Competitions: catalyst or constraint?

DF: There’s a very low bar for starting an architectural practice. Legally, it’s easy to establish a company. In Switzerland, there’s no licensing process, and no additional tests after earning your diploma—you can practice immediately and even sign off on projects. If you win a competition, you’re often assured the opportunity to build the project.

SM: I’m also critical about competitions. In Switzerland, they’re often regarded as the only  cornerstone of the architectural process, and while they have their merits and are an important tool, many aspects go unaddressed or are problematic. For example, open competitions for housing in Zurich involve a significant amount of unpaid work. Over the years, the expectations for submissions have grown—where previously you might provide a basic concept, now you’re required to include detailed plans and calculations of surfaces, significantly increasing the workload. This is compounded by the fact that you could have two or three hundred offices competing for one project. In my opinion, one of the underestimated aims of a competition should be to select a team with the ability and qualities to mediate and communicate between the requirements in the interests of everyone–client and public alike. This should be proven with a competition. Open competitions are also becoming less common, and pre-qualification processes—where firms are invited to compete based on their portfolio—limit opportunities for younger offices.

DF: That’s part of why competition participation has skyrocketed. If there were more open competitions, the opportunities would be better distributed, allowing a more balanced process. Pre-qualification offers some financial compensation, but newer firms are often excluded due to their limited portfolios. 

SM: Another aspect of competitions is the emphasis on polished, final images. The image culture in architecture has intensified, with firms dedicating extensive resources to creating visually perfect renderings for competitions. This can stifle experimentation. Rather than exploring new materials or innovative ideas, the focus often shifts to ensuring the finished building looks exactly like the submitted render. 

This emphasis on perfected visual outcomes intersects with a broader shift in how architectural ideas are represented—particularly in relation to scale. When I was at ETH, diploma projects increasingly focused on smaller, object-scale designs rather than large-scale master plans or urban visions. Architecture was often treated as a singular, self-contained piece—almost like an artwork. This shift in representational culture may lead younger architects to favour smaller-scale competitions, potentially at the expense of broader social or urban engagement. Yet, despite these tendencies, competitions can still offer space for experimentation—especially when participants actively question the brief. In our experience, some formats, particularly those with interim presentations, allow for radical ideas that challenge the given framework. This can even prompt organisers to revise their requirements, opening the door to more innovative and critical approaches.

Towards egalitarian models

SM: We define ourselves as a collective. Legally, we’re not structured as one yet, but that’s the direction we’re heading in. At the moment, we’re three founding partners working with two collaborators. Our way of working is very horizontal—we delegate responsibilities to smaller groups rather than concentrating them among the partners. One aspect that was relatively easy to adapt within this horizontal model is organising tasks into “circles.” For example, there can be circles for finance, PR, infrastructure, and so on, where people come together based on their interests or expertise to manage specific areas of the office. This way, the partners don’t have to oversee everything ourselves—it’s a shared effort. People contribute where they’re most skilled, which creates a more formalised and structured approach to collaboration.

DF: When we started, it was just the three of us. The company name reflects that state, composed of parts of our family names. We’ve always aimed for equality, even financially. From the beginning, we agreed that everyone would receive the same salary. For example, if someone worked at the university and earned more there, they wouldn’t draw a salary from the practice to balance it out. For a long time, this worked for us. But as we’ve grown and tried to attract skilled employees, it’s become more challenging—our equal salary model isn’t competitive in the current market. While we’re personally investing in the company’s future, finding a sustainable balance has been difficult.

Another thing that’s not so easy: When you think about authorship, it raises crucial questions about collaboration. Moving away from the legal aspect, there's still this traditional idea of a single name behind an office. But when projects involve 20 people, how do we bring that to the public? We haven't really found a model for authorship in open collaborations. It's a broader question for the discipline and where it's headed.

SM: We’ve discussed this with other offices, but most are still rooted in the classical model. We’re exploring something new for us—a way that feels right for our practice, though it may not suit everyone.

DF: Now, we’re really trying to move away from hierarchical models. I don’t know many companies embracing sociocracy or similar cooperative environments to enable true horizontality. It’s a specific path we’re trying to develop. 

Building stability

DF: Our first milestone as a team was a competition in 2013 for a parking structure. It was the first time the three of us worked together, and we won a prize. That experience was incredibly motivating—it showed us we had the competence to pursue independence. When we officially founded the office in 2015, Simon was working at the University of Applied Arts in Winterthur, Philippe was working for another office in Zurich, and I had recently moved to Belgrade. Living in Serbia gave the collective/Bach Mühle Fuchs financial freedom because our costs were lower, allowing us to focus on competitions without the immediate pressure to generate revenue.

SM: The goal was to create freedom—for thinking, experimenting, and defining what we wanted to do. After ETH, we were enthusiastic about making a difference but didn’t yet know how. Serbia gave us time to explore our approach without the financial pressure we might have faced starting out in Switzerland. This allowed us to focus on questions of what we call ‘contribution’—what architecture could offer beyond fulfilling a program or budget.

DF: During that time, we also built a holiday house in the Serbian countryside, our first realised project. That project absorbed much of my time and marked a shift from focusing on competitions to hands-on realisation. After returning to Switzerland, Philippe and I collaborated with an architect in Weinfelden, a mentor of mine. It was an unexpected but stabilising phase, working closely on traditional craft-focused architecture. The projects there shaped our perspective, emphasising meticulous detail over concept-heavy approaches. This phase taught us the importance of craft and attention to the smallest elements—like even designing toilet paper roll holders—that are often overlooked in larger offices.

SM: Meanwhile, I was still deeply involved in applied arts, but Philippe and Daniel were refining their craft in these projects. Once we completed several projects in this environment, we felt ready to transition back to full independence. By then, we had the tools, experience, and confidence to manage our projects fully.

DF: Now, we’re entering a new phase. At this stage—our mid-30s—our generation is starting to become clients. Before, we mostly worked for the older generation, but now friends and peers are reaching the point where they seek architects. Recently, we also won a significant competition in collaboration with another office, which has provided us with a stable project to sustain our team. It’s an exciting time where we’re building on everything we’ve learned to push forward with our independent vision.

Finding the balance through diversification

DF: Self-initiated projects are another distinct strategy we’ve developed. For example, we co-founded the Association for Hempcrete to promote hempcrete as a building material. Over the past few years, we’ve given lectures, taken calls, and advised others on hempcrete, sharing knowledge openly. Unlike older generations that often kept their methods secret, we aim for an open-source approach, even sharing detailed construction plans on our website for others to use freely. This philosophy extends to cooperative projects. One example is Stadtufer, a project we began five years ago. It involved connecting different people to establish a group, leveraging our broad architectural knowledge to structure processes and identify key elements to make the project work. While the project isn’t economically sustainable and required significant unpaid work, it reflects our commitment to solidarity and exploring new ways to contribute.

SM: Balancing financially sustainable projects with solidarity projects is a conscious choice for us. For example, while Stadtufer wasn’t profitable, it allowed us to experiment and push boundaries. Projects like these often begin without funding, but with enough interest, money can eventually be found. Someone needs to initiate the process and bring it to a point where funding becomes viable. We call this "working before phase zero."

DF: In a way, our work spans three categories: conventional competition/direct commissioned work, unpaid self-initiative projects, and solidarity projects. Solidarity projects delve deeper into networks and knowledge-building. In these cases, we often act as both clients and planners, giving us greater leverage to push for radical ideas. These projects are less about drawing plans and more about financing, vision-making, and connecting the right people. They allow us to apply our knowledge creatively and learn throughout the process. While unconventional, these efforts help us grow and prepare for future opportunities, building both expertise and meaningful contributions along the way.

Solidarity in practice

DF: Stadtufer began as an initiative by the municipality in a peripheral region of the canton of St. Gallen. They wanted to repurpose an empty textile factory—a large, historical building of about 8,000 square meters—through a participatory process. The idea was to organise a group, with the help of a mentor, to take over and buy the factory. We joined this process early on, with me attending weekly meetings to help form the group. In 2021, we’ve managed to finance the purchase of the factory and establish the cooperative. Since then, we’ve been focused on the architectural aspects, including fire regulations, escape routes, and other legal requirements typical for old buildings.

The project has reached a critical phase where we need to secure long-term financing for its next stage: converting parts of the building into housing. Currently, the factory serves as workspaces and cultural spaces, but mixed-use housing has always been part of the vision. Adding housing requires significant investment, and much of my time now involves finding ways to finance this transformation. Mixed-use development—where 30-40 percent of the space becomes housing—is ideal not only for financing but also for creating a sustainable community. From the beginning, the group envisioned a community where constant, permanent residents would help maintain the cooperative spirit. So, while there’s financial pressure to include housing, it’s also integral to the project’s goals.

SM: This cooperative is an example of a solidarity project, but we’re also involved in projects of a different scale. For instance, we’re working with residents of a 19th-century courtyard in Zurich to reclaim the space, currently dominated by asphalt and cars. The goal is to transform the courtyard into a more liveable, communal space. This has been a collaborative process, involving the residents in planning every step. However, navigating the city’s bureaucracy has been challenging, as various departments keep passing the responsibility around. Finally just this summer we were able to build the garden.

If we were to calculate the hours spent on projects like these, they would seem unfeasible. But our aim isn’t financial gain in the first place—it’s to empower people with the knowledge and tools they need to improve their surroundings. These projects allow us to help others realise their own visions, rather than imposing a predefined architectural idea. By working closely with the future users of a space, we help turn their ideas into reality. This approach fosters a deeper connection between people and their environment, and that’s what makes these solidarity projects so meaningful.