Navigating an increasingly complex field

PB: I think we've seen a rise in the number of small offices, along with a growing number of firms overall, as the field of application expands. We’ve analysed this trend and noticed an increasing number of operators from different construction fields working on the same project. There are now more engineering firms collaborating with us—not just in structure and electricity but across many specialised domains. As standards evolve, they contribute to this specialisation, expanding the scope of architectural practice and allowing new offices to emerge in different directions. Compared to when we worked in other firms, and even in the five or six years since starting our own, we’ve observed projects becoming increasingly specialised.

EB: Specialisation now extends to materials, social dimensions like territorial participation, and urbanism—not just operational urbanism but urbanism as a project with multiple missions, permits, and regulations that allow firms to develop their own expertise. This is beneficial for young firms like ours, as it creates opportunities. On any given project, we collaborate with environmental designers, structural engineers, electrical and ventilation experts—sometimes five, six, or seven different engineering firms. This shifts our role within the process, as architecture becomes one of many specialities, rather than the central discipline leading the project.

PB: Construction has become more complex than in the past, making it impossible for architects to address every detail alone. We simply can't know everything. On the other hand, this complexity has somewhat diminished the role we traditionally held. The relationship with clients has also changed—on some topics, they now consult directly with engineers rather than relying solely on the architect.

EB: Regulations push architecture in a good direction, but they also create limitations. Take wood construction, for example—it has become very difficult because fire safety regulations require structural wood to be covered, meaning the material can’t remain visible. 

PB: Another key consideration for small firms in France is that large construction firms hold immense power. If only small offices exist without a collective voice, we risk losing control over architectural discourse. It’s essential for many small firms to come together rather than letting a few large companies dictate how we live and build.

EB: We need to be conscious of these dynamics. While we collaborate on projects, our practices often feel isolated. Competitions pit us against one another, making it difficult to maintain solidarity.

PB: It’s a tricky balance. We compete, but we also support each other. When another office wins a project, we recognise its value and celebrate it, understanding that strong projects help advance the profession as a whole.

From learning to independence

PB: We met while studying engineering and architecture—at ESTP (Ecole Spéciale des Travaux Publics, du Bâtiment et de l'Industrie) for engineering and then at the Paris-La Villette architecture school. We did our diplomas together and later worked at the same firm, Dietmar Feichtinger Architects, for three years. In 2018, we decided to start our own office.

EB: We share a similar approach to construction, shaped by our experience at Dietmar Feichtinger’s office. There, we worked on building sites, bridges, and large infrastructural projects, which gave us a very technical perspective on architecture. This prioritises accuracy in drawing, attention to detail, and balancing architectural formalisation with local conditions. We cannot design without considering site-specific factors, local expertise, and available materials. Our process is iterative, moving between drawing and construction. Structure is central to our thinking because it ensures long-term resilience.

PB: Structure is one answer, though not the only one. In France, we are deeply tied to the concrete industry, with major companies like Vinci, or Eiffage, shaping the construction landscape. This history cannot be ignored. The challenge is not to abandon concrete entirely but to rethink how we use it. We aim to find a balance, considering material availability and sustainability. For instance, while wood is often promoted, France does not have enough resources to rely on it exclusively. The same applies to earth and stone—these materials hold potential but are not a universal solution.

EB: Architecture remains a bourgeois discipline. If we propose only costly, idealistic solutions, we risk excluding a large part of the population. Structure, in this sense, is more democratic than a purely material-based approach. We are engaged in material experimentation but recognise its limitations. In places like Villeneuve-la-Garenne, a 1960s neighbourhood near Paris, the vernacular is concrete. We cannot simply declare it ‘bad’ and impose an entirely new system. Social and historical contexts must be acknowledged.

PB: Feichtinger is an Austrian architect with a strong technical background, influenced by Austrian engineering culture, which he brought to France. We learned a lot from that experience. When we started our office, we had no major client or project to launch us, so we began by renovating small flats in Paris for different people. It was quite challenging because we were used to working on large-scale projects like schools and office buildings, with entirely different types of clients. Doing small residential renovations was a good learning experience, but not necessarily the best fit for us. We completed four such projects, and while difficult, they helped us gain experience. Then, we had the opportunity to collaborate on competitions with larger firms, including Dietmar Feichtinger and Atelier Novembre. In our first year, we participated in three competitions and won all three. That was a major turning point, as it allowed us to return to larger-scale projects. One of these was a high school in Palaiseau (Lycée international de Palaiseau), which we continued to develop and build. That project, completed in 2021, became our first major reference and helped us secure our own commissions. Now, we focus on developing projects independently.

Lessons from reuse

EB: Dealing with existing structures is one of our greatest challenges. We had no prior experience with renovation, rehabilitation, or transformation projects—our work was entirely in new construction. With new buildings, we always had a clear final vision in mind. But with rehabilitation, the process is more uncertain. We had to develop our own protocols to assess existing structures and learn diagnostic tools we hadn’t used before. Another challenge was adjusting to a new type of client. 

PB: When designing a public building, the client has a budget and program but generally allows the architect creative freedom, as long as those parameters are met. Competitions also help validate your architectural approach. But with private clients, especially for residential projects, they often have a very specific idea of what they want, which can sometimes clash with our design proposals. Occasionally, they recognise the value of our approach, but other times, the process becomes long and challenging.

EB: Private clients will live in the spaces we design, so it’s natural for them to be deeply involved. Over time, we learned how to navigate these conversations, listen more carefully, and adjust our process accordingly. This experience ultimately transformed how we approach projects. In construction, we always look for opportunities for discussion. We don’t claim to have the solution. It’s about fostering dialogue, which can take a project in unexpected directions. We don’t follow a predetermined approach. And this is fundamental when working on a reuse project. The construction process often involves dismantling materials, and even if we have a plan in mind, we must constantly redraw and adapt. Over time, you learn how to respond to the specificities of the site. 

PB: Our focus is not solely on materiality but on the broader construction system, including structure, façades, and ventilation. When reusing a building, we analyse its essence—what is fundamental and what can be removed. Similarly, when designing new projects, we consider what will endure and what can be adapted over time. This understanding developed through practice; initially, we treated reuse projects like any other, but we quickly realised the importance of diagnostics. Working with existing structures informs our approach to new ones. Malakoff, a project that earned us a nomination for the prestigious Équerre d'Argent, embodies these principles and illustrates how we navigate these challenges. We removed multiple layers from the walls and slabs without knowing what we’d find. The process was fascinating because our initial design evolved through discoveries made on-site. Clearing the building was a crucial phase, forcing us to adapt constantly. This changed our mindset—we now approach projects with flexibility, understanding that the final object is important but must remain open to change.

EB: We enjoy surprises on-site—unexpected elements that challenge our original vision. If we remain open to adaptation, these discoveries can enrich the project. Even during competitions, we prefer to leave room for evolution rather than finalising every detail too soon.

PB: We are comfortable redrawing and adapting at every stage, even during construction. Long projects naturally evolve, and embracing this fluidity is key. Clients are not always open to this approach. They often expect a project to look exactly like the initial competition image. Our flexibility can be challenging for them and for engineers, as it demands ongoing adjustments. It’s more comfortable for clients to see a linear process from concept to completion, but we try to balance adaptation with maintaining their expectations.

EB: Clients need reassurance about deadlines and project stability, so we balance openness with providing a clear, structured process. For us, it’s crucial to define the essence of a project. With timelines stretching between five and ten years from concept to completion, we must determine what elements should remain consistent. Sometimes, it’s materiality, sometimes form, or even the fundamental unit of habitation. Regardless, we are committed to preserving a core idea that endures throughout the project’s development.

Questions that arise from teaching

PB: Teaching is very important to us. The ideas we explore in our projects are shared with students, but we also learn from them. They see the world differently, and their perspectives enrich our practice. Etienne teaches third—and fourth-year students, while I work with first-year students. At that level, they’re completely new to architecture and open to everything. We encourage them to experiment, making models, drawing, and remaining open to unexpected results rather than clinging to a fixed vision.

EB: New questions are emerging in architectural education. At Belleville, I work with diploma students, and we focus on both construction and deconstruction. Deconstruction is an architectural act, not just about preserving existing buildings but understanding their relationship with the landscape and territory. There’s growing attention to water management, land use, and a more careful engagement with the built environment. Teaching offers a space to meet other architects and discuss new paradigms in architecture. Academia should challenge existing norms, not just teach rules that may be obsolete in a decade. Students must learn to critique and understand how to inhabit the world. I struggle with the separation between academic and professional practice. If we treat academia as purely theoretical and professional work as purely applied, we risk turning architects into engineers. In our studies, we observed this: Engineering often meant applying formulas rather than critically engaging with social issues.