Xiaotong Wang seems to notice things at a slightly different scale. A detail in the corner of an illustration, the shape of an opening in a Chinese garden, the way warm light changes the feeling of a room. When we spoke, I had the impression that her work begins in these quieter moments, with something small enough to be missed and interesting enough to make her look twice.

Her eye was formed between very different places. Xiaotong grew up in China, surrounded by drawing, traditional architecture and the practical world of making. Her parents worked at a factory, and her father worked with wood and plywood, so materials, tools and construction were part of everyday life long before she thought of them as design. Studies at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing were followed by ArtCenter College of Design in California, bringing together a strong connection to cultural memory with a more experimental way of thinking.

That combination now runs through TONG, the eponymous brand of Los Angeles-based Tong Design Studio, a multidisciplinary practice specialising in lighting, furniture and object design. Its first lighting collection, Seed, takes a four-petal form found in traditional Chinese garden architecture and translates it into a modular system that can expand across a space. The reference is there, but quietly; what you notice first is the light, the proportion and the precision of something that appears far simpler than it was to make.

For this chapter of Makers of Atmosphere, I wanted to understand where Xiaotong’s attention comes from, how moving between China and the United States shaped her creative language, and why curiosity continues to sit at the centre of her work.

“There can be so much meaning, joy, and story hidden in something very small.” Xiaotong Wang

When you think back to childhood, what did creativity look like in your everyday life before you knew to call it design?

I grew up in China, and I started learning drawing and painting when I was about five or six years old. I continued studying them until high school, so art entered my life quite early.

At the same time, I was surrounded by making in a very practical way. I grew up in a residential compound provided by the factory where my parents worked. My father worked with wood and plywood, so there were always materials, tools and things being made around me. I remember being fascinated by the idea that a flat sheet of material could be cut, shaped and assembled into something useful.

At the time, I did not think of any of this as design. It was simply part of everyday life. Looking back, I think it gave me an early appreciation for materials, craftsmanship and the process behind an object.

When did those early instincts begin to turn into a real understanding of design?

By high school, I knew I wanted to continue in art, and I later studied at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing.

That was when I began to understand that design could be more than making something beautiful. It could communicate an idea, a memory or a feeling without using words. That really resonated with me.

I was also very aware of traditional Chinese architecture, gardens and furniture. Ming-style furniture in particular influenced the way I thought about proportion and simplicity. Those references stayed with me, even as my design language became more contemporary.

You later moved to the United States. What changed in the way you thought about design once you were there?

Growing up in China taught me to look closely at context, history and the meaning behind things. There is often a sense of continuity in Chinese culture: objects, materials, architecture and patterns can carry memories from one generation to another.

When I moved to the United States and studied at ArtCenter College of Design, I encountered a much broader and more experimental way of thinking. I was encouraged to question things, explore different possibilities and not be afraid of challenging the expected solution.

I think my work now combines those two perspectives. There is a cultural foundation, but I try to express it through a very simple, modern language. I do not want the work to feel constrained by one culture. I want it to communicate more universally.

After years of designing for other brands, what made you want to create a space for your own point of view?

I had spent several years working across furniture, products and lighting for other companies and brands. Those experiences taught me a great deal about manufacturing, the design process and how to respond to different clients and contexts.

Gradually, I realised that I wanted more freedom to explore my own ideas and express my own way of thinking.

Starting TONG felt like a natural next step. I wanted to create a space where I could bring together my experiences, my cultural background and the way I see objects and spaces, and develop those ideas with more intention.

If TONG were a person rather than a studio, what kind of personality would it have?

Curious, thoughtful and quietly confident.

It would be someone who observes carefully and notices small things, but does not feel the need to be loud. Someone interested in different cultures, materials and ways of living, and always open to seeing something familiar from another perspective.

I also want TONG to feel warm and approachable. I do not want the work to become overly precious or purely conceptual. There should always be a connection to everyday life.

Most importantly, I think TONG would be curious. It does not need to have all the answers. It should enjoy asking questions and discovering new possibilities through design.

Where did the idea for Seed begin, and why did light feel like the right place to start for TONG?

The form came from traditional Chinese gardens. There is a four-petal motif, often seen in begonia-shaped windows and openings, that frames views and allows light to pass through architecture.

I was attracted to how simple the geometry is, but also to the meaning it carries. The shape subtly recalls a four-leaf clover as well, which is widely associated with luck and hope. I liked the idea of bringing those references together in a way that did not feel limited to one culture.

The name Seed comes from the modular nature of the collection. Each light can connect with another and grow into a larger configuration, almost like something germinating across a space.

Lighting also felt like the right starting point because it can completely change the atmosphere of a room. My background includes furniture and lighting design, and I previously worked at Signify, but I have always felt that light has a particularly emotional quality. It is architectural, but also very human.

In many interior projects, lighting is considered quite late. I think it should be thought about much earlier, because it changes how we experience everything else in the space.

The collection looks very resolved from the outside, but much of its complexity is hidden. How difficult is it to make something appear simple?

Very difficult. The more minimal a design becomes, the more attention I give to very small and precise details.

With Seed, I wanted the surface to feel completely seamless, so there are no visible screws. The engineering is hidden between the modules, and that became one of the most challenging parts of the project.

The system also needed to remain flexible. The fixtures can hang vertically or horizontally, and the light tubes can be configured in different orientations during manufacturing. A single module can be used alone, or several can be combined depending on the space.

For me, the engineering is not separate from the creative process. Even if people never see it, it is part of what makes the simplicity possible.

Travel seems to be an important way for you to refresh your eye. When you arrive somewhere new, what are you looking for?

I am usually drawn to places with history. I love visiting museums and historic architecture, but I am also interested in the stories behind those places and in meeting local people.

I do not necessarily look for big cities. Sometimes I would much rather spend time in a small town or an older place where the culture is still very present.

Peru was particularly memorable for me. Visiting Machu Picchu made me forget about cities, computers and everyday routines for a while. I could just experience the landscape, the culture and the people around me. It was very quiet and calming, and it reminded me to slow down.

Those experiences often become part of my creative thinking later, even if I am not consciously looking for a design reference at the time.

You once said that small details can make a meaningful difference in everyday life. Has there been a small detail, completely unrelated to design, that has changed the way you see the world

Watching my son look through picture books has changed the way I pay attention. He often points to the tiniest details in an illustration, something in the background, a small animal, an object in the corner that I had completely overlooked.

It made me realise how much we lose as we grow up. We become so used to seeing the bigger picture that we stop noticing the small things. Watching him has reminded me to slow down and look more carefully. There can be so much meaning and joy hidden in something very small.

That perspective has influenced the way I approach design too. I am interested in creating objects that are quiet and enrich everyday life without demanding attention.

You founded TONG only recently. Looking ahead, what kind of studio do you hope it becomes in ten years?

In ten years, I hope TONG will have developed into a small but distinctive design studio with a clear point of view. I don’t necessarily imagine it becoming a huge company. I would rather build a studio known for thoughtful, original work across lighting, furniture and objects, and for creating pieces that have a lasting relationship with the people who use them.

I also hope TONG can become a platform for collaboration, working with different brands, manufacturers, architects and designers while continuing to explore the connection between Eastern cultural memories and contemporary life.

Most importantly, I hope that ten years from now TONG will still feel curious. I don’t want the studio to become locked into one aesthetic or one way of working. I want it to keep evolving, asking questions and finding new ways to turn ideas and memories into something tangible.

What are you working on at the moment that excites you the most?

At the moment, I’m most excited about continuing to develop TONG and seeing where the Seed collection can go next. Launching Seed at NeoCon was an important milestone for me, but in many ways it feels like the beginning rather than the end.

I’m interested in exploring how its modular language can evolve into new forms and applications, while continuing to experiment with light, materials and the relationship between an object and its surroundings.

At the same time, I’m developing new lighting and furniture ideas that are quite different from Seed. I’m excited by that balance: building a recognisable identity for TONG while still giving myself the freedom to explore and surprise myself.

We’ve spoken about curiosity, the places that have shaped your eye and the small details that continue to find their way into your work. Before we finish, I’d like to leave design aside for a moment and ask you one final question. What is something that has quietly stayed with you lately?

Recently, I’ve been enjoying the time I spend drawing and making things with my son. We often sit together and draw, or make little things from whatever we have around us.

What stays with me is how naturally he approaches it. He doesn’t worry about whether something looks good or whether he is doing it the “right” way. He simply follows his curiosity and enjoys the process.

It has made me want to hold on to that same sense of curiosity and playfulness in my own creative life, to make things because I’m curious about what might happen, without always needing to know where they will end up.

By the end of our conversation, I kept thinking about the way Xiaotong notices things. It appears in many forms: in the precision hidden inside Seed, in the historic places she seeks out when she travels, and now in the tiny details her son notices before she does.

For Makers of Atmosphere, I try to understand what connects a person’s work to the way they move through the world. With Xiaotong, that connection feels especially clear. Her atmosphere is one of attentive curiosity. She is drawn to warm, balanced spaces where light, materials and architecture leave room to slow down and look more closely. The same instinct runs through her work: familiar forms are reconsidered, small details are given weight, and simplicity never means there is nothing left to discover.

Her final answer brought that idea back to something very simple. She spoke about sitting with her son, drawing and making things without worrying too much about where they might lead. After a conversation shaped by precision, cultural memory and years of design practice, she returned to the pleasure of curiosity itself: making something simply to see what might happen next.

Discover more about Xiaotong Wang and TONG at tongdesignstudio.com or follow the studio on Instagram: @tongdesignstudio

This story was created in collaboration with Xiaotong Wang / TONG. Interview, editing and editorial direction by Rarefied.