A welcoming home to emerging architects

GCH: The number of architects is increasing, and I think everyone can feel it. I believe this is happening for several reasons. There’s significant investment in developing the building stock and infrastructure, closely linked to the growing population. Additionally, the economic situation plays a role, particularly in Switzerland, where there’s substantial investment in public infrastructure. This is contributing to the influx of new architects because public projects exceeding a certain budget must be assigned through competitions. The fact that Switzerland has many open competitions, compared to other countries, allows young architects to participate without being stigmatised for being inexperienced or not part of a particular network. This makes the profession more accessible for emerging architects. That’s the first key point.

The second factor, in my opinion, is the universities. Many people come through Erasmus programmes or similar opportunities to study or undertake internships, and while studying or perhaps starting to work, they realise they can enter these competitions. That’s how many people get started. I think this contributes to the situation in several ways. As I mentioned earlier, investment in public infrastructure plays a role, but universities are also heavily investing in research and providing high-quality international education, which attracts more people to the field. This, in turn, allows many architects to work part-time in education while holding other jobs. There’s also a large group within the architecture faculty, known as the 'Corps Intermédiaire', consisting of hundreds of people—PhD students, scientific assistants, and postdocs—mostly on part-time or short-term contracts. Many people use these positions to fund their attempts at establishing their own practices. Earning enough from a part-time position gives them the freedom to work on competitions or less profitable projects that larger firms might avoid. Then there’s also the Fachhochschule or HES, which employs even more of this intermediate staff. I believe these dynamics are changing the landscape and giving young people the opportunity to establish their practices.

MV: We've also noticed that in Lausanne new small practices are emerging, often founded by our friends. Recently, these are very small firms, typically consisting of two or three people. While they may not create many jobs, there is a noticeable trend of duos or trios forming, often participating in competitions or taking on other projects. Naturally, with more people, there's increased competition, but I think there's also been a shift towards each practice focusing on what it truly wants to pursue. This creates a broad and diverse network of different types of offices, which is great. Competition exists, but it doesn’t feel like, you know, competition in sport. We often sit down with friends who run their own offices, grab a beer, and talk about daily challenges. It feels more open and collaborative.

Baraki: shaping the practice

GCH: I completed my bachelor’s in the UK and then came to Switzerland for an internship. Later, I began a master’s in Copenhagen, which I eventually left. During this time, I already knew Jeanne from the summer schools we had attended together. Although I was studying in the UK, we were part of a European network of architects, which included people from Denmark and Jeanne from Switzerland. We were all involved with EASA, a summer school organised by students, which we participated in for many years. This network made us very mobile as young European architects. We stayed connected, and during this 'easyJet era', we were constantly travelling across Europe to visit each other. That period fostered a lot of mobility across European countries. I moved to Switzerland to pursue a master’s in French, as I wanted to learn the language. After graduating, Jeanne started working full-time in an office, I could have started practising architecture, as well—and I probably should have—but I went straight into a teaching position instead, which led me to take on small projects.

I had one project (that never actually got built), and I told Jeanne, ‘Look, I need help. My French isn’t good enough to manage this—can you help me with the language?’ That’s how we started working together, collaborating part-time whenever the opportunity arose. It took a few years for things to develop properly, before Mark joined us. First, we brought on a timber engineer, Rémy Meylan, who helped us formally establish the office—both as a business and in legal terms. The firm was initially founded as an architecture and engineering practice. Remy later left to start his own business as a carpenter. We continue to collaborate on various projects, particularly in furniture and interiors. When Remy left, we invited Mark to join us, and that's how our team and firm came together—almost by coincidence.

Turning leftovers into opportunities

MV: There are two things we didn’t do at the beginning, like many other new practices, either because we couldn’t or because we weren’t involved in certain areas. Firstly, we didn’t have a network of people around us who needed projects to be initiated. Additionally, we didn’t enter many competitions initially. Although we did participate in some, I don’t think we fully understood at the time the level of effort and work required to develop a solid project or grasp what competitions truly entail. You could focus entirely on competitions for two whole years, but that wasn’t the path we chose. We had the opportunity to develop small projects that were, you could say, leftovers from the state of Fribourg, as Jeanne’s father was working there as an engineer at the time. These projects were more focused on the infrastructural side of architecture—not buildings or schools, but elements that serve the community, such as roads or bus stops. We started to develop a genuine interest in those types of projects. You might almost call them the crumbs—the leftovers, really. They were the projects nobody else wanted, often because they didn’t involve much money or excitement. Designing public toilets isn’t glamorous, but we had the chance to re-evaluate public infrastructure and how people use and interact with it. We were fortunate enough to build two or three of these projects, which was amazing for us because we could actually construct what we were designing. We had a very direct connection to the project, unlike competitions that take ten years to build, often involving budget cuts, changing teams, or size reductions. We drew everything and optimised it as much as we could. It required many hours at our own expense, but at that point, we simply needed to get things built. I often refer to these projects as 'leftovers,' as they are not grand projects like museums but rather everyday structures that people pass by and interact with daily, sometimes without even noticing them.

Building for the long-term

MV: Constructions like roads will remain relevant for 50 to 100 years, as they hardly ever change once built. This led us to pose questions such as: ‘How will this affect the landscape? What emotions or visual experiences will it evoke? Does it need to elicit a response? Can these structures be more passive?’ One significant milestone in addressing these concerns was the Riederberg Wall. We were invited to consult on a retaining wall, focusing on how it would integrate into the landscape—considering its height, curvature, and overall fit. Our approach went beyond merely addressing technical constraints; we gave considerable thought to how the wall would visually interact with the landscape. Set in rural Switzerland, with its small roads and a large wall cutting through a hill, this project prompted larger questions about how the wall would be perceived within the landscape, ultimately transforming its shape and purpose. What began as a consultation on height, curvature, and technical details evolved into something much more architectural. This project was particularly fascinating for us because we collaborated closely with engineers—both civil and wood engineers—as well as with the state and the local community. While the area had few inhabitants, aside from a small village below, the partnership between the state, engineers, our team, and even the construction company made this project unique. It took into account everything from the landscape to the smallest details.

GCH: Compared to a straightforward wall, this was quite complicated to build. However, for many people, the wall was relatively unremarkable. For us, though, it encompassed a multitude of ideas. Looking back, we were influenced by the notion of common infrastructure and the belief that architecture shouldn’t be confined to museums. Land art, and its connection to landscape also played a significant role in our thinking. We aimed to create a pattern that wrapped around the wall, resembling a fossil or a geological formation. This design sought to establish a dialogue between the artificial and the natural, as landscape is a mix of both. We developed a unique modular construction that adapted to the slope and that shifted in its pattern so that people wouldn’t immediately recognise it as a repeated module. We enjoyed the challenge of figuring out the geometry and aimed to make the joints as seamless as possible in collaboration with the construction company. I believe this was proof of our ability to resolve details and work at scale. 

Mindful infrastructure design

MV: We are interested in infrastructure in a broader sense. In recent years, we have increasingly been asked to synthesise our expertise on how these projects integrate into the landscape. This involves for example effective communication with engineers to assess and improve their proposals respecting the standards and legislation in place protecting the landscape. For instance, if we exceed a certain height of a particular bridge, an additional 1,000 houses might gain a view, and it might be in a protected environment where we cannot simply do whatever we please. It is essential to reflect on the details, how the bridge's pillars interact with the soil and how the structure integrates with the surrounding agricultural landscape. Is it visible, a statement or camouflaged and discrete?  How is the deck touching the pillars? This is a concrete structure that goes deep into the ground and is likely to last for 200 years or longer. So, at this point, is it the right choice? Does it truly fit into this landscape, does the need for the infrastructure justify the impact?

JW: There used to be a clear boundary between architecture and infrastructure, particularly concerning large engineering projects like highways and tunnels. These were often perceived as being out of scale for the average person. Recently, however, there has been a reconnection, largely driven by sustainability concerns. People are increasingly focused on their environment and landscape, wanting to protect it. This shift is evident in the ongoing debate about wind turbines; while many people desire renewable energy, there is significant resistance to having windmills in the landscape. As a result, the public feels more responsible for what is built and where, and they possess greater power to oppose the decisions made by the city or country. This is wonderful for democracy, but it also means that large projects, especially infrastructure projects, face an extremely long process before they are realised. Consequently, public services and investors must pay more attention to how these infrastructure projects are integrated into the landscape to mitigate opposition from the community. This awareness motivates us in our work.

GCH: As we mentioned, we had these overlooked ‘crumbs’ at the beginning, which allowed us to implement a more narrative approach— unique and engaging at that scale. However, at the larger scale of the infrastructure projects we work on now, there are too many stakeholders and too much money involved. This makes it difficult to incorporate those small moments of surprise into everyday life. We must actively advocate for and justify the funds needed to enhance the integration of the infrastructure and consider if the improvement is worth the investment. While we still value the narrative and the experience of individuals and the communication that arises from it, these elements have diminished in importance within infrastructure projects due to their scale.

From Idealism to Reality

GCH: I worked at a school for six years, and the influence and inspiration I gained there have profoundly shaped my work in the office. It’s a reciprocal relationship, as our work also informs our teaching. Understanding both perspectives is crucial; in practice, you often lose sight of concepts and depth, simplifying your projects under the pressures of the market—money, time, and the realities of construction and what people can achieve. Consequently, you become adept at navigating constraints, often avoiding problems rather than developing deep theories. Practicing strips away some of your naïveté. If you remain too long in academia, you can develop concepts that, while intellectually stimulating, are often idealistic and naïve. This feedback loop between the two roles is beneficial.

MV: There’s a significant difference between what you learn in school and the sudden reality that follows. I don’t believe we’re adequately prepared for the professional world—understanding how money and politics work, for instance. For six years, you’re drawing, reading books, and enjoying life, which, while very challenging, can feel easy. You can pursue what you truly want. The three projects I completed for my master’s degree—although I worked alone on one—allowed for instinctive exploration. That freedom exists in academia. However, once you start working, it’s a stark contrast. You must understand the client’s mindset and navigate external influences. You're no longer on your own. It’s challenging to switch your thinking so quickly, adjusting to the realities of paying rent, finding a second job, and dedicating countless hours to competition entries. I believe a significant percentage of students who complete their master’s degrees may never want to engage with architecture again because the reality is too stark. Meanwhile, others strive to translate their academic reflections into real-world practice.

It’s crucial to prioritise mental health. We strive to create an office environment that emphasises well-being. It took us time to recognise the need for boundaries; working 50 hours a week for 10 years straight is simply not sustainable. We’ve established a policy that prohibits weekend work, even when competitions are on the horizon. Fridays are dedicated to personal time, allowing our team to recharge before the weekend, with the option to catch up on Monday if necessary. Most of our team members operate at 80% or even 60% capacity, rather than the full five days a week. This structure provides a day that isn't just a weekend but also isn’t a workday, recognising that we all have daily life responsibilities to attend to.

JW: The relationship between our work and everyday life is rarely discussed in school. Economic and legal lessons often feel like annoying side notes. While the focus tends to be on concepts, the practical aspects are frequently overlooked. We need to address these issues. During the graduate session this year and over the summer, I found myself questioning whether to be honest about the profession's realities or simply appreciate the students' work after six years of study. I usually lean towards the latter, but I often feel compelled to ask, ‘Is this really what the job entails?’ Creating poetic and idealised projects is appealing, but they often lack an understanding of the practical realities of a construction site, which is essential for grasping life in the field. I fully support preserving the theoretical aspects of architecture, such as history and philosophy; however, we must integrate these concepts with practical realities. The current education system presents an extreme dichotomy—either focusing solely on laws and client struggles or fixating on figures like Le Corbusier, with their beautiful facades and poetic designs. I think to myself, ‘Good luck. That’s not the job.’

GCH: It's important to note that if you work as an employee for a firm, you have certain protections. In contrast, we must worry about securing commissions, determining our fees, and the possibility of projects being shut down. Will we receive our building permits? Are the price estimates accurate? Did we accidentally exceed the budget? Navigating these challenges can be daunting. As independent practitioners, we have to bear the financial risks ourselves, all while ensuring we maintain our mental well-being.