Amidst the towering skyscrapers and sprawling developments that have come to define modern China, a quiet architectural revolution is brewing. At its forefront is Dong Gong, a visionary architect who eschews the country’s breakneck pace of urbanization in favor of a slower, more thoughtful approach—one that prioritizes the existing environment and crafts soulful spaces from what’s already there.
Sculpting Space from the Existing Landscape
In Dong’s Beijing studio, artificial boulders fill the space, their craggy surfaces rendered in plaster. Atop these miniature mountains sprout striking houses and industrial relics transformed into atmospheric hotels. These enigmatic models offer a glimpse into the architect’s singular vision—one that feels grown out of, or hewn into, the very landscape itself.
From a jewel-like seaside library in Aranya that evokes the spirit of Le Corbusier’s La Tourette monastery, to a protected oasis of a school in Shenzhen that wraps around a grove of banyan trees, Dong’s projects slow down and draw on the value of what exists on site. In a nation where entire neighborhoods can be razed overnight, it’s a revolutionary approach.
Reclaiming Architecture’s Raison d’Être
“Architecture needs to reclaim its raison d’etre,” Dong insists, “to soothe our body and soul.” Achieving this demands an extraordinary attention to detail and craftsmanship rarely seen in China’s construction industry. It means fighting daily battles on site to ensure every material and joint meets the studio’s exacting standards, often stationing architects on location for years.
Reimagining China’s Industrial Relics
This uncompromising ethos shines through in projects like the Alila Yangshuo hotel, carved out of a 1960s sugar mill. While such industrial relics were once seen as blights to be erased, Dong saw an opportunity to accentuate and reimagine. Pitched-roof wings now flank the old mill, linked by bamboo canopies, forming an atmospheric retreat that’s become an instant hit on Chinese social media.
Theaters of Light and Shadow
Dong’s more recent works, like the Chapel of Sound, push his penchant for theatricality even further. Here, visitors ascend a curving ramp into an enigmatic concrete chamber ringed by a circular bench. Above, nine holes pierce the domed ceiling, the mouths of long copper tubes that draw music down from the performance space above—an effect Dong likens to “music from heaven.”
The Problem with Concrete
Still, for all their atmospheric soul, it’s hard to ignore the sheer volume of concrete in Dong’s work—a material now squarely in the crosshairs of China’s decarbonization efforts. “We’re trying to use less,” the architect concedes, noting the country’s nascent timber construction standards as one avenue for change. As China rolls out ambitious plans to green its built environment, it will increasingly fall to agenda-setting practices like Dong’s to show the way.
In the end, perhaps the real revolution Dong Gong heralds is one of tempo and touch—a slowing down amidst the relentless urban growth, and a renewed connection to place and craft. In a world of instant gratification and disposable construction, it’s a quietly radical stance. The question now is whether China’s architectural culture can learn to savor that slower pace, one soulful space at a time.
