The mobility of ideas

LC: In Switzerland, Zurich is a central hub, but there’s also a strong architectural practice in Basel and Geneva, both big hot spots. Since the country is quite small, the architectural scene is very close-knit, with strong connections even in the French-speaking areas. The Italian part is also connected with the Swiss-German and French areas. 

MB: In the nineties, not much was built in Zurich. There were only a few commissions, therefore many young architects went abroad to work. Now, however, there’s a strong movement toward re-densification, and Zurich’s population has now surpassed that of the 1960s, after a period of decline and then growth. So, there’s a certain energy in the city now: there are many competitions, architects come together for tours of realised projects, and there are in-depth discussions. Occasionally, there is room for experiments. 

LC: When we began our studies, the architecture scenes were only connected locally. But now there’s much more exchange, with many offices having branches in Zurich, Geneva, and Lausanne. This shift is probably related to changes in how people work today, with a focus on collective, collaborative work, which also aligns with the mindset of younger architects. This mobility is definitely impacting the architectural scene.

For us, we like to build locally, but we’re not exclusively focused on Zurich. We’re always interested in exploring other regions, cultures, building ideas, and styles. We've also worked on several projects outside Zurich, in different parts of Switzerland, and we try to understand how people work in those areas, engaging with local artisans and learning from them. Zurich does have unique, relevant issues, like the cooperative housing movement, which is a big theme here and in Basel or Bern, too—primarily city issues. But when you go to rural areas, you encounter a different approach, with a focus on artisanal building. Our first project, for instance, was in Goms, a very rural area in the mountains, where we worked closely with local carpenters, learning how they treat and work with wood. That experience was definitely important to us.

MB: Moving around is essential for us, and we work on projects that are accessible by public transport. We try to stay local and specific, but we believe that approach allows us to work anywhere. When we go to a new location, we try to understand what’s needed there. You really have to go and spend time in a place to understand the subtleties—whether it’s the space, the methods of construction, or the local know-how. In the end, it all has to be built, right?    

An organic start

MB: We officially started when I returned from Lausanne. I had been working at an office there, then came back to Zurich to work as a teaching assistant at ETH, while Luca continued working in an office. Our first opportunity came unexpectedly—a bicycle shelter project that ended up being quite time-intensive, probably the most elaborate research on a bicycle shelter ever.  Around the same time, we also had a chance to take on a larger project, transforming a family’s weekend house in the valley. Naturally, we decided to work together on it. We took on different roles—Luca was focused more on the design phase, while I managed the construction. We didn’t have a fixed plan, but then we started doing competitions, won the second one we entered.

LC: We were surprised that we already won the second competition— it was an extension of an existing school.  That was an incredible opportunity, as we could establish our office with a stable income for four years. We started around July 2013—actually, Marianne began a bit earlier while still employed, and I quit my previous job to fully commit that summer. It was fulfilling to contribute to the city. I think this relates to why so many young firms start in Switzerland. Open competitions here provide valuable opportunities for new practices to establish themselves. Winning one of these projects means a reliable income, allowing young offices to grow steadily.

Lessons in imperfection

LC: Constant searching has remained a key part of our approach. We’re still committed to experimenting and to allowing some of those experiments to fail. It’s something we’re determined to preserve. The questions we’re asking today aren’t all that different from those we started with. Of course, society has changed, and we now face the climate crisis, which was present a decade ago, too, though perhaps less urgently addressed. Today, it’s not just an afterthought in project briefs—it’s the primary concern. Another key point for us is working with existing structures, an approach we started from the beginning, though initially on a smaller scale. The idea of refurbishing and preserving was there from the outset, and we’ve carried it forward.

MB: We launched our practice relatively early in our careers, so we had to build everything from scratch. We found our way by designing and discarding.  Today, that process has evolved into a more intentional research phase, but it’s still grounded in exploration. This is also how we approach today’s challenges. For example, when I worked with Josep Lluís Mateo, he published the book After Crisis. Today, not many people would relate this title to the financial crisis in Spain,   as we are living in a continuous state of crisis. The book still remains relevant, today, and we do not know if we will ever experience an ‘after crisis’. Therefore, living with uncertainty has been our reality, so we’re always learning, experimenting, and searching for new answers.

LC: I think it’s also about how we view projects—not as something completed when we hand over the keys, but as an ongoing contribution to a place that has existed long before us and will continue to exist far into the future. We're just one of many contributors. I like how André Gorz describes the earth’s surface as constantly changing, with tides, leaves, winter snow, and river deltas. There’s no permanent status quo; everything is always in motion. 

A Room of One's Own project aligns with that idea. During its development, we learned a lot, and even from the competition stage, the roots of this approach were already there, because it was a project involving an existing building with about 50 apartments. This wasn't a blank slate; it was a place where people already lived and needed to stay. The competition, in fact, set this in motion because the brief was to refurbish the building without displacing people. So, we implemented a carefully staged approach using one of the buildings as temporary housing. Residents could move into this ‘hotel’ building temporarily while we renovated their apartments, then return afterwards. We demolished the temporary building at the end. This methodical process took time.

MB: Yes, we renovated staircase by staircase, and it took years to complete.

LC: And with time, you start reflecting and re-evaluating things. This prolonged process allowed us to rethink and refine aspects of the new build. A kind of ‘slow architecture’. Another unique aspect of the program was its flexibility—they didn’t specify exact apartment types, like ‘20 three-room apartments’ or ‘10 four-room apartments.’ Instead, we had a count of individual rooms—around 50 bedrooms, if I remember right. So, we proposed a very adaptable structure: a three-dimensional wooden framework with individual rooms of 14 square metres each.

MB: With this project, we started with a very pure and quite ambitious vision—how everything should be built, how the elements would be separated, how the techniques would support the concept of independent chambers that could reorganise the whole house. But over time, things evolved, and new ideas emerged. Gradually, the project adapted continuously, and at a certain point, we realised that we wouldn't achieve that initial pure vision. However, we came to see this as more realistic, closer to how we actually live and relate to our surroundings. It’s not about sticking rigidly to a vision but embracing the reality of the builder’s input, as they bring practical expertise. In the end, the entire house became a kind of living model, where we could observe and adapt.

LC: It’s essential to accept that nothing is perfect. This fluid process allows us to learn and carry fragments of this experience forward, but the next project will be different.

MB: We learned a lot about challenges and limitations, and even if we couldn’t achieve everything, this was a tremendous learning experience. For us, it was like studying for years in school—a real study object. 

Leaving ‘room for milk’

MB: We start projects from a place of curiosity. If something sparks our interest, we pursue it, but we approach it with full commitment. Curiosity draws us in, and then we aim to make the most of the situation. 

In some way, we can apply this principle to our project Chasün in Lavin, where we are transforming an old hotel into housing for locals. This project is related to the housing crisis, which isn’t just affecting big cities across Europe but also impacting mountainous, tourist areas. In these valleys, like in Lavin in the Engadin, there’s a similar issue: many people buy homes as vacation properties, enjoying the local amenities—the bakery, a nice restaurant, a grocery store—while the people working in these places struggle to find housing nearby. Workers often have to commute long distances to their jobs. This need felt urgent to us, especially regarding the high number of empty hotels, as a result of the para-hotel industry.  A friend of ours saw the potential and invited us to transform the hotel into housing for local workers. We were able to buy the hotel with funds from people who wanted to invest in this project. This project isn’t just about housing; it’s about creating a communal atmosphere, where people can live together. Some will stay for a week, maybe attending a wedding, others for a season, like ski instructors, and some will live there long-term. This mix will define the house’s atmosphere.     

Flexibility is essential, and I think it’s something our generation has had to adopt—being adaptable in many areas. We're not focused on creating a distinct profile or following a set formula. Instead, we’re interested in the talents of the people we work with and what they can contribute. That’s what truly matters to us. It’s about finding our own interest within the given framework. You’re always handed a framework, and it can be simply solved—but we’re searching for a specific interest or curiosity that drives us, which becomes our own research and gives us the energy to move forward. Maybe that's our focus: to find that ‘plus’ at every scale. I love the expression ‘room for milk’, like in American coffee shops where they ask if you’d like space left in your coffee for milk. That ‘room for milk’ represents a bit of extra space for something special, something better. This is what we’re always seeking within every framework and commission—where there's room for something additional that makes it uniquely ours.