The Story Behind Shadow Ballet: A House of Light and Color by Lina Wang

I’m Lina Wang, an architectural designer based in New York City with experience in educational, science and technology, and competition projects. I’ve always been fascinated by how spaces influence emotions, behavior, and memories.

Growing up, I was constantly sketching and imagining new environments—spaces that told stories or evoked a certain feeling. Pursuing architecture felt like a natural path—a way to merge creativity with purpose and create spaces that are not only visually compelling, but also meaningful and human-centered.

It’s a great honor and a rewarding moment for me. It feels good to see the project recognized, and it motivates me to keep exploring new ideas and growing as a designer.

The MUSE Design Awards celebrate creativity on a global stage, so receiving this recognition is incredibly validating. It reinforces that the ideas and values I bring to my work are being seen and appreciated, and it pushes me to continue evolving and challenging myself creatively.

It’s brought a lot of encouragement and visibility to my work. Within my team, it has sparked great conversations about design ideas and competition projects. Personally, it has opened doors to new connections and collaborations, and it has helped build momentum as I continue exploring more conceptual and research-driven projects alongside my professional work.

Experimentation is central to my process—it’s often how the most meaningful ideas take shape. I use competitions as a space to test concepts I might not get to explore in everyday projects.

In Shadow Ballet: A House of Light and Color, I experimented with how light, shadow, and color could move through space like a performance. I used colored glass to cast vibrant, colorful shadows that shifted throughout the day, turning the architecture into a dynamic, ever-changing sensory experience. That kind of open-ended exploration is where I find the most joy in design.

One of the most unusual sources of inspiration came from watching sunlight pass through stained glass in an old cathedral. It wasn’t part of a design research trip—I just happened to walk in during golden hour, and the way the colored light moved across the floor stayed with me.

That quiet, beautiful moment later became a key reference for Shadow Ballet, where I used colored glass to create vibrant, time-based shadows that bring emotion into the space.

I wish more people understood that good design takes time—and a lot of iteration. What might look simple and effortless in the final result often comes from countless rounds of testing, reworking, and refining.

It’s not just about making things look nice; it’s about solving problems, telling a story, and creating something that resonates on a deeper level. There’s a lot of invisible labor behind each decision, and every detail is intentional. Good design is quiet but deliberate—it earns its clarity through process.

It’s definitely a balancing act, but I see it as a dialogue rather than a compromise. I try to really listen and understand what the client values—sometimes their goals can be met in ways they hadn’t considered. Instead of holding onto one fixed idea, I focus on the core intent behind it and look for opportunities to align that with the client’s needs. When there’s trust and openness on both sides, it becomes easier to propose bold ideas that still feel grounded in their vision.

The most challenging part was the design phase itself—translating abstract ideas into a spatial language that felt both clear and emotionally resonant. With a conceptual project like Shadow Ballet, it was easy to get lost in aesthetics, so I had to constantly step back and ask: what experience am I really trying to create?

Balancing light, form, and color in a way that felt intentional took a lot of iteration. I overcame those challenges by staying focused on the emotional narrative and using light as the guiding element throughout the design process.

When I hit a creative block, I usually step away from the screen and do something that engages my senses in a different way—taking a walk, visiting a gallery, or even just flipping through a physical book. Changing environments helps me reset.

I’ve found that ideas often come when I stop forcing them—when I’m relaxed, observing quietly, or just enjoying something unrelated to design. Sometimes the best way to move forward is to pause.

I care deeply about creating work that is visually compelling and well-composed. I’m drawn to clarity in form, strong spatial gestures, and a sense of balance in how materials, color, and proportion come together.

Even in conceptual projects, I focus on the visual impact and how a design communicates through its appearance alone. I believe beauty can be a powerful way to connect with people and leave a lasting impression.

Don’t be afraid to take creative risks and explore your own voice—but also be patient with yourself. It’s easy to get caught up in doing what’s expected or feel pressure to figure everything out quickly, but design is a long process, and real growth takes time.

Some of the most meaningful work comes from moments of uncertainty and experimentation. Follow your curiosity, even if it feels unclear at first. Enter competitions, try things outside your comfort zone, and learn from every iteration—successful or not.

Every project is a step toward developing confidence and clarity in your design approach.

Zaha Hadid’s work continues to be a powerful influence in the field of architecture. I deeply admire the way she challenged conventions and introduced an entirely new visual language to contemporary design.

Her ability to merge bold, sculptural forms with architectural clarity was truly visionary. I would be honored to collaborate with her if given the chance—learning from her fearless creativity and uncompromising pursuit of innovation would be an unforgettable experience.

I wish people would ask more about how visual decisions evolve during the design process. Sometimes choices are intentional from the start, and sometimes they emerge more intuitively through testing and iteration.

Even if something begins as an instinct, it often becomes a defining element of the project. I think those visual layers—whether planned or discovered—are what give a design its strength and identity.