(650) 750-4461
San Jose, CA
Los Angeles
2026
to Experience
- 01Parami ResidencePractice
- 02Bath HouseExperience
- 03Worlds for FoodExperience meets form
- 04Tetrascape TowerForm
- 05Dialectic SynthesisSynthesis
I was trained in both the formal discipline and the circumstantial practice of architecture — and I refuse to choose between them.
The projects in this book trace what happens when those two trainings meet. Early work asserts presence and pursues form for its own sake. Later projects begin to listen — to site, to program, to the people who will use them. The thesis takes both disciplines and tests whether they can speak the same language across two radically different sites.
Beauty and function are not a balance to be struck. They are non-negotiable demands on the same design.
Residence
The response was to redistribute the stack rather than accept it. Each level was reassigned based on what it could do better — privacy, light, openness, retreat — rather than what convention placed there. The tower's logic was set aside in favor of the lot's actual conditions.
Entry is choreographed before the house is visible — visitors follow the sound of a water feature, ascend toward the threshold, and pass a waterfall cascading from the living floor above. The stair is not a circulation element; it is the first spatial experience of the house.
Subterranean · Surface · Canopy — vertical stratification that returns the ground to landscape and lifts private life into the sky.
5 floors · reads as tower
reads as 3 stories · feels like home
House
the breath you held finds itself —
the room exhales you.
A bathhouse is just hot water and cold water until the architecture decides otherwise. Withheld from Sunset Blvd behind a tall hedge — only a sliver of entry visible — what follows is a promenade of thresholds: narrow arrival corridors into wide ceremonial halls, cold plunge to hot pool to outdoor garden. Every shift is placed to be experienced by the body in motion, not just observed by the eye.
for Food
The brief called for a research center. The design asked: research into what? Food — the universal common ground. The building organizes three interlinked worlds: a living food forest where visitors grow and harvest, a research lab where scientists study biodiversity and nutrition, and a restaurant where chefs cook with ingredients picked that morning. The visitor's body moving through all three is the design.
Form derived from program zones, user circulation, and solar exposure — the building's shape is a direct consequence of how people move through it and what it needs to grow.
Tower
The question was simple and a little reckless: what if a residential tower didn't just stack floors — what if it broke them apart and reassembled them? The design takes a conventional housing block, slices it into clusters, and rotates each one against its neighbor. Not for the sake of it. Each rotation creates a terrace for the unit below. Each offset carves a void in the mass — and those voids become the shared spaces where residents actually live together: gardens, workspaces, outdoor platforms suspended in the structure.
It's an early project, and it shows — the instinct was to challenge the form first and ask questions later. But the spatial payoff turned out to be real. The building refuses to be just another tower, and in doing so, it accidentally discovered that formal ambition and collective life aren't opposed. That was worth remembering.
The section drawing is where the recklessness pays off. Every rotation that felt like a formal gamble on the outside reveals an interior that works — units with real light, real air, and real views. Shared terraces sit where the masses pull apart. The structural frame is exposed and honest. The city and transit infrastructure press in from the left, grounding the speculation in a real neighborhood.
This is the earliest project in the portfolio — the one where form came first and everything else followed. The instinct was rebellion: don't make another boring tower. What came out of that rebellion, unexpectedly, was the discovery that breaking a building apart can create space for people to share. That discovery carried forward into every project after it.
Synthesis
The project begins with the rigorous manipulation of mass, void, and intersection — the foundational operations of disciplinary architecture. A twin house competition provided the test: the same formal system applied to two sites that share nothing — one urban, one rural — each with its own ground, its own constraints, its own demands on the people inside.
The discipline is present in both houses. But it is no longer the point. It is in service of something — the specific conditions of where and how people live.
The thesis begins with a borrowed vocabulary. Peter Eisenman's Guardiola House (1988) operates through a fixed set of formal moves — carving, intersection, volume deformation — applied iteratively to a single mass. The diagram catalogues twelve such moves: each one preserves the original operation while transforming the result. The exercise is not to invent new geometry, but to push a single language until it reveals what it can hold.
The courtyard house is a journey inward. Masses deform to become walkways that extend into furniture — the bedroom leads to a reading room through a copper-walled passage. Light enters only on the building's terms: through perforated screens, narrow slots, and a single skylight that connects the most private room to the sky above. No exterior views. No borrowed landscape. Everything the building offers, it made itself.
The pinwheel house is a journey outward. Arms reach toward the site boundaries, framing the landscape in every direction. The boolean intersection of two masses carves the dining room open to the sand garden behind it — the original mass stays as a frame, a ghost of the formal move expressed in a different material. Where the courtyard house excluded the world, the pinwheel house invites it in. Same formal language, opposite spatial result.
to experience.
The work continues.