Agile by necessity

GB: If we had to define a common thread within our generation, maybe it’s that we’ve had to, as we say in French, prendre le taureau par les cornes—to take the bull by the horns. We've had to challenge the lingering traditions of urbanism and architecture and find new ways of working that respond to today's realities. Older practices often have deep-seated habits, whereas our generation tends to start fresh—either right after school or after a few years in offices—so from day one, there’s a strong desire to experiment. That’s probably why we’re seeing so many new offices emerge, each with its own vision. And that’s what makes this moment interesting for architecture and urban design.

CV: I often say we need to be agile now more than ever.

GB: And to build on that, there’s been a shift in how architects are perceived in society. Architects used to be seen as intellectuals with relatively comfortable lifestyles, but that image has changed. Many young architects now realise they might earn the same working in an office as they would by starting their own practice—so why not take the leap and push their ideas forwards? That’s probably part of the reason so many new firms are popping up. But there’s also a broader sense of crisis—economic, environmental, social—which forces us to rethink everything. Maybe that’s why agility is so important. Being small and independent allows us to explore new approaches to architecture and urbanism.

Two letters, multiple layers

GB: Choosing a name when we started working together wasn’t easy. What we liked about UR is that it’s simply two letters brought together to form a sound, yet it carries multiple layers of meaning. One of the most significant references is the urban Re-identification grid by the Smithsons, whose work still resonates with us today, especially their strong focus on society. We also appreciated how they challenged the International Congress for Modern Architecture (Congrès Internationaux d'Architecture Moderne - CIAM). Plus, the name recalls Ur, the first city in Mesopotamia, which is often associated with the simultaneous emergence of cities, agriculture, and political power. These foundational ideas continue to shape the world we live in today.

CV: The Smithsons’ urban grid is particularly important to us because it starts at the city scale and zooms in to the individual level. Alison and Peter Smithson were bridging that gap, and we’re continuing to explore it in our own practice. We are also deeply influenced by the work of Andrea Branzi, who shaped our understanding that environments are defined as much by objects and cultural elements as by architecture itself. We always approach projects from these two extremes—whether it’s a small design object, a building, or an urban-scale project. They’re all different expressions of the same ideas. 

Foundations of a plural practice

GB: When we started, we relied on France’s chômage (unemployment benefits) system. Because we had worked for over 10 years before founding the office, we were eligible for government support for two years. Those first few years were crucial—we had to live off that support while building an economic foundation for the office. The second phase comes after five years—when you start to take on long-term projects, maybe hire collaborators, and gradually scale up. By eight years in, you’ve established yourself, but there’s still this need to stay fresh and ‘emerging’ in a way.

CV: It’s funny because our early commissions ended up defining our practice. One of our first projects was a small residential building in Montreuil—two flats with a kitchen lab for two sisters, about 240 square meters built almost from scratch. At the same time, we were invited to contribute to the first Biennale of Architecture and Landscape in Versailles.

GB: That project was more intellectual and collaborative. We worked with several other offices, including Peaks (who share our space), Altitude 35 (landscape architects), and Zefco (environmental engineers), as well as a philosopher, a literature specialist, and an artist, Antoine Espinasseau. It culminated in a large-scale model exhibited at the Biennale, then travelled to Belgium, Lille, and Lausanne.

These two projects—one small-scale and private, the other large and research-driven—really shaped how we wanted to structure our office. We decided early on that we didn’t want to be limited by scale or sector. We wanted to work on both research and construction, private and public projects, and collaborate with different disciplines. In a way, that undefined approach redefines the architect’s role—not just as a builder, but as someone who can explore and communicate ideas in multiple ways. That was our starting point.

Thinking in parallels

GB: We’re against specialisation. There’s this idea that specialisation makes you more efficient—capitalism thrives on that logic—but personally, we want to experiment across different scales, clients, and territories. It keeps every day exciting.

CV: We like to say that everything is a prototype—no two projects are ever the same. That might mean we’re not always the most ‘efficient’ compared to more specialised firms, but we focus on learning through the work itself. This approach allows us to build knowledge and ask new questions rather than just repeating established methods.

GB: While we primarily work in architecture and urban design rather than product design, our process applies to both fields. One unexpected discovery was how architecture and urban planning evolve in parallel. We realised that by working across both scales, we can apply lessons from one to the other—whether it’s about materials, building thickness, or the structure of public spaces.

CV: We design architecture with an urbanist’s mindset, always considering the city. And we design urban spaces with an architect’s precision. It’s about constantly shifting perspectives.

Everything all at once

GB: When we founded UR, we identified a set of methods and tools that continue to inform our practice today. One of the first ideas we explored was mutation. We developed this concept while working on the model for the Biennale in Versailles in 2019, realising that as citizens and architects, we need to create new interfaces rather than simply explore new territories, which was the focus of the discipline for 150 years. This shift fundamentally changed the way we work as architects and urban designers.

CV: And to add to that, our idea of mutation is also influenced by Rem Koolhaas’ books, which significantly shaped perceptions of the city. We believe we’re facing a similar moment of transformation now. His work still resonates with contemporary questions. 

GB: Another key idea is alliance—reacting against modern urbanism and architecture, which for decades viewed cities and interiors as purely functional entities. This perspective often ignores potential interactions between different functions. Today, we try to redefine these relationships ecologically, focusing on flows and exchanges rather than objects themselves. This applies to energy, waste, mobility, and breaking the binary view of humanity versus nature, exploring instead how different elements can mutually benefit one another.

CV: Another key principle is navigating between small and large scales, but not in a conventional multi-scalar way. For us, the driving force is society, which determines how we move between scales. 

GB: Our tools are fairly straightforward: dialogue, research, mediation, and presentation. We constantly push ourselves to develop new kinds of drawings and models. If you visit our office, you’ll see models scattered everywhere. We aim to break away from conventional architectural drawings. But primarily, we try to invent our own ways of representing projects. We often work at a 1:87 scale, the same as model trains, because it allows us to emphasise people and spatial occupation rather than just buildings. We see architecture as a platform for flexible use, and representation plays a role in conveying this. Our projects are never static objects designed at a drafting table; they evolve through dialogue and technical adjustments with experts, citizens, and elected officials. Our drawings reflect this ongoing process.

Deep transformations

GB: Most of our work—whether urban or architectural—deals with transformation. We rarely start from scratch. At the urban scale, much of our work revolves around transforming existing urban fabric from the functionalist era, in which there is a clear partition between functions, in particular repurposing economic activity zones and adapting them to contemporary needs while maintaining their original function. We’ve developed several projects this way and see here a chance to foster coexistence by design and adaptability. In France, there’s an ongoing debate about urban sobriety—freezing urban expansion to prevent further development on agricultural land. This has led to radical shifts in urban planning. For decades, industrial areas were transformed into housing, and agricultural land was converted into industrial zones. Now, with urban expansion that has to stop, and we must find new ways to integrate housing, craftsmanship, services, and small industries.. We are developing these ideas in suburban Paris with neighbourhoods where one can live and work. On the architectural side, we’re involved in projects like transforming a 1930s parking structure into 16 social housing units with a ground-floor retail space or, more recently, a competition aiming to transform the uses of a tower in Bordeaux.

CV: We don’t want to be dogmatic about materials. Instead, we follow the idea of le bon matériau au bon endroit—the right material in the right place. It’s more about responding to a situation than applying rigid rules. We don’t talk about it often, but in many cases, the budget of a project makes the choice for you. So, there’s no strict doctrine when it comes to materials.

We’re also working on our first project in Paris, though much of our work is between Bordeaux and Île-de-France. I’m from Bordeaux, and the city is evolving rapidly.

Passing on the knowledge

CV: Teaching is an essential part of our work. Architecture isn’t just about imagining new territories and constructing buildings—it’s also about passing on what we’ve learned to the next generation. I used to teach in Normandy, focusing on collective housing and common spaces. Since 2024, I’ve been teaching first-year students at Paris-Malaquais, which is a big challenge. I’m relearning the basics in order to teach them. They use words like ‘ecology’ without much depth, so we push back against that, trying to bring meaning to these concepts. We fight for projects. Because today, students are often afraid—afraid of the crises we face, afraid of taking action.

GB: This fight for projects happens on two levels. On one hand, students are hesitant to engage, but on the other, there’s a broader societal tendency to make fewer decisions, to seek comfort in norms and labels. Sometimes, that’s beneficial, sometimes not. We try to teach students to recognise architecture’s singularity as a discipline—one that is both forward-looking and rooted in making. Instead of relying on top-down solutions, we show them how to build from specific situations. This is challenging for students, but it’s also an incredibly stimulating time for architects. We’re being forced to question 150 years of habits—how we deal with modernity and heritage, how we envision the future, how we understand our relationship with the environment. It’s a complex, interconnected world, which makes for a fascinating intellectual moment.