"In feng shui, we talk about the harmony in the place that you live in,” Mr. Liu says. “The cube evolved out of wanting cozy with the option of keeping a big, open space at the same time. And we added wheels for feng shui purposes. Now that it is portable, I can spin it on an axis, I can point my head and point my desk in different compass directions for different projects. If I am writing something and feel blocked, I can get up and move the room.
To move about the meditation area, which also serves as a tearoom, Mr. Liu has to slouch or crawl. That’s fine with him: In a traditional Japanese tearoom, the ceilings are so low you have to crawl in, he says; you were meant to feel humble. Also, says Mr. Liu, who routinely goes into teaching mode, the doors of a Japanese tearoom were designed to be small, to prevent samurai warriors from entering with their swords, or at least to prevent them from drawing their swords.
One aspect of the design that the pair consider particularly important is its portability: If Mr. Liu moves, the cube can be taken apart and reassembled. And when it is broken down, no part of the cube is wider than three feet, so it can fit through a standard door.
For now, however, Mr. Liu seems most taken with the cube’s ability to turn in response to his moods, as well as the way it creates opportunities to appreciate beauty."
Mr. Liu's cube room reminds me of hikkikomori's (severely socially-traumatized people who refuse to leave their rooms under circumstances) ideal getaway.
source: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/10/garden/10cube.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=mv
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