An international influx

DC: The founding of the Accademia di Mendrisio, alongside the ETH in Zurich and the EPFL in Lausanne, has had a big influence on the school’s development and the contribution of young architects to the territory. The academy model, along with the work of founders like Aurelio Galfetti, Mario Botta, Luigi Snozzi and Livio Vacchini, connected the school with a deep interest in the territory. These remain, to me, the two main pillars of the school, despite how much it has evolved over the last 20 years. While we’re not as connected to it as we once were, I’d like to think these foundations are still key to the education there.

DF: Despite still being a relatively new university, the Accademia di Mendrisio now graduates between 100 and 200 new architects each year. While not a large number, it is quite significant for the region. A lot of students do their internships in Ticino and many stay. This has had a big impact on the new practice because many start their own practices after studying here, or they work as employees in studios of previous generations. This shift has expanded the appeal beyond the more localised Ticino. If we look at the generation after Galfetti, Snozzi, Botta, and Vacchini, we see that figures like Arnaboldi first, then Canevascini & Corecco and Baserga Mozzetti, were more deeply connected to the roots of those early architects. The new generation is reinterpreting traditional Ticino paradigms with a broader vision.

DC: The school has become much more international, not just in terms of nationalities but in the geographical diversity of students—from every continent. This increasing influence from outside is becoming more evident as time passes and we distance ourselves from the original masters.

Planning all the details

DC: Dario and I were in the same place at roughly the same time, but even within a small school, we were on different paths. I chose to follow a specific vision of architecture, while Dario pursued another.

DF: What’s interesting is that we both followed Professor Bruno Reichlin’s theoretical lectures on modernist architecture. For both of us, he became our favourite professor, even though he wasn’t the most popular with other students. His lectures were full of knowledge, and his style of teaching wasn’t always appealing to everyone. But for me, even after taking the exam, I kept attending because he kept evolving his lectures. It was so interesting to hear his thoughts and methodology that I wanted to listen again.

DC: It was fascinating because he taught the history of architecture in a way that felt more like a studio than a traditional lecture. He immersed us in the complexity of architecture, not as a linear timeline but as a web of ideas, visions, and influences. We learned that architecture is not just about isolated geniuses, but about a constant exchange of ideas. After finishing school, we naturally returned to this model of architecture, reflecting on how we had been educated and shaped by the influences around us. We saw everything in an ecological way—different elements interacting and influencing each other.

DF: We started discussing the practice in 2012 in London during the Olympics, over a beer by the river. I was travelling a lot to London, and Diego was living there. It was funny for me, coming from Ticino. I studied in Ticino with the plan to move to Zurich after two years. But then, all the professors I wanted to work with at ETH Zurich were coming to Mendrisio, so I decided to stay. I had already been accepted at a university in Zurich, but I pulled out.

DC: After graduating, destiny took me to London. It was a significant period for my study of architecture, as well as my first professional experience, where I truly began to feel like an architect. In Switzerland, you don’t leave architecture school as an architect—it takes time. My time in London was really nourishing, but the idea of staying in Switzerland or finding a way back was appealing to me. It wasn’t about exclusively working here, but I didn’t want to completely close the chapter on that part of my education. I had a different perspective than Dario, who wanted to leave Ticino. While we were both in London, I felt a strong connection to Switzerland, especially Ticino, where my strongest links are.

DF: We both had different interests, but we said, ‘We should try to do something together.’

DF: It became clear that having two partners with different perspectives would be much more interesting. We agreed that, if we were to work together, we needed to establish clear foundations. Although it might sound trivial, we spent hours discussing how to organise the server, name files, and navigate the complexities of balancing the UK and Swiss approaches.

DC: Yes, it might seem trivial, but it was really about recognising the future complexity we’d face in terms of ideas and visions. We said, ‘Let’s create an infrastructure that can withstand the challenges ahead.’

DF: The other challenge was maintaining the partnership. Many partnerships fail when the partners are separated, so we analysed possible issues in office organisation that might lead to separation. We agreed that a strong partnership is more than the sum of its parts—it’s about creating a synergy where one plus one equals three. The benefits should outweigh the challenges. We looked at examples of partnerships that had failed, often because of issues like ego, liberty, or financial management. Studying these cases helped us understand the importance of maintaining independence while overlapping information. Our experiences—whether in Ticino or London—should flow into each other, enriching both of our practices.

Bridging realities: a partnership in motion

DC: I was going to leave my previous job, and we couldn’t afford to spend a year figuring out how we should work—we needed to be productive from the start. Dario had already led his practice in Switzerland for some time, so there was momentum and some established relationships, which helped us avoid starting from scratch.

DF: The idea was always to merge the two realities. We began with a series of competitions that we didn’t win. But that was the starting point for us. At the same time in London, we started to gain our first clients. The Swiss office was bigger, with about 10 employees handling larger projects, and over time, we tried to balance the two dynamics, both in terms of people, commissions, and work. Alongside direct commissions, we always worked on competitions together.

DC: Early on, even before we started teaching together, we were in the same city, which meant we met almost every week. We benefited from that proximity—it allowed us to spend one full day together teaching and another at the office. Later, when COVID hit, we started testing a system that reduced travel. We found that our communication and office dynamics were strong enough to work remotely. Then, COVID came along, and we realised it worked even better than expected.

DF: Even as my physical presence in London diminished, the level of communication remained strong. WhatsApp became the primary tool for sharing ideas, sketches, and images of site buildings. In the past two years, we shared over 10,000 images, half of which were sketches—constantly asking each other, 'What do you think of this option, or that one?

DC: I know it’s far from the romantic vision of an architect—two people in a dimly lit office with a drawing table and a cigarette, discussing ideas. In reality, it’s more about managing different origins and perspectives. What we do is more intellectual in terms of our references and abilities—it’s about managing them and making them usable in an architectural practice. Using WhatsApp plays an essential role in the process. It’s about reducing physical communication while managing all the complexities—different legal contexts, construction markets, and so on.

Adapting and evolving

DC: Typically, you don’t start your own practice with your best project ever, but every project felt significant. There’s a growth process, almost like when you’re a kid—something simple can bring immense satisfaction. But looking back five years into the practice, there are certain projects where the mindset was different. There was so much motivation, but also confusion. I think you need that state of mind, and perhaps some inexperience, to do things you wouldn’t do later. As you find your voice and gain more confidence, you start losing some of that freedom. It’s counterintuitive, but I think you can only do certain things in the first few years of practice—things that require a kind of naïveté or ingenuity. Not everything holds up over time, but some of it is worth looking back on.

DF: We were lucky that, in our early years, we had the chance to work on a wide range of projects at different scales. This helped us understand what we were truly interested in. We went from designing a staircase to working on an urban master plan, and everything in between. That diversity helped us refine our direction and identify what appealed to us most. For example, we realised we preferred smaller projects that allowed us to focus on a specific scale.

One milestone for us was the building we realised in Paradiso. It was important because it allowed us to focus on the domestic scale and explore concepts like the ‘exoskeleton’, the relationship between time and architecture, and typology. We investigated ways to reduce CO2 use—not through material choices, but by considering the grey energy over the lifespan of the building, not just for today, but over 100 years. For example, we structured the building with elements that have varying lifespans. The main structure lasts 100 years, services last 50 years, the envelope 20–30 years, and interior subdivisions last 10–15 years. Each element is designed to be easily removed or updated without affecting the others, reducing demolition to a minimum. This flexibility allows for total interior transformations, such as converting from housing to offices or student housing, with minimal impact on the building's infrastructure.

DC: The project is unique, both in terms of location and the regulations involved. But what’s also interesting is how the building can accommodate different uses and configurations. We’d like to think that the building’s expression reflects this adaptability. It's neither clearly residential nor clearly an office space—it’s something more. This kind of approach, rooted in the Italian tradition of architecture, speaks to the character of the building. The form conveys something about its use and how it fits into the city, contributing to its overall identity.

Learning from the past

DF: The theme of ‘opening’ is also reflected in a recently completed project, a boutique hotel in Lugano. The building has served as a hotel since 1920, giving it a rich history of over 100 years. Throughout this time, each owner contributed their own elements, resulting in a multi-layered structure. When we took on the commission, the building was chaotic. There was this original villa, but it had been extruded, subdivided, and altered over time. Each floor was different, with no cohesion. From the start, we decided our strategy would be to clean up. I’ve always liked Diego’s phrase: in this project, we need to focus not on how much we add, but on where to stop removing. This became the key mission for us. We started by removing elements from the 1950s and 1970s, carefully deciding when to stop. Then, we added only the minimum required—mainly for structural, technical, and configuration reasons. What we aimed to do was celebrate and crystallise the building’s 100-year history in a new way. Some people might even think it’s a completely new building from the outside, but once you step inside, you start to feel the building’s history as you move through the space. This layered experience is something unique that you can't create in a new building. At the same time, we didn’t face the strict preservation limits common in other countries where everything must stay exactly as it was. This mix of old and new, and how we crystallised the old elements into a new whole, felt like a new approach. It’s not just refurbishing or starting from scratch—it’s a process of transformation. We still haven’t found the right word for it, though.

DC: We’re still searching for the right term, and we would love more projects like this because it’s not only a milestone for the office but also a potential new direction. When you first start a practice, there’s this ambition to build as quickly as possible, to define things, and often that leads to big, personal projects that are entirely driven by you. But, funnily enough, your first jobs are often the opposite—refurbishing a bathroom or a storage room. This project completely shifted our attention. It shows how much more interesting it is to work with existing structures because, while the exterior may look like a new building, the interior still reveals its history. Along the way, we discovered things like how to retain a timber floor structure, which had to be reinforced with concrete. This created hybrid elements in the building. This is why we don’t view reuse as just an architectural agenda—it’s an adventure we’re excited about.