Yuxuan Wang

Final Exhibition

Through the process of designing, observing, and reflecting, I have come to understand more deeply how spaces, like people, weather. I have become more attuned to the value of traces — a polished edge, a worn step, the grain of wood darkened by years of touch.

Beauty, I’ve come to realise, is not fixed. It changes over time, shifting from one form into another — and that transformation itself is a kind of beauty. It’s something I see not only in flowers, but in buildings, and in people. A newly built structure might shine with modern clarity, but as it ages — as its surfaces weather and its colours fade — it often gains a unique character, a kind of quiet dignity gifted by time. The same goes for people: youth brings a luminous, unfiltered beauty; with age, wisdom and experience lend another kind of grace. Even the lines and marks left by time have their own truth — a beauty that’s no longer about perfection, but about story.

I’ve also realised that in life — and especially in design — rushing rarely leads to anything meaningful. To do something well, one must slow down. Observe the world with care. Let the city speak. Sit with your ideas. Learn to accept the moments of stillness, and embrace the storms that come. This quiet patience — this willingness to be shaped, and reshaped — is essential.

I think becoming an architect is also a process of weathering — of being carved and refined by experience, time, and persistence. And like buildings, people, and places, I hope I too can carry this layered beauty: not as something instant or perfect, but as something honest, evolving, and lasting.

Weathering — not as loss, but as becoming. This is what I hope to do well.