A Living Space with Soul: Inside CaiBao Guo’s Design Winning Work

Being recognised by the French Design Awards is, to me, a resonance filled with warmth. It is not only an affirmation of the creation “Chunyue Yangman”, but also a dialogue with the lifestyle of Southern France.

I once lived in Nice, in the South of France. The sunlight, the sea breeze, and the gentle rhythm of life there made me realise one thing— The French are romantic not because they pursue romance, but because they understand how to live. They turn a simple breakfast on the balcony, an afternoon glass of wine, and even the aroma of a kitchen into the scenery of daily life.

This experience inspired the design of “Chunyue Yangman.” I integrated the island kitchen and balcony into an open living space, so the home is no longer defined by walls, but by the free flow of light, wind, and fragrance. Within this space, family members can cook, converse, and enjoy the view— naturally sharing life and time together.

The French Design Awards is more than an honour. It feels like a response— I have used architecture to create a uniquely Taiwanese romantic lifestyle, allowing everyday moments at home to carry a world-class sense of poetry.

Winning the French Design Awards was more than an honour for me— it felt like an echo of life itself, a reminder that the true value of architecture lies in its ability to change how people feel about living.

Most of Qun-Yue’s homeowners come from science parks and the tech industry, where their daily lives revolve around pressure and precision. But the moment they step into Qun-Yue Yang-Man, and see sunlight falling across the façade of soft beige and warm orange, their expressions soften.

That is the colour of Menton— a colour that speaks of sunlight, warmth, and a gentle softness toward life.

Step into the island kitchen, and it carries the taste of Marseille. Here, the kitchen is the heart of the home. Cooking is not just cooking— it becomes the rhythm of family life. Olive oil, the aroma of coffee, laughter moving through the space— a lifestyle where people finally put down their phones and gather again.

And when the wind moves across the balcony, and the afternoon light pours onto the terrace, that is a balcony from Nice. We blurred the boundary between the living room and outdoor space, so people could find a new rhythm of life between sunlight and breeze.

These three cities became the three souls of Qun-Yue Yang-Man: the colours of Menton, the flavours of Marseille, the breeze of Nice. They turned architecture into more than form— they turned it into a way of living.

Many clients have told me: they once bought a home only for work, but now they go home for life.

And that is the greatest meaning behind receiving the French Design Awards. It proves that when architecture inspires people to want a more beautiful life, that is the warmest international language of all.

In my creations, the spirit of experimentation means using subtraction to create addition in life. In Qun Yue Yang Man, I carried out several experiments about how people live.

First, the building adopts a four-units-per-floor layout with a 3.5-meter ceiling and natural skylight above, inspired by Roussillon— a mountain town wrapped in ochre red and golden light. I hoped that home could feel like its air: filled with light, warmth, and the freedom to breathe.

The rooms on both sides can be connected or separated according to a family’s life cycle, inspired by Avignon— where courtyards open and close, symbolising distance and intimacy within a family.

The living room and dining room are combined, inspired by Marseille, turning the heart of the home into a space for communication and sharing.

The kitchen island extends to the balcony, inspired by Nice, where cooking, sunlight, and sea breeze mingle to create the romance of a terrace-like lifestyle.

The bathroom contains two toilets and one large shower, inspired by Biot, a hillside town surrounded by springs and sunlight, which inspired me to let the bathroom breathe, glow, and feel like a space of light.

The exterior façade uses the Milano-beige tone of Menton with rhythmic grilles, reflecting the visual tempo of southern France, and on the rooftop, the harbour yacht aesthetics of Antibes are transformed into the “Fifth-Facade Yacht Peak”, bringing the spirit of freedom from the sea to the urban skyline.

These experiments turn architecture into more than a residence— they make it a living laboratory of sunlight, wind, and life in southern France.

For me, inspiration often comes from the most unexpected moments in everyday life. One of the most unusual inspirations I’ve ever had began with an ordinary breakfast on a street corner in the south of France.

That morning, I was sitting on a small balcony in Nice. Sunlight poured into my cup of black coffee, and the breeze drifted in from the sea. Next door, neighbours were chatting on their balcony. Someone was cooking in the kitchen. Someone else was hanging laundry in the sun. And suddenly I realised—true architectural aesthetics don’t exist in form alone, but in the breath of daily life.

That moment sparked an experiment in “Qun Yue Yang Man”: I fused the kitchen island with the balcony, so cooking could happen in the presence of sea breeze; I combined the living room and dining room, inspired by Marseille’s warm dining culture; I even opened a skylight in the bathroom, allowing it to be surrounded by light and gentle mist, like the hillside village of Bormes-les-Mimosas.

None of these ideas came from textbooks or architectural theory. They were born from the simplest, most authentic scenes of daily living.

I believe that when design begins with life itself, architecture gains a soul.

I hope more people understand that design is not just drawing lines— it is a simulation of real life.

In my design process, every line represents a real behavior that will happen in a home. I never begin with materials;

I always begin with people—How do they wake up in the morning?

Where do the children play?

Where does the family spend time together?

After dinner, who sits on the balcony?

Who relaxes in the bath?

Just like in Qun Yue Yang Man, every space is the result of a life experiment: Four units per floor with a 3.5-meter ceiling, natural skylight above to let air and sunlight flow freely; a connecting room that adapts as the family grows, a combined living and dining area—just like the shared dining lifestyle of Marseille; a kitchen island aligned with the balcony, so cooking and sea breeze exist in the same frame.

None of these decisions happened by chance. They were born from continuous simulations of real living scenarios.

I hope people can see this clearly— good design is not a moment of inspiration, but a natural result of daily life being tested over and over again.

In my design process, I let rationality and sensibility participate in the conversation together.

Clients pursue practicality and safety, while I hope architecture can embrace light, wind, and rhythm. In Qunyue Yangman, I use design to make both coexist.

Take the bathroom I designed, for example— it has two toilets, a spacious shower area, and a double sink that allows two people to use it simultaneously—one washing hands, the other grooming—each enjoying their own space freely. The inspiration comes from Biot, a small town in southern France surrounded by springs and sunlight, where life moves slowly but warmly. I hope residents can feel that same flow and ease in their own home.

I also insist on using patented grilles to bring in natural wind and light, and I created a “Fifth-Facade Yacht Peak” on the roof, letting the free spirit of the Antibes coast anchor in the city.

When clients experience these design details firsthand, they no longer see it as the designer’s insistence—they feel it as a kind of happiness, carefully nurtured by everyday life.

In this project, the biggest challenge came from the balcony. Traditional designs often have two small balconies— one for the living room, and one for the kitchen. But I always felt that such balconies were too small, the space is fragmented, and there’s little reason for people to actually step outside.

So I conducted a subtractive experiment: turning the two small balconies into a single large one. This change posed numerous challenges in terms of structure, waterproofing, and drainage, but my goal was to give residents a balcony where they could truly live.

The inspiration came from Nice— in Nice, balconies are not just ancillary spaces; they are a second living room. You can have coffee in the morning, enjoy the sea breeze in the afternoon, and watch the stars at night. It’s a way of bringing life outdoors with ease.

I also added a patented grille above the large balcony, allowing those inside to look out and feel the wind and light,

while preventing outsiders from looking in. This preserves privacy while maintaining a sense of openness.

When the large balcony was finally complete, the wind began to flow through the interior, and sunlight poured into the kitchen. Life suddenly became more layered, more warm. At that moment, I realised this was not a structural breakthrough, but a living experiment that invites people to step outside.

When I hit a creative block, I don’t force myself to think while staring at the drawings. Instead, I load my family into our camper van and hit the road— to see the fjords in Norway, to watch the sea at Qixingtan, to admire the mountains in Taroko. The wind, the mountains, the sea—they remind me again that architectural inspiration comes from life itself.

I also bring my brushes and paint watercolours of my travels, using colours to capture the light and the warmth of the air. Sometimes, I read poetry to let words refresh my spirit; sometimes, I wander through Eslite bookstore, flipping through books on architecture and travel; and I take my Leica M camera to capture the changes in light, architecture, life, and plants— because every angle at which light falls reminds me of the rhythm of time and life.

These moments allow me to reset and be reborn. For me, creativity isn’t a sudden spark of inspiration, but a slow return to the rhythm of the heart after countless journeys, readings, and observations.

My core value is that home grows with me. Home is not a fixed layout, but a living entity that changes over time.

That’s why I designed the connecting rooms, so the space can adapt freely to the four stages of family life— newlyweds, raising children, peak fullness, and empty nest, with each stage having its own spatial rhythm.

My life experience comes from both travel and moments shared with loved ones. When family members need space to process emotions, they can step onto the fifth façade—the rooftop yacht— and release themselves between wind and light.

This is my vision of home: a building that understands people and embraces emotions.

This time, Qunyue Yangman has won the French Design Awards. It is not just a recognition of the work itself, but also a response to the concept of “life-centred architecture.”

The French design spirit emphasises authenticity and everyday life, and Yangman translates this spirit into the Taiwanese context. I make architecture breathe with the emotions of the family— the connected rooms allow the home to grow over time, the expansive balcony invites people to step outside, and the fifth façade, the yacht peak, provides an outlet for emotional release.

This approach to design has also deeply influenced my clients. Many high-tech engineers in the science park, after returning to their homes from their high-pressure lives, say: “This is the life I truly want.” They buy the house not merely for the space, but for the feeling of being able to breathe again, to be healed by life.

So I want to tell young designers: Design is not about pursuing flashy forms, it is about improving the way we live. Before you draw each line, ask yourself:  “Can my design make life better?”

Awards will pass, but life remains. True design is not for winning prizes, but for making people want to come home, and helping them find themselves again in their own home.

I would choose Antoni Gaudí.

He made architecture a part of nature, and in Qun Yue Yang Man, I have continued this spirit.

The exterior walls use curved forms instead of straight lines, like the breathing façade of Casa Batlló, allowing the building to move with wind and light.

The lobby features fan-shaped stones from Bali, echoing the vitality of the materials in the Sagrada Família, letting natural textures become the language of the space.

The stairwell’s book wall is engraved with the names of world cities, like the flowing curves of Casa Milà, letting one read the story of the architecture as they walk.

Gaudí made architecture a part of nature, and I make architecture a part of life.

I hope someone will ask me: “Will your architecture make my life better?”

My answer is—yes.

The connected rooms, like Avignon, evolve with the family. The expansive balcony, like Nice, links the kitchen to the scenery. The bathroom, like Biot Village, allows two people to share yet feel free. The three-and-a-half-meter-high ceilings, like Roussillon, let sunlight and wind flow freely. The fifth façade, like the yacht peak in Antibes, releases emotions.

This is my approach to design— to create architecture that truly makes life better.