Tag Archives: Art Installation

The Inflatable Ocean That Knows When You’ve Gone Too Far

Posted on by

Not every design earns its attention. SHUOKE’s Light Me UP! is exactly the kind of work that makes you stop, look twice, and genuinely want to understand what you’re standing inside. And you are standing inside it. That’s the first thing to understand. Light Me UP! is not a sculpture you circle or a screen you observe from a polite distance. It is an enterable artificial seascape, a field of large inflatable forms installed at Xintiandi Style II in Shanghai, built at a scale that makes you feel genuinely small.

The columns are rounded and organic, their silhouettes somewhere between coral, sea anemone, and something you might find drifting in deep water. Their gradient coloring moves from deep orange and red at the crown down through warm yellow, then into a pale, almost translucent white at the base, where internal lights pool in cool blues and purples. During the day, they read as bold and almost playful. At night, they glow like living things. That quality, the sense that the installation is alive, is not accidental. It is the entire point.

Designer: Shuoke

Each form carries internal lighting that shifts in a breathing rhythm, expanding and contracting with a pulse that is slow enough to feel biological. The effect is subtle but deeply convincing. You stop noticing the material and start noticing the breath. When you touch one of the columns, or press through the narrow gaps between them, the light responds. The moment of contact produces a shimmer, a flicker of acknowledgment, that genuinely reads as reciprocal. SHUOKE described an earlier version of this logic as wanting the experience to feel more like interacting with a living thing than with a device, and Light Me UP! lands exactly there.

But here is where the design gets genuinely interesting, and where SHUOKE moves well beyond the usual boundaries of interactive installation work. The responsiveness has a limit, and that limit is intentional. Moderate interaction, a gentle touch, a slow movement through the space, draws the light out and activates the installation’s vitality. But push too hard, too aggressively, too much, and the light begins to fade. The structures appear to deteriorate. The environment dims and falls into stillness. The installation does not simply reward participation. It responds to the quality of it.

This is the marine ecology metaphor embedded directly into the interactive logic, and it is a clever and meaningful piece of design thinking. The ocean, like Light Me UP!, sustains and nurtures life up to a point. Past that point, it retreats. It diminishes. What SHUOKE has done is translate a genuinely complex environmental idea into a physical, embodied experience that anyone can feel without needing it explained. You don’t read the metaphor. You live it, in the span of a few minutes, with your hands and your body in a public space in Shanghai.

I think this matters more than it might initially seem. Environmental messaging in design has a tendency to stay on the surface: a recycled material here, a sustainability claim there. Light Me UP! goes somewhere different. It puts you in the position of the human who has the capacity to either nurture or exhaust the thing in front of them, and it gives you real-time feedback on which one you’re doing. That is a far more honest and demanding kind of design.

The forms themselves deserve more credit too. SHUOKE chose inflatable structures for a reason. They are soft, yielding, and slightly unpredictable. They move when pressed. They hold air the way living organisms hold breath. The choice of material reinforces the biological quality of the whole installation without ever having to announce it. The colors, warm and gradient and unmistakably aquatic at night, do the same work quietly.

Light Me UP! is the kind of design that operates on multiple registers at once: visually arresting from the street, physically immersive once you’re inside it, and conceptually coherent in a way that holds up the more you think about it. That combination is rarer than it should be, and when it shows up, it’s worth paying attention to.

The post The Inflatable Ocean That Knows When You’ve Gone Too Far first appeared on Yanko Design.

Sabine Marcelis Built Coachella’s Best Spot Out of Thin Air

Posted on by

Every April, Coachella does that thing where it reminds you it’s not just a music festival. It’s a full-sensory exercise in spectacle, one that has always treated its art program with just as much ambition as its headliner lineup. This year, Dutch designer Sabine Marcelis is the one making that case loudest, with an installation called Maze that has, by most accounts, become one of the most talked-about spots on the entire festival grounds.

Maze is exactly what it sounds like, and also nothing like what you’d expect. Built from curved, inflated PVC walls that rise at varying heights, the structure winds across the Coachella grounds as a walkable labyrinth, one that feels less like an obstacle course and more like stepping into a fever dream of color and calm. The walls shift in a gradient from pale yellow at the outer edges to a deep, saturated red at the core, mimicking the warm, layered tones of a desert sunset. It’s the kind of color palette that looks deliberately, almost suspiciously perfect, and yet it doesn’t feel forced. It feels inevitable.

Designer: Sabine Marcelis

That’s what Marcelis does. The Rotterdam-based designer has built a body of work around the idea that light and material don’t just coexist. They perform together. Her practice leans into pure geometric forms and refined material investigations, always pushing manufacturing processes toward something surprising and sensory. At Coachella, that philosophy scales up beautifully. What could have been a gimmicky, oversized balloon art moment instead reads as something genuinely thoughtful: a structure designed to slow people down in a place that rarely stops moving.

And that’s the part that gets me. Coachella is famously relentless. Stages overlap, schedules are brutal, and the heat does not negotiate. Maze was built with that reality in mind. The inflated walls create shaded pockets, filtering both light and sound from the surrounding chaos. Seating runs along the outer edges, giving visitors actual places to stop and breathe. Clearings open up toward the stages, framing views of performances from inside the structure, so you never entirely lose the festival. You just get to experience it at a different speed.

Inspired by the natural contours of the Coachella Valley, the design has a landscape quality to it that reads as more than an aesthetic reference. The curved forms echo the rolling terrain of the desert, and the color gradient mirrors the sky at the specific hours when the California desert looks like it was art-directed by someone very talented. Marcelis didn’t try to compete with the landscape. She translated it. At night, the whole thing transforms. The PVC walls glow from within, turning the maze into an illuminated field of warm color that sits somewhere between architectural installation and light sculpture. If the daytime version is about refuge, the nighttime version is pure atmosphere. It hits differently against the dark, and I mean that in the best way.

I’ll be honest. I’ve watched the Coachella art program grow more ambitious over the years, and my reaction to any given installation tends to hover somewhere between “impressive” and “Instagram bait.” Maze clears that bar and then some. It works because it has an actual point of view. Marcelis built something that functions, that shelters, that engages the senses, and that happens to be visually stunning. That’s a harder balance to strike than it looks.

The installation was curated by Public Art Company, and it’s part of a broader 2026 art program that continues to push Coachella’s visual ambitions. But Maze stands out not because it’s the biggest or the flashiest. It stands out because it treats the people walking through it as the point, not the backdrop. That’s good design. And at a festival where you’re constantly being asked to witness things, it’s genuinely refreshing to walk into something that simply asks you to sit down and stay a while.

The post Sabine Marcelis Built Coachella’s Best Spot Out of Thin Air first appeared on Yanko Design.

Sabine Marcelis Built Coachella’s Best Spot Out of Thin Air

Posted on by

Every April, Coachella does that thing where it reminds you it’s not just a music festival. It’s a full-sensory exercise in spectacle, one that has always treated its art program with just as much ambition as its headliner lineup. This year, Dutch designer Sabine Marcelis is the one making that case loudest, with an installation called Maze that has, by most accounts, become one of the most talked-about spots on the entire festival grounds.

Maze is exactly what it sounds like, and also nothing like what you’d expect. Built from curved, inflated PVC walls that rise at varying heights, the structure winds across the Coachella grounds as a walkable labyrinth, one that feels less like an obstacle course and more like stepping into a fever dream of color and calm. The walls shift in a gradient from pale yellow at the outer edges to a deep, saturated red at the core, mimicking the warm, layered tones of a desert sunset. It’s the kind of color palette that looks deliberately, almost suspiciously perfect, and yet it doesn’t feel forced. It feels inevitable.

Designer: Sabine Marcelis

That’s what Marcelis does. The Rotterdam-based designer has built a body of work around the idea that light and material don’t just coexist. They perform together. Her practice leans into pure geometric forms and refined material investigations, always pushing manufacturing processes toward something surprising and sensory. At Coachella, that philosophy scales up beautifully. What could have been a gimmicky, oversized balloon art moment instead reads as something genuinely thoughtful: a structure designed to slow people down in a place that rarely stops moving.

And that’s the part that gets me. Coachella is famously relentless. Stages overlap, schedules are brutal, and the heat does not negotiate. Maze was built with that reality in mind. The inflated walls create shaded pockets, filtering both light and sound from the surrounding chaos. Seating runs along the outer edges, giving visitors actual places to stop and breathe. Clearings open up toward the stages, framing views of performances from inside the structure, so you never entirely lose the festival. You just get to experience it at a different speed.

Inspired by the natural contours of the Coachella Valley, the design has a landscape quality to it that reads as more than an aesthetic reference. The curved forms echo the rolling terrain of the desert, and the color gradient mirrors the sky at the specific hours when the California desert looks like it was art-directed by someone very talented. Marcelis didn’t try to compete with the landscape. She translated it. At night, the whole thing transforms. The PVC walls glow from within, turning the maze into an illuminated field of warm color that sits somewhere between architectural installation and light sculpture. If the daytime version is about refuge, the nighttime version is pure atmosphere. It hits differently against the dark, and I mean that in the best way.

I’ll be honest. I’ve watched the Coachella art program grow more ambitious over the years, and my reaction to any given installation tends to hover somewhere between “impressive” and “Instagram bait.” Maze clears that bar and then some. It works because it has an actual point of view. Marcelis built something that functions, that shelters, that engages the senses, and that happens to be visually stunning. That’s a harder balance to strike than it looks.

The installation was curated by Public Art Company, and it’s part of a broader 2026 art program that continues to push Coachella’s visual ambitions. But Maze stands out not because it’s the biggest or the flashiest. It stands out because it treats the people walking through it as the point, not the backdrop. That’s good design. And at a festival where you’re constantly being asked to witness things, it’s genuinely refreshing to walk into something that simply asks you to sit down and stay a while.

The post Sabine Marcelis Built Coachella’s Best Spot Out of Thin Air first appeared on Yanko Design.

This Burning Man Temple Blooms for One Night, Then Burns Forever

Posted on by

Every year, Burning Man erects a temple on the playa, and every year, it burns. That ritual of building and releasing has been part of the festival’s identity for over two decades, and yet each new design still manages to find a fresh way to make the whole thing hit differently. The 2026 edition, called the Temple of the Moon, might be the most quietly devastating one yet.

Designed by artist James Gwertzman, the structure takes its inspiration from the epiphyllum oxypetalum, better known as the Queen of the Night, a cactus flower that blooms exactly once a year, only at night, releasing its fragrance before wilting by morning. It’s the kind of plant that demands you pay attention, because if you’re not watching, you’ll miss it entirely. As a metaphor for grief, for presence, for what it means to witness something you know won’t last, it’s almost uncomfortably perfect.

Designer: James Gwertzman

Gwertzman came to this design through a deeply personal place. He spent years walking alongside a friend as she lost her partner to pancreatic cancer, learning what it means to simply be present in someone else’s pain without trying to fix it. Before all of this, he was trained in theater as a set and lighting designer, then spent decades in the video game industry building interactive worlds. Now he’s building something you can actually stand inside, and then watch burn.

The architectural approach is where things get genuinely fascinating from a design perspective. Gwertzman and his team used a parametric design method, essentially algorithmic generation, to create complex organic curves out of straight pieces of timber. It’s the kind of technical problem-solving that sounds counterintuitive: using math to fake nature. But the result, at least from the renderings, is stunning. From above, the structure looks like a fully bloomed flower, with slatted wooden petals radiating outward from a central chamber.

The center of the temple is built around a hyperboloid structure, a column that flares outward at the top, edged with sharp petals and light-topped wooden pieces that echo the look of a flower’s stamen. Fan-like wooden forms provide shelter and mark the entryways into the mostly enclosed inner space. The renderings feel alive in a way that strictly geometric architecture rarely does, and I think that has everything to do with the fact that the form was borrowed from something real.

What I find most considered about this design is that it doesn’t try to be monumental in the traditional sense. Yes, it’s large, and yes, it will be visible from a distance across the Black Rock Desert. But the experience is designed to be intimate, with petal-like seating areas and an approach path built as a journey rather than a straight line toward the entrance. Eight gateways mark the perimeter fence, each one corresponding to a phase of the moon. The fence panels will feature CNC-cut designs submitted by the community around moon and flower motifs, making the very border of the temple a kind of collective artwork.

That detail matters more than it might seem. Burning Man’s Temple has always been a communal space, a place where people leave names, photos, and notes for loved ones who have died. But designing the threshold of that space to carry the marks of many hands is a meaningful gesture. It says the temple doesn’t belong only to the artist. It belongs to whoever needs it.

The whole structure is scheduled to burn on September 6th, 2026. Everything about it, from the flower that wilts at dawn to the lunar cycle that keeps starting over, points toward that moment. The 2026 Burning Man theme is “Axis Mundi,” meaning the center of the world. It’s a heavy framework to design inside of, but the Temple of the Moon seems to hold it without strain. It’s not trying to be the center of everything. It’s trying to be a place where you can stand still for a moment, feel the weight of what you’re carrying, and let it go.

The post This Burning Man Temple Blooms for One Night, Then Burns Forever first appeared on Yanko Design.

This 12-Foot Mirrored Cone Turns Desert Sand Into Living Art

Posted on by

Picture a tall mirrored cone rising from a circle of sand in the middle of the desert. You step in, drag your feet, draw patterns, and the cone reflects all of it back to you, warped and strange and weirdly beautiful. That’s the Interactive Sand Reflecting Cone, a concept by designer Michael Jantzen, and it sits at the intersection of public art, land art, and the simple joy of messing around in sand. No screens, no apps. Just you and your reflection. I think it’s kind of brilliant.

The setup is deceptively simple. A circular concrete ring, complete with a landing pad and three descending steps, defines the play area. Inside that ring is a field of refined sand. Rising from the center is a tall cone wrapped entirely in polished mirrored steel. Solar panels sit on top, charging batteries during the day so the whole thing lights up at night. No Wi-Fi. No app. No QR code. Just you, the sand, and your own warped reflection staring back at you from a cone.

Designer: Michael Jantzen

What I find most compelling about this project is that it treats sand as an interactive medium. Not a screen, not a touchpad, not something that requires a software update. Sand. The stuff kids play with at the beach. You walk through it, drag your feet, draw patterns, build little mounds, and all of that activity gets captured in the mirrored surface. The cone becomes what Jantzen calls a short-term event recorder, documenting the collective traces of everyone who steps into the ring. It’s analog memory, and it only lasts until the next visitor reshapes the surface or the wind smooths it over.

The mirrored cone itself adds a layer that I think elevates the whole thing beyond a glorified sandbox. Because the surface is curved, not flat, the reflections come back distorted. Your footprint patterns stretch and warp in ways you can’t quite predict. You’re collaborating with geometry. You make a mark in the sand, look up, and the cone shows you something slightly different from what you expected. That unpredictability is what turns a passive viewing experience into an active, playful one. You start experimenting. You try new shapes just to see what they’ll look like reflected. You become both the artist and the audience.

I also appreciate that this is designed specifically for desert landscapes, not dropped into them as an afterthought. The sand inside the ring is refined, but the material itself belongs to the environment. The installation doesn’t fight its surroundings. It borrows from them. The concrete base anchors the piece physically, but the sand connects it to everything beyond the circle’s edge. It feels like a conversation between the built and the natural, which is something Jantzen has been exploring for years across his various pavilion and shelter concepts.

The solar-powered lighting is a nice touch, too. During the day, the polished steel catches sunlight and throws it around in dramatic ways. At night, the embedded lights in the concrete base take over, illuminating the sand and the cone from below. The piece transforms depending on when you visit. A daytime experience full of glare and sharp reflections becomes something softer and more atmospheric after dark. That duality gives the installation a longer life cycle than most public art pieces, which tend to lose their impact once the sun goes down.

If I have one reservation, it’s the same one I always have with Jantzen’s concepts: they’re concepts. The Interactive Sand Reflecting Cone exists as renders and descriptions, not yet as a physical structure you can actually walk into. Jantzen is prolific with ideas, and many of them are genuinely inventive, but the gap between a compelling render and a realized installation is vast. Engineering challenges, material costs, site logistics, and the simple question of who funds this kind of thing all stand between the concept and the experience. I’d love to see this one make the leap.

The post This 12-Foot Mirrored Cone Turns Desert Sand Into Living Art first appeared on Yanko Design.

Two Artists Wrapped a Farm Greenhouse in a Giant Quilt

Posted on by

Every winter, Minneapolis does something the rest of the country quietly envies. Instead of hibernating indoors until spring shows up, the city drags its creativity out onto the frozen surface of Lake Harriet and builds a village. Not a regular village, though. An art village, made up of artist-built structures, performances, and interactive installations that take over the ice for four consecutive weekends. That’s the spirit behind Art Shanty Projects, now celebrating its 20th anniversary season, and it gets better with every passing year.

For 2026, one installation has been making the rounds online for all the right reasons. Artists Emily Quandahl and Madeline Cochran were commissioned to create a structure of their own, and what they came up with is genuinely one of the most charming things you’ll see all year. They called it the Quilt Shanty, and the name does exactly what it says.

Designers: Emily Quandahl and Madeline Cochran

The structure is a hoop house, the kind you’d typically find on a farm protecting crops from the cold, wrapped entirely in a patchwork quilt. Big, bold, colorful squares stretch across the curved surface of the frame, sitting right there on the frozen lake like someone dragged their grandmother’s most treasured blanket outside and built a room around it.

The concept is rooted in the tradition of barn quilts, those large painted quilt-pattern squares that farmers in rural America hang on the sides of their barns. Quandahl and Cochran took that idea and made it three-dimensional and tactile. The quilt itself measures 9 feet by 16 feet and is made from quilt squares that Quandahl designed and constructed by hand, pulling materials from her own studio: leftover painting scraps, drop cloth, and colored vinyl. Cochran contributed illustrated muslin pieces featuring folk-style drawings, as well as wood-burned quilt tiles that add another layer of texture and craft to the whole thing.

What makes it stand out beyond its visuals is the way it pulls people in. The installation is interactive. Visitors can sit inside, pick up quilt-square puzzle pieces, and assemble their own designs. Cochran designed the wood-burned puzzle pieces, and Quandahl created a colored vinyl trifold key to help guide the activity. It’s the kind of participatory experience that makes you slow down and actually engage, rather than just snap a photo and move on, though you will absolutely want to snap a photo.

The two artists bring complementary practices to the table. Quandahl works primarily in painting, while Cochran takes a multimedia approach that frequently incorporates textiles and weaving. Their collaboration feels natural because of that balance, one thinking in structure and surface, the other in fiber and folk tradition. Together, they’ve created something that doesn’t feel like a design project as much as it feels like an invitation.

There’s also something quietly meaningful in the choice of a hoop house as the base form. Hoop houses are agricultural structures, tied to growing seasons and the cycle of land. By covering one in a quilt and placing it on a frozen lake in the middle of winter, Quandahl and Cochran are drawing a line between rest and care, between the quiet dormancy of cold months and the warmth of human hands making things. The installation celebrates rural craft traditions like quilting, embroidery, woodcarving, and wood burning, while highlighting the seasonal cycles of rest and care when the land is quiet. These are old skills finding renewed appreciation in contemporary art and design circles, and seeing them applied to a public installation on a frozen lake feels exactly right.

This is exactly the kind of project that reminds you why public art matters. It doesn’t ask anything complicated of you. It just shows up on a frozen lake, colorful and open, and invites you to come inside. That accessibility, that warmth in the middle of all that ice, is no accident. It’s the whole point. If you haven’t heard of Art Shanty Projects before now, consider this your introduction. And if you’re anywhere near Minneapolis this winter, there’s a patchwork hoop house on Lake Harriet waiting for you.

The post Two Artists Wrapped a Farm Greenhouse in a Giant Quilt first appeared on Yanko Design.

A Ring of Light: Ancient Symbols Meet Modern Art at Giza

Posted on by

Picture this: you’re standing on the Giza Plateau, the Great Pyramids towering behind you as they have for 4,500 years, and suddenly there’s something new in this ancient landscape. A massive aluminum ring that looks like it fell from the future, catching sunlight and throwing it back at history itself. That’s exactly what Turkish artist Mert Ege Köse just dropped on us with “The Shen,” and honestly, it’s the kind of art installation that makes you stop scrolling and actually want to book a flight to Egypt.

“The Shen” is currently on display as part of Art D’Égypte’s “Forever Is Now” exhibition, now in its fifth edition, and it’s doing something really special with how we think about contemporary art in historical spaces. The sculpture isn’t trying to compete with the pyramids or overshadow them. Instead, it creates this incredible dialogue between ancient Egyptian symbolism and modern design sensibility.

Designer: Mert Ege Köse

The name itself is a clue to what Köse is up to. In ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, the Shen symbol represented eternity and protection, depicted as a circle of rope with no beginning or end. It’s basically the OG infinity symbol, showing up in royal cartouches and religious texts throughout pharaonic history. Köse took that concept and supersized it into a monumental aluminum structure that frames the pyramids like the world’s most epic viewfinder.

What makes this work so compelling is how it plays with reflection and perception. The polished aluminum surface doesn’t just sit there looking pretty. It actively engages with its surroundings, capturing the shifting desert light, the blue Egyptian sky, and the ancient stones in a constantly changing display. Depending on where you stand and what time of day you visit, you’re basically looking at a different artwork. It’s responsive design taken to a literal, sculptural extreme.

Köse has built his practice around creating these kinds of sculptural works that bridge tradition and innovation. His pieces typically feature smooth surfaces and malleable aluminum alloys, materials that feel distinctly contemporary while still carrying a sense of timelessness. There’s a poetic quality to his work that doesn’t hit you over the head with meaning but instead invites you to find your own connections.

The location matters enormously here. Art D’Égypte has been pushing boundaries with “Forever Is Now” since 2021, transforming the Giza Plateau into an open-air gallery where contemporary artists from around the world respond to one of humanity’s most iconic historical sites. It’s not just about plunking modern art next to ancient wonders for the shock value. The exhibition carefully considers how contemporary creative practice can illuminate and honor historical context rather than clash with it.

“The Shen” succeeds because it understands this balance. The circular form echoes not just the ancient Egyptian symbol but also the eternal cycle that the pyramids themselves represent: life, death, and the continuity of human creative expression across millennia. When you look through the ring toward the pyramids, you’re literally framing history through a contemporary lens. It’s a visual metaphor that works on multiple levels without feeling forced or pretentious.

There’s also something to be said about accessibility here. Unlike a lot of monumental sculpture that feels designed for art world insiders, “The Shen” is immediately photographable and shareable. It gives visitors a way to interact with both the artwork and the pyramids in a fresh way. In our current moment where experience and documentation are so intertwined, that matters. The sculpture becomes a portal, not just literally but also digitally, connecting people worldwide to this ancient site through contemporary art.

As an emerging voice in Turkish contemporary art, Köse is making moves that position him well beyond regional recognition. Bringing “The Shen” to Egypt, working at this scale, and creating something that genuinely enhances one of the world’s most significant historical sites is the kind of project that defines careers. What “The Shen” ultimately offers is something increasingly rare: art that makes you feel something without requiring an art history degree to understand it. It’s beautiful, it’s thoughtful, and it reminds us that the conversation between past and present doesn’t have to be complicated to be profound. Sometimes all you need is a perfect circle of light.

The post A Ring of Light: Ancient Symbols Meet Modern Art at Giza first appeared on Yanko Design.

Juicy Booth lets you have a cathartic, multi-sensory confessional session

Posted on by

One of the hardest emotions for people to deal with is shame. We are afraid to admit it, confront it, and figure out a way to live with it. The healthiest way would be to talk to someone especially professionals. But if you’re not yet ready to take that step and you’re in London until December, there’s a pretty interesting art installation that may help you have a cathartic experience with your secret shame.

Designer: Annie Frost Nicholson

The Juicy Booth is an installation at the Coal Drops Yard as part of London Design Week which lets people have a 10-minute multi-media confessional session. Created in collaboration with K67 Berlin (a company that restores historical K67 booths) and The Loss Project (a social enterprise that creates spaces for communities to deal with grief and loss), artist Annie Frost Nicholson wanted to have a space for people to release their shame and have a quick healing session through colour, light, and music.

When you enter the booth, a refurbished K67 booth, you’ll see a retro 80’s keyboard where you can type out the thing that you’re currently ashamed of. Your confession will be spelled out on an LED monitor for your eyes only of course (unless you brought someone in with you there). Based on what particular emotion you’re dealing with, the system maps it out with their “carefully conceived colour spectrum”. You then get a light and sound show that will hopefully take you on a cathartic journey.

The whole experience will take you just 10 minutes but hopefully that is enough to start you on a journey to healing. You will also get to scan and access additional resources that can support you after your Juicy Booth session. The installation will be there until December 9 so if you have the chance to visit it and have a mini-confessional session, go ahead and do it.

The post Juicy Booth lets you have a cathartic, multi-sensory confessional session first appeared on Yanko Design.

Tangled outdoor furniture concept provides rest and direction for communities

Posted on by

Residential complexes and small communities are on the rise, and some of these areas try to provide open spaces for rest and relaxation like parks or gardens. People new to such communities might find themselves often lost in the beginning, and guests or couriers will definitely be unfamiliar with the place. Signs aren’t always visible, and those that are might not blend well with the aesthetics and atmosphere of the residential complex. This concept design tries to hit multiple birds with a single stone by providing multi-functional furniture that not only looks like an art installation but also a rather subtle navigation guide for both residents and guests.

Designer: Alice Vakhni

Unlike typical home and office furniture, outdoor furniture offers only temporary respite for people. They’re not exactly the most comfortable products to use, especially since they have to be built to withstand unfavorable weather, but they do offer a place to sit, put down their things, or maybe even work and eat even if only for a while. Ironically, this also frees up outdoor furniture design from certain requirements, allowing them to embrace more unconventional forms, as long as they get the job done.

THREADS is an example of such freedom, conceptualizing furniture that hardly looks like any typical benches or tables. They look more like giant metal thread, hence the name that snakes and loops around the complex, one segment at a time. Some have wavy structures with crests that provide stools for people to sit on, while others coil around structures like benches and tables. Some rise upward to become lamps, while others branch and loop to show directions.

That’s the second not-so-obvious function of THREADS. Just like how Theseus used threads to navigate the labyrinth, the large pipes guide your eyes and your feet in the direction you need to go. They act like railings and guidelines that bend in the direction you should be walking if you’re a bit lost. Of course, not all residential communities have the same layout, so the pipes’ modular design allows builders to combine different parts with different corners to create the navigation system they need.

THREADS is also a piece of art, like an abstract sculptural installation designed to give communities a distinct character. The almost freeform flow of the “threads” leaves each segment open to interpretation and any use. Made with powder-coated hot-rolled steel pipes, what would normally convey an industrial and impersonal appearance transforms into something playful and approachable, becoming the proverbial thread that binds communities together.

The post Tangled outdoor furniture concept provides rest and direction for communities first appeared on Yanko Design.

Mesmerizing Paired Cubes and its 3,500 polycarbonate panels invites viewers to play

Posted on by

It’s always interesting and nice to see installations that are not just works of art but also invite the viewer to interact with it. Sure, paintings and sculptures in museums are nice to look at but of course you’re not allowed to touch them for important reasons. So art installations are much more accessible and in a sense, more experimental, especially if visitors are invited to touch and explore it.

Designer: A+U Lab

Paired Cubes is a temporary pavilion that is set up in Busan, South Korea but is also created to be transferred and assembled in other public spaces. It is made up of 3,500 recycled polycarbonate panels put together in 2.5m tall pavilions and put together without any fittings or glue. It has eight outer facades and two inner walls and the overall effect, especially when illuminated, is that they look like floating panels.

Aside from its sustainability, the pavilion is also pretty interactive as visitors are actually invited to interact with the structure and its visual patterns and optical textures. They are put together in both a symmetrical and asymmetrical fashion. During the day, you can explore the layered surfaces that bring about various shadowy patterns. When it becomes darker, it becomes a luminous box which attracts you to go inside the pavilion.

Up to 6 people can go inside the structure at once but you can also just stay outside to play around with the panels. It is also built to be easily disassembled, transported, and reassembled so we can expect to see this pop up in other areas after this.

The post Mesmerizing Paired Cubes and its 3,500 polycarbonate panels invites viewers to play first appeared on Yanko Design.