The Revolution of Space

Author: Deng Kunyan / Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: Three Hypothetical Scenarios
If a KTV were like a museum
Although I’m not a consumer of KTV entertainment, I’ve occasionally been forced to join the crowd for fun. The reasons I dislike going are twofold: first, I’m a bit old, and second, the interior design of these places makes me uncomfortable as a design professional—it’s a personal prejudice I’ve always held. So I often joke that if any KTV owner dares to ask me to design their space, I’ll make sure they regret it. Those who say KTV is always flashy and vulgar will surely doubt my ability to transform it. Today, it’s in my hands, and I’ve given you a KTV that looks just like a museum. See for yourself—has anyone ever said KTV couldn’t change its image? After my renovations, this is the result.
Stealing cultural aesthetic heritage from ancestors without paying copyright fees, like sprinkling pepper, makes it stunningly beautiful. Why would I need to copy fake European antiques to attract people?
If the interior were like architecture
Perhaps because I started my career in architectural design, I’ve always treated interior design projects as limited architectural work within a space. So if my interior design has anything special, I’d personally say it’s the architecturalization of interior design. In truth, this isn’t a remarkable method—historically, many architects whose primary work was architecture mostly designed interiors this way. My increasingly clear architectural style and spatial treatment approach naturally appear in my interior designs.
Today’s KTV, spanning 5,000 square meters, gives me ample space to experiment—it’s like building a house inside a house. Unfortunately, due to structural limitations and local regulations, I still feel somewhat restricted, unable to fully unleash my potential. Otherwise, with my current architectural skills, I believe the results would be far better. So this interior is essentially a Suzhou alleyway. If the owner hadn’t removed part of the garden space and layout from the third-floor roof, it would’ve been a brand-new Suzhou garden. I regret that part.
But designing on Suzhou’s land means I must fully respect its cultural environment, which is also the fundamental principle of design. I think most people would do the same.
If architecture were like prose
If someone truly respects me and gives me the full opportunity, of course, I’d bring out all my skills—or at least half of them. So as someone who’s always had a writing habit, I’ve boldly applied my style of writing essays and column articles to design.
The century-old sailing ships of Taihu Lake, one of the vanishing symbols of Jiangnan culture, have been magically transported into the space, soaring into the sky. The tiles originally laid on water-town roofs have been placed vertically on the facade, resembling water ripples in Chinese painting. The bricks originally used in gardens have been affixed to walls. The ornate porcelain originally meant for rooftops have been playfully arranged on the floor or in lighting fixtures.
Playing with these elements truly resembles my long-standing style of concerned and critical essays—it has a distinct flavor. Fortunately, these are traditional building materials that the Chinese are trying to preserve, so it wouldn’t do justice to the country or my frightened client if I hadn’t saved them money, right?!
Of course, there’s still more to explore in the second phase of the project, but I can hardly expect my client to continue listening to me. As a result, even after six months of completion, I’m reluctantly reluctant to reveal it to the public because I believe it’s not yet complete.
However, I can foresee that by presenting this design, which I consider a milestone in my personal development, for evaluation, my new troubles will begin.
The scene of colleagues from all over the country visiting one after another after the opening has shown me what I’ve achieved. For me, I know it will be like the 20-year-old “Love Story.”
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