Interview with Hilal Ustun Caner

Even as a child, I was aware of how colors, textures, scents, and spaces affect our emotions. This early sensitivity slowly evolved into a desire to research, question, and create. That curiosity led me to study architecture and landscape architecture, which became the foundation of my professional path. Right after graduation, working on Turkey’s first theme park was a turning point. It was the first time I witnessed how imagination could turn into reality. Since then, my design journey has been shaped by curiosity, storytelling, and a passion for creating spaces that connect deeply with people.

For me, design begins with listening—first to the site, then to the story behind it. I prioritize atmosphere, flow, and emotion. I sketch a lot during the early phases, letting instinct guide the concept. Then I build layers with material, light, and rhythm. Every detail matters, but only if it serves the whole. I believe in designing spaces that feel lived-in, calm, and timeless—not overly styled, but deeply thoughtful.

Designing awakens a special kind of excitement in me—quiet but intense. Each project feels like the beginning of a new story. I feel curious, focused, and deeply connected. There’s also a sense of responsibility: to honor the place, to stay true to the essence, and to create something meaningful for those who will experience it.

Growing up with a strong sensitivity to spaces, colors, textures, and even scents shaped how I perceive the world. My architectural education gave me structure, but my curiosity and emotional awareness gave me depth. Having worked across a wide range of scales and concepts—from theme parks to boutique hotels—allowed me to develop a versatile design language that adapts without losing its soul.

“Design less to impress, more to connect.”
I believe good design doesn’t need to shout—it should quietly touch people, make them pause, and feel something genuine. For me, that’s enough.

Don’t rush. Let your design language mature with time and experience. Listen more than you speak, observe more than you produce. Never be afraid to ask questions or to challenge your own assumptions. And most importantly—stay curious, stay kind, and never stop learning.

I’m not here to give advice, but I believe being curious, open-minded, and always questioning has shaped my path. Every project is a new excitement—a space for learning and transformation.

My mornings begin with calm—coffee and silence, sometimes accompanied by a podcast. Then the day moves between site visits, client meetings, and focused studio work. I always try to leave time for observation and reflection, no matter how busy the day gets. Evenings are usually quieter, spent with family or a book.

I follow design trends with curiosity but not as a guide. I believe timeless design has more value than what’s popular at the moment. Trends can offer inspiration, but they shouldn’t shape the essence of a space. I always prioritize context, atmosphere, and human connection over trend-driven aesthetics.

A good design is one that feels effortless yet thoughtful. It doesn’t seek attention but earns it through balance, purpose, and clarity. For me, it’s about how it makes you feel—does it invite you in, does it make sense without needing to explain itself? That quiet confidence is the mark of good design.

There’s rarely a dramatic “now it’s done” moment. It’s more like a quiet knowing. When the space starts speaking its own language—when nothing feels missing or forced—that’s when I know it’s ready. Sometimes, stopping at the right moment is the most difficult part. But intuition guides me.

Belmondo Suites, located in Antalya’s historic old town, is one of the most meaningful projects I’ve ever created. It was not only about transforming a space, but about carefully revealing layers of history, memory, and emotion. Designing for such a sensitive urban context challenged me to balance respect with innovation. It’s a project where every detail was guided by the spirit of the place.

I’ve always been inspired by designers who work with silence—those who don’t just build structures, but craft atmospheres. Tadao Ando’s ability to shape light and emptiness, Peter Zumthor’s sensitivity to material and memory, and Carlo Scarpa’s poetic layering of detail—all of them remind me that architecture is not about impressing, but about evoking. I’m drawn to those who design with restraint, who know that what’s left unsaid can be just as powerful as what’s shown.

I live and work in Antalya, a city where nature, history, and everyday life coexist. My lifestyle is slow, intentional, and close to the senses. I believe design isn’t something separate from life—it grows out of it. My culture has taught me the value of layering, rhythm, and emotion in space. These elements shape how I design, and how I live.

I design with emotion, but I don’t let emotion overwhelm the space. I listen deeply—to people, to places, to what’s unspoken. My strength lies in creating calm, layered spaces that feel intuitive and personal. I don’t chase trends. I follow stories, senses, and silence.

I believe in sharing knowledge as one of the most meaningful forms of contribution. I mentor young designers and speak at local design gatherings to make creative thinking more accessible.

Attending the A’ Design Award was a meaningful milestone for me. It gave international visibility to a project that was deeply rooted in history, context, and emotion.

For me, design is a way of revealing the soul of a place. I became a designer because I’ve always been drawn to stories—those hidden in buildings, landscapes, and human emotions. Designing allows me to listen, interpret, and translate these invisible layers into spaces that feel meaningful and alive. What motivates me is the transformative power of design—its ability to evoke memory, emotion, and connection in a silent yet profound way.

Design was never a forced path for me—it was a calling. Even before I knew the term “architecture,” I was observing spaces, drawing details, and imagining worlds. Choosing design felt as natural as breathing. It wasn’t about career pressure; it was about listening to an inner voice that always led me towards creating, shaping, and telling stories through space

I primarily design high-end hospitality and residential spaces—hotels, restaurants, private villas, and luxury apartments. My work focuses on creating emotionally resonant environments where architecture, interior design, and landscape come together as a unified narrative. In the future, I would love to design more story-driven, context-aware spaces that are deeply rooted in culture, material authenticity, and the spirit of place.

Stay curious, stay humble, and never stop learning. Design is not just about creating beautiful things—it’s about listening deeply, observing closely, and translating emotions and context into form. Young designers should explore widely, embrace mistakes, and develop their own voice rather than following trends. Most importantly, they should design with intention—every line drawn should carry meaning.

A good designer solves problems. A great designer reveals unseen layers—of emotion, memory, and meaning. While good design meets expectations, great design transcends them. What sets great designers apart is their ability to listen deeply, to design with empathy, and to create spaces that resonate long after the user leaves. It’s not just about how something looks, but how it feels and lingers in the mind.

A really good design is not only functional and aesthetically pleasing—it’s emotionally intelligent. It responds to its context, respects its users, and tells a story without speaking. I evaluate good design through its ability to create atmosphere, evoke feeling, and offer a sense of belonging. When a space feels inevitable—as if it could not have been designed any other way—that’s when I know it’s truly good design.

Good design enhances life—it improves functionality, elevates aesthetics, and creates emotional connections. It brings clarity to complexity and meaning to the ordinary. Investing in good design is not a luxury; it’s a long-term value. It fosters well-being, reflects identity, and creates environments that people truly want to be in. Good design doesn’t just look good—it performs, endures, and inspires.

If I had the time, I would design a sanctuary—a timeless, nature-integrated retreat that reconnects people with silence, light, and slowness. Not for a client, but for the collective soul—for those who need to pause, reflect, and breathe. A space where design disappears into serenity, and where architecture becomes a gentle companion to inner stillness.

My dream project is to create a design-focused cultural retreat—a place where architecture, art, nature, and slowness coexist. A space for dialogue, learning, and inner transformation, open to creatives from around the world. Not just a building, but an experience that fosters depth, silence, and reconnection—with the self, with others, and with the land.

My secret ingredient is intuition—refined through years of observation, listening, and emotional attunement. I trust the process, respect the context, and let spaces speak before I shape them. I believe that design is not only about knowledge, but about sensing what cannot be seen—what the soul of a place wants to become. That quiet dialogue is where the magic happens.

I’m deeply inspired by masters who design with emotion and narrative. Tadao Ando for his poetic minimalism and spiritual spatiality. Carlo Scarpa for his craftsmanship, material sensitivity, and layers of meaning. Peter Zumthor for designing spaces that you don’t just see, but feel. And Zaha Hadid—for her fearless vision and her ability to bend form into emotion. I also draw inspiration from musicians, poets, and nature—because design is never isolated.

One of my favorite designs is the Church of the Light by Tadao Ando—it’s a masterclass in restraint, light, and spirituality. I also admire Carlo Scarpa’s Brion Cemetery for its exquisite detail, symbolism, and the way it choreographs movement and emotion. Peter Zumthor’s Therme Vals is another favorite; the architecture disappears into the mountain, becoming part of the landscape and memory. These works move me because they don’t just occupy space—they evoke silence, awe, and timelessness.

One of my most meaningful works is Belmondo Suites, a boutique hotel set in the historic fabric of Antalya’s old town. What makes this project special is how it balances heritage and contemporary life—it preserves memory while creating a new atmosphere for experience. Every material was chosen for its story, every volume shaped to respect the past yet embrace the present. I believe it’s great not because it’s complex, but because it feels inevitable—quiet, honest, and emotionally grounded.

To become a better designer, you must first become a better observer. I learned to read spaces, emotions, and atmospheres—beyond what is visible. I traveled, sketched endlessly, studied history, and remained curious about everything from poetry to urban decay. Design is not just about skill; it’s about perspective. You grow by listening deeply, staying humble, and allowing time to refine your voice. I still consider myself a learner—that mindset is the key to growth.

If I hadn’t become a designer, I would probably be a writer or a poet. I’ve always been drawn to the rhythm of words, to storytelling, to the quiet power of language. Design and writing aren’t so different to me—they both shape atmosphere, evoke emotion, and give form to the invisible. Whether with space or with words, I’ve always felt the need to create something that lingers in the soul.

For me, design is the art of revealing the invisible. It’s not just about form or function—it’s about meaning. Design listens before it speaks. It senses, responds, and gently shapes the way we live, feel, and remember. A good design doesn't impose itself; it resonates. It’s a dialogue between space and soul, between intention and emotion.

My greatest supporters have been my husband and my daughter—they are my anchor and my inspiration. At the same time, I’m deeply grateful to my team at the studio; their dedication, talent, and belief in what we create together have carried our work forward. And I must thank the version of myself who still gets excited like a child while designing—that inner Hilal has never let go of wonder, and she’s the reason I’m still here.

What helped me most was my ability to understand people’s needs before they could even express them. I never believed in one-size-fits-all solutions. Every space, every person, every story deserves its own design. I strive to create something out of nothing—designs that are not only beautiful, but deeply thought out, timeless, and full of meaningful detail. I never design just to impress; I design to connect. And above all, I never tire of learning, evolving, and working with purpose.

One of the biggest obstacles was being a young woman in a male-dominated industry—especially at the beginning of my career, when I had to prove not only my ideas but also my presence. I also faced resistance when choosing the harder path: saying no to mediocre solutions, defending quality, and insisting on originality. Budget constraints, time pressure, and client expectations are constant challenges. But I’ve learned to see obstacles as creative triggers. Every difficulty sharpened my vision and strengthened my belief in designing with integrity.

Designers should present their work not just as a finished product, but as a journey. It’s important to share the “why” behind the “what”—the intention, the process, the emotion. A good presentation balances visual clarity with narrative depth. It’s not about overwhelming people with technical detail, but about revealing the story that shaped each decision. When you present your work with honesty, context, and passion, it becomes more than design—it becomes connection.

Currently, my focus is on gastronomy-based projects that blend spatial storytelling with sensory experience. I’m working on a series of restaurant concepts along the Mediterranean coast, where architectural language, material texture, and atmosphere come together to create immersive dining environments. In the near future, you can expect more emotionally charged spaces—rooted in place, guided by concept, and always designed with intention.

My ultimate goal is to create spaces that leave a lasting emotional imprint—places that people remember not just for how they looked, but for how they felt. I want to design atmospheres that awaken the senses, connect with memory, and quietly transform the way people experience life. Beyond awards or recognition, my deepest ambition is to design with meaning, with care, and with soul—always honoring the story behind the space.

People expect clarity, vision, and consistency. They look to me not just for aesthetic decisions, but for guidance—someone who can see the big picture, offer honest direction, and still care about the smallest detail. Clients expect confidence, but also empathy. They want designs that are not only beautiful but intelligent, grounded, and meaningful. I believe being an esteemed designer means not just meeting those expectations, but exceeding them—with humility, depth, and integrity.

Design shapes how we live, interact, and feel. It can heal, include, connect, and inspire. When done with empathy and awareness, design becomes a silent force for equity and dignity. It creates spaces that invite dialogue, restore belonging, and elevate everyday life. A better society begins with environments that respect both people and place—and that’s where design becomes a quiet revolution.

I'm currently working on a new restaurant concept on the Mediterranean coast that explores the intersection of architecture, culinary culture, and sensory experience. The project is rooted in local textures and storytelling, but interpreted through a refined, contemporary lens. What excites me most is how the space will speak without words—through light, material, rhythm, and silence. It’s a project where every element is intentional, and the entire atmosphere becomes part of the dining ritual.

I find the most satisfaction in projects where architecture becomes a sensory experience. Restoring a historical structure and transforming it into something meaningful without losing its essence was deeply fulfilling. Similarly, designing gastronomy spaces where light, rhythm, and material come together to evoke emotion gives me immense joy. In these moments, design feels less like work and more like storytelling through space.

I would love to see a shift from fast, trend-driven design toward more thoughtful, timeless, and context-sensitive approaches. We need to value depth over speed, authenticity over surface. I also hope for more collaboration across disciplines and greater respect for emotional intelligence in design. Beauty alone is no longer enough—design should engage, heal, and serve the world we live in.

Design is moving toward deeper meaning, slower thinking, and more human-centered processes. The future belongs to spaces that are emotionally intelligent, environmentally aware, and culturally grounded. Technology will support us, but soul will define us. I believe the next era of design is not about novelty, but about creating honest, lasting experiences that respond to real human needs.

The timeline of a design project depends on its scale and complexity, but one thing remains constant: I never rush the essence. Some projects take a few weeks, others several months—but I always allow time for the story to emerge, the context to speak, and the details to settle. Good design needs space to breathe. I believe the right timing is not about speed, but about integrity.

I always start by listening—first to the place, then to the people. I try to understand the unspoken layers: the history, the light, the rhythm of life around the space. I observe, feel, and let the story surface before I touch a single line. For me, design begins with silence and attention. Only then can form, function, and emotion align authentically.

“Don’t design to impress the eye—design to move the soul.”

“Design should observe trends, not obey them.”

Technology is a powerful tool—but never the starting point.

I use a range of tools depending on the phase of the project. For architectural design and technical drawings, I rely on AutoCAD. For 3D visualization, I use SketchUp and Lumion. Adobe Photoshop, Illustrator, and InDesign are essential parts of my workflow for presentations and visual storytelling.

Color, materials, and ambient are not just visual tools—they are emotional languages. They shape how a space is felt before it's understood. A warm texture, a muted tone, or a soft light can turn a structure into an experience. I see them as the atmosphere’s architecture—silent but powerful storytellers. In my work, these elements are always chosen intentionally to evoke memory, emotion, and presence.

I wish people would ask not just how it looks, but how it feels—and why it was designed that way. I want them to ask what the space is trying to say, what story it's holding, or what silence it's offering. Good design invites curiosity. The questions I value most are the ones that go beyond aesthetics and into intention, emotion, and memory.

When I encounter a truly impressive design, what comes to my mind is usually not “how it was made,” but “how it makes me feel.” A good design doesn’t just impress me; it makes me pause and reflect.

My ideal design partner is someone who listens deeply, questions with intention, and designs with care. I absolutely believe in co-design—when values align and egos step aside, collaboration can elevate a project beyond what either person could achieve alone. The best partnerships are built on trust, dialogue, and the shared joy of creating something meaningful together.

Rather than people, I’m most influenced by the presence of nature—objects, places, and atmospheres that exist without trying to impress.

“The Poetics of Space” by Gaston Bachelard taught me to feel space, not just draw it.

By staying curious, staying present, and never thinking I’ve arrived.

If I could meet anyone, I would choose Tadao Ando.

The award is meaningful to me not because it defines me, but because it honors the effort, the story behind the design, and the fact that our refined and original architectural perspective has been recognized on an international level.

My favorite color is black—timeless, strong, and clear. I feel most at peace in any place where I can be close to water. I enjoy fresh, vibrant salads that nourish both body and mind. Spring is my favorite season; it feels like renewal, lightness, and movement. I’m most attached to my pens—they hold my first thoughts. I don’t have a favorite brand; I’m drawn to meaning, not labels.

I stay motivated by staying curious, being grateful, and never forgetting that every space I design has the potential to touch someone’s life.

No, I don’t think so. I was a very sensitive child—emotional, and deeply drawn to colors and words. I probably seemed more like a future poet than a designer.

Sometimes I wonder if there will even be a world left to live in a thousand years from now.

If something I’ve created has touched your heart—even in silence—that alone is meaningful enough for me.

Hucre Architecture is a boutique design studio based in Antalya. We focus on hospitality, private residences, and gastronomic venues, with a strong emphasis on atmosphere, emotion, and narrative.

I believe design is the act of transforming emotion into space.

I’m drawn to projects that involve the transformation of forgotten spaces. Turning them into something that feels both timeless and deeply personal excites me.

Belmondo Suites is one of my most meaningful projects. Located in Antalya’s historic Kaleiçi district, it’s a restoration of a centuries-old building into a boutique hotel. What makes it special is the way it balances heritage and intimacy—it doesn’t try to recreate the past, but gently reveals it. Every detail, material, and transition was designed to create an atmosphere of quiet elegance, where guests feel like they’ve stepped into a place suspended between time and memory.

It was the interior design of a boutique patisserie. I revived a very old shop by giving it a completely new identity. It was my first experience transforming not just a space, but also how people feel in it.

I’m drawn to natural materials—wood, stone, linen—that age gracefully. I love hand sketching alongside AutoCAD and SketchUp for digital precision.

When I’m alone, observing light move across a wall or walking through a silent place. Creativity often springs from slowness and stillness.

Atmosphere, flow, and light. I always ask: how will people feel here? What rhythm and memory will this space carry?

Design always begins with a feeling—a quiet connection between me and the space. The first time I step in, I don’t just look—I listen. It’s like meeting someone for the first time and sensing that you’ll write a long story together. There’s a rush of curiosity, a childlike excitement, and a deep responsibility. I often feel both grounded and elevated at once—fully present, yet dreaming. Designing is never just a job for me. It’s a relationship I enter with care, instinct, and respect.

There’s a moment—usually quiet, almost unnoticed—when a project comes to life and everything aligns. It’s not the applause or the opening night that moves me most. It’s the glance of the owner who sees their dream made real. That’s when I feel a deep, fulfilling pride. The kind that comes from overcoming countless challenges, from staying true to the story, and from knowing that every detail, every sacrifice, every sleepless night meant something. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s just… right.

It must leave a trace and inspire. A successful design quietly touches people and stays with them—it doesn’t fade, it resonates.

First, I ask: is there a real idea behind it? Then I ask: does it make me feel something? A good design doesn’t explain itself—it connects.

Designers must craft spaces that heal, include, and respect their surroundings. We owe empathy, sustainable materials, and cultural awareness.

It’s shifting from form to experience—toward sustainability, slow design, and emotional intelligence. Novelty gives way to authenticity.

From silence, nature, shadows, ruins, and poetry. I travel slowly, read widely, and always observe without rush.

My style is calm, layered, and timeless. I don’t design to impress—I design to make people feel.

I live in Antalya, Turkey—a city shaped by many civilizations. Its rich history and layered textures have taught me to design with respect for context, time, and memory.

Through deep listening and partnership. I seek clients who value trust, shared vision, and a process guided by meaning rather than mere performance.

Choose someone who listens. A good designer is not just someone with style, but someone with sensitivity. Look for those who ask the right questions, who understand your story, and who design not just for you—but with you.

It always begins with listening—first to the place, then to the people. I observe, I sketch, I ask questions. Then I shape a concept that feels true to the context. From there, I work through materials, light, rhythm, and emotional flow. Every project is a dialogue between memory and possibility.

My coffee table, liquor cabinet, bookshelf, wall clock, and armchair. Each one reflects my relationship with time, rest, and the quiet joy of everyday rituals.

My mornings begin in silence—with coffee and a podcast. Studio hours are a blend of meetings, site visits, and focused design work. Evenings slow down with family time, reading, or a walk by the sea.

Design with soul. First learn to see, then create. Observe more than you speak, question more than you conclude, and value presence over perfection.

Positive: shaping environments that touch lives. Negative: emotional intensity—because each detay carries sizin özünüz.

Design with intention, not for attention.

Sensitivity, curiosity, patience, discipline and the courage to question.

My toolbox: sketchbook, pencil

I manage my time by respecting the rhythm of each project. Some days require deep focus, others need space to pause and observe. I don’t rush the process—because good design takes time, and I allow it to.

It depends on the depth of the story. Some designs come together quickly, others take time to reveal themselves. I let the project set its own pace.

“How do you create spaces that feel both dynamic and deeply calm at the same time?” My answer is: I design with emotion and intention—not with decoration. I strip away the noise until only what matters remains.

Becoming the lead architect of Turkey’s first theme park was a turning point in my career. It taught me how to imagine at scale, design for emotion, and manage highly complex processes without losing the soul of the space.

Boutique hotel owners, private villa clients, and operators of restaurants, bistros, and cafés who value atmosphere, identity, and thoughtful design.

Hospitality design—because it allows me to craft immersive, multisensory atmospheres that stay with people.

I plan to continue exploring narrative-driven architecture and expanding into cross-disciplinary collaborations. I’m also working on sharing more of my design stories with a wider audience, beyond just built spaces.

I begin concepts solo—sketching and research—but realize them with a skilled team. Soul emerges in solitude; form in collaboration.

Yes—I’m currently designing a boutique gastronomic venue on the Mediterranean coast. It’s a place where natural textures, light, and open-air living come together to create a calm, refined atmosphere.

Website: www.hucre.co
Email: info@hucre.co
Instagram: @hucremimarlik

I want people to know that for me, design is not about perfection—it’s about presence. Every space I create comes from deep listening, careful observation, and a desire to make something meaningful, not just beautiful. I believe design should make people feel something real. And if my work has ever touched your heart, even in silence, then that is my greatest reward.