Brilliance in Balance

GC: In the early 1990s, during my time in architecture school, Mexico lacked a clear architectural movement. Younger architects were seeking greater exposure and alternative ways to provide identity to the so-called “Mexican architecture” discourse. This led to a diverse and rich landscape of architects that, alongside new technologies and methods of communicating our work, require both awareness and a proactive focus.

The current architectural landscape is characterised by a rapid pace and a thirst for immediate gratification, which can lead to a potential lack of depth in thought and practice. While new voices and practices contribute positively, prioritising visibility over substance poses a significant risk. The pressure to constantly produce and showcase projects—particularly on social media platforms—can overshadow the importance of thoughtful design and reflection.

As someone who transitioned from analogue to digital methods, I recognise the value of both worlds. However, the constantly evolving nature of technology presents challenges in maintaining a balance between staying relevant and upholding our responsibility to society. We must question whether we’re genuinely advancing our craft and providing value or merely adding to the noise of architectural practice. Beyond creating remarkable projects, architects have additional responsibilities, such as fostering sustainability and inclusiveness. Consequently, cultivating a positive studio culture is equally important. While we often admire design practices led by genius figures, it’s crucial to consider the well-being of the entire team. To me, it is increasingly important to relate the people involved to the process of architectural practice beyond the central figure. Can great architecture emerge from environments where individuals are unhappy or stagnant in their personal and professional growth? It’s essential to prioritise both the quality of our work and the nurturing of individuals within our studios.

In today’s world, it is vital to consider the end product of our practices and the legacy we leave regarding our studio culture and the development of our teams. As architects, we aim for permanence in our built environments, but there’s also a lasting impact on the thoughts and mindsets of those we mentor. This responsibility becomes even more significant in an era when ethical ambiguity is prevalent. As an artist, delving into the everyday workings of architectural studios may present challenges. While it may not be a widely discussed topic, I believe the issue persists and could be exacerbated by factors such as social media and the emphasis on the architect as a singular figure or facilitator. The image projected by architects, whether as individuals or collaborators, warrants closer examination.

In the 1960s and 70s, certain architects, influenced by the cultural heritage of the time, aimed to shape a vision for the city. Figures like Mario Pani sought to create a more democratic urban landscape, blending modernist principles with pre-Hispanic influences. However, such visions often collided with reality, as seen in later projects like Niemeyer’s Brasília. Similarly, architects like Luis Barragán envisioned progressive suburbs such as “Ciudad Satélite” in the north of Mexico City. Some architects, including Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, were closely aligned with the government, influencing the architectural discourse through their work. In Mexico, the architectural discourse typically follows the completion of projects rather than preceding them. Despite this, there is an ongoing effort to accumulate and reflect on insights from experiences to inform future endeavours. Ultimately, one must develop the competence of an aggressive entrepreneur, as crises are an everyday occurrence.

Humble Beginnings to Build Progress

GC: I began my career in Mexico City, working for a prominent architect, Francisco Serrano, where I experienced a hierarchical practice structure. Despite learning a great deal there, I realised I didn’t want my practice to operate in the same top-down manner. Pursuing a master’s degree in the U.S. provided a different perspective. While I found the architectural education in Mexico practical and effective, it lacked emphasis on theoretical exploration and conceptual development. In Mexico, the focus is often on providing immediate solutions, akin to the country’s need for rapid progress and action in the field. During my master’s degree at Arizona State University, I delved deeper into theoretical subjects, which complemented my commitment to practical application. This period also marked significant personal milestones, including marriage and starting a family. Upon completing my master’s, I faced the reality of supporting my family financially. While my family provided support for my education, I lacked the financial cushion to pursue speculative projects or competitions, which are scarce in our country. Survival became the immediate priority, necessitating a pragmatic approach to my career.

In my journey as an architect, I've identified four key stages: survival, stability, success, and significance. Initially, I was in survival mode, working in California, where I gained technical and managerial skills in a highly pragmatic architectural practice. Despite the contrast between theoretical education and practical reality, I learned valuable lessons in a corporate setting. Upon returning to Mexico City, I founded MATERIA with my wife, architect Lisa Beltran. Starting from a humble room with limited resources, we took on small projects like house renovations and bathroom remodels to gradually build stability. Designing and building our first house was a significant milestone, symbolising our progress. However, balancing theoretical reflection with practical project execution proved challenging.

As our practice expanded, new opportunities emerged. My time in the U.S. helped me land a job overseeing a luxury retail brand in Mexico. I grew to appreciate the focus on craftsmanship and attention to detail in the job, even though we initially had more of a supervisory role.

While working on our first house project, we gained a client interested in a project in Portugal. This project involved renovating a 300-year-old Quinta near Porto, focusing on historical preservation and coordinating with local architects. It was a big undertaking that required our presence and careful decision-making, such as whether to move a stone or not. Looking back, I realise that this experience aligned with what I was learning in my supervisory role about the importance of attention to detail and intentionality in design. It was a significant step in developing my understanding of architectural craftsmanship.

Things kept moving forward until we reached a level of stability. Surprisingly, this retail brand appreciated our design approach and began giving us projects where we could apply our creative vision. Initially, it was hard for me to accept this because I had the perception that certain types of architecture, like retail, were not as “architectural.” Instead of dreaming of designing museums or city plazas, I had to focus on what was in front of me. Working on these retail projects taught me a lot about atmosphere and assembly, helping me build a practice that I found meaningful. Certain markets in Mexico had unmet needs, and I saw an opportunity to fill that gap. By around 2015, approximately 70% of our work was in retail, with most of it involving architectural execution rather than design. The remaining 30% was in residential projects, where clients trusted us to take risks and explore new materials and details.

As things began to evolve, we collaborated with Arquine to create a book. We asked ourselves, “What makes us different?” I vividly recall Miquel Adrià’s insight: “Most Mexican architects have what we call “un buen lejos”’ like a great far away. Far away looks great, but once you get close to MATERIA’s work, you find you have a “buen cerca” (a good close-up), so let’s just focus on that.” This resonated with me deeply. This emphasis on detail required us to be fully present in our work. I have come to see that in our major moments of change, it has been a combination of presence and deep thought that has propelled us forward.

Shaping practice, finding purpose

GC: As we achieved stability, success soon followed. This success was measured by external factors, such as being published and working with prestigious clients. But true success goes beyond superficial achievements. At that point, I found myself questioning whether I wanted to continue down this path for the next 30 years of my life. How could I transform mere success into something more meaningful and lasting? Was it about the number of projects or the amount of money? Or was it about shaping our practice to embody a philosophy?

This introspection led to a shift in strategy. We diversified into cultural projects, hospitality, interiors, houses, office buildings, and pavilions, mostly with private clients. This decision was less about what we do and more about how we do it. This approach has resulted in our most satisfying projects, ones that invite reflection and embed craftsmanship into every commission. For example, we were once asked to design a roof, but the project evolved into creating a pavilion and cultural center. Today, we receive commissions where clients give us full creative freedom to develop the programs ourselves. This shift allows us to infuse our projects with deeper meaning, benefiting both our practice and society.

Whether projects come from the government or the private sector, our goal remains the same: to instil them with purpose. This ethos extends to our studio philosophy, which prioritises the integration of tectonic assembly and sensory experience. We focus on crafting unique solutions tailored to each project’s context, rather than adhering to a particular style. This approach continually evolves our thinking, allowing us to reinterpret programmatic elements and adapt to new challenges.

In Mexico, people often ask, “What do you do?” Our response is “atmospheres,” the common thread across all our projects—regardless of client, typology, or place. Each client brings unique priorities and perspectives, yet they are often not the end users of the spaces we design. In today’s architecture, you design for two clients: the one who hires you and the final user or inhabitant. These two are rarely the same, except for in-house projects.

This challenge requires us to adapt diverse methods of communication and operational schemes. But the approach in our practice is consistent and essential, developed over our 15 years of experience.

Building Presence and Fostering depth

GC: Our team grew gradually—from two members to around five, then decreased to four, and eventually expanded to seven. This steady progression prompted us to focus on our collaborative approach. This close-knit dynamic, almost like a family, can sometimes carry the risk of avoiding conflict. However, when managed properly, it becomes constructive.

It took time for us to gain recognition through publications and awards, but we have always focused more on being present in our work than on the pressure of rapid growth or flashy success. It’s a delicate balance, but it is part of the journey. The more people are involved, the more challenges arise. Presence is key—not just in the final product but also in shaping a resilient practice.

Over the years, my role has evolved from doing everything myself to becoming a mentor and leader within the studio. Despite 15 years being a relatively short time, it’s remarkable that the studio now houses three generations. When I started, I shared similar perspectives with my team, but with each new generation, there’s a shift in thinking and approach to both architecture and life. The newer generations are increasingly fast and agile with technology, though they may find it more challenging to stay focused. I find the challenge to build purpose along with other people of different ages and backgrounds very rewarding and enriching.

Looking at architects I admire, like Charles Eames, they had a clear focus on building their practice and nurturing their team. This strength is evident in figures like David Chipperfield and Norman Foster, who've built strong architectural cultures. As you grow, you tackle larger challenges, not just in project size but in complexity, requiring deep thought and consideration.

We often reflect on our actions and choices, considering their significance. During a personal crisis six years ago, I pondered my future path. I came across a book called "Deep Work" by Cal Newport, which highlighted three pathways to adding long-term value: owning significant capital, pioneering AI, or producing deep work. Deep work demands presence and depth rather than haste.

The architects I admire have a certain depth in their work. It's a journey to achieve that depth. We're still striving for it, but it requires a conscious effort and solid practice. Convincing clients to value thoughtful consideration takes time and experience, not just in the initial years.

Sustainability in a Saturated Space

GC: When we started, most of our work wasn’t glamorous—it was mainly renovations to make ends meet. Even now, we take calculated risks to pursue meaningful projects. It’s about balancing different jobs to support our passion projects. Gradually, we’ve become self-sustaining, able to support our practice and invest in our own development. But it’s not easy in an economy like Mexico’s.

Some architects choose to become developers because it offers quicker and more substantial profits, but that approach has downsides. For instance, you see countless residential complexes being built everywhere. In places like Tulum and Cancún, there’s a surge in tourism development. It feels as if every architect is working there. This makes me reflect on whether our practice is contributing to the saturation of these areas or not.

Interestingly, most of our current projects are outside Mexico City. While the city offers inspiration and competition, the work itself happens elsewhere—primarily in regions like Yucatán, Tulum, Cancún, and Baja California. Most of these projects focus on renovation and the reuse of existing buildings, which I find exciting. Currently we’re renovating a building in downtown Mérida, reshaping it to last another 30 years. Most of our non-retail work follows this model—reinterpreting programs with sustainability in mind.

We often ask ourselves whether we should continue building untouched land or create a second cycle for existing structures. Sensibility is key. Our designs need to blend with the place and ensure financial longevity. For example, rather than designing temporary pavilions, we propose structures that can be repurposed, promoting sustainability. Yet, from a critical standpoint, I’m uncertain if this model is healthy for the future of the country.

It seems that a significant portion of development in areas like Tulum or Puerto Escondido is led by architects from Mexico City or Guadalajara, potentially diluting local culture. Mexico’s richness lies in its diverse regions, and this trend might homogenise the country’s architectural landscape. But we also see architects from Yucatán working on projects in Mexico City or Chihuahua. For instance, a close friend from Yucatán is designing projects in Baja California and Ciudad Juárez. It’s a two-way exchange, which is intriguing.

The current model isn’t sustainable ecologically in the medium or long term. It relies on travel and cultural interpretation, which can strain resources. However, it’s often a survival tactic of the globalised world on which contemporary architecture is based, with all its nuances.

I believe it’s all about the process and how mindful you are during it. For us, understanding the site is crucial before starting any project. We won’t take on projects where we can’t supervise the process. It’s about grasping the local culture and materials. Some may prioritise style over process. If a project becomes too popular and everyone wants the same thing, it loses its meaning.

There’s a lot of consumerisms nowadays, which affects sensitivity. We live in a global world, which sometimes leads to a phenomenon known as -malinchismo- in Mexico. This term refers to valuing foreign cultures over one’s own. For example, a client in Monterrey may prefer hiring an architect from Mexico City rather than locally. Similarly, trends from one region may be imported to another, such as a desire for a contextual approach to architecture from Yucatán or Baja California.

Certainly, it’s a trend driven by the market. Like gentrification, it’s challenging to oppose. However, as architects, we can propose alternatives. For instance, if a client wants to convert a building into 20 Airbnb apartments, we could suggest reducing it to 12 and allocating space for local artisans. This way, we support the community while still meeting the client’s needs.

Telling Tales Through Tectonics

GC: We’ve developed a concept called “Atmosphere Detailed,” focusing on the interplay between tectonic assembly—shaped by factors like location, available craft, materials, and costs—to build a sensory experience within each project’s program. This approach varies across projects, but it stems from two main factors: our direct involvement in manufacturing processes and our deep exploration of materials and building systems. Often, we design our own systems, which marks a significant achievement in our work.

Working with retail clients has deepened our grasp on storytelling and enhanced our understanding of how contemporary experiences influence project development. One example is our first venture in Mérida, a city steeped in history. The project revolved around a 19th-century home on the city’s historic avenue, which had been repurposed as a museum showcasing artefacts from 1906. During this time, Mérida flourished due to sisal trade with Europe, resulting in the construction of grand French-style homes.

This project offered a fascinating insight into the city's rich history and cultural heritage. My clients acquired this historic home, now inhabited by a 94-year-old lady with children around my age. They began renting the gardens for weddings, turning it into a popular venue.

However, they needed a roof to replace the tents and accommodate up to 1,000 guests. In response, we designed the QMM pavilion, earning the Silver Medal of Mexico's City 2nd Architecture Biennale. This solution not only addressed their immediate need but also transformed the institution's role in the community. They saw their potential as a cultural hub, attracting significantly more visitors.

Additionally, faced with a parking shortage due to neighbouring developments, they sought our help to build a parking lot. Despite initial concerns, they understood the value of enhancing their facilities for the community's benefit. Considering the city's growth, cultural significance, its heritage as a museum, and forthcoming tourism developments, we devised a master plan for a cultural center to evolve over time. I recall attending a lecture by Thom Mayne, from Morphosis, years ago, where he shared a story about a courthouse project in the US. They initially envisioned a Greek-style courthouse, but the judge had reservations. To help him understand, they toured contemporary courthouses in Europe, which proved enlightening. Similarly, I guided stakeholders through museums with similar contexts, fostering generosity towards the city. Over nearly seven years, we crafted a plan for a cultural center around the house, completed in 2023 amidst pandemic challenges. The ongoing program includes a gallery, a bookstore and a restaurant, transforming the property and cityscape. This experience taught us the importance of strategic thinking in architecture, emphasising the need for architects to also act as agents for culture, business, and ethics. It underscores the architect's choice in adhering to ethical standards, even when not explicitly required. The project holds a special place in our hearts and has led to fascinating commissions.

Designing with Depth and Direction

GC: Architects often shy away from discussing the commercial realities of the world, fearing that it might taint the purity of their science. However, acknowledging these commercial aspects is essential. For instance, when clients in Tulum approached us to create something eye-catching that would attract buyers, we opted for a design that respects the local environment, using traditional materials and techniques. This approach not only supports the clients' goals but also adds value and significance to our work through craftsmanship and respect for the local context.

Such projects enhance the reputation and understanding of our practice, but they require time to develop. This journey towards integrating commercial demands with architectural integrity is both challenging and rewarding. We’ve learned to be selective in our engagements. One such example was a significant public project we took on with the island of Cozumel to refurbish and modernise their expansive seafront walkway. Our design prioritised local use over tourism, emphasising community benefits.

Unfortunately, the pandemic halted the project. Our approach involved collaborating with another office we invited, which provided a valuable chance to influence the city subtly rather than through overt architectural styles. However, these opportunities are few, and a concerning aspect in Mexico is the lack of real opportunities for competitions, limiting dialogue and exploration of ideas.