Peripheral futures

LA: In recent years, we’ve seen a growing number of practices emerge—particularly outside Paris—as interest in the countryside continues to rise. We often make the comparison with the idea of a docteur de campagne—a countryside doctor. Today, we talk about the architecte de campagne, meaning a kind of countryside architect. Maybe there are more architects in Paris, but that’s not something we really notice, because Paris has always had many—it’s the centre of cultural and political life in France. What feels like a real change is the shift in interest to smaller towns and villages.

CH: This shift is also a response to the difficult economic context, which has pushed many practices to return to these kinds of territories. We are from Paris, from this culture of big constructions and urban contexts that we know well. But today in France, there are so many other things happening, allowing new ways of practising architecture. I think we are somewhere between the two: Paris and the countryside.

LA: Reflecting on this new scenario, we can identify two main trends. One is the heritage of Lacaton & Vassal—still focused on big projects and major public or private commissions. The second trend, which is growing, is rural architecture with architects like Simon Teyssou and Bernard Quirot. In France, it’s often called la frugalité—a big term that covers different architectural vocabularies but is mainly defined by where practices are set up, either in big cities or smaller places. Many practices are physically moving, and there’s a real desire to be part of a community. That’s a trend we see worldwide. For example, Teyssou was director of the School of Clermont-Ferrand, which is a medium-sized city surrounded by a large, sparsely populated territory. He really developed and theorised this idea. 

LA: There’s a book by Françoise Fromonot that discusses this—about going to the countryside but somehow coming back to Paris because it’s easier to get references and connections there. 

CH: It’s undoubtedly an opportunity for our generation of architects. It has become easier—and more rewarding—for us to engage with architectural subjects that were once considered marginal. Thanks to figures like Quirot and Teyssou, these topics have gained significance and now hold a rightful place in architectural culture.

LA: It’s a way to access projects. Smaller projects mean less competition—fewer people applying—so it’s a strategic move. Also, it reflects a lifestyle trend, maybe influenced by COVID, where people are tempted to leave cities. Honestly, I don’t know how architecture was in these contexts 30 years ago, but today, many architects who have worked on big projects in Paris for 10 or 15 years open firms in peripheral areas. They bring cultural and technical expertise from large urban projects and apply it to smaller-scale work. This definitely improves the quality of architecture in small towns or rural areas.

Learning from experience

LA: We studied together at the Belleville School of Architecture, and we both worked in similar contexts. Our shared understanding was that we wanted to focus on projects that were a bit smaller, where we could have more control over the outcomes. We had both been involved in large projects, like new housing developments in the Paris suburbs linked to the Grand Paris Express, but those felt a bit out of scale—hard to really grasp and influence everything. So, that was our common desire: to create a practice working on a smaller, more personal scale.

If we look back at the offices we worked for earlier, I spent a couple of years at SANAA in Tokyo. I mainly worked on a French project and a museum in Budapest, which I don’t think will ever come to fruition. Then in Paris, I worked for Coldefy, an office based in Lille with projects in Paris—mostly housing and private projects. I was interested in public projects, even small-scale ones, because the private housing market is really tough, and it’s hard to maintain quality.

CH: While he was in Japan, I started working for a studio in Paris called Djuric-Tardio. I spent three years there, and it was my most significant formative experience, developing and managing projects focused on off-site construction. This experience shaped a lot of my architectural thinking. I worked a lot with public institutions, which is a very different way of working compared to private clients. After that, I managed a construction site in Paris—a whole block between two famous concert halls. By the end of that project, I realised I wanted to work independently and focus on a scale where I could fully engage with architectural challenges. I worked on my own for about a year, then founded Mura Scala, and soon after, Léo joined me. 

A name, a journey, a vision

CH: It’s funny—I was still working alone when I chose the name. My sister lives in Rome, and I have a strong connection to Italy. I love the Mura in Rome (Roman Walls), which to me are like large architectural objects in the city, constantly living new lives. That inspired the name. When Léo joined, he told me that in Japanese, “mura” (村々) means little villages. It made perfect sense—it was a beautiful coincidence.

In the first year, we brought work from our previous offices with us. So, although these were Mura Scala commissions, many were still individually led based on past commitments. We knew we wanted to build something together, but it was challenging at first because we had to keep managing those ongoing assignments. When they were completed, it marked a turning point—we could finally focus on what we had envisioned from the start. That was crucial. By then, we had already begun shaping Mura Scala’s identity, but with those behind us, we had much more time to focus collaboratively. Soon after, we won our first public commission: a school in Garancières. It was a small undertaking, but it reassured us that we were on the right path.

LA: That project meant a lot to us. It wasn’t a flashy commission—just two classrooms for a primary school. The city’s original plan was to order prefab units and place them in the schoolyard. After the site visit, the mayor asked if we had ever worked with prefab before. Clara had worked on a high-end prefab kindergarten in the Jardin du Luxembourg with Djuric-Tardio, so we had some experience. But back in the car, we thought, “What is this? This is like the bare minimum of architecture. Maybe we shouldn’t apply.” But since we had driven an hour and a half to get there, we decided to apply—and we won. Then began a long process working with the city team and the Architectes des Bâtiments de France, since the school is in a protected historic area.

In the end, we proposed a wooden prefab structure that everyone accepted. But in May of 2024, the city hall called to tell us the mayor was stepping down. A new administration came in and didn’t like the project because it was from the previous team. So everything was put on hold. Ironically, we had calculated our fees thinking it would be a simple prefab job, but it became one of our longest projects. Still, it reflects this idea of the architecte de campagne—like the countryside doctor who’s always present, helping shape things with the community.

CH: That’s actually the framework we had in mind when we created the office. There’s always room to improve, even with small projects. Despite delays and changes in administration, they eventually accepted that this wasn’t a political project but a solid architectural response. For us, that was real validation. It confirmed that working with care, attention, and dialogue is not only possible but meaningful. That project truly captures what Mura Scala is about.

Elevating possibilities

LA: Even though we’re both from Paris, there are great opportunities within an hour to an hour and a half from the city to reach these kinds of areas. Like the school project in Garancières—it’s in the middle of the country, yet just about an hour door-to-door from here. We like being based in Paris for this reason: from here, we have access to a wide variety of landscapes. Above all, we are deeply committed to nurturing and preserving the unique spirit of these rural places that so often go overlooked.

The second focus relates to a specific typology—in French, surélévation, meaning roof extensions. We have a few past and ongoing projects on this theme. It’s an area where the city is slowly evolving, although Paris is quite conservative with its buildings. We want to challenge that idea and show that there’s always room to do more. This also ties into off-site construction, which is really interesting technically—not just designing, but figuring out how to build on existing structures, how to bring materials through small doors, and manage construction on tight sites. Given that Paris real estate is so expensive—around 10,000 euros per square metre—there’s an opportunity to build well, maybe at half that cost, and still achieve good quality. This is something we are working on and want to continue.

CH: The fact that our office is based in Paris naturally connects many themes in our work. We deal with existing buildings and limited space, and roof extensions are a great solution in this context. Being from here really shapes what we do. It’s exciting now to see with the school project that the themes we’ve been exploring in Paris also make sense elsewhere. 

From site to solution

LA: Our generation mostly works with existing buildings. There are two reasons for this. The first is political: we’re not really interested in building new objects from nothing. The second is economic: new construction projects tend to be bigger and harder to access. While we’ve done new build projects before, it’s not what really appeals to us.

Of course, building from scratch is easier in some ways—fewer construction issues, less hassle—but we enjoy the challenges of working with existing buildings. For example, we have an ongoing project extending a house in the 13th district of Paris. It’s a family home—a couple with children from previous relationships, so they need more space. We’re adding one level, about 50 square metres, at the back of a small alley. The family will stay in the house during construction, which creates site management challenges because we have to ensure they have a liveable shell throughout.

Another important aspect is that this is our first project under the new Paris building code regulations, which took effect in November last year. These regulations emphasise bio-sourced materials. We’re balancing budget and materials, aiming to use a wooden structure for the extension. Introducing new materials isn’t necessarily more expensive. However, when people aren’t familiar with them, costs can rise due to the fear of making mistakes. That’s why we invest a lot of time educating on-site.

CH: Education is key. Sometimes clients have a certain idea of what looks good or what makes a good interior space, but it costs a lot. When they don’t have the budget, we offer alternatives—but we have to push to show them that these aren’t just crazy architectural details, but solutions that can work within their budget. 

This, along with other projects, highlights another key focus of our practice: hands-on engagement with the construction site. We’ve learned a great deal from working directly on-site, where the construction process becomes an integral part of design. It’s not just about drawing in the office—we’re actively on site, discovering and solving challenges as they arise. There are many things you can’t see before cleaning everything up.

A seaside challenge

LA: This year, we started working on a public project: a lifeguard building by the sea. It’s in a very iconic spot, tucked at the back of a busy fishing port with lots of infrastructure. We’ll build a small, 200-square-meter, two-floor building—offices and changing rooms for the lifeguards. It’s not exactly countryside, since it’s a small town, but it fits our focus on investing in these kinds of territories. The seaside environment is tough—salt is highly corrosive—so we have to choose materials that can withstand it. 

CH: Working in Brittany opens new possibilities for materials. We collaborated with an association on a small wooden project and spent a day visiting artisans who still craft traditional reed roofs, a technique found here and in southern France, though few artisans continue the practice. 

LA: This lifeguard house is part of a much larger €15 million redevelopment—we’re just one small piece. Being directly involved in this process is a big milestone for us. Unlike past projects with long negotiations with mayors, here everything is clear and moves quickly. 

Our design focused on efficiency: a simple cube with a concrete exoskeleton and steel facade. Since a big company probably wouldn’t want a 200-square-meter project like this, we organised it, so a local mason could build the concrete beams and columns, and smaller specialists could complete the wooden parts. 

CH: Looking ahead, we want to take on more projects in Brittany, where the themes differ greatly from Paris. It makes sense—growth means exploring new places. But we want to do it thoughtfully. We know Brittany well and aim to build a strong network there.