Hanqin Tang Reimagines Civic Space in “Another Side” Community Center

Being recognized by the MUSE Design Awards is an important milestone for me as an emerging designer. It affirms that thoughtful, human-centered design can resonate beyond local contexts and connect with a wider audience. For me, this recognition is less about the trophy and more about the dialogue it creates—between designers, ideas, and cultures.

It’s also a reminder to keep refining my voice as an architect—to approach every project, no matter the scale, with clarity, intention, and empathy. Awards like MUSE motivate me to continue exploring how architecture can unite design quality, technological precision, and environmental responsibility into a single, coherent vision.

Winning the MUSE Design Awards as an independent architect has been a meaningful step in shaping my professional identity. It gave me the confidence to continue developing my own design voice beyond daily practice—to explore ideas that connect architecture, technology, and culture on a deeper level.

This recognition has expanded my professional network internationally and led to new invitations for exhibitions, interviews, and collaborations. It reaffirmed my belief that thoughtful design can reach people across different contexts, motivating me to keep refining my craft with both precision and purpose.

Winning the MUSE Design Awards as an individual architect has been both exciting and empowering. It gave me a stronger voice beyond daily practice—a chance to share my ideas with a global design audience.

Since receiving the award, I’ve been invited to participate in international exhibitions in Athens and London, featured on design platforms, and connected with other creatives who share similar values in sustainability and digital design.

It has also encouraged me to think more independently about my design direction—how to balance professional work with personal exploration. The recognition reminds me that even small, self-initiated projects can spark meaningful conversations about how we live, build, and imagine the future.

One of my most unexpected inspirations came from observing how fog moves through San Francisco’s streets. I was fascinated by the way it reveals and conceals parts of the city—softening hard edges and creating a sense of rhythm and mystery. That observation later influenced how I approached layering and transparency in my community center project, translating the feeling of shifting atmosphere into architectural space.

I often find inspiration in small, everyday moments—shadows on a wall, reflections after rain, or the way people occupy overlooked urban spaces. These subtle observations remind me that design ideas don’t always come from grand concepts, but from paying attention to how life quietly unfolds around us.

I wish more people understood that good design takes time—and patience. It’s not just about visual appeal or quick decisions; it’s about constant testing, questioning, and refinement. Every detail, from the light in a corridor to the rhythm of a façade, carries meaning and shapes how people experience a space.

Architecture is a collaborative process that calls for both precision and empathy. It’s about listening—to the site, the context, and the people who will inhabit it. When that understanding comes together, design becomes more than a profession; it becomes a way of shaping how people feel and connect in their everyday lives.

For me, balance begins with listening. Every client has unique goals, values, and constraints, and understanding those early on helps turn expectations into opportunities for creativity. I see design as a dialogue rather than a compromise—it’s about finding common ground where ideas evolve instead of fading away.

I’ve learned that clarity and empathy are just as vital as vision. When clients see that every design decision has purpose—that it enhances function, experience, or sustainability—trust grows naturally. Staying true to my ideas doesn’t mean being rigid; it means guiding the process with integrity while remaining open to collaboration.

One of the biggest challenges in Another Side Community Center was finding the right balance between memory and renewal—how to create a civic space that honors the neighborhood’s history while meeting new community needs. The site’s steep topography and dense urban setting also made it difficult to connect the building naturally to its surroundings.

I addressed these challenges through iterative modeling and physical testing, using the slope itself as a design generator. The building evolved into an occupiable landscape, where terraces rise to merge interior and exterior spaces. Instead of resisting complexity, I learned to embrace it—transforming constraints into opportunities for spatial storytelling and public connection.

When I feel stuck, I step away from the screen and return to observing real spaces. I enjoy walking through neighborhoods in San Francisco, sketching street corners, or photographing light on different materials — it reminds me why I started designing in the first place. Sometimes I revisit old travel photos from Shanghai or Europe, noticing how people inhabit public spaces in different ways.

I also find clarity in quiet routines — listening to music, visiting museums, or simply reorganizing my workspace. Creativity often returns when I stop forcing it. I’ve learned that inspiration doesn’t always come from searching for new ideas, but from seeing familiar things with fresh eyes.

I draw deeply from my experience growing up between Shanghai and San Francisco, two cities that taught me to value both density and openness, tradition and change. That duality shapes how I think about space — how architecture can balance structure and flexibility, calm and movement.

In my work, I value clarity, empathy, and restraint. I believe good design should feel effortless — not loud, but intentional and attuned to how people live and connect. Whether it’s a workplace or a cultural space, I aim to create environments that feel elegant, efficient, and human, where every detail supports comfort, function, and emotional balance.

Stay curious, and never lose patience with the process. Design takes time — it’s built through trial, dialogue, and small discoveries that lead to something meaningful. Don’t chase trends too quickly; instead, focus on developing your own way of seeing and thinking.

Also, learn to balance vision with adaptability. Some of the best ideas emerge from constraints or unexpected feedback. Every project is an opportunity to refine not just your design skills, but your ability to listen, communicate, and grow. In the end, success comes from consistency — showing up every day with curiosity, discipline, and genuine care for the people who will experience your work.

I would choose Jean Nouvel. I had the opportunity to intern at his studio earlier in my career, and that experience profoundly shaped how I think about architecture. His sensitivity to context, light, and atmosphere taught me that design isn’t about repetition — it’s about responding uniquely to each place and moment.

What I admire most about his work is the emotional precision behind every decision. There’s a balance of curiosity and experimentation, but also discipline and control. Collaborating with him again would be an incredible opportunity to explore how architecture can stay bold and poetic while remaining grounded in reality and human experience.

I wish people would ask, “What feeling do you want people to have when they enter your spaces?”

My answer would be: a sense of calm clarity. I hope my work helps people slow down — to notice light, material, and the quiet rhythm of a space. I believe architecture should do more than solve problems; it should create moments that linger long after people leave. Whether it’s a public building or a small interior, I design with that emotional afterimage in mind — where simplicity, warmth, and intention meet.