New grounds

DE: We are based in Bordeaux. The local context, that of the city and the Atlantic coast, is key. This area, with its beaches and vacation homes, attracts a lot of work for emerging architects like us. Many of these homes are second residences, which clients often entrust to young architects for renovations. It's a way for us to start building relationships, earning trust, and introducing our approach to architecture. COVID played a role too—it made people more conscious of the environment and how we build. This has pushed us towards better, more sustainable construction practices. The mistakes made over the past 50 years, particularly with the overuse of cement, have shown us the importance of reconnecting with the land and reducing our impact.

A significant shift has been the affordability of ecological and biological insulation. Thanks to changes in French regulations and increased demand, these materials are now much more accessible. It’s no longer twice the cost of traditional methods—it’s closer, and that’s made a big difference. Clients are more willing to invest in environmentally friendly renovations or extensions, especially since the long-term savings, like reduced energy bills, are clear. 

The energy crisis caused by the war in Ukraine has also been a wake-up call. With rising energy costs, people are paying more attention to how much they can save in the long run. Traditional construction no longer provides those savings, but a well-thought-out, environmentally driven approach does. Now, clients come to us because of our environmental focus, which makes our job easier. They’re already on board with our ideology, and that’s half the battle won. All of this has quietly created a moment where a new generation of architects can begin to find their place and make a difference.

An origin story

DE: I was born in Bordeaux but am Spanish and have strong Catalan influences, which are central to who I am. Catalonia, with its architectural and cultural strength, has always fascinated me. Barcelona, in particular, is a city that constantly innovates, and that energy shaped my approach.

Even though no one in my family is an architect, I always knew I wanted to be one. I studied in Toulouse and spent a year in Barcelona on Erasmus, living with my grandmother, which made the experience a bit unconventional. After that, I took a sabbatical year in Catalonia, working at RCR Arquitectes, who are now Pritzker winners. That year was transformative—it was intense, like four years compressed into one. Their work is deeply emotional, with a focus on light, materials, and atmosphere. Each project feels unique and personal. RCR’s architecture left a profound mark on me, but I also saw its limitations. Their designs are stunning but often suited to warm, dry climates like Spain or Mexico. Applying that same style in a place like France, with its complex regulations and challenging weather, is a different story. I wanted to take the strength and emotion of their projects and adapt them to contexts like ours, where there are more constraints.

After finishing university in Toulouse, I worked briefly in Paris before returning to Bordeaux. There, I joined Faye Architectes, an architecture firm where I learned about collective housing—how it’s built, the regulations, and the challenges involved. It was valuable to contrast this experience with my time at RCR. One focused on local, practical architecture with tight budgets, and the other on emotional, boundary-pushing designs. 

In 2021, during COVID, I decided to take the leap and start my own office. It felt like the right time, even though it was a strange period. My early projects included private house renovations and my own home, which became a testing ground for the ideas I wanted to explore. My work now seeks to combine what I learned at RCR — their attention to light and atmosphere — with an environmental perspective that was less present in their approach. Bringing those elements together is what defines my architecture today.

On space and materials

DE: When I started my office, I didn’t want it to be personal—I didn’t want my name on it. I wanted something different, something that people could connect with on their own and that my team could feel a part of. That’s why I called it Aspaï. Space is the essence of architecture—whether it’s interior or exterior, it’s the core of what we do. Aspaï means ‘space’ in Catalan, but I wrote it phonetically for the French since I live and work in France. This way, they pronounce it correctly, but only Catalans truly get the meaning. It felt like the perfect name for an architecture firm.

Beyond space, light, and the environment are central to everything we design. For me, the process starts with defining the space. Then, it’s about figuring out how we build it, using local resources while maintaining an environmental focus. For example, we tested some innovative ideas in my own flat. It became a kind of showcase, proving that these methods not only work but are cost-effective. Our flat project was one of the first for the office—a small space in Bordeaux’s old town, which is a UNESCO heritage site. It was 37 square metres, and we turned it into 80. The project involved a vertical extension, which we knew would be built in wood. But we didn’t stop there—we wanted the new structure to harmonise with the existing architecture, all while addressing how to make it environmentally efficient.

In Bordeaux, most buildings are made of stone, but over time, materials like plasterboard and cement have damaged the original structures. Our approach was to rethink how walls can breathe naturally. Stone walls inherently breathe, letting moisture escape, which prevents rot. Modern materials often block this process, leading to long-term problems. Our goal was to bring back those traditional breathing walls but pair them with modern insulation techniques to enhance thermal performance. For example, we explored a type of concrete with soft insulation that has great thermal resistance and high inertia while still allowing the walls to breathe. This was crucial, especially in Bordeaux, where low sea levels and heavy rainfall can lead to rising damp through capillarity. If a wall can’t breathe, it traps moisture and rots from the inside, like leaving wet clothes in a sealed box.

This mindset—thinking of the building as a breathing entity—is central to our renovations and extensions. It’s not just about preserving the past but learning from it and improving it with modern materials and techniques.

Contextual craft

DE: Most of our projects are in Bordeaux and along the Atlantic coast, though we’ve also worked in other parts of France, like Toulouse and Valencia, Spain. The materials and methods we use are always tied to the local context. In Bordeaux, it’s all about stone; in Toulouse, it’s brick; in Nantes, it’s a mix of stone and earth. Each place has its own history and materials, and we adapt our approach to work with these differences. Mauricette, our flat, laid the foundation for this approach. Since then, we’ve continued to deepen our research and built houses in Lacanau, along the coast, and in Bordeaux’s old town, applying what we’ve learned. For example, we’re now working on a solid stone house—a method that hasn’t been used much lately but was standard in the past. It’s about combining these traditional techniques with modern environmental standards to create homes that last far beyond today’s norms.

One of our upcoming projects is a house near Biarritz, in a nature reserve. It’s taken a long time to get approval because of strict regulations, but our environmental approach convinced the council. The idea is to build a house that doesn’t just meet today’s standards but lasts 100 years or more. That’s the legacy we’re aiming for—buildings that endure, respecting both history and the future.

Thanks to these projects, we’ve gained experience and built trust in Bordeaux and beyond. Now, we’re ready to take this philosophy further, exploring new materials, contexts, and challenges while staying true to our core approach.

Shaping comfort

DE: One of my first projects was for a medical office. The clients’ request was simple: ‘We don’t want our offices, which are just for consultations, to look like a hospital.’ They wanted to change the image of their offices so people wouldn’t feel even worse coming to a sad, depressing place. In France, hospitals are generally in bad condition—blue floors, white walls, that distinct hospital smell. So, the idea was to create a completely different vibe.

Within the regulations, which weren’t too strict, we used materials like wood to add warmth and make the space feel more welcoming. That medical centre was one of my first big projects, and it opened up opportunities for me, including a chance to work on public commissions, which are notoriously hard to get in France. Public tenders often require you to have completed similar projects before, which makes it challenging to break into the market. Thanks to that first medical project, though, I got my foot in the door. In the medical sector, we’re starting to get noticed. For example, we worked with a private client to convert a single-family house into six medical consultation offices, which went really well. Because of that success, we’ve been approached by more doctors. One new project involves a four-story building where I can finally implement some of the environmental design principles I’ve wanted to explore. I said to myself, ‘Okay, I know how to design medical offices that don’t feel like hospitals. But now, how can we rethink the concept of a medical centre entirely?’

One of the most interesting projects we’ve done is for a group of doctors specialising in endometriosis—a condition that affects 15–20% of women and is often overlooked in France. They wanted to create something groundbreaking, both in terms of medicine and architecture. We designed the first endometriosis centre in France, which now has international recognition. They even opened a branch in Abu Dhabi. The architecture was a big part of that success because it reflected the same forward-thinking mindset as their medical approach. What really struck me about this project was the feedback. Patients and staff said they felt happier, calmer, and less stressed in the space. I hadn’t anticipated that kind of impact, but it’s incredibly rewarding to see how architecture can contribute to people’s well-being.

Thermal comfort

DE: In France, we’ve traditionally focused on thermal efficiency for winter—insulating houses to keep them warm because that’s where we used to spend most of our energy. But with climate change, things have shifted. Winters in Bordeaux now last only two or three weeks, but summers have become much longer and hotter. We used to have heat waves every three years; now, it’s every summer, sometimes lasting over a month.

So, we’ve had to rethink our approach to thermal comfort. It’s not just about keeping heat in during winter but about keeping it out during summer. The goal is to design walls with enough thermal inertia to maintain cool indoor temperatures without relying heavily on air conditioning. Many clients still insist on installing AC, so we compromise: we install it, but we design the building so it’s only needed for about a week each year.

The key is what we call déphasage in French—the time it takes for outdoor heat to penetrate the walls and affect the indoor temperature. With older insulation, heat would enter the house in 3–4 hours, meaning by 2 p.m., it’d start getting uncomfortably warm. Now, with better insulation materials like cotton, wool, or wood fibre, we can extend that delay to 12 hours. That means the heat doesn’t enter until around 8 p.m., by which time the house has naturally stayed cooler throughout the day.

I remember growing up in Bordeaux. My father used to close all the windows and shutters during the summer to keep the heat out, and it worked. Our house stayed cool because of its thick stone walls with good thermal inertia. But if we forgot to close the windows, the heat would pour in, and it was nearly impossible to cool things down again. That’s the principle we’re building on now—but with modern materials and techniques.

It’s not just about temperature; it’s about the whole system. We consider humidity, airflow, and how everything interacts. In my own house, for example, we’ve designed it to use very little energy. My neighbour, who didn’t follow the same approach, spends twice as much on energy bills for a smaller space. It’s proof that if you stick to the principles of good thermal design, the benefits show up not just in comfort but in your wallet too.