Starting at the right time

IP: There’s definitely a demand for architects right now. There's a lot of work being planned. In Switzerland, you find many architects like us—coming from abroad to work here and even starting their own practices. The competition system here really supports this. You don’t necessarily need a project from a family connection or someone you know; the competition system is solid, and it helps a lot.

HT: Yes, and beyond that, for a country of this size and density, we have at least three major architecture schools: ETH in Zurich, EPFL in Lausanne, and the Accademia di Architettura in Mendrisio. There’s also the Fachhochschule (FH) network, a system of universities of applied sciences spread throughout the country. Many international students come here and find fertile ground to start their own practices. It’s unique. I don’t think that in any other place you can simply win a competition and have a good chance of actually building the project. This makes many people feel that it’s possible to try. We started, though, because it was simply time.

IP: Heinrich called me and said, ‘Okay, I’m quitting, and starting. Are you in?’ It was something we’d been considering; if things aligned, it would be great to have a practice together.

HT: We both felt it was time. In our previous offices, we worked with a lot of enthusiasm, which left no room for side projects like competitions. So we decided to start. We worked day jobs to cover basic costs and did competitions on the side. And this cool thing was that we didn’t have to leave our first client behind. In fact, it was the opposite. I lived in a house with the owner in the same building, and after I’d started the office, he mentioned he wanted to talk. I thought he’d be raising the rent, but instead, his wife mentioned the old house down in the courtyard and asked if we could work on it. This became our first client, even before any competition wins.

Design, create, explore

HT: I don’t think academia fully prepares you for the professional field. There’s still a difference between, say, ETH and Fachhochschule, which offer different focuses, but I don’t think universities necessarily need to. It’s often said that school doesn’t prepare you fully, and that’s true. In school, you get the rare chance to focus intensely on how to develop a concept or create a story around a place. If you want to start an office, you learn by doing—that’s how we did it, and it’s how most people do. I don’t see it as a disadvantage. Learning about things like taxes and logistics on the job might actually be more practical than learning them at university.

IP: Yes, and those logistical aspects aren’t what make architecture unique or valuable. There are plenty of people who know how to construct buildings, and you’ll learn that. But the hard part, or maybe the most crucial part, is the idea or concept that you bring to your work. More people know how to build than those who know how to make architecture meaningful.

HT: At university, you have the freedom to explore concepts deeply, but later you must work to secure that freedom. That’s what matters to us—not just building a house, but creating something that becomes good architecture.

IP: We didn’t know how to calculate project costs or manage clients, but we learned, as most people do. However, just knowing how to build well doesn’t automatically result in good architecture.

HT: And that raises the question of what defines good architecture. We can’t offer a strict definition, but it’s often the small, fascinating details—sometimes a building’s overall concept, sometimes a single detail. 

IP: For us, every project is a journey with no clear end at the beginning. Each project has different circumstances, clients, and influences, leading to unique outcomes. Sometimes, recurring themes emerge from past work, while other times, the project is shaped by new concepts. Seeing each project as distinct and not part of a rigid alignment is essential. While there may be common threads, each answer has to be unique to each question, and that’s what we value in our work.

HT: Since our student days, we’ve always focused on exploring the process rather than relying on stylistic similarities or repeating specific design languages. If there’s a common thread in all our projects, it’s that we like starting with the making itself. Of course, we care about the impact of the project on the city and its visual impression from afar. But equally, we ask, how is it made? We’re not interested in creating something and only later wondering how to realise it. It’s often as simple as joining two bricks or as complex as refining wood joinery, like integrating a wooden bridge with concrete in a way that’s more than just practical—it’s beautiful. This focus on craft, in various forms, is something that consistently interests us.

Staying curious and flexible

HT: Some questions keep coming up: How do we build it, who will use it, and what is its function? But it’s helpful not to approach every project with a fixed checklist. Approaching from a new angle keeps the process alive. Sometimes it’s better to start with a basic building block, like two bricks, and sometimes with the client’s story, which could lead to something entirely different. The story might even inspire something less structured, like poured concrete, but still rooted in a specific place and history.

IP: This variety of approaches enriches each project. While the initial questions may remain the same, the answers evolve over time. Addressing the same conditions today would yield different results than it would have ten years ago, and they’ll be different again in another decade. This growth reflects our evolution as architects—each project, client, and conversation contributes something new, even if it’s sometimes subtle.

HT: We actively try to avoid becoming rigid in how we pose or answer questions. There’s always a risk of falling into patterns over time, but we consciously work against that. 

IP: It’s also crucial to preserve a kind of naivety when approaching each project. This approach reminds me of how we, as students, admired architects’ early projects, wondering why their first works sometimes seemed stronger than those that came later. Now, I think it may be because, as people progress, they can lose that initial curiosity, slipping into routines where deadlines and client meetings overshadow the architecture itself. The logistical side of things—timetables, client relations, deliveries—is necessary, but it’s not the heart of architecture. What matters is the outcome: the architecture, the spaces, and the ideas conceived at the beginning, which should not be lost along the way due to everyday demands. That’s why each project is unique.

HT: For example, we won a big open competition for an elderly home. It’s an exciting, long-term project that provides stability, and now we’re being invited to compete in similar projects. However, to avoid getting stuck in a pattern, we decided not to take on another elderly home for the next few years. It’s tempting since we’ve built up knowledge, but we’d prefer something different to keep the process dynamic.

The model workshop

IP: In our studio, we have a model workshop—a dream of ours from the very beginning. Once we started earning a bit, we decided to invest in this space, which became one of our first major purchases. 

HT: We do a lot of work with physical models. Sometimes, we’ll make large models even for competitions we feel we may not win. Though we haven’t won a project from one of these big models yet, the process is important. Working with physical models lets us experiment and make adjustments in real time, seeing spatial qualities directly. These models also have a life beyond the initial project, remaining in our office as references and reminders.

IP: Models are much more effective than plans or renderings. Early in my studies, I thought I could fully visualise spaces without models, but I was wrong. Building models allows young architects to truly grasp scale, space, and limits. This kind of hands-on understanding isn’t part of an architect’s education in Greece. But in Swiss architecture schools, students learn by building, which I think is crucial for developing spatial awareness.

HT: Models also reflect something essential about architecture: we always need a ‘vehicle’ to express our ideas. Whether it’s a plan, rendering, or model, we have to translate ideas into physical or visual representations. The abstraction required by models is particularly useful. Since we can’t include every detail, we’re forced to focus on what’s truly important in the design.

IP: Exactly, and sometimes working with models reveals unexpected insights. I remember a housing project where we realised from the model that our staircase design would leave the entrance too dark, which wasn’t clear from the plan alone. Thanks to the model, we redesigned it before construction advanced too far, ensuring better light. Now, every time I walk through that entrance, I think about how different—and flawed—it would’ve been without that adjustment.

HT: But we don’t always use the model first. Sometimes we start by putting pieces together to see what ideas emerge, especially in the early stages. Other times, it starts with sketches instead. It really varies.

IP: It also depends on the scale. For instance, in our first project, the roof extension of the courtyard house, we began by understanding how existing elements were joined before proposing something new. But in a larger housing project, we’d consider factors like outdoor spaces and impact on the city. Each scale and situation calls for a unique approach.

HT: You have to know the questions you want the model to answer. In a housing competition, for example, we might start with foam blocks to shape the mass, but we also need to keep the program in mind. Just shaping forms and choosing the best-looking one doesn’t go far. This back-and-forth between the model and the plan is crucial.

IP: This open process becomes even more intense when considering materials and building expression. Often, we’ll realise the dimensions of our initial models don’t work, so we’ll need to go back to the beginning and rethink them.

Connecting with community

HT: We value working across different scales. It’s not always financially practical, but when a larger project is running, we can afford to spend time on smaller projects that allow us to explore basic spatial concepts. For instance, we are about to build a small pavilion initiated by young people in a village. They raised funds and selected us in a small competition. We designed a versatile hangout space with sliding doors that can close for wind protection or open fully to serve as a stage. Working with young people reminded us of the simplicity of creating space—a shelter for gathering, adaptable to their needs.

IP: Sometimes, it’s a party space, other times they might play games, or perhaps there’s a concert. It’s designed for various uses, and that flexibility is essential. Engaging with young people, hearing their needs, and shaping a space with very simple elements—without concerns like insulation—has been rewarding. Unlike most buildings, this project is stripped down to basics, like sliding doors that form flexible layers.

HT: We’ve also challenged traditional approaches. For instance, we’re using corrugated metal and experimented by tilting the roof to let water run in an unexpected way, creating an interesting effect. By slightly angling the corrugated metal, we discovered a wave pattern that we really enjoyed. This type of experimentation has been exciting, and we plan to host workshops with the like to build simple stools for the space. 

IP: In parallel to this, the municipality tasked us with transforming this and another small building in Basel’s harbour area, where they want to extend the promenade to provide safe access. This area borders Germany and France, so it’s the city’s edge. The harbour’s industrial activity—trains, trucks—will continue alongside this pedestrian project, so we needed a unifying element. We envisioned a pergola system running through the 400-metre space, connecting everything. It gives a starting and ending point and creates areas to meet, play, or even hold events.

HT: At first, we presented this broader vision, and they agreed that we needed a wider perspective. They were interested in our final proposal for the two existing buildings, which involves stripping their asbestos cladding and adding a semi-transparent polypropylene facade. During the process, one of us noticed that the design resembled a lantern, which inspired the name ‘Harbor Lantern.’ The name stuck, and it’s become an integral part of the project’s identity. It’s essential to create a strong story around projects like this to help people connect and rally support.

IP: One thing that’s common between this harbour project and the youth pavilion is the importance of engaging the local community. In Basel, for example, we’ve spoken with café owners, museum curators, and local groups, understanding their needs and aspirations for the area. This connection is similar to working with the youth on the pavilion. It’s about involving people who live and work in the space, letting their input shape the project.

HT: Absolutely. In architecture, we often talk about context—both built and social. But I like to think of it as ‘terroir,’ like in wine-making. It’s more than just the physical surroundings; it’s the history, the environment, everything that has shaped the place over time. This broader perspective helps us consider how a space might evolve in the future, creating designs that feel authentic and resilient.