This is a rainforest in the Pacific Northwest. We can use the same method as above to think about the various elements to keep and change. Take individual parts and spread them out over several rooms. Imagine yourself in the space. What do you smell and hear?

The light coming through the trees, and how it may be so dark in one place and suddenly so light in another.

The truncated shape of the branches. They remind me of reindeer antlers.

The moss on the branches. When I brush past them, I'll bet it would feel moist, like a dog's tongue (if it's a happy place) or it might feel like I was squeezing a dead thing when I put a hand around one (if it's an unhappy place.)

The odd angles of the trees.

What kind of wildlife might I hear there? Insects? Birds? Rustling in the undergrowth? Which takes me to the lack of undergrowth.

I can spread each of these things out over a good eight rooms if I imagine myself leaning against a trunk (how does that feel? If I scrape off bark, what does it look like underneath?), or stepping in a patch of peat by accident, or noticing some ants on the ground devouring some small animal.

From harappa.com, this is a colored photograph of Bangalore taken in the late 1800s. It's an open-air refreshment stall, as we can tell from the sign above it.

What sort of clientele comes there?

What kinds of drinks does the proprietor have out?

Why is there latticework for the counter? Is it because of the heat?

What if it were cold, how would the design be different?

When does he turn on those lights, and how?

All these questions can lead you to a living, breathing design. Put a little Elanthia in there - gaethzen spheres for the lighting or a big Glythtide mural on the wall - and presto. It's a refreshment stall fit for a fest.