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Xue Gao

Xue Gao works across landscape design, immersive technology, and storytelling. With a background in urban planning and a growing interest in XR and serious games, their projects bring together ecological systems, cultural memory, and community voices. From designing public housing landscapes to building interactive digital tools, Xue explores how people relate to place—what’s visible, what’s hidden, and how stories can connect the two. Their current focus, shaped by both research and lived experience, looks at how immersive environments can support participation and open up new ways of understanding cities.


Runway to Wild - Water color, wire mesh, 2019
Runway to Wild - Water color, wire mesh, 2019

Q: You describe the city as a palimpsest. When did that image first click for you?


A: I grew up in a city that was colonized by nine countries during World War II. From above, it appears as a giant collage—traditional Chinese neighborhoods interwoven with European-style architecture and modern high-rises. Growing up there gave me a sensitivity to the small, often overlooked details that quietly accumulate over time.

As I studied architecture, I read works like The Image of the City and writings by Yifu Duan, who, coincidentally, is from the same city and even attended the same high school as me. Through these readings, I began to understand concepts of place, public image, and personal attachment. I realized that a city’s collage isn’t only shaped by history or foreign influence—it’s also deeply personal, different in each person’s mind.

 At the same time, I was inspired by Ian McHarg’s ecological theory of layering natural systems, which revealed how environments can be understood as interconnected, living layers. These ideas came together and led me to wonder: What if we could collage together the images of the city that exist in people’s memories and imaginations? Some traces might still exist physically, while others have vanished. And what if we expand beyond human perspectives, as McHarg proposed? After all, an urban system functions like a vast, intricate machine, with all its parts working together.

 This became the foundation for how I now think about cities—as living palimpsests, continuously rewritten by both human and more-than-human forces.


4 ForestRoom - Watercolor, pencil, 2019
4 ForestRoom - Watercolor, pencil, 2019

Q: How do you decide what hidden systems—ecological, cultural, or infrastructural—deserve to be surfaced in your work?


A: I wouldn’t say my work is about deciding which systems to represent. Instead, it’s about exploring the interconnections between them. My process begins with curiosity rather than a fixed agenda. The work itself becomes a kind of manifesto, making my thinking process visible and showing how these hidden systems are intertwined rather than separate. For example, in my project Seeing the Interwoven, I started with a very personal spatial experience at RISD Beach. I wanted to map how I felt in that space—the textures, the sense of enclosure, the atmosphere. As I worked, I began to ask why I felt that way. I realized it wasn’t just about my perception, but also about the vegetation: how the trees and Phragmites shaped the space through their forms and density.

That question led me deeper. What determined where those plants grew, and how they thrived? This pushed me to explore the site’s hydrology and topography. Eventually, I synthesized these layers—emotional, ecological, and physical—into a single representation. In this way, my process moves from the deeply personal to the systemic, revealing how our experiences are connected to broader ecological and infrastructural forces.


Q: XR is often framed as high-tech. For you, it seems just as much about equity and access. How do you hold those together?


A: XR is a developing medium, much like video once was. Fifty years ago, video mostly existed on television, and only a few platforms had the resources to create and distribute it. A small group of gatekeepers decided what stories were told and whose voices were heard. Today, anyone with a smartphone can record and share videos instantly on platforms like TikTok, and video has become part of our everyday lives.

I believe XR is on a similar path. Right now, when people hear “XR,” they often think of high-tech, expensive headsets and complicated software. But immersion itself isn’t new. It goes back to panoramic paintings in the 1830s and even to ancient architectural spaces designed to fully surround and engage people.

Right now there are still thresholds for creating XR experiences. People need to create 3D models and be able to code. 

However, that’s changing fast. With advances in AI, we can now generate 3D models and code by describing them in words. This lowers the barrier to entry and makes it possible for more people to create and share immersive experiences.

For me, XR is not only about technology. It’s about equity and access. I see it as a tool for storytelling and participation, a way for communities to shape their own narratives. My goal is to design XR experiences that are intuitive and meaningful, so they can become as accessible and expressive as today’s video—something shaped by many voices, not just a few.


Q: Your thesis centered on storytelling in XR. What did you learn about the way people narrate their own places?


A: In urban planning and design, we often start with the big picture. Designers rely on tools like GIS, timelines to understand the patterns and trends. They are powerful, but they can also feel abstract and distant from everyday life. Through my thesis, I learned that when people narrate their own places, they start from a very different perspective. Instead of mapping systems, they begin with moments, impressions, or feelings. For example, one participant who works in public transportation didn’t start by talking about routes or policies. The very first thing he shared was a memory from when he was young, about someone who got drunk and drove a car into the river beneath a traffic circle. Another participant, who’s a part-time babysitter, spoke about how she always stays alert and cautious when caring for children in Kennedy Plaza. These stories reveal the small, lived details that rarely appear in planning documents but profoundly shape how people move through and experience the city. They show a different kind of knowledge—one rooted in personal memory and emotion rather than abstract data.


A Flow Study of Kennedy Plaza - Digital, 2020
A Flow Study of Kennedy Plaza - Digital, 2020

Q: Collaboration is key in your projects. What makes a strong partner for you in this kind of work?


A: For me, collaboration happens on two levels. The first is with local communities. Co-creation means bringing residents and stakeholders to the table early, listening to their experiences, and working with them to shape the project.

Their voices ground the work in real needs and lived realities. The second level is within the project team itself. My work crosses design, technology, and research, so I rely on team members who bring different skills and perspectives. A strong partner is someone who is open, curious, and willing to learn from others. When these two kinds of collaboration come together, the work becomes richer and more meaningful.


Q: As you step into your PhD, what questions are you most restless to explore next?


A: I’m interested in two areas that may seem different but are deeply connected. The first is how to use gamification to promote interaction and co-creation in community building, making participation more engaging and meaningful. The second is about expanding who gets to be part of the co-design conversation. I want to explore how to bring more-than-human perspectives into the process, so the design of cities reflects not just human needs but the needs of the environment as well. The first one is about how to engage and the second is about who is engaged. My challenge in the coming year will be finding a balance between these two directions and discovering where they intersect.

 
 
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