Sou Fujimoto

Posted on 14 de April de 202519 de April de 2025 by nr

NR 19 Detour · 2025
Published · Print Page 038

Feature · Sou Fujimoto
Words · Jade Removille

Arch-Architecture: Sou Fujimoto’s Conceptual Simplicity

Few architects have redefined the relationship between nature and the built environment as profoundly as Sou Fujimoto. Renowned for his fluid approach to space, Fujimoto’s work seamlessly dissolves traditional architectural boundaries, embracing organic structures and human-scale interventions. From the ethereal transparency of House NA to the forest-like complexity of the Serpentine Pavilion, his projects challenge conventional notions of shelter, privacy, and spatial fluidity. NR spoke with Sou Fujimoto to explore the inspirations, philosophies, and evolving vision behind his groundbreaking work.

Jade Removille It’s truly a great pleasure to interview you. Your work has been such a significant source of inspiration for me, especially during my studies in Spatial Design at the Royal College of Art a few years ago and your approach to design is something I deeply admire. Your design ethos, particularly in its emphasis on the interplay between nature and architecture, resonates strongly with me. I would like to delve into the genesis of your architectural vision. Could you share how your childhood experiences in Hokkaido have influenced or shaped your perspective on architecture?

Sou Fujimoto I grew up in Hokkaido, and as a child, I often played in the wild forest. At the time, I never considered architecture, but as I began to study it, I realized that my experiences in the woods carried many meanings related to scale, diversity, and something beyond mere functionality. The contrast between Tokyo, where I studied architecture, and the natural environment in which I grew up, was particularly striking. In the heart of Tokyo, in its residential areas, we don’t encounter vast wildlife spaces. However, wandering through the narrow streets of the city, with their meandering paths, felt almost like walking through the woods.

I think this connection comes from the presence of small elements in both environments. In the forest, there are leaves, branches, and small bushes; in Tokyo, small artificial objects, including even the electricity cables, seemed to float in space. I came to realize that the forest is not just a forest—it’s a structure with a human-scale design. It’s a place where you are surrounded and protected by small elements, yet it’s also an open field where anyone can choose their path, their activities, and their way of experiencing the space.

In this way, the forest became an iconic concept for me, representing the essence of architectural thinking and the relationship between architecture and nature. It serves as the foundation for creating something that goes beyond the typical functional approach to architecture.

JR Your first project, the Children’s Centre for Psychiatric Rehabilitation in Hokkaido, Japan (2006), introduced the concept of ‘openness and protection,’ a theme that has recurred throughout your later works. The design aimed to create a space where patients and doctors could interact without hierarchy, offering both openness and privacy. Despite the seemingly accidental nature of the layout, the design process was meticulously planned, resulting in a space that appears spontaneous and unplanned. This deliberate ambiguity allowed for the creation of selectivity and contingency, providing children with irregular alcove like spaces for privacy and freedom. These spaces, while seemingly without function, were embraced by the children who utilised them for play and relaxation. The absence of a central focal point allowed for multiple relative centres to emerge, depending on the occupants’ perceptions and the changing conditions of light and space. Why was it significant for you to design a space where patients and doctors could interact without hierarchy? What impact do you think this approach has on the overall atmosphere and effectiveness of the rehabilitation process?

SF When people hear the term “psychiatric facility,” they often view it as a special, isolated place. However, rather than designing a traditional psychiatric facility, we saw ourselves creating a “place where people live,” a home. It is also a small society, encompassing 50 to 100 people, including staff, where diverse relationships constantly unfold—essentially, an urban space.

In the case of the Children’s Centre for Psychiatric Rehabilitation, one key concept was “a place to hide,” especially since the focus is on children. I envision it as a space where one can “escape” or “hide” for a while, perhaps a “dent” in the middle of a corridor. For example, there are individual rooms where children can retreat to if they wish for privacy. But these “hiding places” are not completely isolated; they are still connected to the overall space, yet slightly hidden. Children, in particular, want others to recognize that they are hiding.

This project is not about confinement but about creating an open, supportive environment. It was designed to offer various emotional possibilities, allowing individuals to choose what they need. Instead of sticking to the conventional notion of a mental hospital, we aimed to create a comfortable residential space based on the necessary functions while breaking away from traditional concepts.

JR How do you perceive the integration of trees and plants in your projects as enhancing the architectural experience, and what challenges do you encounter during the design and construction phases? Inspired by organic structures like the nest, the cave, and the forest, your signature buildings often explore the relationship between architecture and the built environment. How do you believe this integration contributes to a higher quality of design, and what role does coherence with the existing environment play in shaping your architectural vision for the future?

SF Incorporating more nature into the urban environment is not just a trend; it will become a fundamental prerequisite for architectural and urban design in the coming era. This integration will bring diversity to the living environment that cannot be achieved by architecture or artifacts alone. As respect for diverse lifestyles and consideration for the global environment become more common, it will be essential to explore new ways of fusing nature with architecture when envisioning how to create urban spaces that are both diverse and interconnected with the planet. I believe this fusion of nature and architecture will become increasingly necessary.

JR In your design for the Final Wooden House, Kumamoto, Japan (2005-2008), you described the concept of creating ‘ultimate wooden architecture’ by mindlessly stacking 350mm square lumber. Could you delve deeper into the rationale behind this approach, particularly in regard to your decision to eschew traditional differentiation of lumber according to various architectural functions?

This minimally processed lumber helped create a refreshing variety of spaces. What inspired this unconventional approach, and what key design considerations did you address?

SF In this project, we aimed to create the ultimate wooden structure. Through the design of this bungalow—a small, primitive house—we sought to create new architecture that is both primitive and contemporary.

Wood is surprisingly versatile. It is used in many conventional wooden constructions, not only for structural elements like posts and beams but also for foundations, exterior and interior walls, ceilings, flooring, insulation, furniture, stairs, and window frames. We thought that if wood is truly multifunctional, we could create architecture that fulfills all of these functions with a single process and a single material. This approach is a reversal of versatility.

The 350mm square cedar wood has a significant impact. It transcends the usual concept of “wood” and becomes the “presence” of a completely different material. The 350mm dimension is exactly equivalent to the human body, fully expressing the materiality of the wood. These 350mm increments create a three-dimensional space that acts like a stairway to the floor. This staircase-like space has fascinated me for years because it introduces spatial relativity and creates new sensations of varying distances—something a traditional flat floor cannot achieve.

There is no strict classification of floor, wall, or ceiling here. Spaces considered floors are transformed into chairs, ceilings, and walls depending on one’s perspective. The level of the floor becomes relative, and people reinterpret spatiality based on their position. Occupants are placed three-dimensionally within the space, experiencing a new sense of depth. Rather than dividing space, elements fuse together by chance, creating it. The cedar 350mm squares are endlessly stacked, and in the end, a prototypical space emerges before the architecture becomes fully realized.

I believe this small hut touches on the archetype of what things can be.

JR The House N, Oita, Japan (2008) design features a gradation of intimate private spaces and semi-public spaces. Could you discuss the thought process behind this nested multi-layered design and how it fosters connections between inside and outside environments, expressing the richness of what lies ‘between’ these spaces?

SF In House N, we combined three boxes, carefully considering the relationship between inside and outside. With enough space for a garden, we treated the garden as part of the interior, creating a modern version of a porch. Inside the house, another box was nested within the first to blur the boundary between interior and exterior. When you reach the corner, you find an enclosed space, yet above, you can see countless fragmented pieces of the sky. The combination of feeling both free and protected is similar to the concept I expressed when designing the Children’s Centre for Psychiatric Rehabilitation.

JR I would love to talk about the ORDOS 100 #9 project that you have done in 2009. Located in Ordos, Inner Mongolia and curated by contemporary artist Ai Weiwei, the project challenges the traditional notion of a house as an object, instead conceptualising it as a totality of frequencies within a living space. Could you delve deeper into how you translated this philosophy into the design, particularly with the innovative approach of creating ‘walls of voids’ to blur the boundaries between interior and exterior spaces?

Given the unique environmental context of Mongolia, could you discuss how the surrounding landscape and cultural aspects of the region informed your design approach for the Ordos Project?

SF The idea of creating walls of space originated from House N. The boundary between inside and outside is reimagined as a gradation, producing a variety of spaces through its inherent ambiguity. The relationship between inside and outside has always been a central theme in my work. It questions the very roots of architecture while exploring the connection between nature and architecture. It also examines the relationship between private and public spaces, offering a redefinition of the dynamic between the individual and society, making it more diverse.

For the Ordos project, the vastness of the site was the initial inspiration. The site is expansive, yet it carries the contextual ambiguity of a desert center. It also boasts a rich, beautiful, and sometimes harsh natural environment. In response, we chose not to sharply separate the interior from the exterior. Instead, we aimed to create a range of spaces with varying gradations between them, allowing the entire site—and the house as a whole—to function as one small, interconnected social space.

JR Now delving into one of the most radical residential projects I have seen: House NA, Tokyo, Japan (2015) stands out as a remarkable fusion of transparency and privacy, blending seamlessly into its Tokyo neighbourhood although in contrast with the usual concrete block walls, while redefining residential living. House NA acts both as a single room and a collection of rooms, offering a unique spatial experience. Could you elaborate on how the unconventional layout and integration of the floor plates at various heights contribute to the inhabitants’ sense of connection and privacy within the home?

How did other residents in the neighbourhood react to House NA, considering its radical design featuring transparency throughout?

SF House NA was built on a relatively small site, so we decided against creating traditional, independent private rooms like a living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. Doing so would have resulted in just another small house, typical and uninspiring. The client was drawn to creative, unconventional styles, so, through discussions with them, we explored the idea of breaking free from the traditional “this room is for this function” approach. Today, people work on their computers and smartphones in the living room and often move to the kitchen or bedroom with them. There’s no real need to move back and forth between specific rooms all day long, especially in a conventional house with private rooms designed for a single purpose, which can feel claustrophobic and difficult to navigate.

Instead of separate rooms, we created multiple “corners,” offering flexibility. In this design, residents can choose whether to be with others or alone. House NA, in a sense, shares a quality with a “Children’s Centre for Psychiatric Rehabilitation,” where space encourages varied, personal use.

Structurally, the furniture is stacked in a nested arrangement, each piece connected by a staircase (which also serves as a chair). There are steps throughout the floor, but no walls to divide the space. Once inside, all the areas are interconnected, and with ceilings reaching 5 to 6 meters high, the space feels open and expansive. At the same time, the many small elements floating around you create a sense of being enveloped in a soft, airy atmosphere. Living in this house feels less like being in a glass box and more like inhabiting a small, artificial floating object.

JR Your installation The Cloud at the Serpentine Pavilion, London, United Kingdom (2013) seamlessly blends architecture with nature through its translucent structure, reminiscent of a cloud. Relocated in front of the National Gallery of Arts in Tirana, Albania, since 2016, the structure, inspired by organic shapes present in nature, has served as a modern art space for cultural events.

Once again, man-made and nature merge, in an “artificial nest”. Formed by 20mm diameter steel bars, it is a flexible, semi-transparent structure, where visitors become an integral part of nature and the landscape yet at the same time remain protected inside. What inspired the concept behind this pavilion, and how do you see it redefining the boundary between interior and exterior spaces?

SF In designing the Serpentine Pavilion 2013, we envisioned a topographical space where people could discover new and diverse ways of interacting with their environment—an architecture that was semi-transparent. The lush greenery of the surrounding area, with its vibrant hues, blends seamlessly with the geometric forms of the pavilion. Initially, I imagined a design where the geometry and architectural forms would naturally integrate with the human body.

By repeating simple cubes that matched the size of the human body, we created a form that straddles the line between the organic and the abstract. By smoothing the edges and making the structure ambiguous, we blurred the boundary between interior and exterior. The use of thin steel rods helped create translucent, irregular shapes, while simultaneously offering protection and allowing people to become part of the landscape.

While the grid forms the overall topography, its depth varies across the space, at times creating a thick layer of air, other times a thin one, and occasionally almost transparent areas. The walls, roof, and seating areas were constructed from similar steel frames. The pavilion, as an organic structure, creates an ever-changing topography, allowing people to experience the architecture at their own pace. Each person can find their own favorite spot inside or outside the pavilion, making it feel as though visitors are drifting through a space that exists somewhere between architecture and nature.

JR In the design process for L’Arbre Blanc Residential Tower, Montpellier, France (2019), you’ve collaborated with Manal Rachdi, Nicolas Laisné, and Dimitri Roussel, drawing inspiration from nature to create a building that reimagines the concept of tower living. Could you discuss how the idea of incorporating elements of nature, such as its balconies cantilevering like branches from a thick trunk, influenced the overall design concept and the experience for residents?

How did you achieve a sense of lightness and fluidity in such a tall residential tower, and what were the structural challenges you faced during its design and construction?

SF Collaborating on the L’Arbre Blanc project involved bringing together the visions of multiple architects, each with their own unique perspectives and inspirations. Could you share some insights into how this collaboration initially formed and how the diverse contributions from yourself, Manal Rachdi, Nicolas Laisné, and Dimitri Roussel were integrated throughout the design process to create a cohesive and innovative architectural solution?

L’Arbre Blanc was a design competition organized by the city council of Montpellier in 2013, calling for bold proposals featuring eco-friendly stores and residences that would serve as a beacon to honor the city’s architectural heritage. We were approached by a young architect from Jean Nouvel’s office to participate. I didn’t know them at the time, but after speaking with them on Skype, it felt like a good match, and I was eager to collaborate.

We began with an open discussion about lifestyle and how to adapt the traditional lifestyle of Montpellier into a high-rise building. The city enjoys a warm Mediterranean climate, and I learned that people often eat outdoors, even in winter. The community also enjoys spending time outside to eat, nap, and converse with friends, so it became clear that indoor spaces weren’t the priority. From there, we decided it would be important to include plenty of outdoor space, with large balconies. Rather than jumping straight into artistic inspiration, we focused first on the essentials, and the result was a rich, expansive exterior space.

JR Are there any architects or artists in particular with whom you would love to work with. Who are some of your major influences? Architecture and none.

SF The artists who have influenced me are innumerable. From Picasso, Brancusi, and Duchamp to Andy Warhol and Richard Long, I have always admired innovative art. The Beatles and Bob Dylan have also played a significant role in shaping my perspective.

I have been deeply influenced by the creativity of natural science, from Einstein to Heisenberg. And, of course, Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe, who revolutionized modern architecture, have been a constant source of inspiration for me since the first day I began studying architecture.

Collaborating with Leandro Erlich at the Shiroiya Hotel was a wonderful experience. His perspective on the world, always full of fundamental questions, has been truly inspiring.

I deeply respect Tadao Ando, both as an architect and as a human being.

JR Working in both Tokyo and Paris, you encounter vastly different architectural contexts. How do you approach the challenge of integrating your designs into these distinct urban landscapes?

SF Not only in Tokyo and Paris but across the world, lifestyles and landscapes have evolved over centuries, shaped by ethnic heritage, history, climate, and culture. I believe the most important aspect of architecture is recognising and respecting these diverse cultural accumulations, incorporating this rich history into our projects.

An architect’s true ability lies in understanding the weight of culture and history and finding ways to connect them to the future while remaining sensitive to the local climate and way of life. The essence of my approach is to listen carefully to the incredible diversity of the world, paying close attention to the unique conditions of each context. This attentiveness is what allows me to integrate architecture seamlessly with the surrounding landscape.

JR Cross-cultural influences seem to play a significant role in your work. Can you discuss how you draw upon both European and Japanese cultural elements in your architectural projects, and how do you balance cultural nuances without compromising your design vision?

SF One of the defining characteristics of my architecture is its ability to move beyond cultural differences, returning to the fundamental physical, sensory, and social aspects of human nature. From this foundation, it seeks to reconstruct the relationship between space and people in a new way. Even when a proposal may initially seem unconventional or radical, it ultimately resonates with the core of human experience. I believe this primordial aspect of our work creates a cultural balance that is universally understood across different contexts.

JR I would now love to discuss one of my favourite projects of yours, the House of Hungarian Music, Budapest, Hungary (2021): it defies conventional museum design by prioritising interaction and integration with its surroundings. Inspired by the abundance of trees in City Park, the museum’s circular volume seems to float among the treetops, inviting visitors to engage with music and nature simultaneously. The architecture blurs the boundaries between inside and outside, creating a fluid and immersive experience as visitors meander through the museum. Concerts and events take place under the floating volume, attracting crowds and fostering community around music. How does your approach differ from when it comes to architecturally design a music venue especially in terms of creating spaces that foster engagement with music and sound on a deeper level? What challenges did you face in harmonising the built environment with the surrounding landscape?

SF Since the beginning of the competition, we have been listening to the music of great Hungarian musicians and exploring their cultural backgrounds, as we felt that the House of Music would be a deeply significant place for the people of Hungary and Budapest.

The site’s location within a beautiful forest was a crucial starting point. We asked ourselves how architecture could be seamlessly integrated with nature—how the experience of walking through the forest could gradually transition into an architectural space. We also considered how the glass music hall on the ground floor could foster new activities inside while remaining in harmony with the surrounding forest.

As a result, the large roof—pierced with countless openings—serves as both an architectural translation of the forest and a means of facilitating a gradual transition from the natural landscape to the building’s interior. The outcome is a transparent music hall that extends into a semi-outdoor space, allowing visitors to engage with both music and nature, listening to beautiful sounds amidst the trees.

The greatest challenge was designing a music facility that could coexist respectfully within this environment, preserving and honouring the natural surroundings.

I believe this project has become a powerful symbol of my ongoing exploration of the fusion between nature and architecture.

JR How do you perceive the relationship between music, sounds, and architecture? Specifically, could you share your thoughts on the concept of creating soundscapes within architectural spaces?

SF This architecture is composed of multiple elements—the whole and its parts, the surroundings and the interior—all in harmony with one another. In this sense, I would say it is very musical.

In particular, the “music hall open to the forest” at ground level—from the outdoor plaza beneath the large roof to the entrance and main performance space—is a special place that seamlessly blends into the surrounding park. Its expansive roof, made of soft golden fragments, appears as a fusion of artefacts and nature, rippling gently into the forest.

For the acoustics, we collaborated with Nagata Acoustics, a world-renowned acoustic design firm, from the competition stage of the project. Throughout all phases of design, we worked to enhance the acoustic quality, creating a space where architecture, soundscape, and landscape harmonise and resonate with one another.

JR Your architectural work often embodies a profound connection between nature, space, and human experience. In light of Goethe’s notion that ‘architecture is frozen music,’ which reveals a universal theme of expression underlying all creative disciplines, how do you perceive the relationship between architecture and music? Are there any musicians or genres that you find particularly inspiring or that resonate with your design philosophy?

SF I am not an expert on music, but I have always loved the Beatles and listened to them often. As a boy, they taught me how wonderful it is to create something new—an idea that still underpins my creative roots.

Glenn Gould’s interpretation of Bach, meanwhile, offers a beautiful connection between the cosmic scale and the human experience.

JR I would like now to delve into the Sky Mountain Haikou Bay No.6 High Standard Seaside Station, Haikou, China (2023).providing a space for travellers to transition between the city and nature. Could you elaborate on how the design concept transforms a nature valley form into an innovative stage for new experiences and social interactions within the pavilion?

SF We believed the Haikou Seaside Stop pavilion would serve as a focal point, offering travellers the opportunity to meander between the city and nature, with spaces designed for social interactions. A valley-like natural form became the stage for a new type of experience and space.

The Sky Mountain design features a gently sloping, valley-like rooftop that transitions smoothly from the city side to the seaside.

All visitor services and TV support programs within the stop pavilion are housed under a single roof, sharing an open floor space.

JR How do you foresee the role of your architectural vision in inspiring future generations of architects, as you continue to integrate natural and architectural elements, even in futuristic projects beyond Japan? Furthermore, what legacy do you aspire to leave through your work as it evolves and influences the architectural landscape of tomorrow?

SF I believe that the integration of nature and architecture is the vision of the future. Various attempts will be made to achieve this. I will be happy if my project can be an inspiration for future architectural thinking. It won’t just be about architectural styles, but will influence deeper thinking about the relationship between nature and artifacts, between individuals and society, and between people. It will also influence more philosophical ideas such as simplicity and complexity, change and eternity, the moment and eternity.

Credits

Talent · Sou Fujimoto wears th products.
Photography · Yuichiro Noda
Styling · Reina Ogawa Clarke

Mesura

Posted on 11 de February de 202511 de February de 2025 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Mesura
Words · Annalise Kamegawa

Mesura and architecture that returns to genius loci

Heritage is the guiding force behind Mesura’s work. Inspired by the Roman concept of genius loci, the Barcelona-based architecture studio is drawn to places rich with history—UNESCO heritage sites, towering castles, or even the discarded stones of Gaudí’s Sagrada Família. Working within the spaces history has left to modernity, Mesura brings together fragments of the past with contemporary techniques, creating projects that span the globe.

The studio emerged during a turbulent time in Spain’s architectural landscape. In the early 2010s, amid the recession, a few university friends with a shared design philosophy began to work together in a small space in Barcelona. Their turning point arrived when they entered the EUROPAN 2011 competition, choosing the historic walls of Dubrovnik as their site. What started as an experiment soon became a defining moment—designing with history, rather than just around it.

That realisation shaped Mesura’s identity. Rather than following the traditional model of a singular architect at the helm, the studio’s co-founders— Benjamín Iborra, Carlos Dimas, Jaime Font Furest, Jordi Espinet, and Marcos Parera Blanch—built a space for collaboration, research, and a reimagined approach to design.

In conversation with NR, Mesura co-founder and partner Benjamín Iborra discusses some of the studio’s defining projects.

Were you always called Mesura?

We just started doing stuff together, but then at some point we said, ‘okay, there’s a little money coming in. So, we need to have a name just to receive the money.’ So, we first used the name of the street that we were based on. It was just a number: a pre-name without any thought behind it. We were called 311 … something ridiculous like that.

In 2015, the name Mesura was born. The word ‘mesura’ has a lot of meanings. For us, the first important thing was a name that could be understood in many languages. Next, it had to make sense in terms of being something specific to measurement: working in architecture is very technical.

Nevertheless, what’s most important is what it means to work ‘with mesura’ in Spanish! It means to work with respect. It’s not about doing whatever comes to mind; it’s about taking the time to think things through—twice, three times, even four times.

Your research is very visually oriented, almost like a pictorial collage of your thinking and the resources you encounter. Walk me through how you start this process: Where do you first go for references? Who are some of the people you interact with to immerse yourself in the environment?

We believe it’s much more interesting to see the process and not just the final result. We really enjoy it! We have this passion for using graphic design and narrative to explain process. At the beginning, we did it just for pleasure. In fact, it happens to be pretty unprofitable because it takes a lot of time. But eventually, we realized that when we spend to genuinely show what we do, the money comes back.

We like to focus on our communication, but we actually do this in our daily life— we look to research, to investigate, to make models, to try things out. It’s an atmosphere that we’re generating at Mesura. You’re not just seeing a result: you’re seeing research, trials, and a mix of things that go beyond architecture that are related to design and to culture.

The people that work in-house have great abilities and are very cultured. We’re involved in universities and there’s always people coming in and out of the studio. We do these things called ‘Tuesday Talks’ where we bring people that are not architects to the studio every Tuesday to talk about whatever they want. It’s ideas that are totally crazy that contribute to the culture of the people in Mesura. It gets us thinking beyond architecture and to have an open mind in all our research.

To create the Aesop Diagonal store in Barcelona, Mesura sourced KM0 (Kilometer Zero) stones, originally from the Montjuïc quarry. You describe deploying a “pseudo-archaeological effort” when found the stones that eventually would make its way into the final design. What does “pseudo-archeological” mean and what did this process look like?

We ended up calling this process ‘creative anastylosis:’ I’m going to explain more later. And we’re not just using zero-kilometer stone, we’re reusing zero-kilometer stone.

For Aesop, we started from [Barcelona’s] local identity. We learned that, whenever they create a stone for La Sagrada Familia that’s not perfect, they throw it back into the mountain. Our first idea was: let’s use these discarded stones to represent the identity of the city. But obviously, La Sagrada Familia, in the name of Gaudi, said, ‘no, this is not possible. You cannot use stones from Gaudi to do your shop.’

At first it was a pity, but it opened up another opportunity. La Sagrada Familia was initially done with stone from the Montjuïc quarry in Barcelona: here, a lot of stones were extracted to create buildings in the city. This quarry was closed 60 years ago because it wasn’t possible to extract more from the little mountain. La Sagrada Familia was originally started with these stones, but in the sixties they also stopped.

We called a lot of people who worked with stone in Catalonia to ask if they had stones from Montjuïc. We ended up finding a family business that, for the past 30 years, had been gathering Montjuïc stones from all the buildings that have been demolished and gathering them in their quarry.

They said, ‘come to our quarry and just see whatever we got!’ That was amazing. Here is the part about ‘creative anastylosis’. After a historical building has been demolished, anastylosis is the art of gathering those pieces and remaking it in the exact same way. For us, it’s a creative anastylosis, because what we’re placing the stones in a unique, creative way for new purpose.

It was very interesting because I think we found about 100-200 stones in this quarry. We didn’t need that much so we decided to be more ambitious and use the ones that have memory. Not just a square block, but one with a shape that you recognize because it has been in another building before.

The pieces that had some “memory” of an architectural past was a striking choice. It’s interesting to hear that the first approach involved The Sagrada Familia. It has such a strong architectural language—it’s extremely recognizable and particular.

You’re right. We saw the thrown-out Gaudi pieces, modelled them, and then arranged them for the store. In the end, we had a proposal for a concept. It was really powerful. It had a lot of shape, color, and character… maybe too much. But we’ll never know!

Regarding the Sundial House, given its unique location in the parks of AlUla in Saudi Arabia, what was the client’s motivation for building here? Has it been built?

Our first project in Saudi Arabia was done maybe more than 10 years ago. It was a retail shop in Riyadh. It was one of our very first projects. Since then, there have been many paths that have taken us back to Saudi Arabia. It’s a country that’s changing a lot and we want to be part of this change. They are developing projects in a good way while being respectful to the space.

One of the projects Saudi Arabia proposed was to create 100 houses. This was a competition, where the result was 100 designs created by all different architects in different places within Alula. We won and received an amazing site: it was a mountain carved out from the inside. With it, we proposed a house that made the niche into a unique courtyard within nature while working with raw materials like the sand and the rock that surround the space.

We hope that this is going to be done in the future, but we still don’t know. It’s in standby at the moment.

This house in Alula touches on how privacy and protection are two essential aspects of Saudi houses. How did these values end up in the architecture?

Our approach goes back to that initial project in Dubrovnik. Our first intuition was to create respectful design. This meant not competing with the space but observing it. Also, often working on tight budgets taught us to work with what’s available and appreciate vernacular architecture. In the north, buildings invite sunlight in; in the south, they protect against it. There’s some very basic and logical decisions that modern architecture has moved away from. In the end, these logical decisions can greatly reduce the energy that the building should consume.

Protection from sand and heat often results in enclosed, private, inward-facing spaces, which then influence cultural norms. There’s a deep connection between architecture, environment, and lifestyle. We believe in the concept of genius loci—the Roman idea of a place’s protective spirit. Not every project needs to follow this path, especially in urban settings without a lot of historical context. But in places like Jeddah and Riyadh, where we work alongside heritage architecture, respect for the environment is essential.

Ultimately, we’re continuously learning from the past, seeking the right balance between contemporary design and vernacular traditions. That middle ground is where we find meaningful, sustainable architecture.

In terms of preservation, when describing the Peratallada Castle project, Mesura said: “While, like the artwork, architecture has aesthetic and cultural value (it makes us reflect concepts and see things differently), it can never escape its functionality.” I’m interested in a moment during this project where you felt this tension most—between historical preservation and modern utility.

I’m glad you asked about this project—it was one of our first. What was realized was the landscape project with the swimming pool. Although there were concepts made, we didn’t end up touching the castle itself which held the historical parts.

Functionality in this project started with material choices. “Peratallada” comes from piedra tallada—literally “carved stone.” The village was built from the very quarry where the castle’s stone originated. We went to a specialist to understand the castle’s history. From the outside, everything might look equally old and worth preserving. Nevertheless, the expert revealed some stones dated back to 200 BC, while others were just 50 years old.

Our initial approach to the landscape project, considering the budget we had, was to work with local stone. We went to people in a nearby town that worked with the material. Like we discovered later on, they had a lot of leftover stones in their quarry from a previous project.

In Casa Ter, located in Baix Empordà, you built a “Catalan vault.” Why did you choose this typology of structure? What were some of the technical challenges you encountered while working on it?

The site is incredibly beautiful, so we wanted the project to feel calm, grounded, and not aggressive. To do this, we created a single-story structure, with long, extending horizontal walls that connected to the landscape. But the client was set on having a second floor to capture views of the sea.

The Catalan vault became the perfect solution for two reasons. First, it allowed for a smooth transition between the ground and the next floor up—rather than a stark, boxy structure. Second, it honored the idea of genius loci, protecting the spirit of the place.

This project made us realize how important of a decision the vault was, not just in terms of its form, but also in its techniques. It’s the kind of thing that will be lost if architects stop pushing to have them used in their projects. When we saw an old, expert artisan executing this vault technique, and alongside him was a young kid learning the craft, we understood that by incorporating this method, we weren’t just building—we were helping this skill get passed from generation to generation.

Technically, the vaulting process is a highly specific local tradition, typically done by layering locally made ceramic pieces in a way that creates structural integrity. However, we pushed it further by using an atypical shape. Instead of the conventional vault, we created a half dome. It was creating something new while still rooted in tradition.

The materials were equally important. From the start, we committed to using local ceramic and stones from the nearby River Ter—hence the name, Casa Ter. The entire process was beautiful, balancing the old with the new in a way that felt both respectful and innovative.

Credits

Mesura, Vasto Gallery. 2023. Photography by Salva López.
Mesura, Aesop Diagonal. 2024. Photography by Maxime Delvaux.
Mesura, Sundial House. Photography by Beauty & The Bit / Alba de la Fuente.
Mesura, Peratallada. 2016. Photography by Salva López.
Mesura, Casa Ter. 2019. Photography by Salva López.

All images courtesy of Mesura

ciguë

Posted on 28 de November de 202428 de November de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · ciguë architecture
Words · Annalise Kamegawa

From prototyping in France to wooden structures in Jakarta, ciguë’s practice embodies a growing world

ciguë, with their portfolio of projects around the globe, has created a world within a world. Rooted in their Parisian beginnings, each project carries fragments of the places they’ve worked, building a collective vision that continually evolves. In an interview with NR, founding partners Alphonse Sarthout, Camille Bénard, and Guillem Renard delve into the projects and processes that define the spaces that they create.

We heard that ciguë was founded when you all were in architecture school in Paris. It’s almost as if you’ve grown up in the industry together. How have your relationships evolved throughout the years?

A: When we started, there was no topic we wouldn’t share with each other. In the beginning, we could spend an entire day just talking about one project—this helped us a lot to build a foundation of ideas and understand our direction. After 20 years, we now share a common intuition. There’s much less talking than before and more acting with trust in each other.

C: For some people, there is life and then there is work. We [the partners] never tried to separate these things. Our beliefs from our private lives are applied in our professional lives too. For us, it’s all one and the same: life is research; it’s a playground; it’s also a lot of work.

A: Maybe the biggest challenge is having the team grow beyond the partners—we need to employ people. Many journalists still use the word ‘collective’ to describe us, but really today, we are a company with partners and employees trying to keep up that spirit.

We try not to have any hierarchy in the creative process: but we still work toward collective thinking that goes beyond the architect, contractors, craftsmen, and clients. We’ve tried from the beginning to have everyone around the table, working toward a common idea. We strongly believe that the best projects we’ve done were not just us in a corner having nice ideas—it’s best when we can build relationships.

Your work with Ace Athens is one the firm’s largest projects to date in terms of both scale and scope. The Hotel & Swim Club is a 120-room property with a pool, gallery, and café. Notably, the project works around the renewal of the Fenix Hotel. What was one part of the space that challenged you? One part that inspired you?

A: Ace Athens is actually not the biggest project we’ve worked on, but at the moment, it is the biggest project to be realised and delivered.

A big challenge: The balconies on the façade make the building very particular. The rule was one balcony to one room, so we had to preserve the rooms’ partitions. Additionally, there were legal restraints. If we demolished something in the hotel, we couldn’t rebuild it as a hotel, because current urban planning regulations only permit housing developments.

We also had to find a way to give the exterior a certain elegance. Unfortunately, it was a very fragile structure that required reinforcing the concrete with very specific techniques. When we found the hotel, it had a very 80s-90s style of mixed material with these ugly plastic additions. It was not very inspiring, so we had to strip it to the bone to revive the structure.

C: I see two major things in this rehabilitation. First, it reflects the kind of architect we want to be. Existing buildings are everywhere, and our focus is to take something that’s falling and give it a new life. This belief has guided our company’s history.

Second, once you give life to the rehabilitation, the question then becomes how to connect it to the city and make it embody the place it’s in. We partnered up with a friend of ours, Matthieu Prat, who has spent a lot of time in Athens finding artists in the local scene. This collaboration [which resulted in showcasing the works of 18 Athenian artists in the hotel] was an essential part of this process.

In the Aesop Nashville store, there’s these tall wooden beams with shelves mimicking an ax intersecting a tree. It’s noted here that you were inspired by the American legacy of “first growth pine.” We’re interested in your first interactions with Nashville and what led you to the discovery of this site-specific phenomenon?

G: With our projects, we try and find a way to blend with the locals. We walk through the streets, finding some materiality to ground us. But this is a good question because, being French, it’s not so easy to casually navigate a place like Tennessee.

We ended up finding this guy who was a kind of collector in what seemed to be a sawmill factory. We pushed open the doors to his space and we discovered these crazy old wood beams and dismantled logs from the beginning of the 20th century. They were super nicely refurbished. That’s when we said, “here is our project.” For us, it expressed the historical legacy through a material – we could work with it as a starting point.

C: It brought all these archetypes of America into one gesture, or one scene.

A: What Guillem described is a process we’ve been doing for every project abroad. If the conditions allow it, we request to withhold from designing until we get a chance to be on site for a few days. Of course, it’s not easy to say to the client, “in order to design, we need you to pay for a trip first.” But for us, this is very important.

We did this for Isabel Marant in Tokyo. We spent almost a week walking around the city, going to the harbor, finding factories, people working with local materials. We do all this to get inspired and immerse ourselves in the culture.

C: In general, we don’t want to find ourselves imposing our French culture onto a project. Rather, what interests us is discovering how cultures can blend. That’s where we’re seeking to design from.

Your work is known for its connection to craftsmanship and prototyping. There are a lot of fixtures (including elaborate systems and contraptions) within the Aesop stores that are made by the team at ciguë. Given your emphasis on craftsmanship and custom design, but with a growing international presence, how has your process for creating custom pieces evolved? Are your prototypes still primarily developed in France, or do you now collaborate with local artisans in different regions?

C: Overtime, the tools of architecture have been reduced to the lines on AutoCAD. We didn’t recognize ourselves in this. Our practice was born from the will to make things as well as to design them. We prototype because it’s very evocative and allows us to get rid of words and drawings. So many ideas can be summed up just in one piece.

Sometimes we also use prototypes to discuss with the makers that execute the designs. We’ve found that it’s a super rich and fast way to exchange ideas without language.

A: At the beginning, we were designing and building everything ourselves systematically. When we started to have projects abroad, we were obliged, almost forced, to have our project built by others—at least that’s how we perceived it. But after a few projects, we discovered that collaboration with local makers made the process so much more interesting.

For one of the first stores we did abroad, we built everything here in France. We shipped it, installed it there in three days, and then came back to Paris. It was a challenge. We made it, but then we just realized we couldn’t see the city or meet anyone there. In the end, it was just like any project done in our workshop in France.

One or two years later, we did a project in Tokyo for Isabel Marant. There, we discovered Japanese craftsmanship, and it was amazing. The first meeting we had, we didn’t say anything. We were at a table filled with materials and samples. There was a language barrier, but through the materials, we could see there was a deep understanding between us. After this, we took a bit of distance from systematically building everything ourselves

In the Arabica coffee space in Jakarta (2023), the architecture pulls from both Javanese crafts, traditional Indonesian dwellings, and the heritage of Dutch colonial architecture – all influences that are palpable in the city. I’m interested in understanding the process of building this wooden structure.

G: On this project, carpentry was a big challenge because there is a lot of wood available for use within Indonesia. All the wood from the country is going abroad now for furniture and other uses. They are struggling a lot to keep the material in their territory. Because of this, it was a big challenge for us to get the clients, the engineers, and the other stakeholders to understand the idea behind having a wood building.

We wanted to integrate into the neighborhood’s old wooden construction. This area was a historic neighborhood, and we wanted to emphasize that.

A: Playing with the archetypes of the Javanese house, with its big, airy, ventilated structures, made sense to us. It wasn’t in a nostalgic way. It was more because, if it’s been this way for centuries, then there must be a reason. Unfortunately, with modernity, there have been so many aspects of traditional architecture that have been erased through technology. With air conditioning and concrete as fast building methods, there has been a loss of the specificities of certain architecture that makes it rich.

C: Such as was this case in Jakarta, sometimes we build new buildings. This isn’t a light act for us—we feel a strong responsibility. That’s why we look to invoke a certain culture or link it to local knowledge about buildings.

Working so much in the public-facing retail sector, your spaces have more foot traffic than say an office or private residence. Are there any standout memories you have of the public interacting with your spaces in an unexpected way?

A: I’m reminded of what we did for the Citadium project. It is a department store, mainly for young people, kids, and teenagers. The funny story is that the manager of the place had always been a fan of music and radio, so he decided to create a radio station in the space. The renovation happened during COVID.

G: It was a DJ booth and a welcoming radio station for Rinse, Paris. It plays electronic music and everything on a web radio that’s strongly resonant in the young generation.

A: During COVID, all the clubs in Paris closed, but Citadium was open because of capacity rules. They could still welcome people. This radio station became the only place you could hear live music, DJs and performances. The initial intention to create a radio station is already cool, but then during COVID, it became an important communal place.

In every city, project, and prototype, Ciguë’s work is about a unified voice—not singular, but a composition of many stories, colors, and textures gathered over their years of practice. Reflecting this ethos, in NR’s conversation, Alphonse says, “Throughout our projects, we want to feel like we’re still on the path of discovering who we are. If we realize one day that we’re just repeating the same style because we’re Ciguë and that’s what Ciguë should do, then we just won’t make sense anymore. Every project is a new story. Every project is an occasion to reinvent ourselves and meet new people, new materials, invent ways of doing things.”

Credits

ciguë architecture, Isabel Marant Store, Tokyo-Omotesando. Photography by Koyo Takayama.
ciguë architecture, Ace Hotel, Athens. Photography by Pasquale De Maffini.
ciguë architecture, Aesop Store, Nashville. Photography by Aesop.
ciguë architecture, Isabel Marant Store, Tokyo-Omotesando. Photography by Koyo Takayama.
ciguë architecture, Arabica Coffee Shop, Jakarta. Photography by Ricky Adrian.
ciguë architecture, Citadium, Paris. Photography by Maris Mezulis.

Glenn Sestig

Posted on 18 de November de 202421 de November de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Glenn Sestig
Words · Annalise Kamegawa

Home as an enduring space: Glenn Sestig and architecture as a cyclical practice

There is something prescient about Glenn Sestig’s eye. Consistent throughout his career, he sees a home, and decades later, its historic plans reappear on his desk, asking to be reanimated and given new life.

In his conversation with NR, Sestig admits to falling into the stereotype of architects, saying, “I can still be a bit stubborn with my own vision.” But on the contrary, he constantly strives to see from the point of view of both architects (past and present) and clients alike. In doing so, he brings into contemporary view the spaces underneath, besides, and between historic architecture.

Can you tell us about your early influences? Was there a specific moment or project that made you want to pursue architecture?

Around 12 years old, my grandmother wanted to redo her kitchen and asked me to design it. I did it together with a carpenter. I had to explain things with my hands and little drawn lines because, well, I didn’t know design or architecture yet. My grandmother was very happy with the kitchen, and she even said, “It’s your first project so I will pay you!”

My mother and my father also had a really modern spirit. We lived in a bungalow house, which was redone quite well in the ‘70s. It wasn’t a high budget project, but it was already very modern and minimal. When I was a kid, my mother and my father let me design my own room. I did the same thing as I had in my grandmother’s kitchen, working with the same carpenter. Afterwards, I also did their bathroom and kitchen. After all these little projects, my family and I felt that I should pursue architecture.

To be honest, I was in between fashion and architecture. I had some second thoughts about pursuing fashion, but at a certain point, my mother preferred I chose architecture because it’s more stable. Maybe back in those years, in her mind, it was a more stable career.

For your primary private residence, Pavilion Sestig (2019), you became your own client. What were some of your personal aspirations for the space?

Honestly, the easiest thing for me is to work for someone else—someone else with a strong vision, of course. When I start designing, the most important thing is, first, the plan and functionality, then second, the client’s style. At the beginning, clients never believe me when I say this! But I listen closely and absorb everything they share with me. That’s why each project ends up so different.

The most challenging part here was that Pavilion Sestig was both for me and for Bernard [Sestig’s partner]. Because I was working just for us, it was very nice to have Bernard to talk with. As an architect, I can still be a bit stubborn with my own vision, so it was great when he suggested something I wouldn’t have done.

For example, the house has this big roof. Bernard said to me, “I want to easily be on the roof because it’s full of trees over on the other side. Can you design me a beautiful staircase?” So then I designed it for him. In that moment, with the details we changed here and there, Bernard became a kind of client for me to talk with.

The original structure was created by architect Ivan Van Mossevelde. Can you talk us through how you made decisions to preserve versus renew the structure?

When I look at Van Mossevelde’s architectural plans from the ‘70s and ‘80s, they are already quite close to how I design. It was very easy for me to see what he did and to then bring it into the present, 50 years later, without completely breaking down the walls or changing the architecture. We brought the house into the future with the modern technical features available now. The windows are better, the electrical is changed inside, but the architecture for me is still the masterpiece that Van Mossevelde achieved. I wanted to preserve the house as much as possible. This is not a challenge for me – it’s routine. I work around the space, without touching the original structure, until it feels right. I must say, I’ve been in love with the house since I first saw it 30 years ago.

We also wanted to talk about Penthouse Mulier (2016).

About 35 years ago, an architecture professor of mine used it as a reference project and brought us to the Penthouse on Riverside Tower in Antwerp.

Years later, when Raf [Simons] was at Dior, I was with him in the car going back to Belgium when he said to me, “Peter [Mulier] bought the most beautiful penthouse. Even more beautiful than mine.”

I responded, “Okay, which one? Is it the one on the Riverside Tower?” and he looks at me as if to say, “How do you know that?” Well, it’s because I was actually there years ago! It was amazing to have the chance to see it when I was studying because it’s a private apartment. The past owners, Léon Stynen and Paul De Meyer, were famous Belgian architects and knew my professor since they were all in the same field.

This residence also features some built-in concrete furniture. With furniture design as part of your architectural practice, how do you go about creating pieces that are in conversation with the greater architecture of the space?

If you go into Penthouse Mulier, you won’t see what we added. There is concrete furniture and other new elements we designed, but I don’t want my furniture to pop out and be more important than the existing architecture. I engage in a conversation with the building when it has such a strong identity: my work then needs to be fluent with the existing space.

I must ask out of pure curiosity: I read that Mulier held an Alaïa catwalk in this house. When I saw the very long layout of the house in the floor plan (that looked a lot like a catwalk), I wondered is this the reason it was changed from a 6 bedroom to 1 bedroom residence?

Well, for Peter’s space, we really only wanted one bedroom. The six rooms that existed back in the day for family were removed for the master bedroom. In the end, there are actually two bedrooms with the guest room on the -1 floor. That’s why it’s so empty now.

But then it could be used as a catwalk, voilà! That Alaïa show was amazing.

Talking about your 2018 project, Wallace, there’s something really striking about how planar it is. There’s this cantilever detail and it’s almost as if the house moves into the landscape. It’s a beautiful ode to the original owner of the home, landscape painter Albert Saverys. I’m Interested in how you bring out the subject of the space in your architecture.

Originally, the client had called the office and said, “Is it possible to talk to Glenn? I have a project, but I know he won’t do it.”

The interior of the home was already done, and we normally don’t work around that. If we build a house for somebody, it has to be one cohesive project that includes interiors and exteriors. But because Wallace was so close to our offices, I told the client I would come and see the house regardless. When I arrived there and the outdoor environment was so amazing, I immediately told the client, “Hello. No problem. I will do it.”

We started with a beautiful home, but not something “wow” or particularly huge. The problem was that it was in a restricted area where we can no longer expand the building. But what was possible was terraces, pedestals, and cantilevers. With those, we made the house look double its size without making the internal architecture bigger.

With your consistent application of concrete and building on top of existing architecture, your works are often compared to those of Tadao Ando. I’m curious as to what you make of this comparison.

Ooh la! How chic! Are they now? Who is making this comparison? Well, I love the work of Tadao Ando—it’s impossible to say anything different as an architect. Of course, when you do a house in concrete, it’s easy to say, “it’s very Ando.” I’m very happy with this comparison, but I don’t know if I completely understand it.

My practice comes from a different place. It’s about the existing architecture and the client who brings it to me. This process is really about the space between us—it’s a conversation. I design something that matches the landscape, the existing building, and, of course, the client, who will live in it and need to be happy in it for many years. This is how I see my work in architecture.

What I will say, I do have a client who also has a house in Sri Lanka built by Tadao Ando. The father said to the mother, “I love you so much. What would you like to have?” And she responded, “Oh, a house by Tadao Ando.” At one point, they had the biggest private Tadao Ando home ever built. And now, I’ve done a few homes for them as well. One is Retreat Pringiers on the coastline of Belgium in Ostend. This house is completely concrete inside and out, so I can understand if people see this and say, “oh it’s a bit Ando.” But these clients are really in love with concrete.

On the note of concrete, do you find that there are certain materials or techniques you often find yourself gravitating towards on your projects?

We use a lot of natural stone. In Pavilion Sestig, marble had already been installed back in the ‘80s but we took it out. With the loud white color and the big nerves, it was too ‘80s. The original architect, Van Mossevelde, was very ahead of his time when he chose it, but for us, it was too indicative of the era. Instead, we used a sandstone that went well with the color of the concrete.

In a building with a concrete exterior, most of the time, it’s more beautiful to also have concrete flooring and concrete elements continue into the interior. Though if we are using stone, I love gray travertino, specifically, Travertino Titanium. It’s in Peter Mulier’s kitchen.

This gray Travertino is great because a lot of people initially think it’s concrete, but it adds another feeling. Living on and touching natural stone is just a different experience from concrete.

It’s interesting to see how so many of your projects build atop and renew the existing architecture in the space. If you were asked to renovate a project you worked on 10-15 years ago, what would you focus on?

When I take on a project, the materials and products should last as long as possible—that’s my ecological approach to architecture. Even though renovations often result in a lot of waste, when we bring in new architecture or interiors, the goal is to make them last for years to come.

I believe that’s the most ecological thing you can do with a building. It’s not really a building if, after 10 years, you have to throw it away and build a new one.

The buildings we work on are old buildings with strong architecture. That means you can renovate them, and they don’t need to be completely demolished. If I were asked to renovate a project, I’d focus on making functional improvements and expanding the space, rather than just updating it because it’s no longer good enough.

So yeah, voilà!

Credits

Glenn Sestig Architects, Wallace, Astene Belgium, 2018. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
Glenn Sestig Architects, Pavilion Sestig, Deurle, Belgium, 2019. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
Glenn Sestig Architects, Wallace, Astene Belgium, 2018. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
Glenn Sestig Architects, Molotov, Antwerp, 2004. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
Glenn Sestig Architects, Pavilion Sestig, Deurle, Belgium, 2019. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel
Glenn Sestig Architects, La Réserve Knokke Belgium 2023. Photography by Jean-Pierre Gabriel

Vincenzo De Cotiis

Posted on 22 de July de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Vincenzo De Cotiis
Words · Simone Lorusso

Vincenzo De Cotiis: Navigating the Intersection of Analysis and Experimentation in Architecture and Art

Vincenzo De Cotiis, an architect and artist from Milan, Italy, has built a career that blends the past and future through his unique design philosophy. After studying at the Politecnico di Milano, he founded his studio in Milan, which serves as both his home and the center of his creative work. De Cotiis’ designs result from continuous analysis and experimentation, merging space and time, cultural layers, and unexpected leaps. His projects, though complex, are powerfully expressed through their materials.

Your architectural philosophy is deeply rooted in a continuous process of analysis and experimentation. Can you elaborate on how this approach shapes your work?

My work is an ongoing dialogue between analysis and experimentation, where each project is a journey through layers of cultural and temporal significance. This process allows me to create spaces that resonate with history while embracing future possibilities. By continuously challenging conventional boundaries, I strive to evoke emotional responses through the interplay of materials and forms.

How do you select the materials for your projects, and what role do they play in your creative process?

Materials are chosen for their ability to convey stories and emotions. Each project requires careful consideration of how each material can contribute to the overall experience. I do not limit myself to a fixed list of materials but allow the concept and context of each project to guide my choices. This flexible approach enables me to explore new possibilities and create unique designs.

Your studio in Milan is the heart of your creative endeavors. How does the city itself influence your work?

Milan’s rich cultural heritage and dynamic contemporary scene provide a constant source of inspiration. The city’s architecture, art, and vibrant design community encourage me to blend traditional craftsmanship with innovative techniques. This fusion of old and new is reflected in my work, creating pieces that are both rooted in history and forward-looking.

If I asked you to take me to a place in Milan that holds special significance for you, where would it be and why?

I would take you to the Brera district, which is a hub of artistic and cultural activity. The juxtaposition of historic buildings with modern galleries and studios embodies the essence of Milanese creativity. It’s a place where tradition and innovation coexist harmoniously, much like in my own work.

Your work often balances between the future and the past. How do you achieve this equilibrium in your designs?

Achieving balance involves a deep respect for the past while being open to future innovations. I draw inspiration from historical contexts and reinterpret them through a contemporary lens. This approach allows me to create designs that are timeless yet progressive, embodying a sense of continuity and evolution.

Can you give us an example of a project where materiality played a crucial role in shaping the design?

It is difficult to choose a single series, as all my projects hold deep importance for me, and each explores materiality in unique ways. Every project is an intellectual exploration of how materials can interact and transform each other. In every work, I seek to discover the intrinsic properties of the materials and bring out their expressive potential, creating a dialogue between material and form that transcends time and space.

Your work often involves unexpected interactions within spaces. How do you approach creating these unique experiences

Creating unique spatial experiences involves a meticulous process of layering different elements to provoke curiosity and engagement. I aim to disrupt conventional expectations by integrating unexpected materials, forms, and textures, encouraging viewers to explore and interact with the space in new and meaningful ways.

What are some of the intellectual and artistic challenges you face in your design process?

One of the primary challenges is maintaining a balance between artistic expression and functional design. While my work leans heavily towards sculptural and conceptual art, it must also serve practical purposes. Navigating this dichotomy requires continuous experimentation and refinement to ensure that both aspects coexist harmoniously.

Looking ahead, what directions or projects are you excited to explore in the future?

I have a profound appreciation and understanding of the history of art, which deeply influences my work. Each of my series is rich with references to the past, yet my aim is always to reinterpret these elements in a contemporary way. I am excited to continue this exploration, blending historical influences with contemporary art principles to create innovative and timeless pieces. I am particularly enthusiastic about projects that allow me to delve deeper into this fusion, bringing forth new and unique interpretations that resonate with today’s discerning audience.

In order of appearance

Vincenzo De Cotiis Foundation. Photography Wichmann + Bendtsen. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis. Installation View, Archaeology of Consciousness Exhibition, Venice. 19 April – 24 November 2024. Photography Wichmann + Bendtsen. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis Foundation. Photography Wichmann + Bendtsen. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis Foundation. Photography Wichmann + Bendtsen. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis, DC2316 VENICE, 2023. Hand-painted recycled fiberglass, German silver, fabric. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis, DC2310 VENICE, 2023. Hand-painted recycled fiberglass, Murano cast glass, German silver. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.
Vincenzo De Cotiis, DC2312 VENICE, 2023. Blown Murano glass, cast brass. Courtesy of Vincenzo de Cotiis Foundation.

Studio MK27

Posted on 16 de June de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Studio MK27
Words · Simone Lorusso

Brazilian Architecture: A Poetic Exploration with Marcio Kogan

Architect Marcio Kogan, a native of São Paulo, brings a fresh perspective to Brazilian modernist principles through his minimalist design approach. Established by Kogan in the early 80s, Studio MK27 has emerged as a prominent player in contemporary Brazilian architecture. Situated in the vibrant atmosphere of São Paulo, the studio seamlessly integrates traditional building techniques with innovative design concepts, providing refined and elegant solutions. Kogan’s remarkable achievements extend to his status as an honorary member of the AIA, his role as a professor at Escola da Cidade, and his recognition among Brazil’s top 100 influential individuals.

Marcio Kogan, your accolades are as impressive as they are extensive. From being an honorary member of the AIA to your contributions to esteemed institutions like Politecnico di Milano and MASP. Could you share shortly with us the journey of Studio MK27 from its inception to its current stature?

It’s been practically a lifetime dedicated to architecture and a body of work built slowly and consistently, with the help of an excellent team.

The studio was founded in the early 80s, right after my graduation, and turned into a collaborative practice in the beginning of the 2000s and today is composed of 60 collaborators internally. Since 2010, Studio MK27 has constantly grown and globalised its activities, creating a larger and more diverse group of consultants and partners around the globe. The team members are great admirers of the Brazilian modernism generation and seek to fulfil the task of rethinking and giving continuity to this iconic architectural movement.

I like to think that Studio MK27’s architecture represents attention to detail – we give the same importance to a master plan as we do to a doorknob – and the effort to create a flawless architecture. This quest for perfection fascinates me.

If you had to describe Brazilian architecture with a poem, what would it be?

Instead of a poem about Brazilian architecture, I will choose a phrase from a Brazilian architect, Oscar Niemeyer, which is my motto: life is more important than architecture.

Speaking of poetry, we were fascinated by Casa Azul. What were the main challenges in designing the house amidst the lush and protected nature of Serra do Guararu?

Because Serra do Guaruru is an environmentally protected area, there was a tight delimitation of where the house could be deployed. This demand led the architecture to raise the house on pilotis, generating a 12-meter span and with 3 meters cantilever.

The newly configured terrace became the main social and leisure area of the house. Also, by raising the house, the living area could linger amidst the treetops and enjoy the sea view. I visited this house last week, and I was happy to confirm that it’s still one of my favorites.

Could you provide further insights into the Casa Na Mata project, which appears to be another compelling case study? Looking forward, how do you envision the relationship between architecture and nature evolving in future projects, considering the success of this organic integration in the current design?

The Jungle House clients, a couple with four kids, wanted a house to be used on weekends and holidays, as the plot is located on Sao Paulo state’s coast. They also wanted a nice social space to gather friends and family. The site is in a rainforest region and has a mountainous topography with dense vegetation, the idea was to insert the house into the landscape as unobtrusive as possible while maintaining the connection to the existing vegetation surrounding it and allowing for the sea view.

The placement of the house, in between trees and in such topography was a great challenge, but what at first appeared to be a limitation, actually, prompted us to seek a bolder and more creative architectural solution. In that sense, nature never limits us, it always drives us. We always seek to give maximum importance to the site. How to get the maximum feeling from the space? How to extremely integrate the landscape? How to be delicate with which surrounds us? These are constant concerns of our team.

What makes C+C House unique, and what motivated the choice to integrate revolving windows into the facade design as a significant feature?

The C+C house is one of our urban houses, and as São Paulo is a very dense city, the plots are mostly narrow, so we need to get creative when developing the architecture. No matter the size of the plot, there is a constant search for enlargement of spaces.

In this house, the upper volume appears to float, supported by a linear wall that extends throughout the plot, connecting all living areas. A white-painted mashrabiya makes up the freestanding façade system, with pivoting windows that are totally imperceptible when closed. It also works as a light filter, allowing for a controlled transparency. These camouflaged openings balance the notions of empty and full. The entire project revolves around this dilution of limits between the interior and exterior, creating an intense and spatial dynamic.

What aspects of working on private homes have fascinated you the most?

When I graduated I wanted to work with social housing, which was challenging, because they are mostly governmental projects, and here in Brazil everything was poorly made, with no desire to do better. I ended up migrating by coincidence to the opposite side, extremely luxurious houses, which gave me the possibility of doing something that I really like, deep detailed, and the possibility of doing everything with perfection, from the architecture to the interiors, from the large to the small scale, and sometimes, even contributing to the house’s soundtrack.

Marcio Kogan, your contributions extend beyond design practice to academia, where you inspire future generations of architects. How do you see this mentorship aspect influencing the studio’s legacy?

For me it is very clear that teaching is a two-way street. Every time I go to workshops in Mantova, Italy, the mission is to teach, but end up learning just as much.

What are the challenges and opportunities faced by young architects in Brazil today, and how do socio-political factors influence their work?

São Paulo is currently undergoing a huge transformation due to an enormous boom in civil construction, and this unrestrained onrush upon the city profoundly disturbs me. The restaurant where we used to have lunch near Studio MK27 was demolished so that a building could be raised. And so was the bakery, the café and the florist’s, which means the destruction of what I hold dearest in my neighbourhood. Everything is disappearing. On the one hand, we have a lot of work ahead of us, but on the other, the city’s history is fading.

The ethos of Studio MK27 is deeply rooted in formal simplicity and meticulous attention to detail. How do these principles translate into your approach towards sustainability and environmental consciousness in architectural design?

We are always pursuing sustainability goals. For us, sustainability reflects a cultural deepening, an improvement of values and an understanding of our performance in space – the environment itself.

In order of appearance

Blue House (Casa Azul), Guarujá, São Paulo, Brazil. 2015-2020. Architecture Studio MK27. Architect Marcio Kogan. Co-Architect Samanta Cafardo. Interior Design Diana Radomysler. Photography by André Scarpa. Courtesy of Studio MK27.
Jungle House (Casa Na Mata), Guarujá, São Paulo, Brazil. 2009-2015. Architecture Studio MK27. Architect Marcio Kogan. Co-Architect Samanta Cafardo. Interior Design Diana Radomysler. Project team Carlos Costa, Eline Ostyn, Laura Guedes, Oswaldo Pessano, Fernanda Neiva, Mariana Simas and Ricardo Ariza. Photography by Fernando Guerra. Courtesy of Studio MK27.
C+C House (Casa C+C), São Paulo, Brazil. 2011-2015. Architecture Studio MK27. Architect Marcio Kogan. Co-Architect Samanta Cafardo. Interior Design Diana Radomysler. Project team Carlos Costa, Eline Ostyn, Laura Guedes, Mariana Simas and Ricardo Ariza. Photography by Fernando Guerra. Courtesy of Studio MK27.
Hotel Fasano Itaim, São Paulo, Brazil. 2018-2023. Architecture and interiors Studio MK27. Architects Marcio Kogan and Diana Radomysler. Co-architect Luciana Antunes. Project team André Sumida, Carolina Klocker, Giovanni Meirelles, Gustavo Ramos, Letícia Lacerda, Luísa Vicentini, Oswaldo Pessano, Regiane Leão, Renato Périgo and Ricardo Ariza. Photography by Fran Parente. Courtesy of Studio MK27.

Norm Architects

Posted on 5 de June de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Norm Architects
Words · Simone Lorusso

Designing Across Borders: A Conversation with Norm Architects’ Founding Partner Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen

As humanity and nature grow closer, we’re witnessing a renewed connection between man and the natural world. This shift towards a deeper bond prompts a captivating exploration of how architecture will evolve in the next decade.

In collaboration with Norm Architects, a Copenhagen-based firm dedicated to improving spaces for people since 2008, we delved into their unique approach to design. Our discussion ranged from their holistic design philosophy to the intriguing concept of timelessness.

Thank you for joining us, let’s dive right in. Could you share with us how your 15 years of international experience have influenced your approach to design and architecture?

In our 15 years of creating architecture and design, we have learned that just like the weather, the atmosphere of our built environment has a profound effect on how we rest, think, feel, work, eat, and socialize. Spaces and objects must certainly be functional, but if they are to truly serve us, they must also attend to our bodies and emotions. At this moment in design history, we believe it’s necessary to go beyond strict rationalist and modernist doctrines to re-sensualize the built environment with a hapticity that embraces the whole human being; that addresses our perception of space and all of our sensory faculties. This requires slowing down the process to consider design from the perspective of human experience. To us, good design transcends utility and aesthetics to become a sensual and social exercise: to create a framework for the essential human needs of safety, identity, belonging, and purpose.

Our practice starts from this point. Guided by the body and mind rather than by trends or technology, we aim to create designs that not only look good, but also feel good. It is about accommodating people through empathic design, rather than treating them as mere spectators of an aesthetic creation. We consider our work as a facilitator of well-being, as a distillation of aesthetics that resonate with the given person and place, and as a system that supports universal human needs. Each project—whether architecture, interiors, or design—is imbued with this intrinsic quality: a simplicity that carries bigger ideas. We have dedicated the last 15 years to the pursuit of human-centric architecture and design and, project by project, we have honed a philosophy and international design approach that we call “soft minimalism.” With humility, we have built our ideas on thousands of years of aesthetic evolutions, and on the incredible insights of master architects and designers working before us and beside us. These lessons merge with those we have learned along the way and with the influences of our Scandinavian context. Our hope is to offer a chapter in the story of good design that will continue to be written far into the future.

Founded in 2008, Norm Architects has become synonymous with minimalist design that seeks to enhance the human experience. Can you tell us more about how you aim to achieve this through your work?

In an effort to think holistically about our built environment, soft minimalism cross-pollinates concepts from the fields of design, philosophy, psychology, biology, and anthropology. We believe that each mode of thinking plays an important role in good design. We have found solutions to the problem of aesthetic overstimulation in texts on evolutionary psychology. Neuroscience has guided our curation of earthy color palettes and orderly compositions. Investigations into biology and physiology have strengthened our embodied understanding of solid and void. Philosophy has inspired our thoughtful approach to narrative design, and sharpened our understanding of the meanings embedded in certain forms.

Patterns emerge from these combined studies to reinforce our conviction that design must be functional, personal, and multisensory. Through our reading, thinking, and work, we have sharpened our ability to find the balance between richness and restraint; order and complexity; that leads to meaningful design. Our Danish heritage provides us with an uncompromising standard of craftsmanship and a sense of history, as well as optimism for the future of our industry. Underscoring all of this is perhaps our greatest influence of all: nature. We find ourselves returning again and again to the natural world—the primordial home of the human race—for guidance in the pursuit of timeless beauty, simplicity, and connectivity. In this realm we have found particular value in universal aesthetic truths derived from human nature, which, when combined with culture, context, and expertise, can give rise to profound outcomes.

Norm Architects is well-known for its holistic approach to design. Can you elaborate on how this philosophy guides your projects and the overall impact it has on your work?

Today, many thinkers agree that this desensitization has contributed to feelings of isolation; to a spiritual void and the prevalence of illness in contemporary societies. The situation charges architects and designers with the urgent task of re-sensualizing our relationship with the world; of using space and matter as mediators between body and mind, ultimately nurturing the whole organism.

Our surroundings move us deeply. Contemporary neuroscience confirms that it is the senses, with their acuity for pleasure and pain, that teach us how to navigate the world. Our senses are inextricably linked to our existential experience; our feeling of being in this exact place, right now, with these particular things. Working in concert, the skin, eyes, ears, nose, and tongue decode thousands of stimuli, forming an immediate interpretation of, and reaction to, the environment they meet. After taking in the whole atmosphere, perception narrows its focus, using the collaborative insights of the senses to explore details of shape, surface, density, light, sound, and so on. A holistic understanding of the world derives from these inputs resonating through body and mind. The interdependent system merges stimuli from different senses, cross-pollinating a smell with a memory, an image with a movement, or a texture with a certain emotion. It’s a skill we practice from birth, and one that strengthens our awareness of internal and external realms and their boundaries. We learn to feel pleasure when our bodies resonate with a given substance or space, while others make us feel uneasy. A lifetime of these embodied encounters become embedded in our memory, and form our unique senses of comfort, protection, and home.

For human-centric architecture and design to reconcile our relationship with the world and enhance quality of life, they must engage all senses holistically. We ask ourselves, “How should this space or object make someone feel?” The answer guides the selection and arrangement of interrelated design elements, each with a sensory role to play in their cumulative aim. The process requires that we, as designers, draw on our own embodied experience of space and matter, as well as practicing empathy for the human who will encounter the work. We combine our own sensory memories with curiosity about those of others, and through imagination, we envision spaces and objects that will hopefully feel sublime.

In striving for a re-sensualised built environment, how do you see the role of natural materials and the integration of nature in your projects?

Throughout human history we have evolved to survive and thrive in the natural realm and are consequently dependent on its elements. These deeply embedded preferences haven’t progressed as quickly as urban technology, creating a disharmony between us and our new, built environment. After all, we have inhabited nature far longer than we have occupied man-made structures. Sunlight, water, air, and plants still give us life. Regardless of progress, our physiology chooses the natural over the artificial. We instinctively enjoy the feel of wood more than that of plastic, and find views of the sky or a lake more pleasing than skyscrapers. We need sunlight to give way to darkness so we can wake, eat, and sleep, whereas artificial light unbalances our system. Deep down we know these natural elements are nourishing, and they therefore evoke safety and well-being. Nature is so embedded in our psyche that we have also evolved a habit of projecting human, animal, and plant forms onto the environment. By overlaying our modern world with natural animations, we can read and relate to it as we did eons ago, in the wilderness. Rather than suppressing these primordial instincts, architects and designers can delve into behaviours learned over millennia, and harness evolutionary psychology to create good design. We can find solutions in form, scale, and materials that breathe life back into the urban, rewinding our man-made habitats.

We listen to nature’s story of artistry, optimism, imperfection, and impermanence, and bring these poignant qualities into the work. We create spaces and objects with natural materials and organic forms that feel of this world; that help us transition through the stages of life and connect us with the continuum of time. Such profound understandings are suggested by a humble stone plinth—unearthed from the deep, speckled with ancient sediment and fossils that have grown faint after years of use. We sense the age of the earth and watch as the materials slowly return to dust. We can relate, and we can take comfort in knowing that we are part of something greater than ourselves. In this way, bringing natural elements and their inevitable patina into our modernised lives can remind us of our place in nature.

As the bond between humanity and the natural world strengthens, we’re witnessing a profound resurgence of our primal connection. Looking ahead architecturally, how do you envision this symbiotic relationship evolving over the next decade?

Living in a modern urban society often means living with constant noise: consumerist city streetscapes fill our view with layers of advertisements for objects of questionable value, while the digital space vies for our attention with endless streams of content and a cacophony of notifications. Life moves fast, and it accumulates complexity, things, and data along the way. Existing in this environment leaves us overstimulated, exhausted, and gasping for breath. We may recognise a correlation between a growing material wealth, and a declining state of physical and mental health as we suffer from chronic cognitive fatigue.

Having arrived at this perhaps paradoxical junction, we seek ways to muffle the noise, declutter our vision, and carve out corners of stillness. We find ourselves wishing to be freed from the weight of too many things and too much information; wishing to live only with what is essential for well-being. At this moment the question becomes selective and reductive: “What can I live without?”

This realisation can arrive at any point in life, and the idea is far from modern or unique. Many ancient cultures across the globe have preached the notion that simplicity leads to inner peace and contentedness—that the human mind needs quiet to focus on what is truly meaningful and joyful. In the highly developed metropolises of today, this idea feels out of reach. Over thousands of years, the steady progression from modest village life to populous and hierarchical civilisations has increased the value of the material, arguably at the expense of the spiritual. We’ve been taught to prioritise temporary pleasures and acquisitions, repeatedly, until our lives are anything but simple. This path has led to the minimising of fundamental, immaterial human needs such as connection to others, a sensory relationship with nature, a feeling of security as well as autonomy, and clarity about our role within the wider community.

Essentialism, or soft minimalism, as we refer to it in architecture and design projects, can be reached through this kind of deep reflection on what matters; by adding and reducing elements until equilibrium emerges; and by remaining attuned to the atmospheric and autonomous potential of space. As engagement with nature is essential to human well-being, natural materials and forms, natural light, and quiet acoustics become synonymous with haptic design. We use sensory materials that remind us of nature and therefore calm us. An essentialist mindset also urges us to create well-made materials and spaces that last, rather than succumbing to passing trends or construction shortcuts. If the design reduces itself to its essence and nothing more, and if it is made intentionally, we’re choosing a more sustainable path for the future.

Can you share a recent project that exemplifies Norm Architects’ commitment to re-sensualizing the built environment?

Designed to fit seamlessly into the vibrant spirit of the Japanese Oku-shibu district, our new TRUNK(HOTEL) YOYOGI PARK boasts a relaxed, human-centered ethos. While aesthetic choices harmoniously reflecting the laid-back, yet sophisticated, vibe of the neighborhood, the concept of ‘Urban Recharge’ is at the heart of the project – a pivotal theme weaving together the city and nature, tradition and modernity, leisure and festivity, as well as the local community and visitors.

Drawing inspiration from Tokyo’s varied hues and moods, the project encapsulates the interplay of contrasting yet harmonious elements. It mirrors the relaxed Yoyogi Park, the surrounding city blocks, and the famed Shibuya Crossing. It’s the epitome of modern and traditional lifestyles converging. From the raw and refined to the melting of Japanese and European craft traditions, the design embodies this delicate balance. The verdant embrace not only enriches the exterior aesthetics but also symbolizes the commitment to offering a sanctuary amidst the city’s bustling energy. So, as you wander through this retreat, you’ll discover a place to find both solace and stimulation, forging a path to enduring vitality.

Another recent project is Sjöparken in Southern Sweden – a sanctuary of understated luxury immersed in the embrace of nature. Drawing inspiration from the elegance of Nordic simplicity, the timeless traditions of Japanese design, and the tropical allure of resort living, this architectural gem emerges as a hybrid – a blend of distinct influences that converge seamlessly within its walls. Each corner tells a story of simplicity, unity, and the spirit of the place, creating an experience where thoughtful design and nature come together in perfect harmony.

Nestled in the serene beech forests of Halland, Sweden, Sjöparken redefines the essence of tranquility and luxury. With an architectural vision to create the ideal setting for intimate rituals of self-care and harmonious living amidst nature’s embrace, these lakefront retreats exude an honest simplicity without sacrificing warmth and tactility.

At the heart of the concept are seven villas, perched delicately on the lake. Each villa seamlessly intertwines four hotel rooms through glass corridors, offering a poignant homage to the site’s history by creating the sensation of strolling through an open-air village. The intentional design blurs the boundaries between interior and exterior spaces, amplifying the intimate connection with the surroundings.

Whether taking a refreshing dip in the private bathing jetties nestled in the lake, unwinding in the in-room saunas, or indulging in the tranquility of lying in bed and gazing through expansive windows, each moment unveils an unparalleled communion with nature. As integrated architectural elements and bespoke design optimize space, the minimal, peaceful rooms create a framework for immersive experiences, focusing on stillness, togetherness, and well-being.

Timelessness is a key pursuit in your projects. How do you balance modern innovations with the timeless aspects of design to ensure your works remain relevant and enduring?

We can say it is an imperative for good architecture and design to work with time, rather than against it. The created works must connect with their users and evolve with them, remaining relevant as time passes. Beyond this, design can also help us connect with the passing of time itself by keeping us in sync with the days, seasons, and eras that make up our lives, keeping us simultaneously present and aware of the finite nature of existence.

Conversely, architecture, interiors, and objects whose sole aim is to parade the ideas and styles of a brief, specific moment in time are unlikely to remain relevant in the long term. Once its initial novelty has worn off, the trend-based design is in danger of becoming a relic. If design should exist to serve its user—and to serve society overall—it is necessary to consider the culture of the day as well as the timeless needs of the human being. This way, we can offer works that are aware of time. They contribute to the evolution of design and to the betterment of the people who will engage with it.

If our aim is to create timeless design that outlives passing fashions, we need to dig a little deeper to find aesthetic inspiration and value. Good design must feel good to live with and it must age gracefully. Otherwise, it won’t matter that it exists or ages at all. We can find the basis for many feel-good designs in the natural world—which is, after all, our evolutionary birthplace. The soft, organic shapes of the animal and plant kingdoms provide familiar forms and materials that speak to the senses and place the body within its broader environment. They transcend the visual—the realm that trend-based designs momentarily satisfy—to instead attain enduring relevance through multisensory virtues that are instinctively appreciated. We rarely tire of experiences that make us feel secure, comforted, and connected, such as the soft texture of wood in our palm, the stability of stone underfoot, the peaceful sound of falling water, or the warm embrace of wool around our bodies. We could return to such sensations year after year, regardless of what is in fashion—perhaps experiencing more pleasure with each encounter.

Looking ahead, what are your aspirations for the future of Norm Architects? How do you envision the studio evolving in the years to come?

Looking ahead, our hope is to continue our path and vocation to re-sensualize the built environment and hopefully create ripples in the water, as part of a larger movement to create high quality human-centric design. We could maybe even go further and create sustainable bio-centric design, that was not solely focusing on human needs, but on the well-being of nature as such. If we want to change ourselves, we change the spaces around us. Architecture and design must facilitate us in all aspects of our lives—it must be dependable and useful, but it must also be empathetic. By understanding that spaces shape us as we shape them, we can create sensitive works that offer safety, stimulation and sustainability.

Credits

Norm Architects. Sjöparken. Halland, Sweden, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects. Fjord Boat House, Southern Denmark, 2020. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, AIM Architecture. K House. Southern Province, Sri Lanka, 2018. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, AIM Architecture. K House. Southern Province, Sri Lanka, 2018. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, AIM Architecture. K House. Southern Province, Sri Lanka, 2018. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, AIM Architecture. K House. Southern Province, Sri Lanka, 2018. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, Keiji Ashizawa Design. TRUNK(HOTEL) YOYOGI PARK. Tokyo, Japan, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, Keiji Ashizawa Design. TRUNK(HOTEL) YOYOGI PARK. Tokyo, Japan, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, Keiji Ashizawa Design. TRUNK(HOTEL) YOYOGI PARK. Tokyo, Japan, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects, Keiji Ashizawa Design. TRUNK(HOTEL) YOYOGI PARK. Tokyo, Japan, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects. Sjöparken. Halland, Sweden, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects. Sjöparken. Halland, Sweden, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects. Sjöparken. Halland, Sweden, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects. Sjöparken. Halland, Sweden, 2023. Photography by Jonas Bjerre-Poulsen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.
Norm Architects x Brandt Collective LEAF hardware collection. 2024. Photography by Christian M. Andersen. Courtesy of Norm Architects.

Paul Cournet

Posted on 5 de June de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Paul Cournet
Words · Simone Lorusso

The Genesis of CLOUD

Paul Cournet, an architect and researcher based in Rotterdam, has carved a unique path in the world of architecture. From his formative years studying in Bordeaux and Paris to his tenure at OMA, where he played a pivotal role in diverse projects, Paul’s journey is one of exploration, creativity, and innovation. In 2022, he founded CLOUD, an international architecture, research, and design studio, marking a new chapter in his career. We had the privilege of sitting down with Paul to delve into his experiences, insights, and the fascinating intersection of architecture, education, and research.

Paul, thank you for joining us. Can you share with us the inspiration behind founding CLOUD, and what drives your vision for the studio?

Right after COVID I felt the world was in a different place. Honestly, COVID was a wake-up call for me. The world has been changing so rapidly in the past few years and I felt it was time for a different approach to architecture. An architecture driven by a new generation. I was also having so many conversations with so many inspiring people that, after a decade working at OMA*AMO, I thought it was the right time to start a new project – a multidisciplinary practice, at the intersection between architecture, research and design. This is how CLOUD was born. At CLOUD our interest lies in the materiality of architecture, both for its intangible as well as its tangible aspects, and the tension between them. We work on buildings as well as many other projects such as books, curation, scenography, and objects. We are currently working with clients such as the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam for which we are renovating the public areas of the museum, furniture pieces for galleries and brands, a modular timber housing concept in Belgium, as well as self-initiated research projects exploring innovations in materials.

It’s fascinating how interconnected our paths can be. For six years, I had the opportunity to collaborate with AMO on several fashion projects while working through a creative studio. I’m intrigued to learn how your experience in that realm has shaped your perspective on architecture and research.

Originally I come more from the art side of things. When I was a teenager I used to spend my time painting murals in abandoned factories and train stations. This got me interested in architecture and cities. I then studied architecture in France in the early 2000s and it was a moment of cultural explosion thanks to the internet where all of a sudden it was really easy to download any kind of movie, music and book online from across the world. This really opened my mind. At this moment, Rem Koolhaas had just published his new book ‘Content’ (2004) and AMO was developing all kinds of research-based projects with exhibitions, lectures, and installations which appeared to me so inspiring as a practice, and radically different from the architecture scene in France at that time. So as soon as I could, I applied for an internship and started working there at the end of 2010. Today I am still very interested in the possibility of working at different scales. I see architecture in everything and I believe that you can make a point with a building as much as with a chair.

When discussing Rotterdam, a city I once called home, I always admired its ongoing social evolution and its uniquely pragmatic approach, distinct from other European cities. How do you envision Rotterdam evolving over the next decade?

Rotterdam has changed a lot in the last decade that is for sure but for me, it has been the perfect place to start an architecture studio for different reasons: It is still the largest harbor of Europe which has made the city truly embracing diversity in its history. The city is also still relatively affordable and is not yet overly-saturated compared to Amsterdam or other larger European cities. In short, it is still pretty easy and affordable to start a studio here. Our studio is located in one of the ‘antikraak’ buildings which allows us to rent a space way under the market value. There is also a lot of industry around the city making it easy to produce things with manufacturers locally. And to finish, Rotterdam is pretty much in the center of Europe which makes it central and well connected to Paris, Milan, Brussels, Amsterdam, London, for work. Also overall I love to be in Rotterdam because it is a city pretty much under the radar, and we can simply focus and work without being too distracted. But yes, indeed, the city is changing rapidly and I bet in 10 years the city will be very different.

Could you elaborate on the ‘Datapolis’ research project? I’m interested to learn more about its objectives and how it fits into the current architectural landscape.

Datapolis is a project I initiated at the architecture faculty of TU Delft in 2019 as a research and design studio with Negar Sanaan Bensi. The central question was trying to understand what the ‘CLOUD’ is and how it operates. You know, the ‘CLOUD’ is this thing that we talk about every single day when we send emails and photos to each other, order online, use social media platforms and work from home; but that we can’t grasp how it truly works nor where it is or what we should share or not with each other online regardless of time zones or political borders. The ‘CLOUD’ is a metaphor but also a reality. Our intuition was that this immaterial CLOUD is indeed made of a tangible infrastructure with a vast physical footprint on our planet – think for instance data centers, connected satellites, automated distribution centers, undersea internet cables and humanoid robots. This intriguing complexity made this project an urgent research for us considering the discussions on climate change and ecological footprints of this data infrastructure. As the university studio grew into a bigger project and we expanded the conversation outside of the school, we then turned the research into a DATAPOLIS book in June 2023. The project now continues in different forms and we are now working on a series of DATAPOLIS exhibitions that will open later in 2024.

The recent design week showcased your involvement in numerous activities. Although we didn’t get a chance to chat, I expressed my gratitude to Sabine, with whom you collaborated on the scenography for promoting design and culture during the AlUla opening. Could you share more about your role in this endeavour?

Sabine and I were invited to curate and design the scenography of Design Space AlUla for Salone del Mobile 2024 in Milan. The show presented the outcomes from the latest design initiatives in AlUla. Here we wanted to create an immersive experience to translate some of the magical features that one can find while visiting the oasis: the stargazing and the moonshine in the desert, the visit of the old town and the historical Hegra sites that we translated in different features for the exhibition, respectively: a suspended light box changing colors during the day, the ‘urban carpet’ painted on the floor of the basilica that organized the exhibition layout and the monumental entrance that opened the exhibition to the streets of Milan.

We also visited Capsule Plaza during design week, now in its second edition. What distinguishes this unique concept?

This year we unveiled the second edition of CAPSULE PLAZA, the design festival that I have co-curated with Alessio Ascari, and launched the third issue of CAPSULE, the design magazine. A hybrid between a fair and a collective exhibition, Capsule Plaza brings together designers and companies from various creative fields, bridging industry and culture with a bold and multi-sensory curation that spans interiors and architecture, beauty and technology, innovation and craft.

This year the event took over two iconic Milanese locations: Spazio Maiocchi and 10 Corso Como. What is really exciting is to be able to create projects between all of these different industries and create a collective experience under a single roof. On top of the exhibitions, we also curated a dense program of live activations with talks, dinners, performances, workshops etc during the whole week which allows us to program both the hardware as well as the software of the event. This year the event was sub-titled ‘Radical Sensations’ as for us design is much more than a bunch of chairs and sofas, and design should call to activate all our senses.

As a guest teacher and lecturer across various universities in Europe, how do you approach educating the next generation of architects?

The world is changing rapidly and therefore education should also rethink completely how it operates more than ever. I have seen so many schools that claim to think outside of the box and promote a free and utopian thinking for their students but when you look at academia, they operate in a complete echo chamber. At the end of the day, they are the box. The relationship of ‘master and slave’ between students and professors should completely be abolished and schools should operate in a more collaborative process. There are some great examples in the past, look at Black Mountain College for instance. Education should be horizontal. We should also impose on anyone with a professional activity to go back to school every 5 years for a semester for instance. It would really change the dynamics for the better I think.

It might seem like a straightforward question, but I believe that our deepest passions often drive us to explore research and undertake projects. Can you share a situation or project where your emotions played the most significant role?

Just quit the job that you had built for over a decade with a stable position and all the benefits that goes with it. Call it quit on Friday and jump into the void. Start your own studio with no masterplan in mind, just because you have this feeling this is the right thing to do that day and that you believe something positive will come out of it. Focus on creativity and surround yourself with people that are smarter than you. Just take that risk …

Fifty-two years ago, the Club of Rome issued its seminal report, ‘The Limits to Growth,’ alerting the world to the finite nature of our planet’s resources. As an architect and researcher, could you share your perspective on what has been achieved in the past five decades and what remains to be addressed? Most importantly, what steps should we be taking now?

Architects are probably the best at giving lessons, but also probably the worst at taking them. Over the last 100 years, the modern movement embraced industrialization in the name of standardization and cost efficiency without taking into account the costs their actions would have on our planet. Today, the construction industry is one of the most polluting industries. If you look at any city in the world today, we still build architecture using almost exclusively concrete and steel. We are so short sighted that any of our buildings are fully climatized and contemporary architecture has become disposable in 90% of the cases. Architecture has lost any meaning for our society. We need to create a world based on new radical regulations where architecture has become non-extractive, where our cities produce more energy that they consume and where our society truly coexists with the environment. We also need less things and focus on quality instead. Only then we will be able to claim that we have properly read the Club of Rome’s report and learnt our lessons …

In order of appearance

CLOUD / Studio Sabine Marcelis. Design Space AlUla. Milan Design Week 2024. Photography by Alejandro Ramirez Orozco. Courtesy of CLOUD.
Paul Cournet. Photography by Nikola Lamburov. Courtesy of Paul Cournet.
Datapolis: Exploring the Footprint of Data on Our Planet and Beyond, Paul Cournet, Negar Sanaan Bensi. Published by nai010 publishers, 2023. Photography by Riccardo De Vecchi.
CLOUD / Studio Sabine Marcelis. Design Space AlUla. Milan Design Week 2024. Photography by Alejandro Ramirez Orozco. Courtesy of CLOUD.
CLOUD / Studio Sabine Marcelis. Design Space AlUla. Milan Design Week 2024. Photography by CLOUD. Courtesy of CLOUD.
niceworkshop. Capsule Plaza. Milan Design Week 2024. Photography by CLOUD. Courtesy of CLOUD.
Panton Lounge. Capsule Plaza. Milan Design Week 2024. Photography by CLOUD. Courtesy of CLOUD.
LC2 Chair. Paul Cournet. Photography by Titia Hahne. Courtesy of CLOUD and Titia Hahne.
Barcelona Foam. Paul Cournet. Photography by Titia Hahne. Courtesy of CLOUD and Titia Hahne.

studioutte

Posted on 27 de May de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · studioutte
Words · Simone Lorusso

Exploring the roots of studioutte: a conversation with founders Guglielmo Giagnotti and Patrizio Gola

In the heart of Milan’s Central Station area, the modern charm of rationalist architecture is experiencing a renaissance under the touch of studioutte. Led by the dynamic duo of Guglielmo Giagnotti and Patrizio Gola, who established the studio in 2020, studioutte is not just about architecture—it’s a multifaceted practice that delves into interior design, decoration, and the creation of collectible designs.

Deriving its name from ‘hütte’, a term that evokes images of huts, cabins, and shelters, studioutte’s ethos is rooted in a blend of distinct Italian tradition and harmonious, integrated design principles. The studio’s approach is informed by a deep engagement with vernacular architecture and varied regional influences, striving for a design language that eschews redundancy and extremity for clarity and expressiveness.

Guglielmo and Patrizio, nice to meet you. It’s exciting to learn more about studioutte, which you established in 2020. To start, could you tell us what inspired the founding of your Milan-based practice?

We were led by the idea of restoring a certain cultured and gentle minimalism that have always been present in the Italian history but recently disappeared in favour of an eclectic ultra – decorative approach.

If I asked you to show me a place uniquely Milanese, where would you take me?

We are truly fascinated by the powerful presence of the Angelicum by Giovanni Muzio in Piazza Sant Angelo.

The name “studioutte” is quite unique. Can you explain the meaning behind it and how it reflects your approach to design?

Hütte means hut, shelter. We are always linking the idea of architectural composition to a sense of protection and retreat.

Your work emphasizes a hybrid design of architecture research and influences from various regional practices. How do you incorporate these diverse elements into a cohesive design language?

It is a kind of spontaneous digestion of an infinite accumulation of images, observations, travel experiences that naturally flow towards the final object. Always guided by a precise research of proportions and materials.

What does the idea of a “waiting room” evoke for you?

A sense of suspension and tension towards something assertive and definitive, that for us means timeless Architecture.

I understand that studioutte aims for a design aesthetic that reaches beyond simple forms to express a primitive essence. Could you expand on what this means in your creative process?

It is an instinctive path towards simplicity and mute forms of a space or an object. It is taking a lot of energy and time while aiming to reach a balance of shapes and material that leads to a sense of metaphysical anonymity.

Lastly, how do you envision Milan’s evolution over the next decade as a cultural hub for designers and artists?

Milan is a great hub, the challenge will be being more and more open to different cultures and paths intersection without loosing its own rational introvert dark and magnificent identity

In order of appearance

Milan Design Week 2023, studioutte x district eight. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.
Bedroom, Viale Brianza Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Paolo Abate. Courtesy of studioutte.
Entrance, Viale Brianza Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Paolo Abate. Courtesy of studioutte.
Rootine Wellness Club, Munich, studioutte, , Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
Master Bedroom, Antwerp House, studioutte. Courtesy of studioutte.
Stair View, Moncucco House, studioutte. Courtesy of studioutte.
Steel Lamp, Milan Design Week 2024, studioutte. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
Milan Design Week 2024, studioutte. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of studioutte.
Bathroom, Via Volturno Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.
Entrance, Via Volturno Apartment, Milan, studioutte. Photography by Vito Salamone. Courtesy of studioutte.

Nicolas Schuybroek

Posted on 16 de May de 202431 de July de 2024 by nr

NR · Magazine
Published · Online

Feature · Nicolas Schuybroek
Words · Simone Lorusso

Minimalism With Soul: A Dialogue With Architect Nicolas Schuybroek

In 2011, Nicolas Schuybroek started his own practice in Brussels, Belgium. His goal was simple: to design spaces and objects with great care, skill, and a warm feeling. Nicolas focuses on timeless minimalism and simplicity, using natural materials to bring his designs to life. His work is elegant and understated, appealing to those who appreciate subtle beauty.

Today, we have the pleasure of sitting down with Nicolas Schuybroek, the architect and designer behind the eponymous studio based in Brussels. Nicolas, thank you for joining us. What inspired you to start your own practice in Brussels in 2011?

The purpose was well defined: create and produce architecture, interiors and objects characterised by an acute sense of detail, craftsmanship and intuition, while retaining a feeling of warmth. The search for timeless minimalism and apparent simplicity have always been central in our work, as well as the love of unassuming, tactile, and raw materials. There’s no straining for effect, just a muted elegance. The essence is to conceive serene and pure, yet warm, comfortable, and authentic spaces.

What is your perspective on the relationship between the socio-cultural system and design/architectural initiatives in Brussels? Could you share also a particular location in Brussels that holds a special significance for you?

Overall, Belgian architecture over the past few years has been enjoying a creative renaissance, thanks to a generation of talents who excel at blending earthy palettes, natural materials, and curated interiors. This philosophy has helped establish a contemporary Belgian architectural identity, which is more and more celebrated abroad.

Brussels is a city you need to discover, preferably with locals, due to the many gems hidden in a complex urban grid. Personally, I do enjoy most of the contemporary art galleries and love an early morning stroll through the royal galleries of St-Hubert in the city centre.

Your multicultural background and extensive travel seem to play a significant role in shaping your design perspective. How do these experiences inform your work?

International projects and the relationships which comes with it, deeply nourishes our work: it broadens our perspective in terms of cultural differences, languages, religion, local habits, craftsmanship etc. to name a few. Belgian remains a fairly mall country, and we feel lucky and humbled to be able to work on so many projects around the globe.

Could you discuss the inspiration and creative journey behind the Aesop Salone del Mobile project in Milan for this year?

The scenography is inspired by the Minimal Art movement from the 1960’s and 1970’s, including artists like Donald Judd, Carl Andre and Richard Nonas, whose works are reduced to the essential minimum. This movement has served as an inspiration for many years now and and shaped the base for this scenographic project for Aesop, known for its uniform and minimal packaging’s, accentuating the content of the bottles, rather than the bottles itself. The inspiration of Superstudio’s 1970s iconic grid structures is a hint to timeless Italian design. To emphasise the minimal character of the installation, we conceptualised a grid shaped screen wrapping the perimeter of the shop, only interrupted when needed for circulation.

Entirely built up with Aesop soap bars – used within a vertical brick pattern– the screen creates a soft, matte, and reflective installation. A strong serenity exhales from the design by limiting the walls to monochromatic materials and textures. The restricted use of using something simple as a soap bar – “a daily functional household item” – resonates yet to another art movement, the Arte Povera, which fits perfectly in this context. Within the screen, small rectangular cavities are shaped by removing soap bars, to generate viewing portals to small, intimate hidden boxes showcasing Aesop’s products at the centre of the installation sits a large silicon block, wrapped in a matte silicon envelope. The central island stands out without taking away attention of the soap wall and will be the centre stage to skincare performances and massages where spectators can gather around.

The structure takes its form from the regimented rows of Aesop products, following the formulation-first logic central to the brand’s philosophy. Within the assembly, small rectangular cavities are created by removing soap bars, generating portals through which to enter—via film—the sensorial world of Aesop’s products. This way of working is a good match between Aesop and my office. In our office we always kick-off with concept, context, and research before digging into designing. In that way we develop a clear formulation before creating. I think this is important to avoid losing yourself in later stages of design. Of course, this formulation can change during the process, which is another important stage. But for us formulation works as a compass during a project.

What does “muted elegance” mean to you in the context of your work?

The essence of our work is to conceive serene and pure, yet warm and authentic spaces. Muted elegance is in my perspective the true definition of luxury today.

Few years ago premiered a Signature Kitchen for Obumex at Salone del Mobile. Can you tell us more about this project and your collaboration with Obumex?

In this first collaboration with Obumex, we designed a unique Kitchen which exhales a sense of profound serenity and yet, feels warm and authentic due the singular material used throughout the concept. It is also the first contemporary kitchen design finished with tin.

As a starting point for this design, we rethought the block-like typology of a kitchen island and transformed it into a dynamic shape, resulting in carefully proportioned shifts between the sculptural blocks. The design has been conceived as derivative of our studio’s architectural typologies and grants different views and perspectives around all four elevations, reinforcing the concept of a kitchen island as a functional sculpture.

The tin cladding, wrapping the entire volume, offers a high level of tactility paired with softness, which contrasts beautifully with the minimal geometry of the island. As tin gains a unique patina, the aesthetics of the kitchen will beautifully evolve over the course of time, resulting in every kitchen to be unique.

MM House in Mexico City, completed between 2014 and 2017, caught my eye with its intriguing design. Could you delve into the details of this project and share what inspired its creation?

While the main brutalist concrete structure was kept, we transformed it by adding new layers to the house: we came up with the idea of an interior patio with a small reflecting pool and a minimal spout to add a sense of calm to the space.

The sound of the water feature echoes throughout the house, linking the floors and rooms together, as is customary in many Mediterranean countries. We tried to create a very cozy and warm scale in a house for one and relied on the lessons of the potential found in augmenting a sense of balance through proportions. The placement of artworks, such as Terence Gower’s black-and-red steel sculpture The Couple that appears to float on a reflecting pool, provided a sense of drama that conceptually and materially resonated with other elements of the house, such the exposed raw steel staircase that created a similar juxtaposition of weight with a perceived sense of weightlessness.

Through a great transnational collaborative process, we were able to transform the house from a closed-off heavy bunker into a home where air and inspiration could freely circulate. One way we achieved this was by leaving the ground floor partly open. Alberto had the brilliant idea to extend the concrete slab that was on top of the old entrance to create a garage and a suspended garden on the second floor, allowing us to close off the house from the street and create a small, secret, and secluded landscape within. The effect was similar to what we love in Belgium, where the exterior of a building can bely, the magic found within it. Alberto also added thoughtful landscaping to ground our project to the land of Mexico with a design scheme based entirely on native plants. A restrained material palette spanning the entire house, from polished concrete floors to cement finishes on walls and ceilings, Arabescatto marble for the kitchen and bathrooms, and locally sourced Parota wood for the millwork creates a sense of timelessness to frame a contemporary art collection that celebrates ruptures with tradition.

What are some upcoming projects or collaborations that you’re particularly excited about?

We are handing over three exciting projects right now, a private house/museum for an art collecting couple outside of Antwerp, a concrete “tropical” bunker on the west shore of Bali, Indonesia as well as an extensive townhouse renovation in NY (Larry Gagosian’s former house).

Finally, what advice would you give to emerging architects and designers?

Your education in architecture has hardly begun: work, stay curious, humble and most importantly by persistent and tenacious in all your endeavours.

In order of appearance

NM House, Mexico City, Mexico, 2014-2017. Nicolas Schuybroek Architects. Photography by Nicolas Schuybroek Architects.
Aesop, Lyon France, 2023. Nicolas Schuybroek Architects. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of Aesop.
Aesop Salone del Mobile, Milan, 2024. Nicolas Schuybroek Architects. Photography by Romain Laprade. Courtesy of Aesop.
Obumex Signature Kitchen, Milan, 2022. Nicolas Schuybroek Architects. Photography by Eric Petschek.
NM House, Mexico City, Mexico, 2014-2017. Nicolas Schuybroek Architects. Photography by Nicolas Schuybroek Architects.
NWJ House, Antwerp, Belgium, 2015-2018. Photography by Nicolas Schuybroek Architects.

All images courtesy of Nicolas Schuybroek otherwise stated.

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