In the summer of 2018, the streets of Hanoi were smoky with high humidity and dust. I was sketching a building at the entrance of the road where the daily market is located. I put watercolors on the paper, which was already soggy from the humidity and sweat dripping from my hands. In the bustle of the chaotic capital, I realized that the defused light in the dust and exhaust gas, stealing shadows from everything, dominates this area even more than this architecture. The architecture stands somewhat languidly in this environment. 

Light and architecture are not lonely players in the whole sight in front of me. The style of the architecture - the Chinese-style roof proudly on top of the building, the green window frames in the yellow walls reminding me of Mediterrane architecture - speaks of former colonial rule in this country. The advertising signs and LED-neon lights reflect the destructive swell of the consumer economy in Vietnam, a communist nation. The exhaust fumes from the countless motorcycles passing by on the street. The bustle, the poverty. The smell of sweat. These parameters, facts, and life don't count in an architectural observation - they are not visible in my sketchbook. Nevertheless, they dominate the space surrounding us overwhelmingly. And these are, I believe, the essence of my job. I am a scenographer. 

The stage is a social space, precisely like our surrounding habitat. It is a place where we discuss issues shared by our society. Scenography designs the space necessary for this purpose. In this way, abstract thought emerges as a structure that can be spatially accessed. There, the audience encounters a variety of others, their thoughts and feelings, and their bodies. We are never alone in our existence, in our society. In scenography, architecture becomes part of the structure of the entire space. Air, light, sound, time, and our body become one structure to construct the space.