You know that feeling when you stumble upon something that makes you reconsider everything you thought you knew about a space? That’s exactly what happened when I discovered this incredible project in Guangzhou, China. Office for Roundtable and JXY Studio have created something that refuses to fit into neat categories, and honestly, that’s what makes it so compelling.
The project is called “Your Greenhouse Is Your Kitchen Is Your Living Room,” and yes, that title is doing exactly what it promises. This isn’t just a clever name. It’s a modular pavilion that literally transforms from a functioning greenhouse into an open pavilion for community gatherings, and it does so in the most satisfying way possible.
Designers: and (photography by Leyuan Li)
Picture this: a steel A-frame structure wrapped in polycarbonate panels that can hinge open using tension cables suspended from the top of the frame. When the sides are closed, you have a microclimate perfect for growing potatoes, green peppers, lettuce, bok choi, and various herbs. When you pull those cables and the walls lift up, suddenly you’ve got an airy pavilion ready to host a dinner party or a community workshop.
What I love about this design is how it emerged from a very specific moment in time. Designer Leyuan Li secured a grant from Hong Kong’s Design Trust to explore the small-scale, community-based farming projects that popped up during the COVID-19 pandemic. You remember those, right? When everyone suddenly became obsessed with sourdough starters and backyard gardens because we were all grappling with questions about food security and supply chains.
But instead of just documenting that cultural moment, Li and the teams at Office for Roundtable and JXY Studio decided to create something that pushes the conversation forward. The pavilion, installed at Guangzhou’s Fei Arts museum, is their answer to a bigger question: what if we could challenge the entire system of centralized food production by creating spaces that make growing, cooking, and sharing food feel more accessible and communal?
The technical details are pretty clever too. Those polycarbonate sheets aren’t just randomly placed. The designers carefully positioned gaps between the panels to allow for passive cooling, which is essential in Guangzhou’s subtropical climate. Nobody wants to be stuck in a sweltering greenhouse when they’re trying to tend their herbs or host a gathering. Inside, metal shelving racks hold the vegetables and herbs, creating a practical growing system that doesn’t sacrifice aesthetics. The whole structure is lightweight and modular, which means it can be adapted, moved, or reconfigured based on what the community needs.
This flexibility feels important. The design doesn’t dictate how people should use the space. Instead, it offers possibilities. Maybe today it’s a greenhouse where neighbors learn about urban farming techniques. Tomorrow it could transform into an outdoor kitchen where everyone gathers to cook what they’ve grown. Next week, it might become a living room for community conversations about food systems and sustainability.
What Office for Roundtable describes as an “architectural device that amalgamates the roles of a greenhouse, an outdoor kitchen, and a living room” is really about something deeper than just multipurpose design. It’s about reimagining our relationship with food, land, and each other in urban environments.
The truth is we’re increasingly disconnected from where our food comes from so this project offers a refreshingly tangible alternative. It proposes new forms of what the designers call “domesticity and collectivity” by literally breaking down the walls between growing food, preparing it, and gathering around it. The beauty of this installation is that it doesn’t preach or demand. It simply exists as an invitation. Want to grow something? Here’s the space. Want to cook together? The pavilion opens up. Want to talk about how we can build more resilient, community-centered food systems? Pull up a chair.
That’s the kind of design that sticks with you. Not because it’s flashy or complicated, but because it’s thoughtful enough to adapt to real human needs while being bold enough to suggest we might want to rethink some pretty fundamental assumptions about how we live, eat, and come together.
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