Glass House | Tadao Ando
It started with floor plans and critique prep, but somewhere between Jeju’s volcanic coastlines and Seoul’s neon streets, this trip became a defining chapter in my design journey.
We began in Jeju Island. The air was softer there, saltier, with the kind of quiet that makes you pause. Landing in Jeju felt like stepping out of a screen and into texture. Lava rock coastlines. Bending pines. Wind-bent grasses. We had arrived in a place where nature didn’t just exist around architecture, it demanded to be part of it.
Our first full day was a blur of exploration. We visited structures that sat gently on the land, buildings that felt like they had grown there rather than been constructed. That day, I remember thinking: this is what restraint looks like. Jeju taught me that space doesn't need to shout to be powerful. That lesson stayed with me.
The next day, we met with local students and faculty, bright, curious, and so generous with their perspectives. Their approach to site and material was refreshingly intuitive. There was something almost meditative in the way they spoke about their work, and it shifted the way I viewed my own. Our conversations were part critique, part cultural exchange, part deep dive into what it means to listen as a designer.
TADAO ANDO
"We borrow from nature the space upon which we build."
I was fortunate enough to visit several of Tadao Ando’s architectural works, each one a quiet conversation between built form and the land it rests on. I walked through structures that honored the terrain rather than taming it. In Jeju, his use of raw concrete against volcanic stone and open sky felt like architecture in reverence, not resistance. Experiencing his work in context made me reflect on my own approach, design not as imposition, but as invitation.