The Fabric of our Society

The Fabric of Our Society column invites industry leaders to provide experience-based opinions and discussions on various topics. Diverse perspectives are respected and most welcome, but do not necessarily reflect the opinions of IESNYC or the Board of Managers. Want to contribute? Email [email protected]

October 2025

Is Lighting Cultural?  

Ashley Chan
Senior Designer, HLB Lighting Design

I used to think that because it is technical, lighting design must be a universal art. Doesn’t the sun shine on all of us? But working in Manila and then New York made me realize that lighting design is not just about fixtures and footcandles. It is shaped by lived experiences, as well as collective memory and history.

In the Philippines, where I began my career, natural light was abundant throughout the year. With only two seasons (hot and hotter), the sun rises and sets at roughly the same time every day. It’s basically Groundhog Day every day, except during the typhoon season. Natural light is easy and constant. Perhaps because of that, electric lighting wasn’t always treated as a powerful design element. Lighting design was not even its own subject in college, but is usually folded into both architecture and interior design.

Whether in houses, office buildings, or resorts, most of my clients back then chose cooler color temperatures. I used to think it was because warm light felt “hotter”; as opposed to the bluish hue of cool light, which was seen as more refreshing and nearer to the sharpness of abundant skylight that we knew so well. But there could be something else at play.

Cultural identity through illumination

Growing up in the 1990s in Cavite, a province south of Manila, I lived with periodic blackouts. This was the case for most of the country at that time. I remember struggling through homework and getting chores done in the candlelight. Back then, outages could stretch on for days, and when the power would come back, my siblings and I raced to switch everything on. Flipping a switch and seeing bright light return felt like a small miracle then. Perhaps that’s why we gravitated toward the cooler glow of fluorescent: to us it represented the ideal, in contrast to the warm hues of candlelight.

That feeling of memory shaping light isn’t just personal. It runs deeper into my cultural history. During the Spanish era, lighting was limited to candles and oil lamps, and they were especially prominent in Catholic churches, the heart of community life. The turn of the 20th century marked the beginning of industrialization in the Philippines, which introduced the use of cool white fluorescents. Perhaps the preference for cooler color temperatures was a cultural pivot towards modern life.

Lighting in motion in New York

In New York City, the lighting aesthetic is defined by change and precision, as well as a preference for daylight. My view is that the changing seasons influence how people feel about light here. Daylight is celebrated in summer and yearned for in winter.

In the summer, long sunsets invite people to bask in the shifting hues of the sun. During winter, long stretches of darkness amplify the longing for warmth indoors, a need reflected in the preference for warmer tones in lighting. The gradual unfolding of the seasons inspires a more nuanced and responsive approach to lighting design and controls – and a deeper appreciation of light, shadow, and all the gradients in between.

Lighting here is employed to trace the path of the sun while also guiding the pace of life. Daylight savings in summer maximizes daylight into the long hours of the evening. Skylights are carved into ceilings to admit the meager winter sun and celebrate spring.

Post-pandemic, as remote work redefined daily rhythms, lighting design became even more personal: tied to circadian rhythms, mental health, and emotional well-being. To regulate sleep cycles and enhance productivity, people began to simulate changes in natural light through smart lighting and tunable LEDs.

Light exists at the intersection of art and science: influenced by mood and preference, but also highly regulated and standardized. Either way, it is woven deeply into the fabric of our lives.

In some ways, moving between the two cities made me more sensitive to the power of lighting design to shape interactions across different spaces – and across time. It has taught me that lighting is never static, never universal. And maybe the biggest shift is this: I now know that my relationship with light changes as I change. Light is ever-changing, evolving with time, with place, with people. And that’s what makes lighting design such an intimate, powerful practice.