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.