Expanding horizons from local to global

SL: As a Mexican, if you open your eyes, you can see the country's diversity. There are different practices in Monterrey, such as showcasing the variety of architectural styles within the country. When I was just starting, I didn’t have access to the internet or architecture blogs, so I could only rely on the school library for references. My influences were Teodoro González de León, Le Corbusier, and Frank Lloyd Wright, just to mention a few. If you wanted to know what was happening in architecture in Mexico, you had to travel to Mexico City or other places to see it firsthand. It wasn’t like now, where you can easily find information about architecture in India, Vietnam, or anywhere else with just a click. When I was in my twenties, I didn’t realise a lot of things. We didn’t talk about women in architecture, and I never questioned why we only studied architects like Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Luis Barragan. It wasn’t part of the ideology at the time. The focus was on studying, working, and earning money to pay the bills. As I started working and pursued my master’s degree in Monterrey, I began to see things differently. I was part of the first master’s program in sustainability in Mexico in 2005. Since sustainable practices were not well-established in Mexico, especially in Monterrey, we often looked to the United States for solutions because there weren’t many old buildings or sustainable constructions locally. During my master’s program, I realised that the world was much bigger than the ideas I had from the limited books I could access. With the internet, I discovered there was so much more to see and learn. 

Nature and architecture

I have always loved nature and being outdoors, in contact with trees and the ocean. This passion led me to pursue a bioclimatic approach to architecture. When the concept of sustainability arrived in Mexico, there needed to be more clarity about what it entailed. People wondered if it meant buildings with solar panels, advanced automation, or something else entirely. I was part of the first generation of sustainability students in Mexico. After completing my studies, I returned to Veracruz and started teaching at the university. At just 27 years old, it was exciting for me to share the knowledge I had gained in Monterrey, the United States, and places like Austin, where sustainable practices were being implemented. I have been a teacher for 11 years now. From the beginning, I emphasised the importance of experiencing the environment firsthand. My students spend time outside, understanding the context of their designs. Architecture is not just about ideas formed in isolation; it’s about understanding the environmental and economic systems we are part of. Every decision impacts the city, the town, and nature. This realisation was enlightening for me. It reinforced the idea that architecture must be integrated with the environment and community to be truly effective.

Redefining space

SL: When you move from place to place, you don't feel rooted, but my parents always told me, "We are moving a lot, but in every place, you have to blossom, connect with the people, and give something back." Being a nomad with my family instilled this mindset in me. This is the reason behind the name "RED Architectos." "Red" not only signifies the colour but also means "net" in Spanish, symbolising connection. I always imagined myself working in many different places. Using my last name, López, for my firm—López Architectos—sounded too ordinary to me, so I chose "Red" instead. In 2010, narcotrafficking arrived in my city, halting construction and forcing wealthy residents to flee due to kidnappings and violence. There was little work available, and I found myself taking on small projects, like a juice bar called Hamaca. This was my first project after returning from Monterrey with a master's degree in sustainability. It was a unique proposal. At that moment, I tried to approach things differently, with new knowledge and more intuition. As a result, the project looked different. Architecture has a way of communicating silently. When someone looks at a project and pauses, thinking, "What is this? It looks different," they feel something. You don't need to be an architect to sense it. Hamaca was located near a filthy, rundown bus station on a horrible street. I was thrilled to create a clean, fresh, and tropical space there. People were drawn to it because it made them feel like they deserved a better environment, not the dirty streets they were used to. For me, this project was a social experiment. I wanted to show people that they deserve better. They deserve a clean table and good food. 

Despite my master's and some other achievements, I had to face reality and work with what was available, providing solutions to local problems. And that's how it started. Thanks to social media and professional pictures (even though they were taken by a non-professional architecture photographer), I shared images of my project, Hamaca, widely. This led to Christine Burklein noticing my work. She told me it was good and that it was being published in Italy, which was an unexpected but very gratifying surprise. I believe that when you focus on solving problems with your heart and commitment, good things happen. This was my first significant exposure. It's worth mentioning that being published internationally had a big impact. Many clients perceive that if your work is recognised abroad, you must be skilled. I have friends who are excellent architects but haven't been published globally, and they don't receive the same attention.

Curves, colours, and cognitive depth

SL: At one point in my life, I realised that I didn't have the same opportunities as others. I hadn't attended prestigious universities, and I wasn't in cities where architecture was most prominent. Many people think architecture is only found in big cities, but I learned to do things in a way that makes me and my clients happy. Most of my friends tell me that the good thing about me is that I don’t care about following conventions. Whether it’s curves, wood, or other materials, for me, it's about exploration. Like a child, I want to explore and create unique designs. I don’t want all my projects to have the same signature because I understand that each place and moment is different. Studying philosophy and music has given me many resources and perspectives. I believe architecture shouldn’t be confined to traditional architecture concepts because that leads to repetition and makes it more like fashion. I enjoy exploring what I can do with each place. That’s my point.

As you grow, you realise that you are not born an architect; you are born a human being, and the path of being human involves many experiences. When I dive deep into the ocean, I see different shapes, colours, and feelings. When I try to understand how to write music and work with sound, it gives my brain new kinds of algorithms. Architecture is a product of your thinking. I'm currently pursuing a master's in philosophy. If you don't understand your own thinking—how sadness, joy, capitalism, socialism, and other concepts work according to different authors—you have a very narrow perspective. Studying philosophy has taught me that there are many ways to understand music, metaphysics, consciousness, and more. This has helped me open my mind and approach architecture differently. I understand that architecture is not an isolated activity; it is deeply connected to various aspects of human experience. 

Many of my lectures focus on connections. I find links between music and architecture and between diving and the workings of the ocean and biology. For two years, I collaborated with biologists to save a mangrove, which made me see how interconnected everything is and how the human brain approaches problems. For example, I gave a lecture in Chiapas about children's play in different cultures, like Mexico and Africa. Children play contextually, using whatever is at hand. As an architect, I know this creativity becomes crucial when resources and materials are limited. It’s similar to child’s play: if given a Game Boy or Nintendo, the game’s rules, characters, colours, and structure are predefined. But if a child is alone in a park, they use leaves and their imagination to create another reality. When creating something different, you’re imposing a new reality with its own rules. I find this analogy important. I prefer not to over-explain to my clients because it’s more about how you think. Learning is about understanding how a diver thinks or how an architect thinks. This process is crucial because, before any drawing, AutoCAD work, or even the use of your hands, it’s your brain and soul that connect and generate ideas for architecture. The final product is a result of this deep thinking and connection, not the initial focus.

Chaos meets order

SL: I’m not very methodical. I might make 50 drawings for one project, but sometimes I’ll just use two lines, and that’s it. My architecture office consists of five architects who have been with me for seven or eight years, so we’ve spent a lot of time together. I don’t approach design methodically; I might just have a conversation, draw a few lines, play a song, and they understand what I want to convey. Of course, there are technical aspects that need to be addressed. I focus not just on inspiration and creative ideas but also on understanding the properties of materials like brick, concrete, and rammed earth. It’s about working with these materials and being open to learning new things. I’m very grateful for the opportunities I’ve had. My clients come to me with various requests, such as working with palm tree wood or rammed earth. Even if I haven’t worked with a particular material before, I’m willing to explore and figure it out. Being open to exploration makes me happy. 

On the other hand, I do have a methodical side. I check the plans meticulously, examining details such as the dimensions of windows and kitchens. While my thinking process may be more chaotic and stream-of-consciousness in nature, I ensure that the practical aspects are well-organised. Once I have a vision for a building, I focus on translating it into detailed plans and understanding all the specifics. I always tell my students that being present on the construction site is crucial. Without being on-site, I might be able to make theoretical adjustments, but I won’t fully understand the structure and materials. Technical knowledge and familiarity with materials allow me to generate creative, chaotic ideas, similar to music. In music, there are structures, mathematics, and rhythms. Different composers like Mozart and Beethoven might create seemingly chaotic compositions, but everything still adheres to a fundamental structure. It's similar to children’s play. There are rules and contexts, whether they are playing football, marbles, or traditional games in Mexico. Each type of play has its own aesthetic and context, which I find inspiring. 

When I first started working in an office and designing buildings, I was very methodical, trying to fit myself into a specific box. I felt that if I didn’t follow the established rules, my colleagues or other architects might not take me seriously because I wasn’t adhering to the standard processes. It took me some time to realise that architecture could also be approached with more intuition and a deep understanding of the context and nature. The colours you find in nature—on stones, in the soil—are far more meaningful than the trend colours suggested by magazines. I understood that I could design based on these natural inspirations and not just follow the conventional trends. I isolated myself from the architectural mainstream to explore this approach. This is who I am now, and while I might still be the same architect at 70, for now, I want to explore and experiment.

Embracing variety

When you develop your own architectural style, you may have fewer options because you’re essentially designing for yourself. However, working with various clients provides me with a wealth of different possibilities. For instance, if a client wants to use coconut palm wood, I embrace it and make it work. This variety in projects means that I attract clients who appreciate different materials and styles. If I only focused on concrete, I’d only attract clients interested in concrete buildings. If I only designed white houses, I’d only get clients who want white houses. I welcome all kinds of clients who are open to experimenting, just as I am. My construction workers also share this adventurous spirit; they’re willing to try unconventional ideas, like painting something black or exploring new techniques. Despite some challenging experiences with contractors, I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with people who bring creativity and enthusiasm to the process. I believe that this playful and exploratory approach shapes how my personality and style manifest in architecture.

Some clients might wonder why I don’t have an office in Baja California Sur. But in reality, they don’t care about the physical location of your office. For them, the meeting could be on the beach at sunset, or they might be in another country, requiring us to use tools like Zoom, Skype, or any other available platform. Many of my clients do not live in Baja, and they are not Mexican.  For me, being based in Veracruz allows me to express myself in various locations. I see this as an opportunity for freedom and exploration. Working with diverse landscapes and people, including those from outside Mexico, opens up many possibilities. This approach aligns with my belief that architecture is about embracing possibilities and adapting to different contexts.

Towards an architectural truth

SL: La Revolución is a significant project because it represents a shift from my previous work, which was more focused on interior design. This was my first project in architecture; I initially thought that working with an old building might limit my creativity. I initially felt constrained and couldn’t fully express my unique style. When I presented my proposal, which featured a black structure, I was anxious. I thought, “Oh my God, what if they don’t like it?” There’s always a sense of insecurity when presenting a project to a client. You worry whether they will appreciate your vision or not. It’s important to be open to client feedback, and I was eager to get their approval. I sent my first draft with a white and black structure, and initially, I was uncertain about it. But my clients responded positively—they liked the difference and were open to it. I realised that the initial reaction often defines whether people will appreciate something or not.

As architects, we must be critical of our work. We either love it or hate it; meeting somewhere in the middle can be less satisfying. It’s essential to engage with clients and navigate their preferences, but this project taught me that it’s okay not to conform to famous architects like Gary or Barragán. It’s okay to be myself. Through this project, I discovered that I can fully express my imagination and that it’s perfectly fine to have my own style. I learned that embracing your individuality is important, even when working with constraints or differing opinions. 

This building, while not exceptionally old—about 200 years old—was once a house painted in bright Mexican pink with only one floor. It was called "Salsitas" and served not very tasty food. My realisation was that San José del Cabo deserved a more authentic representation of Mexican identity. The essence of Mexican culture extends beyond the iconic styles of Luis Barragán and can be expressed in various colours and forms, including black and white. I wanted this project to convey authenticity and truth. So, we exposed the brick walls to highlight the building's original character. This approach was intended to showcase the raw materials and the genuine nature of the structure. The new concrete walls contrast with the old brick, emphasising the blend of old and new. The building tells a story: it reflects both its historical roots and its modern transformation. The first floor of the building houses a restaurant run by the renowned Chef Molina, while the second floor is a bar. This project took about three years to complete and was my first significant architectural endeavour in San José del Cabo. Initially, the project faced scepticism from my colleagues, who were unsure about the unconventional approach. However, once completed, it received positive feedback and appreciation. For me, this project was about presenting the truth—showing what San José del Cabo truly is, rather than an idealised version. It was a bold step in redefining the local architectural narrative and demonstrating that Mexican identity can be expressed in diverse ways beyond stereotypical representations.

Embracing respect

SL: When I was studying architecture, the concept of gender dynamics wasn’t something I was deeply aware of. It was more about focusing on the work and fulfilling the responsibilities that came with it. My upbringing was such that gender didn’t play a significant role in how I approached my career. My father didn’t impose expectations on me regarding marriage or work; the focus was on my education and then applying that knowledge in a professional setting. At that time, I didn’t notice the absence of women in architectural books or the field itself. It was simply natural for me to work and pursue my career without considering gender as a significant factor. Of course, I have encountered challenges, including those related to being a woman, such as dealing with sexual harassment. These are realities that all women face, and it’s important to be cautious and self-aware. As a teacher, I observed a significant number of female students, yet only a small percentage of them ended up working in the field, which was a concerning trend. In my office, we embrace diversity in all forms—gender, colour, and background—and I don’t view it as an issue. However, in Latin America, being a woman does present certain challenges, especially when travelling or working alone, which can pose additional risks.

When I opened my office in 2010, the focus wasn’t on being a woman architect; it was about starting a professional practice. The name of my office was more about creating a space that reflected my work and values rather than addressing gender issues. For me, the key issue is respect. It’s not just about gender but about treating everyone with dignity—whether they are men, women, children, or people of any skin colour. Respect is fundamental, and that’s what I emphasise. I didn’t fully realise the gender dynamics when I started, but over time, I’ve come to appreciate the importance of leading by example and showing young women that success in this field is possible, regardless of gender.