A future here

LD: When thinking about what makes Switzerland such a stimulating place for young architects, a few key aspects come to mind. First of all, Switzerland may be a small country, but it's deeply transnational—connected to Italy, Germany, and France. I think this cultural and linguistic permeability creates a fertile ecosystem where young practices can work locally while keeping an international—let's say—outlook from the very beginning. Then, there’s another point: high-level educational institutions like ETH in Zurich, EPFL in Lausanne, or the Accademia di Mendrisio. I think they not only produce excellent architects but also attract international students—many of whom stay and establish themselves and their practices here after their studies. Personally, I'm Italian. I studied in Italy until I was 18, then I decided to move to Switzerland—and I never went back. During my years at the Accademia di Architettura di Mendrisio, I had the chance to live in France, in Spain, to travel to India, Nepal, Japan, and all across South America. And even though I explored much of Europe and beyond, I decided to remain in Switzerland. One last important aspect is the scale of the territory. Despite its small size, Switzerland is incredibly diverse: Global cities like Zurich, Geneva, or Lausanne coexist with Alpine villages and industrial areas in transformation. All these conditions make Switzerland, to me, a kind of diffuse laboratory, offering a wide range of contexts and opportunities for experimentation. 

Adapting like water

LD: The story of my office is still quite short, but I would say it’s been very intense. I worked in an architecture practice for almost ten years, which allowed me to observe, experience, and take part in every stage of the process—from the early concept phase of competitions to becoming a project leader on a large-scale project. The year 2023 marked a turning point for me, both personally and professionally. It was the year I founded BUREAU/D, and also the year my daughter was born. I like to call it the “year of responsibility.” I moved from French-speaking Switzerland to Ticino, to be closer to my family and to the people I collaborate with at BUREAU/D.

BUREAU/D was conceived as an open structure. Depending on the competition or the type of client, I collaborate with different people—often friends and colleagues I met at the Accademia di Mendrisio. I like to define BUREAU/D as a shape-shifting practice—its form changes depending on the project. For example, for a recent competition, there were three of us architects, an engineer, and two specialists. For a villa in Versilia, there were two of us architects. And for a project I’m currently developing in the Alps, it’s just me. It’s like water—this practice adapts to its container, expanding or contracting depending on the scale. So, what pushed me to open BUREAU/D? I think the answer is much more complex than mere passion.

For example, when we start a competition, the real reason isn’t just this passion. We never really know what the final proposal will be—just as we never know exactly how a façade will look once it’s built. And this not knowing is what drives me. It’s the desire to discover, to work on something new, to keep learning through this discipline. That’s what led me, in 2023, to step out of my comfort zone and start BUREAU/D. 

It’s been an adventure full of the unexpected. One turning point that stands out from the past couple of years was actually a big failure—a competition we entered in 2024, in Ronco sopra Ascona (Ticino). We made it to the final round of selection—the fourth one, which is unusual, as there are normally only three. We reached the fourth round, and then were excluded from the final prizes. The last name they mentioned was ours. Paradoxically, that was the moment we told ourselves: “We can make it.” That was the moment we understood that we could participate and compete, and that something could come out of it. From that point on, we kept working on competitions. And today, we are waiting for results from two more big ones.

Observing to innovate

LD: The first phase of our work is observation. We approach it in many ways—with pencil and sketch paper, through photography, or even by using a drone for aerial views. We try to make use of all the tools available to us. For instance, when we took part in the Swiss Architecture Biennale in 2024, the theme was Back to the Future. We were asked to imagine a new form of collective housing that could address both contemporary and future needs. Like many others, we were intrigued by the potential of artificial intelligence. So we asked ourselves: How can we use it? How can we make it our own? How can it become a real tool for us? That project was called Blending Buildings. It started as an infinite atlas of non-existing buildings. Together with my colleague Matteo Venezian —founder of The Image Guy—we wanted to imagine a new solution for the future, starting from the past, as architects often do.

We collected about 300 examples of traditional Swiss vernacular architecture, and another 300 examples of modern buildings constructed from the 1970s until today. We put them all into a dataset and asked AI to blend the two sets together. The result was dozens and dozens of imaginary buildings. These became the starting point for a new critical and design reflection on architecture. This is just one example of how we like to engage with projects and commissions. Being receptive also makes us very hybrid. For one competition, we might adopt a certain kind of language, while for another project, we might choose something completely different. But at the base of everything is always research—the study of the present—and many observational documents: sketches, maps, photos, and other tools we consider fundamental, whether it's for a competition or a large project. 

I was an assistant in the diploma workshop of Flores & Prats at the Accademia di Mendrisio, and I learned a lot from them. In my view, starting a project by really looking at the site—at what already exists—is a very modern idea. In the past, the first step was often to tear everything down and start something new—something more durable, more impressive. But today, you have to be responsible for the site, for what’s already there. You have to take responsibility for your proposal and for how the architectural proposal will interact with the context and its surroundings. Being aware of what the site already has is a matter of culture. It’s about being realistic, being loyal to what’s there, and putting everything together to give life to a real project. I think observation is the starting point of a new way of conceiving architecture.

An ethical dialogue

LD: If I had to think of an example that best illustrates our approach through observation, I would mention a competition for the extension of the Pinacoteca Züst in Ticino. The brief asked us to design an addition to the existing building by the well-known architect Tita Carloni. In this case, the questions we asked ourselves had a very clear direction. And to work on such a pre-existing building, we needed to get to know his architecture. So we looked for all the books and writings by Tita Carloni, and even before making a proposal we tried to build an idea of who he really was. And it was like having this new person at the project table, that we could start to interact with—him, with his building—and enter into his world. And just when we reached this point, we could really start working on the project. So this is the way in which, for example, we started to talk about the Pinacoteca from the very beginning to the end. 

For example, when conceiving the façade, we printed out all the photographs we had of the existing 1960s building and pinned them up on a board in the office. We studied them carefully and then decided that the new extension should use the same materials—but in a different way. In this way, the new building could enter into dialogue with the original one, allowing the two to coexist and age together for another ten, fifteen, or twenty years. The new structure was conceived as a durable wooden construction, insulated with entirely natural materials and designed with the same respect for longevity as the original. I think the most interesting part of this competition was the beginning—the way we approached the project, trying to engage with the original architect. We spent a lot of time drawing by hand, tracing over drawings by Tita Carloni. This is something truly fascinating for an architect: using your pencil as an extension of your brain, following the lines that someone before you shaped. You learn with your hands things you couldn’t grasp intellectually, without drawing relentlessly. To me, this is a crucial practice for any architect, especially when working on a project designed by another architect. It’s essential.

The original building by Tita Carloni has a blind façade facing a large park, which we identified as the project’s weakest point. We positioned the 100-square-metre extension behind this façade to create a clear connection between the old and new parts, allowing visitors to circulate easily through both buildings in a seamless, circular promenade. The idea was simple—but keeping a simple idea from start to finish is often more difficult than it seems. Simplicity can take many forms: in the choice of materials, in the clarity of plans, in the elevation. We printed Tita Carloni’s floor plans and studied them carefully. To develop our proposal, we had to redraw the thickness of one wall, and when we found a 1:50 plan, we discovered it measured 25–30 centimetres and was insulated internally. This raised the question: could we replicate the same wall today? While modern standards make an exact reproduction impossible, our thermotechnical specialist confirmed we could adapt the original details for contemporary use. We also learned from Carloni’s careful placement of the lift, core, and technical services. Studying the existing building in depth allowed our proposal to become more precise and attentive to the pre-existing structure. In the end, the plan reveals a clear relationship between old and new—a dialogue, not in words, but in lines, intentions, and ethical responsibility toward the building.

Rethinking demolition

LD: There’s another project that’s worth mentioning: The brief required a full demolition of an existing gym in Bellinzona, in Ticino. They wanted to make space for a new building with almost the same dimensions and similar characteristics. This raised many questions for us. Right from the start, I wondered: Is it really necessary to demolish everything just to rebuild almost the same thing? Another key question was: When was this competition brief written? Preparing a competition response can take over five years, so if the brief was drafted that long ago, are its requirements still relevant today? Answering this was crucial because it allowed us to define a clear strategy. In the end, we concluded that the brief’s instructions were outdated. We decided to propose a method that minimised demolition, excavation, material waste, and energy consumption. Our idea was to reuse almost the entire existing structure—including parts of the façade—anything that could be reinterpreted for the new building. One key lesson was that even if you are highly motivated to participate in a competition, you must be critical. You need to analyse the brief carefully, understand when it was written, who the client is, and why the brief was written in the first place. 

To address the idea of sustainability and responsibility toward the existing building, we carefully studied its plans. In collaboration with Mario Monotti, a well-known engineer, we found that the main structure was still in good condition. Our idea was to reuse this structure in its current position, while removing the façade. You can imagine it as a large concrete box, roughly 50 metres long by 30 metres wide. Some elements of the original façade were repurposed for the outdoor paving.

The most challenging decision we made was to avoid any excavation. Normally, for a gym, the ground floor would be lowered by one and a half to two metres so that the ceiling height reaches the required nine metres. By choosing not to excavate, we faced a complex situation. We reorganised the layout so that all the changing rooms, fitness rooms, and technical spaces occupy the ground floor, while the gym itself—with its nine-metre height—is located on the first floor. This solution presented additional challenges. With the gym one level above the ground floor and the stands two levels high, we had to carefully plan circulation to ensure people could access the space safely. In Switzerland, strict fire safety regulations require compartmentalisation and controlled evacuation routes, so we had to design solutions that met all these requirements while respecting our sustainable approach. I think we found a good solution, but choosing not to excavate—and trying to stay true to our ideas and critical approach—created a series of consequences that were far from easy to resolve. The competition added another layer of complexity: The building’s perimeter was fixed. We could not extend beyond it or raise any part of the structure by more than a metre. Essentially, we were confined to a strict rectangular area, leaving very little room to manipulate the design. 

To summarise our approach: we decided not to excavate, we reused the existing structure, and for the external façade, we repurposed some elements found in the interior. We also introduced metal grating, sourced from a nearby construction site, which is popular in the area. For the interior, we used primarily brick and wood, keeping concrete to a minimum. These decisions became the main guidelines of our proposal.

Between contexts

LD: At BUREAU/D, we believe that even though we’re based in Switzerland, and I spend most of my time there, there’s no single country for doing architecture, but it’s all a matter of method and design approach. We collaborate with specialists and craftsmen in Switzerland, just as we do in Italy —it all depends on the project and on how we’re invited to take part in it. In Switzerland, when we work on a project, we engage with local specialists and people on site, seeking the best way to realise the project through the opportunities offered by that specific context. In Italy, we follow the same approach. Ultimately, our way of thinking is to draw on the positive aspects of each place and create a kind of tension—introducing ideas based on what the site suggests to us, on what it offers us, whether it’s in Switzerland, France, or elsewhere.