Practising autonomy

FL: Over the past few years, I’ve noticed a growing presence of young architects starting their own practices. I certainly see many more young students. I think this phenomenon has been going on for about five years or so in France, because when I arrived, I didn’t feel it immediately. There is definitely an economic context that makes it easier to launch a practice, and there’s also a generational change of attitude compared to when I was a student. Today’s young people seem to have a more mature and confident sense of self. I notice it especially with the interns who join our studio—they approach their work with a stronger sense of autonomy. There’s much less of a hierarchical attitude compared to the past; younger professionals no longer automatically place themselves below those with 10 to 15 years of experience.

There have also been noticeable shifts in the way materials are approached. I think this change is largely driven by architecture schools in France, which are now much more connected to hands-on practice. Some even offer workshops in areas like jewellery-making, giving students direct, tactile experience. Architecture is approached in a more spontaneous and experimental way. Events like the Bellastock Festival in Paris, which focus on materials, reuse, and eco-responsible design, further reinforce this mindset. These influences start during their studies and are later carried into public competitions or showcased in their portfolios.

Architecture with a kid’s spirit

FL: My practice is called KIDA, the Child-Architect. The name first came to me while I was still working in Rome, but its meaning evolved when Joachim, my partner, joined the project. We had both worked for a firm that managed some projects of Jean Nouvel near the Canal de l'Arsenal back in 2013. During lunch breaks, we talked and gradually became friends. Then, by pure chance, we each found ourselves working on independent projects at the same time—mine was a villa in Belgium, and Joachim was overseeing the construction of a house in Colombia. Joachim left for Colombia, and I realised I needed more time for the project and left the studio, too. We both went away, did our projects, and then started working together. Our motto was that we could work anywhere—even in bars.

Slowly, more projects came, and the collective started to take shape. At the beginning, the idea was not to limit ourselves to architecture but to do something more transversal, moving toward art and music. Since I’ve always been actively involved in electronic music alongside architecture, I started collaborating early on with various collectives in France that organised music festivals and parties. Around ten years ago, a strong movement emerged around events happening outside traditional clubs. Thanks to some connections in that scene, we had the opportunity to experiment with architecture in this context—merging spatial design with music culture. At first, parties were held inside clubs, but these collectives began seeking outdoor spaces—like parks—where they could create small-scale art and architectural installations. We started to get interested in this idea and slowly collaborated with different collectives, of which I was a part for about 10 years.

We tried not to stop at standard architecture but to move toward public competitions and more hybrid forms linked to art and music. Little by little, the meaning of the name KIDA evolved to represent our view of the architect as a ‘kid’—a child eager to discover, experiment, explore, and persevere without giving up after the first try. We think everything is related to play, discovery, learning, making mistakes, and conversation with others—whether clients, craftspeople, or collaborators. We are always open to dialogue; we don’t explain how architecture should work to others. We also believe in frugal architecture and rediscovering ancestral materials, doing something simple yet complex in its details. It’s profoundly human, linked to long-held materials and techniques.

We’re learning that architecture must respond to its specific place and society—working in Colombia and Italy has shown us it’s impossible to replicate the same approach used in France or elsewhere. The idea of designing identical projects across very different contexts is unrealistic. Additionally, eco-responsible architecture has shifted from the high-tech methods taught a decade ago to a focus on frugal design, using simple materials and natural techniques, like ventilation rather than complex systems. This philosophy guides all our work.

Evolution through experience

FL: We started with micro-installations at festivals and even managed the artistic direction of one. The collective I was part of for 10 years, called OTTO10, is one of the key collectives in Paris for parties. Later, for another festival called La Forge, we aimed to preserve a castle owned by a friend in Mayenne. I managed the artistic direction and musical programming for two years. We also worked on a project for the external spaces of a cultural centre in Italy, in Andria, called Officine San Domenico.

Our interest in experimenting with different themes led us to one of our first studios: the Ancienne Imprimerie, an old printing house where we shared space with photographers. We collaborated closely with them, ensuring that every project also had a strong photographic dimension. This phase lasted roughly from 2015 to 2020. At first, it was just Joachim and me. Between 2015 and 2018, we were joined by one or two collaborators who helped with projects. It marked the beginning of a new era. By 2020, we started taking on more projects with private clients—such as bookstores, interiors, even offices in Luxembourg. Most of these projects came mainly through personal connections.

In 2020, during the COVID pandemic, Joachim had to leave for Colombia and ended up getting stuck there for a month with many projects in progress. I stayed behind to manage the studio. When he finally returned, he reflected on the idea of leaving the practice to be closer to his family and home in Colombia. Ultimately, he decided to step away. To mark this transition, we took a trip to Palma—a kind of professional ‘divorce.’ During the trip, we set clear boundaries to avoid a complete break and to keep the door open for future collaboration. This marked a new phase for the office, with Joachim starting projects in Colombia. He is now deeply involved in working with bamboo and is part of an organisation focused on bamboo distribution, developing many projects using this material. Our friendship remains strong; we talk weekly and still collaborate whenever a suitable project arises.

In between scales

FL: Over time, our approach to project scale has gradually evolved. Last year, for example, we worked with LVMH Métiers d’Art to create an innovation centre in the south of France, near Valence. This project marked a clear shift in how we handled larger-scale work, building on changes that had already started a few years earlier. We signed on to a project with a €3 million budget, featuring a diverse program that included offices, laboratories, a production centre, and a multifunctional space.

Now, we focus primarily on projects of this scale and budget. At the same time, I also wanted to explore more intimate work, so I took on a project in Drôme with friends of a friend—a photographer who had purchased a stone house but had virtually no budget. This allowed me to balance larger commissions with smaller, more personal projects. I completed a free project and put him in touch with someone I knew who was doing self-construction work with natural materials. I followed the project a bit while doing the big one. When you visit for the first time and see the place, you feel the humanity in it. I think that’s something that will always be important to us—a desire to stay connected to the human side. The studio grew organically from human connections, especially the collaborators we work with—about 90% of them are friends or people we choose to collaborate with repeatedly. Over time, we’ve built a network of contacts, including artisans and clients, with whom we enjoy exchanging ideas. Naturally, larger projects have their own appeal. For instance, in the LVMH project, I had the freedom to experiment more fully. It was the first time I could manage the entire architectural process, extending even to designing furniture, like tables, using the same materials found on the facades and exterior elements.

Built from encounters

FL: I believe each of our projects carries its own theme. For example, one project explored the relationship with the human being, though it never came to fruition due to disagreements within the client’s family. 

We met the client by chance while working on a nearby construction close to a training centre for psychologists in Paris’s 1st district. A neighbour, disturbed by the work, came down to see what was happening and how long it would take. We shared a coffee, and she began telling us about a shelter her grandfather, who was also an architect, had built in the 1950s in the Fontainebleau forest. She wanted to do something with it. So, we went to see the shelter—a modest 60-square-metre building. Slowly, ideas started to form as we toyed with the plan. Eventually, we even had the keys to the shelter, which became a kind of home to us. We spent a night there to really get to know the place. Fontainebleau is famous for its rocks, which are rounded because the area was once underwater. This project was born out of a deep connection with both people and place. Our proposal was also to incorporate the rocks into the construction.

The client quickly became a friend with whom we would meet on site to eat, drink, and talk about the project. 

We managed to move forward with the project until the day before construction was due to begin. All the permits were in place, the builders' quotes had been received, but then a single word was exchanged between the client and a member of her family that brought the whole project to a halt. It just goes to show that even with a magnificent project, the threads that hold everything together are extremely fragile. 

In any case, we had about four years of good moments in this place. 

Reconnecting with Italy

FL: As an Italian, I’ve made a point of pursuing projects in Italy—often with very limited budgets, and sometimes entirely pro bono—because maintaining a connection to my home country is deeply important to me. For a couple of years, I’ve been interested in building with earth. I did some training and now have a project in progress in Puglia and in France: one I’m personally promoting with a group of inhabitants, without a real estate agent. The inhabitants are investing in the building. 

I had the idea to create a startup in Italy that would function a bit like an app—connecting people interested in starting new projects. I received a lot of interest and uncovered a surprising network among friends. I simply said, “KIDA is launching a project with earth in Italy. We’re looking for architects to join.” Around 50 people responded—it was a real success. From this group, I selected someone with experience in earth construction. Her name is Rossella, originally from Puglia. She had lived in Argentina, where she worked with raw earth, and has now returned to Italy. Puglia is particularly receptive to eco-sustainability. We are still shaped by the so-called 'Puglian Spring' (Primavera Pugliese)—the ten years under Nichi Vendola’s leadership, which introduced public tenders, funding, and programs to support youth entrepreneurship and sustainable practices. That legacy continues to resonate today.

Doing something similar in France is far more laborious than in Italy. In Puglia, things seem to move faster—friends say, “I’ll give you a hand,” and progress follows. There’s real momentum, and now we’re a group of six. The aim is to establish KRU: a space for training, production, dissemination, and the sale of soil-based materials. We want to develop prefabricated blocks of various scales, including full wall systems, all using the same material. The goal is to build this hub, launch production, and organise events like roundtables and training sessions focused on raw earth.

We’ve been working on this for a year and a half, and it’s starting to take shape. Our first project involves the outdoor spaces of Officine San Domenico, using raw earth for public areas. One of the main challenges in Italy is the lack of local knowledge about earth construction—especially when it comes to soil testing. That’s why we’re collaborating with BC Materials and AMACO, who are helping us navigate this process and guide local labs. I believe earth will become one of the most widely used materials in the coming years. I’m personally drawn to it, just as Joachim is with bamboo in Colombia. 

Sometimes we become fascinated by a material or technique—we explore it like a toy, sometimes setting it aside, sometimes playing with it for much longer. In the end, we’re architects, but often with the curiosity and playfulness of children.