Interjúk – Guanyu Tao

I come from a background that bridges architecture, urban design, and artistic exploration. I studied urban planning as my undergraduate major in China, which gave me a strong foundation in understanding spatial relationships and human environments. Later, I pursued my Master of Architecture at SCI-Arc in Los Angeles, where I was exposed to experimental thinking, digital fabrication, and interdisciplinary design.

Design has always been a part of me, but so has technology. At SCI-Arc, I had the chance to deeply explore how the two can interact: using coding, parametric tools, and digital fabrication to express artistic ideas. I’ve always been drawn to the space between disciplines. In that sense, I would say I’ve always wanted to be not just an artist or a designer, but something more hybrid, maybe an “artistic engineer,” someone who tells stories through both emotion and logic, through both aesthetics and systems.

I work as an independent artist and designer. My works are gathered under the Gerry Collection, which reflects my ongoing exploration of space, perception, and digital aesthetics. The collection includes architectural works, digital art, and experimental pieces that often blend technology with conceptual narratives. It’s less of a formal studio and more of a personal universe where I test ideas across disciplines.

For me, design is simply about making something look good, work well, and maybe bring a bit of new thinking. I’ve always kept a straightforward view. Good design should be clear, useful, and if possible, a little bit surprising.

I mostly work on architecture, but I also enjoy creating visual pieces, mainly in 3D. I like projects where I can explore form and space, whether it’s a building or a digital object.

One of my favorite works is a series of architectural installations I created under the title Preliminary Research Office. They explore spatial complexity by testing the compilation of preliminary geometries. I find this work visually pleasing, and it has given me a lot of inspiration in terms of spatial composition. While making it, I discovered new ways of organizing forms and thinking about structure in a more open and experimental way.

The computer is my main tool. Most of my work is developed through digital modeling and rendering. I also explore generative tools based on programming, which allow me to test more complex and unexpected forms.

I feel most creative at night, especially in a quiet environment. The stillness helps me focus, and without daytime distractions, I can think more clearly. I like taking time to explore ideas without pressure, and nighttime gives me that space.

I focus a lot on form and how it looks, but also on the logic behind it. I often think about how a design works, how it can be built, and whether it makes sense structurally or conceptually. Even with experimental work like digital art, I still consider practical aspects like reusability or how it could be applied in other contexts.

To me, a successful design looks good, works well, and ideally brings something a bit fresh. It doesn’t have to be complicated, but it should be clear in its purpose and feel right in context. If it solves a problem or creates a meaningful experience, I consider it a success.

First impression matters: the way it looks does catch my attention. But I always try to think about the logic behind it. Some designs look great at first but fall apart when you actually use them. I don’t enjoy that. On the other hand, I’m often drawn to simple-looking designs that carry deeper meaning. Those make me want to think more.

"I think good design has the power to make people like something. When people like it, they are more willing to accept the ideas behind it. This is why I believe design is one of the best ways to promote environmental awareness and social responsibility.

In my work, I try to bring sustainable thinking into the design process. Not by forcing messages, but by making things that people find beautiful, useful, and meaningful. If people enjoy the design, they are more likely to reflect on the values it carries.

For me, this is the designer’s responsibility. To use design as a gentle tool of influence. To make things people want to engage with. And through that, to bring better ideas into the world."

"The design field is evolving fast, especially with the rise of AI. I believe AI will become one of the best tools humans have ever created. It can help us explore more options, work faster, and even reveal patterns we might not see on our own. We should embrace it, not fear it.

But even with AI, our own thinking still matters. We need to keep training ourselves, not just in using tools, but in understanding what makes a design meaningful. The better we understand design, the better we can guide AI to support us. The future of design will be shaped by how well we combine human insight with machine capability."

"Design is evolving quickly with the rise of AI and digital tools. I believe AI will become one of the most powerful tools for designers. It helps us explore more ideas, improve efficiency, and push creative boundaries. We should embrace it and learn how to work with it.

I respect traditional design thinking and those who stay close to handcraft or classical methods. But personally, I’m more drawn to AI and digital-based work. Most of my award-winning projects were created through digital processes. For me, this kind of design feels more open and full of possibility.

At the same time, I believe we still need to train ourselves. The better we understand design, the better we can guide these tools to serve meaningful outcomes.

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"My design style often looks complex at first, but there is order behind it. I like to create a sense of calm within chaos. The forms may seem dense or layered, but they follow a clear internal logic.

This way of working comes from my background in architecture and my interest in digital modeling. I enjoy using structure and repetition to build systems that look spontaneous but are actually well controlled.

In terms of approach, I usually start from form. I test it through 3D modeling and refine it step by step. I focus on composition, balance, and how different parts relate to each other in space."

"Unlike many traditional designers, I often start by just doing. The order doesn’t matter much to me. I like to get into the process directly and let ideas grow as I work.

I don’t enjoy methods where I can’t “undo”. I prefer working digitally, where I can be spontaneous and still keep refining. I like the freedom to try things quickly, but at the same time I care a lot about precision and finish. So even if I begin loosely, I often push things toward a very polished result.

Virtual work has always fascinated me. It gives me the flexibility to explore forms, systems, and changes that would be difficult to do by hand."

"One of the best things about being a designer is that we often notice beauty in everyday life. This sensitivity brings joy and meaning to how I see the world, and it shows up in both my work and daily moments.

But on the other hand, we’re not always good at expressing those ideas clearly to others. Sometimes it makes us seem distant or hard to understand. That’s a challenge. I think as designers, we need to connect more with society, make our work more practical, and step outside of our small circles. It’s important to turn ideas into something people can use and relate to."

"For me, it’s the ability to enter a state of flow. That moment when you’re fully focused, ideas come naturally, and time almost disappears. In that state, good design often happens without force.

Technical skills are important, but they can be learned. What really matters is being able to stay present, stay curious, and stay connected to what you’re creating."

"I think creative work can be managed with structure. It doesn’t have to follow the stereotype of being completely free and chaotic. I usually keep a regular working schedule and treat design like any serious job: you sit down and do the work.

Of course, if I’m tired or not feeling well, I take a break. If something isn’t working, I stop and go to sleep. I believe in working with focus, but also listening to my body. Balance is important, especially for long-term creativity."

"I plan to spend more time learning about technology, especially AI. The current wave of AI development feels both exciting and confusing, but I think it’s important to take it seriously. I’m not only interested in image generation. What really matters to me is how AI is changing the tools we use, the way we deliver work, and the overall creative process.

I want to understand this shift and find meaningful ways to apply it to my own design practice. It will take time and effort, but I’m ready to learn. For me, the future is about staying open, adapting, and always learning."

instagram: https://www.instagram.com/taoguanyu/

Water is a secondary element in this project, yet it plays a key role in reinforcing the museum’s intention to integrate with nature. The name of the museum, “Yan,” meaning rock, reflects the primacy of the mountain in the design concept. The water-encircled plazas emphasize, both spatially and temporally, the architecture’s respect for the natural environment rather than any intention to overpower it. This decision was informed by an observation of the local terrain, where mountains shape the topography first, and water emerges later through rainfall. This sequence that mountains preceding water represents the actual process of landform evolution. By placing water in the lower areas, it softens the built environment through reflection and enclosure, offering visitors moments of pause and contemplation. This not only responds to the site’s physical condition but also resonates with the traditional Chinese idea of harmony between mountain and water.

The use of concrete in this project was my way of breaking the common dilemma in natural settings where architecture either dominates the landscape or fades away from losing its features. Concrete is a standard material in contemporary architecture, and the textured finish we used is a conventional construction technique. It does not truly replicate stone but subtly recalls its qualities. Concrete itself shares mineral origins with rock. By intentionally applying a poor imitation of stone, I wanted to create a third path, one that neither competes with nature nor fully submits to it. This gesture encourages visitors to reflect on the relationship between the built and the natural, and how architecture can engage with its environment without resorting to mimicry or contrast.

Faced with such a rugged site, we recognized from the beginning that architecture cannot and should not attempt to conquer nature. The core approach was to work with the land rather than impose upon it. I broke down the building mass, lifting or embedding it into different elevations. Slopes that might have been considered obstacles became paths, terraces, and places to pause. Circulation and structure were shaped by the terrain itself, not by pre-set plans forcing the land to adapt. This approach not only generated a richer spatial experience but also preserved a sense of tension and respect between the building and its environment.

This design aimed to support the development of local traditional arts in Rushan, such as woodblock New Year prints and paper cutting. These art forms require a quiet space for creation, yet their small scale and decorative nature also make them suitable for direct engagement with the public, including display and sale. By integrating artist studios with the exhibition areas, we sought to remove the barrier between maker and viewer. Visitors can not only appreciate the finished work but also witness the process behind it. When artists are open to it, we encourage them to engage directly with the public, fostering interaction and exchange. This combination is also rooted in spatial logic. The courtyard-style entrance is where circulation naturally slows, either as people arrive or prepare to leave. It is an ideal place for interaction, observation, and informal encounters. This arrangement offers artists a functional and independent working environment while fostering opportunities for dialogue and sustainable creative practice.

The museum’s three-level organization was initially a response to the site’s natural slope (see Q3 for more on this), but it also draws deeply from Chinese cultural understandings of space and experience. First, the layered arrangement reflects the spatial logic of traditional Chinese ink painting, where depth is created not through linear perspective but through overlapping visual fields. Second, the idea of ascending to gain perspective is rooted in Chinese poetry and philosophy, and the top level’s open-air theater and views echo this cultural motif. Third, the layered circulation resonates with the traditional Chinese practice of emotionally engaging with landscape, guiding visitors through a gradual rhythm of movement and immersion. Additionally, the design references the “progressive spatial sequencing” often found in classical Chinese architecture, such as the Forbidden City or Jiangnan gardens, where each transition introduces subtle spatial variation. This sequential progression enriches the visitor experience, turning the journey through the building into a culturally embedded spatial narrative.

The open-air theater was initially designed for traditional performances, such as local opera and folk music, but we intentionally avoided making it a closed or rigid stage. It is conceived as an open platform, without a strict separation between performers and audience, allowing for flexible use. Cultural preservation is not only about protecting form, but also about creating conditions where traditions can naturally unfold. We see this space as an invitation for younger artists to engage with tradition in new ways, exploring reinterpretation and dialogue. Our goal is not to create a static monument, but a living space that can be continuously used, adapted, and reimagined.

In the early stages of design, I relied heavily on hand-drawing. It allowed for a level of freedom that broke away from rigid, rectilinear conventions and helped me imagine a spatial form that felt more organic and responsive to the landscape. Especially when working with mountainous terrain, this kind of intuitive sketching was essential. While the final output depended on digital tools, the foundational ideas were shaped by the looseness and spontaneity that only hand-drawing could offer. As for collage, although it was not a dominant method throughout the process, it was something I occasionally used during my studies at SCI-Arc when facing creative blocks. It became a way to fragment and reassemble spatial ideas, softening formal boundaries. This technique, rooted in a more contemporary Western design language, was deliberately applied to a project that sought to engage with traditional Chinese architectural sensibilities. I found the combination surprisingly effective in bridging these two worlds.

From an architectural perspective, the integration of shallow-rooted plants was part of a broader effort to balance the hard surfaces of reinforced concrete with existing natural elements, allowing the building to merge more seamlessly with its environment. Technically, these plants help regulate the microclimate. Concrete has a relatively low specific heat capacity, meaning it heats up quickly under sunlight, intensifying surface temperatures in a manner similar to the urban heat island effect. By incorporating vegetation and water features on rooftops and in low-lying areas, the design helps mitigate heat accumulation and creates a more comfortable, ecologically responsive environment. This approach reinforces our commitment to sustainability—not only as a visual gesture, but through measurable environmental impact.

In organizing the exhibition spaces, we followed a widely recognized curatorial principle. Providing both permanent and temporary galleries is a fundamental practice in professional museum design, especially for such a mid-scale institutions. Yan Art Museum includes several galleries arranged with a degree of flexibility, rather than following a rigid or symmetrical plan. This approach responds to the site’s conditions and the desired spatial experience. A service elevator connects the different levels, allowing for the transport of artworks between floors and enabling multi-level exhibition possibilities. While the layout was not designed around a strict curatorial concept, this openness provides curators with spatial freedom to adapt and reorganize exhibitions based on evolving content.

It is an honor to receive the Gold A’ Design Award, and I see Yan Art Museum as an opportunity to continue exploring what makes a cultural building truly resonate with its environment. Rather than positioning the project as a definitive model, I prefer to think of it as a starting point for further reflection, both on my part and within the broader architectural community. Some aspects of its spatial experience, material use, or integration with the landscape may reveal deeper relevance over time, including intentions that may have been formed intuitively rather than consciously. In environmentally sensitive contexts, I hope this project encourages others to see natural constraints not as limitations but as opportunities to create more meaningful and place-specific architecture.