Andrea Faraguna
YP
Do you think architectural design, and the content of space, constitutes another form of narration distinct from text?
AF
Architecture is usually understood as a framework for activity—a vessel for interior life and ways of living. But that is only one reading. In reality, buildings, interiors, and constructed spaces follow their own dynamics and logic of existence. There is always a latent narrative intention embedded within architecture—even when it is not consciously designed, even when it is not visible.There is always a kind of underlying blueprint.
I find it interesting to trace and reveal this layer. What l enjoy in experimental projects is not only the construction of interiors, but the way they follow a different mode of thinking, one that is not limited to form, function, or aesthetics, but that also generates ideas in return.
It is also about thinking of a room as an autonomous entity, with its own rules and logic. This can scale, from a single room to an apartment, to larger systems of living. Today, our agency in shaping domestic space feels reduced; we have partly lost a culture of dwelling Introducing a degree of fiction into this experience becomes, perhaps, very relevant.
I find it interesting to trace and reveal this layer. What l enjoy in experimental projects is not only the construction of interiors, but the way they follow a different mode of thinking, one that is not limited to form, function, or aesthetics, but that also generates ideas in return.
It is also about thinking of a room as an autonomous entity, with its own rules and logic. This can scale, from a single room to an apartment, to larger systems of living. Today, our agency in shaping domestic space feels reduced; we have partly lost a culture of dwelling Introducing a degree of fiction into this experience becomes, perhaps, very relevant.
YP
Do you prefer fiction or non-fiction?
AF
l enjoy fiction, but l actually read more non-fiction. That said, we are not really talking about books. Once you begin thinking through processes, how a story is constructed, interpreted, or staged, you start reading everything differently.
When l watch films or read novels, I tend to analyse how narratives are structured across different layers, how scenes connect, how meaning is assembled. Increasingly, contemporary film and television—especially in early development or set design—already function as sources of conceptual thinking. They generate ideas before anything is finalised.
When l watch films or read novels, I tend to analyse how narratives are structured across different layers, how scenes connect, how meaning is assembled. Increasingly, contemporary film and television—especially in early development or set design—already function as sources of conceptual thinking. They generate ideas before anything is finalised.
YP
As curator of CHENGDU HOUSE, you will develop a year-long programme with multiple artists. How does this process of co-creation unfold?
AF
In constructing a creative system, certain methods also apply to more technical work. You need awareness of specific tools and perspectives in advance—these become bridges between disciplines.
What matters is identifying shared conditions across fields. This becomes a way of observing and extracting ideas. Within one’s own experience, you also need external viewpoints to trigger new readings.
Personally, I prefer not to stay within one discipline. I use architecture as a core practice, but I continuously shift perspective and collaborate with people from other fields. Each exhibition begins from something simple—an interior, a domestic space, a fictional apartment. From there, a framework for dialogue emerges. It is less a task than a necessity.
What matters is identifying shared conditions across fields. This becomes a way of observing and extracting ideas. Within one’s own experience, you also need external viewpoints to trigger new readings.
Personally, I prefer not to stay within one discipline. I use architecture as a core practice, but I continuously shift perspective and collaborate with people from other fields. Each exhibition begins from something simple—an interior, a domestic space, a fictional apartment. From there, a framework for dialogue emerges. It is less a task than a necessity.
YP
You grew up in Venice, now live and work in Berlin, and travel frequently to China. Has this shaped your thinking? And how was your first experience in Chengdu?
AF
I have not had the chance to experience the city fully, but I have been moving through it for the project. I prefer this way, entering a place not as a tourist, but as someone working inside it.
It allows you to access production systems and everyday realities. Conversations become another form of understanding. Interestingly, working with makers, factories, suppliers feels universal, wherever you are.
I have seen both the city centre and the outskirts, including workshops and material markets. We produced elements in a traditional bamboo weaving workshop in Chengdu. There is a certain nostalgic quality to the city that reminds me of Venice. I am familiar with this layering of history and modernity. It relates directly to how I work—how you read place, and how you absorb its tensions before translating them into form.
It allows you to access production systems and everyday realities. Conversations become another form of understanding. Interestingly, working with makers, factories, suppliers feels universal, wherever you are.
I have seen both the city centre and the outskirts, including workshops and material markets. We produced elements in a traditional bamboo weaving workshop in Chengdu. There is a certain nostalgic quality to the city that reminds me of Venice. I am familiar with this layering of history and modernity. It relates directly to how I work—how you read place, and how you absorb its tensions before translating them into form.
YP
How did your collaboration with YEARLY PLAN begin, and how did the theme of “home” emerge?
AF
It happened quite naturally. Lynn, the founder, contacted me after seeing a project I did for the Bahrain Pavilion at the Venice Biennale.
She gave me full creative freedom. From there, I proposed working with the idea of “home”, not as a fixed condition, but as a structure of living and fiction.
The brand itself is a mix of influences, ideas, and references. It already feels like a system of personalities. So it felt natural to ask: how does personality become material? What does “home” mean when identity is distributed across places, cities, and time?
Home becomes a framework, a container for consciousness, memory, and projection. In many ways, it is intuitive rather than constructed.
She gave me full creative freedom. From there, I proposed working with the idea of “home”, not as a fixed condition, but as a structure of living and fiction.
The brand itself is a mix of influences, ideas, and references. It already feels like a system of personalities. So it felt natural to ask: how does personality become material? What does “home” mean when identity is distributed across places, cities, and time?
Home becomes a framework, a container for consciousness, memory, and projection. In many ways, it is intuitive rather than constructed.
YP
“Home” is both intimate and expansive. In a retail context, what experience do you hope visitors take away?
AF
The space is clearly constructed. It does not represent one person, but a constellation of positions. That is what makes it interesting today.
It is not about representation, but about overlapping impressions, data, memory, and perception merging. This is what we associate with “home” in an abstract sense.
The intention is to give time and space for reflection not only for artists or collaborators, but for visitors. In an environment with high traffic, I am curious what happens when people are invited to pause and interpret.
They may feel familiarity, or distance, or slight disorientation. But there should remain a central tone that holds everything together.
It is not about representation, but about overlapping impressions, data, memory, and perception merging. This is what we associate with “home” in an abstract sense.
The intention is to give time and space for reflection not only for artists or collaborators, but for visitors. In an environment with high traffic, I am curious what happens when people are invited to pause and interpret.
They may feel familiarity, or distance, or slight disorientation. But there should remain a central tone that holds everything together.
YP
Is there continuity across the three exhibitions in 2026?
AF
The continuity is time itself. Each exhibition can be understood as a different room in a fictional apartment.
Each iteration builds through dialogue with different collaborators, forming a layered domestic structure. In the end, it becomes a fictional apartment populated by multiple characters.
It is also like a film assembled from fragments—each room a scene. There is a narrative thread, but it remains open. The next chapter will be very different, even though the space is the same.
Each iteration builds through dialogue with different collaborators, forming a layered domestic structure. In the end, it becomes a fictional apartment populated by multiple characters.
It is also like a film assembled from fragments—each room a scene. There is a narrative thread, but it remains open. The next chapter will be very different, even though the space is the same.
YP
How do you respond to fragmented attention in the age of AI and social media?
AF
We are not only facing information overload, but overexposure. There is a constant stream of images and stimulation.
At the same time, perception is becoming more refined. We are not passive recipients—we are learning to read images more precisely.
Whether AI-generated or painted, there is growing interest in how things are constructed. The question is no longer only “what does it mean”, but “how is it made, and how does it shape perception?”
The HOUSE becomes a kind of system similar to a game board. A space to think through internal logic, away from pure digital acceleration.
Rather than worrying about fragmented attention, I am more interested in moments where people slow down, even briefly, and start noticing details: what is this object, what is this postcard, what am I actually seeing?
At the same time, perception is becoming more refined. We are not passive recipients—we are learning to read images more precisely.
Whether AI-generated or painted, there is growing interest in how things are constructed. The question is no longer only “what does it mean”, but “how is it made, and how does it shape perception?”
The HOUSE becomes a kind of system similar to a game board. A space to think through internal logic, away from pure digital acceleration.
Rather than worrying about fragmented attention, I am more interested in moments where people slow down, even briefly, and start noticing details: what is this object, what is this postcard, what am I actually seeing?
