guide the form and function organically.

My design process usually begins with observation and research, understanding the context, the people involved and the environmental conditions. I spend time defining the underlying questions or problems before jumping into form-making. From there, I explore ideas through sketches, physical models and digital studies, often testing how materials behave or how different systems can interact. I try to keep the process iterative and open-ended, allowing feedback and constraints to shape the direction.

One of the greatest positives of being a designer is the ability to shape environments and experiences that impact people’s lives in meaningful ways. It’s incredibly fulfilling to see an idea evolve into something tangible that others can use, feel or interact with. Design also keeps you constantly learning; whether through materials, technologies or cultural contexts, there’s always something new to explore.

On the flip side, the process can be mentally and emotionally demanding. Design often involves navigating ambiguity, working under pressure, and balancing idealism with real-world limitations like budgets, timelines or client expectations. It requires resilience and patience. Still, those challenges often push the work to be sharper and more thoughtful in the end.

Designing can definitely be time consuming, especially when you're invested in doing it thoughtfully. I manage my time by breaking projects into clear phases: research, concept, development, refinement, and setting realistic milestones for each. I try to start with a strong structure but stay flexible, since design often involves unexpected turns. Prioritizing tasks and knowing when to step back and reassess helps me avoid burnout and keep perspective. I’ve also learned that taking breaks especially to step away from the screen often leads to better ideas and clearer decisions. It’s about balancing focus with breathing room.

I enjoy design work that allows me to engage deeply with both environmental and human contexts - projects where architecture or objects respond to real needs while also offering poetic and experiential qualities. I’m especially drawn to work that deals with sustainability, resource systems and cultural narratives where design becomes a medium for both utility and storytelling. These types of projects push me to think critically and creatively across disciplines, and I find them the most rewarding because they have the potential to make lasting, meaningful impacts both socially and ecologically.

It depends on the nature of the project. I value both independent and collaborative work. When developing conceptual pieces or early-stage designs, I often work independently to fully explore the idea and direction. But in professional or larger-scale projects, I enjoy working as part of a team; sharing knowledge, exchanging feedback, and combining different perspectives always leads to stronger outcomes. Collaboration also teaches you how to communicate your ideas clearly and listen with intention, which are just as important as the design itself.

The idea began with a question: Can architecture act as both civic infrastructure and cultural vessel? In regions increasingly affected by climate volatility, alternating between drought and flood, I saw an opportunity to design a typology that stores and manages rainwater while also serving human gathering and rest.Early research focused on vernacular precedents: stepped wells in India, Chinese water gardens, and indigenous cistern systems. These informed the conceptual shift; from hiding infrastructure underground to elevating it as a public space. The form evolved as an inhabitable container: a structure that channels rain, filters it through layers of landscape, and stores it beneath.Community use was embedded from the start. I imagined a place where water becomes both resource and ritual where seasonal change is experienced, not abstracted. Through iterations, the project balanced hydrological performance with spatial poetics, allowing for both measurable sustainability and cultural resonance.

The inspiration came from observing how communities in Madagascar live in close relationship with their environment, where survival depends on adapting to extreme seasonal shifts. During the rainy season, excess water overwhelms infrastructure, while in the dry season, scarcity threatens crops and daily life. This dual reality sparked a desire to create a structure that not only responds to these changes, but transforms with them.Rather than resist nature, I wanted to design something that works with it - an architecture that holds water when it is abundant and shares it when it is scarce. I studied traditional ecological knowledge and local materials, which offered insight into time-tested ways of collecting and storing water. From there, the design became a vessel in every sense: a container, a space, and a symbol of resilience. It adapts not only physically with the seasons, but also socially, becoming a space where people gather, rest, and remember their connection to the land.

The combination of concrete and wood was intentional, reflecting both environmental strategy and cultural resonance. Concrete provides the structural durability needed to withstand seasonal floods and store large volumes of water over time. It grounds the vessel, offering permanence and resistance in a volatile climate.Wood, on the other hand, brings flexibility, warmth, and a connection to local craft traditions. It is used in the upper and more human-scaled components where touch, gathering, and adaptation occur. Wood elements can be repaired or modified by the community, allowing the structure to evolve with their needs. This balance between permanence and adaptability supports long-term sustainability by reducing maintenance demands while enabling cultural ownership.By combining materials in this way, the project speaks both to endurance and intimacy that building trust through familiarity while offering resilience through strength. It becomes not just a piece of infrastructure, but a living part of the Ambalorao community.

The decision to use a rural submerged filter system was guided by both ecological logic and social practicality. This technique relies on layered natural materials—such as gravel, sand, and charcoal which are commonly available in the region. These materials are low-cost, require no imported parts, and are already familiar to many rural communities in Madagascar through traditional water practices.The system functions passively, using gravity and sedimentation rather than mechanical pumps or electricity. This ensures that it can operate even in off-grid conditions, which is essential in remote areas like Ambalorao. Maintenance involves simple, periodic cleaning and material replacement, tasks that can be performed by local residents without specialized training.By aligning with local knowledge and resources, the filtration system not only supports environmental health, but also fosters community stewardship. It becomes a technology that is not imposed, but owned. It strengthens both water security and cultural continuity.

The biggest challenge was designing a space that serves as both critical water infrastructure and a welcoming place for community life. These two goals often pull in opposite directions: one demands technical efficiency, the other emotional and cultural resonance. For example, water retention structures typically require depth and containment, which can feel uninviting or even unsafe as public space.To resolve this, I designed the vessel with multiple layers, both physically and programmatically. The deeper, central basin handles floodwater and filtration, while the surrounding upper spaces and shallow terraces remain usable year-round. These spaces become gathering platforms, seating areas, or even performance zones.Another key challenge was ensuring the design remained buildable and maintainable with local skills and materials. The design avoided high-tech systems and instead shaped the architecture through gravity-fed flows, modular concrete forms, and natural filtration beds. This allowed me to blend utility with craft which creates a structure that is functional and feels rooted in the community.Overcoming these challenges shifted the design thinking. It proved that infrastructure can be more than a hidden system. It can be a civic landscape, where environmental care and cultural identity meet.

I began by treating water not just as a technical issue, but as a cultural one. From the earliest stages, I avoided separating infrastructure from experience. Instead, I asked how water systems could shape space in ways that feel meaningful, protective, and shared. This mindset allowed me to approach function and culture as interwoven, rather than competing forces.In practice, this meant designing every infrastructural move with a spatial or symbolic counterpart. The retaining walls that store floodwater also define a gathering terrace. The roof catchment that collects rain becomes a shaded canopy for ceremony or rest. The filtration basin is framed as a contemplative void - visible, cared for, and understood by those who use it.I also worked iteratively with references from traditional gathering spaces and hydrological landscapes. These guided me in making the form legible and dignified so that the community would see the structure not just as a tool, but as a place of identity and memory.By embedding cultural use into the very shape and sequence of water movement, the design allowed both functions to reinforce each other. What protects the community also belongs to it.

Ambalorao faces a dual water challenge: heavy rainfall concentrated in short periods, followed by extended dry seasons. The rainwater harvesting system was engineered to work with this rhythm by capturing high volumes quickly, storing them efficiently, and releasing them slowly for extended use.The roof and upper surfaces are shaped to maximize catchment during peak storms, with a network of open channels guiding water toward a central reservoir. The form itself is designed to slow down runoff, reducing erosion and allowing time for filtration. Below, the main storage basin is lined and dimensioned to hold water for long dry periods, with overflow routes planned to safely discharge excess water into surrounding planting zones.The submerged filter system uses sand, charcoal, and gravel layers that are low-tech and low-maintenance, but highly effective in rural contexts. This allows the system to clean and store water without relying on pumps or electricity, aligning with the region’s infrastructure limitations.Overall, these strategies create a system that is responsive, resilient, and tailored to Ambalorao’s climate - one that turns erratic rainfall into a dependable resource while supporting agriculture, daily use, and public life.

The research began with an in-depth understanding of Ambalorao’s climate, hydrology, and social patterns. I observed seasonal water fluctuations, soil types, and prevailing winds, alongside how community members interact with water and public spaces throughout the year.These insights directly influenced both material and spatial decisions. For materials, I prioritized locally available and renewable resources, such as timber from sustainable sources and regionally produced concrete mixes to minimize environmental impact and ensure ease of maintenance. Wood was selected for elements requiring human scale and warmth, while concrete provided durable support against floods and heavy loads.Spatially, I designed multi-level terraces and flexible platforms to accommodate changing water levels and diverse social activities from daily gatherings to seasonal festivals. The arrangement also reflects traditional spatial hierarchies found in local communal areas, fostering familiarity and ownership.By aligning design choices with environmental realities and cultural practices, the project ensures longevity, sustainability, and meaningful engagement between people and place.

The core principles of The Vessel Type integrating climate-responsive water management with culturally meaningful community spaces that are highly adaptable. Because the design relies on locally sourced materials, low-tech filtration, and passive water flows, it can be tailored to diverse environments with minimal reliance on external resources.For other communities facing seasonal drought and flooding, the vessel’s modular form can be resized or reconfigured to match specific rainfall patterns, cultural practices, and spatial needs. Its layered terraces and multifunctional zones encourage both environmental stewardship and social cohesion, fostering resilience at multiple scales.Moreover, the project’s emphasis on visibility and participation invites communities to reclaim water infrastructure as a shared resource and identity. This approach can inspire physical adaptations and shifts in how societies perceive and engage with water management globally.

My advice is to embrace complexity without losing sight of human experience. Successful integration comes from understanding that environmental systems and social life are deeply intertwined which do not separate design problems. Begin by listening closely to the communities you serve and studying their relationship with the land and resources over time.Prioritize low-tech, locally appropriate solutions that empower users rather than depend on external expertise or costly maintenance. Seek materials and methods that respect place and culture, while ensuring resilience to changing conditions.Finally, treat infrastructure and public space as inseparable. Designing spaces where functionality becomes meaningful and where care for the environment also nurtures community identity. This mindset opens possibilities for architecture that sustains and inspires.