• Thai architect Rachaporn Choochuey on tropical design, vernacular wisdom, and lessons for Sri Lankan architecture

When Bangkok-based architect Rachaporn Choochuey speaks about what defines her as a designer, her words convey ease and precision. “I never started with a manifesto,” she said during her recent visit to Colombo. “I only wanted to do work that feels honest, useful, and fun for both the client and the designer.”

Rachaporn, Co-Founder of all(zone), belongs to a generation of Southeast Asian architects who are quietly redefining tropical architecture. Educated at Columbia University and the University of Tokyo, she returned to Bangkok to teach and later established her own small studio. 

Rather than chase scale or prestige, she focuses on the overlooked: markets, exhibition spaces, and community buildings no one else wants to take on. “Constraints make you think harder,” she explained. “When there’s little money, we find freedom.”

Her work has since been part of international biennales and featured in the architecture and design magazine Domus, but she resists being labelled experimental. To her, these temporary or low-cost structures are not art installations; they are architecture stripped to its fundamentals. 

“We use light, inexpensive materials to understand what buildings really need to be,” she said. “Tropical life changes fast. Our buildings should too.”

Tropical logic

Rachaporn’s philosophy emerges directly from her surroundings. Bangkok’s urban sprawl, monsoon cycles, and constant humidity demand design that breathes, shifts, and ages gracefully. 

Traditional Thai houses, she pointed out, were built from timber and raised on stilts, allowing air to flow freely beneath and through. Walls are loosely joined. Floors have gaps for ventilation. “The house accepts that heat, rain, and wind come and go. It doesn’t fight the climate, it lives with it,” she said.

Her work with all(zone) continues this logic in modern form — light, modular structures that respond to tropical conditions rather than resist them. In a region where construction often imitates Western permanence through concrete and glass, she sees adaptability as both ecological and cultural intelligence. 

“Architecture shouldn’t always be heavy or forever. Temporary doesn’t mean disposable,” she said. “Sometimes, lightness is wisdom.”

Lessons for Sri Lanka

Rachaporn’s reflections carry strong resonance for Sri Lanka, where tropical design has long been shaped by Geoffrey Bawa’s legacy. She sees in Bawa’s work a balance between romance and realism. 

“He understood how to use modern language with local intelligence,” she noted. “His buildings are neither old nor new, but something in between — a tension that’s alive.”

That tension, she believes, is essential to developing a Sri Lankan modern design identity. “We should learn to merge what’s inherited with what’s possible,” she said. “The materials, the craft, the way people live — these must stay at the centre, even as we innovate.”

Comparing Thailand and Sri Lanka, she highlighted subtle differences in each culture’s approach to dealing with humidity. 

“In Thailand, we try to escape it. We lift the house, keep it dry. Here, you embrace it. Moss grows on your walls and it becomes part of the landscape. It’s beautiful,” she said. “Both are right. Each reflects how people live with their climate.”

Her observations underline an important point for local architects: the future of design in the tropics lies not in imported styles but in evolving vernacular intelligence. This means learning from traditional builders who understand the rhythms of wind, rain, and heat, and from artisans who know how materials behave over time. 

“When we stop copying and start listening to our own climate, we design better,” she said.

Rethinking permanence

Rachaporn also challenges the idea that architecture must last forever. Her work often begins with projects meant to be temporary — market stalls, festival pavilions, pop-up spaces — yet many end up staying for years. 

“When something is called temporary, people stop being afraid of it. That freedom allows better thinking,” she said. “Some of our so-called temporary buildings are still there 15 years later.”

This approach encourages a shift in mindset: buildings as living systems that grow, shrink, or move as needs change. It is a view that aligns with how many Asian cities evolve organically, through layers of adaptation rather than master plans. For Sri Lanka, where informal urbanism thrives in parallel with rigid planning, this lesson feels timely.

Beyond her own practice, Rachaporn calls for greater dialogue within Asia. “We know so little about each other,” she said. “We look to Europe or America for confirmation, but our challenges are here — heat, floods, density, limited resources. We should talk more, learn more, and look inwards.”

Her visit to Sri Lanka, part of the Geoffrey Bawa Trust and Royal Thai Embassy’s Thai Architecture Programme, embodies that spirit. Both Thailand and Sri Lanka share not only a tropical geography but also an evolving struggle to reconcile heritage with modern ambition. 

“We have enough knowledge in this region,” she said. “We only need to connect it.”