Embracing collective identity

JE: Our practice is based in Bordeaux, just two hours from Paris by high-speed train. Beyond its quality of life, Bordeaux has become increasingly attractive due to its improved accessibility. The recent introduction of the high-speed connection has drawn many practices seeking a high-quality environment, while remaining closely linked to the capital. The city has seen significant private investment in housing, workspaces, and infrastructure—largely in response to the growing influx of people relocating from Paris.

CB: That said, it's the work that leads us. We're known for cultural projects, and we follow where those opportunities arise. Our interest in specific subjects shapes our direction—we respond to the projects that resonate with us. While we try to stay in western France, it's ultimately curiosity and project quality that determine where we go.

JE: Our name, Compagnie Architecture, reflects values we hold dear. We chose Compagnie because of its many meanings—in French, Salut la Compagnie is a casual, inclusive greeting, and the term also evokes dance or theatre companies. We appreciate this sense of openness and collective spirit, which resonates with how we see our practice.

CB: We wanted to link the word compagnie to architecture, hence our firm name. That’s really important for us—we’re not doing something abstract. For us, the two terms are intrinsically connected. The word compagnie allows for a multidisciplinary approach—an openness to culture, to various disciplines, to encounters, to the human dimension. At the same time, it’s all applied directly to architecture. That’s why the two words—Compagnie Architecture—are so meaningful for us. We’re really grounded in practice: rehabilitation, construction, urbanism. It’s all architecture, but with this broader, inclusive, cultural vision.

A story of meaningful encounters

CB: The story behind Compagnie is a long one. During my third year at architecture school, I started working on ideas related to theatre and circus. That’s when I met Patrick Bouchain, who became an important figure in my career. At the time, he wasn’t very well known, but he was one of the first to explore the rehabilitation of factories with artists—reinvesting in those spaces while preserving traces of their past. He worked with artists in existing spaces, giving them new life. That meeting was really important to me. I worked with Patrick for about 15 years—first as an intern, then as an employee, and eventually as an associate in 2007. In 2008, I set up my own firm, called Chloé Bodart/Construire. Construire was like a collective—a group of people working with Patrick Bouchain. We didn’t have one shared company, but several individual structures associated with the projects: Sébastien Eymard/Construire, Loïc Julienne/Construire, Nicole Concordet/Construire, and Patrick Bouchain. It was a way of combining forces to collaborate on projects.

Around 2014, I was focused on large cultural projects—mainly street performance, museums, and concert halls. These became our agency’s foundational references. I had been working with Patrick on many of them, and they helped us build a portfolio—important when applying for public contracts, where having references is essential. It was then that I decided to move to Bordeaux for family reasons, and I created an agency here, drawing on my experiences with Patrick and Construire. 

We began experimenting with urban projects and landfills—especially through the project Darwin, which is kind of a tiers-lieu, or third space. It’s a way to bring together different programs and users, and to support them in defining what they want—both in the building and in how they coexist. It’s part of the foundational thinking that shaped the company. That Darwin project was not only one of our first commissions, but it also shaped our future projects. After that, we continued with studies and research, and then came the La Cartoucherie project in Toulouse. 

JE: As for me, I studied in Nantes and spent about a year and a half gaining experience in Brazil. In 2014, I moved to Bordeaux, where I worked with developers and promoters for three to four years before deciding to quit. In 2017, I began working with Chloé. At that time, we were still operating as separate entities—just as she had done with Patrick Bouchain—collaborating on projects on a case-by-case basis. Our first joint project was in Chirac, a rehabilitation of an old house into a cultural venue. Then came La Cartoucherie, a large-scale rehabilitation of an industrial building that includes restaurants, co-working spaces, sports and climbing areas, and a concert hall. It was a long project—almost eight years. Our partnership started in 2018 (in 2021, we officially renamed the practice Compagnie Architecture). Shortly after, we won the project for a concert hall in La Roche-sur-Yon. This was a significant moment, made possible in part thanks to Chloé’s previous experience with Patrick on La Sirène in La Rochelle—the rehabilitation of a former customs warehouse into a contemporary music venue. Around the same time, we also won the École Frida Kahlo in Bruges, our first project within Bordeaux metropolitan area. These projects helped establish the foundation for our ongoing work and future growth.

Beyond typology

CB: Project themes arise from curiosity and purpose. With each new project, what drives us is the process we build around that theme—focused on encounters, on use. What really interests us is how we can apply our approach to a theme. It could be a school, a concert hall, a tiers-lieu… something with a cultural or even an industrial dimension. Our style is not defined by the selection of a specific typology. For instance, I’d love to work on a gas station because it brings together very different kinds of people. That openness, and how to approach it differently—with local engagement and sensitivity to users—is at the heart of our work. 

JE: We also haven’t worked on housing. Why? Because the process is too closed, leaving too little room to develop the kind of work we’re interested in. Once again, it’s not about the program type, but how we engage with it. And for that, we’ve developed over time specific tools. 

CB: We refer to those tools as “The Commons”—the shared aspects of our methodology and philosophy. I began exploring this with Patrick Bouchain through what we called “architectural permanence”. 

An evolving vocabulary

CB: In 2014–2015, I began developing a glossary of terms—a personal vocabulary of tools and concepts that would later become the foundation of the agency. That was when I started to articulate a way of working, marking an important shift. It allowed me to bridge the experience I had with Patrick Bouchain and imagine something new, on my own terms. I had never worked alone before, and I didn’t want to work alone either. I had a few projects at the time, and in 2017, I was commissioned for La Cartoucherie in Toulouse. That was when Jules and I were sharing an office and started to collaborate. The vocabulary was quite personal, so we’ve had to think about how to update and adapt those words to fit the collective voice of the agency as it is now. We recently worked with journalist and author Emmanuelle Borne to redefine these terms. Thanks to this collaboration, the term 'The Commons' was born. To expand on Emmanuelle Borne’s texts, we've commissioned Simon Roussin, known for his vibrant, expressive drawings. This new glossary, or manifesto, becomes a meeting point between theory and image, using visual storytelling to give form to our architectural ideas. It is available on our website and was presented in our exhibition at the Galerie d'Architecture in Paris at the end of 2025.

The Commons

CB: The first tool is the model. We always use large-scale physical models—often at 1:50—on all of our projects. You won’t find them in the office; they’re on site. The models help us design and verify the space. They also allow us to communicate the project clearly to different audiences—children, parents, the project owner, the city, elected officials, neighbours, construction workers. We use them in exhibitions, in construction meetings. The first meeting on a construction site happens around the model. It becomes a shared object and a central gathering place on site,  a mutual understanding tool—it shows what the building will become. 

JE: During the project's development, we organise workshops with users to understand their practical expertise—their daily needs—and we translate that into architecture. It's a conversation, a back and forth. It’s not co-design, but it’s close. We ask people how they’ll use the space, what they need from it. We see them as experts in how they will live in those places. We take their input seriously and translate it into plans, drawings, and texts that build the project. We call them maîtrise d’usage—a kind of user-based mastery of the space.

CB: Another tool we often use is what we call cultural construction activities. Since urban projects often take a long time, we use cultural activities to activate and open up the construction period. That can mean organising visits, conferences, or even performances—dance, concerts—right on site. These events make the construction site accessible, invite the public in, create a sense of shared experience, and encourage the public to have a sense of ownership of the building. They also help ease tensions that can arise between contractors, consultants, and city officials. Our teams are usually large, and these moments help us bond and collaborate more effectively. In a school project in a town near Bordeaux called Pessac, we created what we call a Cité de Chantier. It was a gathering place, the home of the architecturale permanence. An architect was present every day on the construction site to supervise the work but also to organise outreach activities with students and teachers. This allowed them to discover the daily life of the construction site and fully understand the project. Once construction ended, the Cité de chantier became the school’s library.

JE: We don’t always use all our tools. Sometimes, we just stick to the model. Other times, we do everything. It's a toolbox, and we use what fits. 

The life of a building

JE: One of our ongoing projects is the music venue Le Krakatoa, named after the volcano in Indonesia. The name was chosen in the 1970s by the association that runs the building. It is currently under construction. It’s located in Mérignac, a city just outside Bordeaux. The building was originally a city hall, then in the 1970s it was transformed into a concert venue by the same association. Over time, it had deteriorated significantly, so the city council decided on a full renovation—and that’s when we got involved.

CB: The competition itself was long—about a year with three phases—and we used physical models at different scales throughout. The first model we made was at 1:200 scale, showing the building within its site and surroundings. It helped us understand and explain the project’s overall conception. We used it to communicate with both the client and the users, who were involved throughout the design process. At the end of the competition, we made a second, more detailed model at 1:50 scale, focusing only on the concert hall. We believe this helped the client understand and connect with the project. 

JE: Another crucial tool was time—spending time with users, both future and current. They had a very strong connection to the building, both emotionally and technically, especially in terms of scenography and sound. We had many meetings with them, using the model to work together and refine the design. 

CB: Now that we’re in construction, we’re planning three main events. The construction timeline is short—just 14 months—which is fast for a project of this scale and complexity. Still, we’re committed to integrating these cultural events during the build. The first event, in April 2025, was a concert in the demolished building. Only the four outer walls of the original concert remained. It hosted about 300 people. We organised it with the clients, the users, and the construction companies. The idea wasn't just symbolic: it was about keeping music alive in the space, preserving the building’s soul even during demolition but it also allowed the association to continue its activities in the building, even during the renovation work.

There’s also a mediation program. The association running the space is deeply engaged in cultural mediation, particularly with people who may not usually have access to music or the arts. They’ll continue this mission throughout construction, organising presentations and tours for children, seniors, and various community groups. We’ll be there too, to help explain the architecture and the ongoing transformation.

Finally, there's an artist in residence on the construction site. The client invited Olivier Crouzel to document the evolution of the space. He chose to film—not just the physical construction, but the poetic transitions. He’s already captured surreal imagery: hands floating in the air during a concert, now hands working on demolition. His work focuses on the transformation itself rather than construction details. Eventually, his film will be exhibited in a cultural space in Mérignac, presenting the artistic side of this evolving building.

JE: I think it’s important to explain why we do all this. Our goal in architecture is to set up a process that includes users—not just those who use the building daily, but also the public that uses the space. We aim to create buildings that are adapted to different uses and truly belong to their users, so they feel alive from the beginning, appreciated by those who live and move through them every day.

Our priority is to design buildings for people—that’s the foundation of our process. Too often in France, we see architects focused on creating beautiful objects. But when people walk into those spaces, there’s no love for the building. We take the opposite approach. We have a strong design language and clear architectural intentions, but for us, the main goal is that the space is loved, inhabited, and embraced. It’s not about creating a sculptural object; it’s about bringing people together, building community, and designing a place that people want to make their own.