Values and questions that guide a practice

DZ: We’re a firm that asks more questions than it provides answers. How do we live? That’s the bigger picture. For us, architecture is a space where we can explore these questions together—with clients, people, through our work, through art, animals, and plants. It’s a blend of practical and philosophical thinking. When transforming a house, practicality is essential, of course. But you're always questioning: How do we live in this space? What kind of families are we today? Is the traditional model still relevant? Do you have pets, and what kind of space does your dog need? These are deeply philosophical yet very practical questions. So, in a way, each project becomes an attempt to live a little differently—or perhaps with a little more common sense.

GZ: I think people are looking to live a different kind of life. I didn't come from an architecture background, but I was caught up in the idea that I needed to work all the time—that work was life, and the rest would follow. Now, I think there’s a shift; people don’t necessarily feel that way. There's also this awareness that the future is unclear, so people are more focused on what they truly need and want in the present.

As for how we practise this concept, it’s about balance—we don’t work all the time, but we work a lot, because, as a couple, our personal and professional lives naturally overlap. With Carine Pimenta, our partner at BUREAU in Lisbon, it feels even more like family, so there isn’t a strict division between work and home life. 

DZ: And I’d add that as the result of this philosophy, which we share with many newer offices, is that we prioritise our daily lives. Each day should be interesting, enjoyable, and not overly stressful. Of course, there’s some stress, but we focus on the spaces we’re in—our offices in Lisbon or here—the people around us, taking the time to eat well, to discuss things. Everyday life has become very important, quite different from the previous generation’s approach of working intensely to get through to a holiday or to some achievement.

Moving beyond past norms

DZ: Another change in the past 15 years or so has been how media coverage has evolved. Now, practices that aren’t large firms like OMA are gaining visibility. Previous generations looked up to offices like OMA for structure and entrepreneurship, and while OMA remains influential, there’s now a broader spectrum of practices. World regions or countries and practices that were not on the map 20 years ago are now very present and emerging architects who are gaining international recognition. This media shift has expanded the possibilities of what it means to be an architect. 

Models have changed, and I think that for many architects who pursued international ambitions, it was often more about seeking new opportunities—going where the terrain was more open, allowing for bigger, more spectacular projects. This has been a trend since modernism; for instance, Le Corbusier travelled to places like Bogotá and Africa to build where he had fewer restrictions, which also had a colonial aspect to it. But we have quite a different mindset. We don’t view ourselves as an international practice; we just happen to be in both Lisbon and Geneva. We work in Portugal around Lisbon and in Geneva around Geneva, but we live in these places. It’s simply two locations, not an attempt to expand into France or other areas.

GZ: Sometimes we travel for a project. For example, this summer we went to Armenia, initially because we were invited to an architecture festival. We met the team, the people, and the foundation that invited us, and it was a really wonderful experience. We started discussing the possibility of doing something together, and soon after, it became a real project. So, we actually moved the whole office there for three weeks. It wasn’t just Carine, Daniel, and me going; we asked the team if they’d like to join us. We thought it would be a nice opportunity to work on a project and spend time together as a group. 

We’re curious and have many interests, which isn’t unusual, of course, but all of this naturally influences our practice. It’s not as if architecture is separate from our lives. It’s all completely integrated—there’s art, literature, so many influences that blend into our architecture. Architecture isn’t just about buildings; maybe that’s why there are many practices within our own practice. We aren’t looking to follow a particular model.

Fields of exploration

DZ: One conclusion we've come to, after nearly ten years of practice, is that we're more interested in the fragments we contribute to than in a cohesive whole. There are specific research topics we’re interested in—the three of us, along with our team—so there are threads we follow. But these threads don’t have to lead to a single form like a building. They could be a small object, a performance, a building, a transformation, scenography, or pedagogical work. Whatever the context, we aim to bring something interesting to the people and situations we are involved with, but it doesn’t have to result in a building or a grand statement. So, I’d say that’s how we view our practice: not as one definitive statement or conclusion, but rather as a series of research topics we’re engaged with. 

We've mapped out two main axes or lines of research. One focuses on inhabiting—how we live on an everyday level. This ties back to questions like what makes a family, or rather a ménage, as we say in French, which is an interesting term. It’s about understanding the groups of people living together and how they choose to live in today’s world, considering economic, gender, and social dynamics. So, it's more about how we live within interior spaces than traditional housing. The other line of research is what we call public space—a broad term, of course. This covers architectural situations that involve a broad public without a direct client. It includes landscape design and what we generally consider public spaces, but also exhibition design, which attracts large audiences and provokes thought and discussion. Anything related to art fits into this line as well. These lines of research guide us now, though they can evolve. 

GZ: There’s a third area that ties them all together: multi-species cohabitation, or how we live alongside other living beings. This has become a significant part of our pedagogy, especially with students.  

A lighthouse for all

GZ: At HEAD Geneve, where we are teaching now after a year in Canada , we’re continuing this exploration on the theme of cohabitation with other species through a project on the lake shore, where we plan to build a lighthouse. The idea is to engage students in reflecting on the shore and finding ways to make it a habitat for other species. 

DZ: The lighthouse is a particularly special project for us because it encapsulates many of the research themes we explore in the office. On one hand, we view it almost as a public space. In French engineering, there’s a term, ouvrage d'art, used for structures like bridges or towers, which translates literally as a ‘work of art.’ While we’re not suggesting the lighthouse is a piece of art, it’s a piece of infrastructure with a specific purpose that also functions as a landscape work. This connects it with art history, from land art to conceptual and environmental art.

The project also involves a degree of abstraction, as it references the work of Swiss artist and healer Emma Kunz and Russian constructivist engineer Vladimir Shukhov. It’s a lightweight, hyperbolic structure that hints at avant-garde art. Then, at the lower part of the lighthouse, there's a cabin, giving it another layer of functionality. This cabin serves a practical role for watching boat races and offers a space for the lighthouse keepers to sleep.

With the students, we’ll explore how this site might evolve over the next 50 to 100 years. Will it still serve its current function, or can it become a true multi-species habitat? It’s surrounded by water, rocks, and air, with a simple infrastructure and a few cabins. How can we all occupy this space together? So, the lighthouse brings together these two research lines—public space or landscape work and the concept of inhabitation within these small cabins.

Multi-species design

GZ: We need to investigate what it means to allow other forms of life to coexist with us. Take an apartment: if you don't close your windows fully and you let air and insects in, how do you manage that coexistence? This could mean living with ants or mosquitoes—creatures we normally see as invasions. But if it’s not an invasion in your own home, what can you do to let them live there, to share the space? What does it mean to share space with insects from outside who want to come in?

DZ: In our multi-species approach, we want to explore something adaptable, something that can evolve. It’s similar to the term ménage in French—a group of people living together. I hesitate to call it ‘family’ because that implies a traditional father-mother-children structure. But similar issues persist. For instance, if you follow traditional regulations, there are almost none addressing the needs of non-heterosexual households. We still use terms like ‘master bedroom,’ consciously designed for ‘mom and dad’ to share one room, and if they can afford it, a private bathroom. These setups are increasingly outdated, as nearly half the population or more doesn’t live that way. We want to consider these outdated norms within the broader concept of coexisting with other beings. As Galliane mentioned, how about we stop sealing our houses so tightly?

In Japan, for example, many small houses that architects admire already have these open and adaptable living conditions, despite the cold climate and poor insulation. So how do they manage? There are countless ways to rethink housing and cohabitation. Maybe it’s through developing high-tech clothing, where you dress warmly at home, much like past generations did. For instance, in Portugal, many people still live without heating, expecting to endure cold for three months a year. That’s why you see beautiful, traditional wool blankets — people simply bundle up when it’s cold at home and accept living in 12-degree interiors with humidity. 

This mindset, however, is something middle-class Western society often doesn’t embrace; we resist adapting and instead seal homes off, isolating ourselves from the natural environment. If a line of ants appears, you learn to manage: if they’re after your food, perhaps you use lemon or find other natural ways to deter them — essentially, you use diplomacy. It’s more thoughtful than violent solutions, which is too often the norm. We’ve cohabited with animals for millennia, yet there’s barely any dedicated space for them within our urban designs.

Keeping an open mind

GZ: I have a strong background in pedagogy with children and fine art. Working with kids offers huge freedom; you can propose almost anything—it’s all in how you approach the process with them. As students progress into middle or high school, education becomes more defined, often constrained by clichés and clear concepts. With young children, people often think everything should be fun, nice, cute, and beautiful, but that’s just superficial. Instead, you need to encourage genuine expression. This foundation allows them to grow creatively. If you don’t introduce contemporary art—what’s happening now—to children, and focus only on figures like Picasso and Van Gogh, they’ll struggle to relate to contemporary issues as adults. 

This connects to our studio at HEAD. We ask students, ‘What do you like?’ If they like something, they should incorporate it into their project. There’s no need to act according to some architectural ideal. What you like, stemming from your childhood, is valuable in your work as an adult. Everything we engage with, whether it’s design, reading, or art, ultimately finds a place in our work. This theoretical approach in childhood education carries forward, shaping how you grow and contribute as an adult. It shows you how to open your mind.

DZ: We’re developing a pedagogical approach that may sound a bit provocative but aligns with Galliane's experience working with younger students: we’re spending less time on finding ideas. You wouldn’t tell a young child, ‘Okay, find a good idea.’ Instead, it’s about engaging in the process—experimenting with tools. You provide them with various resources like paints, sculpture materials, storytelling, or photography, and they explore by doing. We’re bringing this hands-on approach to university-level teaching. Rather than elevating ideas to some mythic or almost Platonic status, we encourage starting by doing. All ideas have potential, so we pick one and develop it, then dive into the practical aspects: craft, welding, software, drawing techniques.  

GZ: When you spend too much time discussing an idea, you can lose the momentum to develop it. You need to face challenges with materials and confront problems directly. If you only think without taking action, you never face anything. Gaining the confidence to say, ‘Okay, this is good enough; now I can move forward,’ isn’t easy. We often feel pressured to strive for perfection, especially when we see others’ seemingly flawless lives. It can be fragile to recognise that you’re good enough as you are. You can acknowledge that your idea isn’t perfect but still embrace it and continue developing.