PARENTS’ HOUSE

Coppak Studio, Zhu Yumeng

• Architects

The story begins in 2005. That year, people living in Chongqing, deep in the hinterland of China, first brushed against a dream of life from the far end of the Eurasian continent. Developers wrote lines like this on their flyers: "The passion ignited on the Iberian Peninsula will spread along the Mediterranean coastline all the way to the heel of Italy. Receive the world’s adoration on the hills of Tuscany. Architecture, thus, achieves style. "Under the real estate wave sweeping across China, "Style" became a vessel for hopes of a future life. It was as if this so-called "Spanish Style" could bestow not just an architectural façade, but also transport Spain’s year-round intense sunlight, sharp, chisel-cut shadows, and dry air all the way to Chongqing.

photo_credit Coppak Studio, Zhu Yumeng — Coppak Studio, Zhu Yumeng

In the fullness of time, "Style" lost out to "Life." Chongqing’s light, filtered through heavy cloud cover, lacks depth, and the climate is humid and stifling. The local natural conditions are diametrically opposed to those of Spain. The diffused light, characteristic of cloudy weather, could not penetrate the narrow windows into the interior. Consequently, even at high noon in midsummer, my father, who prefers bright rooms, had to turn on every light just to ensure basic illumination. A more serious consequence of the lack of direct sunlight was the accumulation of moisture on the ground floor, which sits tight against a retaining wall, due to Chongqing’s long Plum Rain season. With condensation forming on the walls and floors, one was constantly surrounded by cold dampness. Aside from running dehumidifiers year-round, my mother even painted the walls a bright yellow, hoping to use visual warmth to compensate for the tactile discomfort. The strongest impressions this home left on me spatially were dim lighting, an atrium and backyard of unknown purpose, and many nooks and crannies that were difficult to use or clean.

Fifteen years after moving in, my parents proposed the idea that I renovate the house. Beyond upgrading the aging, dysfunctional plumbing and replacing broken equipment, they hoped to reshape the space based on the living experience they had accumulated. They had three requests for the design: "Simple," "Economic," and "Easy to use." During the design process, the dialogue between my parents and me centered consistently on "what will happen here," rather than "what should be placed here" or "what should be expressed." The design was very careful in selecting which interfaces to modify, striving to find appropriate uses in the new home for existing furniture and doors that were still functional. My parents and I reached a consensus: the home is a stage for life to unfold and evolve, not an "artifact" that occupies life. Guided by this thinking, the renovation ceased to be a creation based on "style" or "narrative" and evolved into an effort to organize life.

The First Act of Organization: Tracing the Trajectory of Life
The existing three-story building sits on terraced terrain, accessible from both north and south. Years of habit had formed a vertical functional zoning: the second floor, connecting to the vehicular road in the southern community, served as the main entrance, housing the living room, garage, guest room, balcony, and atrium; the first floor, backing against the hillside retaining wall and facing the rear garden, connected to the pedestrian secondary entrance and consisted of the dining room, kitchen, and entertainment room; the third floor was the most private sleeping area, containing two bedrooms and a study. After continuous discussion and comparison of schemes, this zoning was retained in the renovation. The thinking focused on how to release the spatial potential of the house to become a catalyst for the evolution of future life.

The Second Act of Organization: Liberating Space with "Light" Moves
Considering the house shares its structural framework with three neighbors, and adhering to the principle of economy, the renovation completely preserved the original structural system and the main plumbing lines. Optimization focused on non-load-bearing block walls that were easy to alter, attempting to intervene with the "lightest" possible touch. On the second floor, by shifting a wall facing the atrium, the design achieved several goals: adding an accessibility elevator, relocating the guest room, expanding the usable semi-outdoor area of the atrium, and adding a cloakroom/mudroom. On the first floor, by removing a row of walls, the north-facing entertainment room and drying porch were merged into the interior. The dining room was moved forward near the backyard, making the outdoor landscape a part of the dining activity for the first time. An extra-long island became the focal point of the space. Designed as a stage, it is surrounded by the stove, dining table, and mahjong table. During gatherings, my parents—who love to cook personally—can discuss culinary arts with family and friends while showing off their skills. In the open floor plan, one wall extends outdoors. It coordinates a semi-open stir-fry cubicle (avoiding the heavy oil smoke of Sichuan cuisine affecting the dining space) and carves out an equipment room in the backyard, integrating the AC outdoor units, water heater, and laundry drying functions. On the third floor, by adding an external wall to eliminate a segment of semi-outdoor corridor, we amplified the flexibility of the indoor space, improved thermal comfort in summer and winter, and liberated functions like the walk-in closet that could previously only be located deep within the layout, sparking new imagination for living. The architectural design does not seek a strong stylistic manifesto; it naturally allows the façade to continue the past style, silently blending into the community environment. Design effort was spent on details related to the body: the forms of door handles and stair handrails echo the specific movements of pushing sliding doors and climbing stairs; equipment and storage volumes act as boxes inserted into life, providing expandable storage for parents who love to organize and clean; the material palette of natural wood, textured paint, and brushed stainless steel strives for simplicity and warmth, while being easy to maintain and replace.

The Third Act of Organization: Letting Sunlight In
To solve the issue of insufficient indoor lighting brought by the "Spanish Style" architecture to Chongqing living, the north wall of the atrium was opened up, and huge glass windows were installed on the third and second floors. For the first time in twenty years, my parents did not have to turn on all the indoor lights during the day. The glass wall on the second floor, in particular, redefined the relationship between the atrium and the interior. It visually integrated the two, making them background and depth for one another—the atrium transformed from a purely transitional space into an extension of the living room. A tea table set originally kept indoors was moved under the eaves of the atrium, becoming a place for my father to enjoy the afternoon sun and tea. To achieve this, we custom-ordered a single pane of glass 3 meters high and 3.8 meters wide as the core of the atrium’s curtain wall system (since its scale exceeded the building entrance, we used a crane to hoist it into the atrium for installation, which became a memorable moment during the renovation). This continuous glass curtain wall, equal in width to the atrium and containing the living room entrance, dissolved the sense of enclosure and heaviness caused by the original architectural style. The second floor seems to break free from gravity, suspended above a transparent partition of metal and glass. Inside, the staircase—retained for economic reasons—became a "device" to guide light indoors. It was not designed as a cliché fully transparent glass staircase. Instead, a solid sculptural volume based on light analysis cuts through the vertical direction of the building. Without hindering the entry of light, it makes light perceptible by shaping shadows. Now that human transit is handled by the elevator, the staircase has become the primary means for light to move up and down within the building.

The Fourth Act of Organization: Working with Redundancies
All the aforementioned wall movements, exterior openings, or functional changes inevitably conflicted with the original building entity, creating "redundancies." These were columns sitting in the middle of rooms, walls protruding or receding due to architectural molding, or beams of uneven heights. Admittedly, for a more stunning "design effect," we could have used technical means to eliminate them (e.g., structural reinforcement to remove columns or altering beam sizes). But isn't the key to solving some problems simply to stop viewing them as problems, but rather as possibilities? Can architecture act as a mediator between the new and the old? Therefore, in the renovation, we kept these "redundancies" and endowed them with new meaning. The zigzagging wall on the north side of the second floor was transformed into two "bay windows," becoming my parents' favorite spot for summer naps. The column in the middle of the living room became a decorative light feature illuminating the ceiling. The partition wall between the bathroom and the foyer was gently "placed" on the ground, forming a visual focus of the living space alongside the stairs. In the dining room, beams of different heights were exposed below the ceiling, becoming cues to distinguish the dining area, entertainment area, and kitchen. A column on the third floor became a full-length dressing mirror. The greater value of these redundancies lies in the fact that they delineate space within an open field, distinguishing places in a non-coercive manner. This act of spatial division is activated when the human body interacts with these physical structures. They serve as the most definitive 'furniture' within each space.

The Fifth Act of Organization: Immersion
This is a design without a "story." We believe that the retreat made by architecture is the catalyst for life to take its first step. Radical and bizarre stories are eventually worn down by the continuity of daily life. As my parents moved in, the building began a new life cycle. This time, my parents themselves became the protagonists of the design, allowing change to happen continuously. Everything brought from the old home slowly filled the space: the old sofa, mahjong table, crafts, calligraphy, photos, tableware, books... Visiting guests are often invited directly to the dining room on the first floor to play cards while chatting with my mother as she prepares the meal. The large long table in the center of the living room is a depot for my parents' hobbies, always piled with magazines, tea sets, and snacks. My father has also started envisioning putting an inflatable pool in the atrium for his grandson, or setting up a hot pot table in the backyard during family gatherings. My parents' life experience did not become a constraint on the design. On the contrary, it helped us focus on the moments that truly matter, rather than products and concepts.