From margin to influence

RL: We are at a moment where many architects want to engage with landscape architecture, but in Switzerland, there are only two schools that focus on this field: HEPIA in Geneva and the Rapperswil-Jona campus of OST – University of Applied Sciences, near Zurich. Historically, these have been the two main institutions dedicated to landscape architecture and design. When we were in school, about 15 years ago, architects were on one side and landscape architects on the other. I remember our teachers always saying it was like a battle between the two. But now, times are very different. A lot of architecture schools want to focus on landscape, public spaces, and implementing their programmes. 

That’s why we had the opportunity to work at EPFL and run our own studio there, and for the next two years at HEIA Fribourg, for the Joint Master of Architecture. I think now we are at a point where landscape and architecture practices in Switzerland are beginning to meet, finding a new common ground for collaboration. For example, we completed a project in Aproz that could have been approached by architects. It involved the transformation of an existing structure—a wastewater treatment facility—which can be considered both a landscape and an architectural project. It’s becoming increasingly common to rely on interdisciplinary teams—architects, landscape architects, civil engineers, and sometimes environmental engineers. Such projects cannot be handled by architects alone; they require input from multiple areas of expertise. That said, competitions still do not always require the involvement of a landscape architect, though this is gradually changing, and you’re starting to see it more frequently. The next step is to include more landscape architects on juries, because it’s crucial to have both a landscape architect and an architect involved in the team.

AM: Something positive has happened in the past few years. For example, I think we are now coming in earlier in the process, always more and more. This is interesting because we are constantly trying to figure out how to work with architects and when is the right time to discuss the right things. Maybe 10 years ago, it was different. The idea was that landscape architects came in at the end, just to plant a few trees when everything else had already been decided, and there was no more space, no soil, no water. But now, architects are really interested in collaborating early on. This ensures that the building is placed in the best location and that there is enough open space around it. And this makes a huge difference to the project. 

That said, we are also learning how to work with architects. For example, in competitions, we don’t need to design everything before the jury, as Romain mentioned earlier. The brief often focuses on the building itself, not the surrounding area. But if we can work on the site from the start, we can ensure that the spaces around the building are carefully considered for planting and open areas. It’s not about having more time, but about spending time on the right questions at the right moment. The building itself is always about walls, and we can work with that—but for us, it’s also about thinking ahead about the surrounding space, like where walls should be or how far they can be set back, which makes the rest of the site much more interesting.

RL: We gain some say. For example, at the beginning, when analysing the site, we always go for a walk with the architect, start our discussion on-site, and try to understand the living system of the space. It’s important to have a fair discussion about the site before we talk about the building. With the new generation of architects, this is much easier. In projects where we’re transforming rather than demolishing, we have the same vision. Many young architects want to work with the existing site, even if it’s an older building. This new generation has been exposed to landscape architecture for the last 10 years in architecture schools, and landscapers are invited into these schools, so they’re aware of what’s happening in the field. For them, collaborating with landscape architects is very natural.

A collaboration in motion

RL: We studied together in Geneva at HEPIA, the Landscape Architecture School. Arnaud took a break during the second year, so when he returned for the third year, I was in the third year, too. That’s when we met: I was late one day, and all the teams had already been formed. There were two teams of two people, but only Arnaud and I stayed, so we were the only team left. That was in 2009, and the organisers of the Lausanne-Jardin competition came to our school and said, "We have this lot reserved for the school, and as an exercise, we’ll make it a competition for the first semester." We ended up winning that competition, which in many ways marked the beginning of our collaboration.

AM: After graduation, I went to work in an ecological office, focusing on natural processes and protected areas. It wasn’t really about building but more about natural processes and environmental protection. Romain went to art school in Geneva (HEAD) to do a Master’s in visual art.

RL: When I finished my master’s, Arnaud was working at Jean-Jacques Borgeaud Bureau de Paysage in Lausanne. They were looking for a landscape architect, and I joined the team. After a year, I left to become a research assistant in landscape architecture at the university. Arnaud continued his own practice and eventually opened his own office. Over the next five or six years, we collaborated on several projects, and only three years ago, in 2022, we decided to merge our practices into a single office, En-Dehors, which is now based between Lausanne and Sion.

AM: We had been collaborating for all those years, but eventually we said, “Okay, it’s easier to have a single office with one name for everything.” For us, though, it’s been like working together since 2010. We decided to formalise the practice to be more professional and fully engaged in our work.

Going public

AM: Almost all of our clients are public. That said, I think most of the projects we’ve done wouldn’t have been possible through a competition. They really require discussions with the client, and in competitions, there’s little room for dialogue. Some projects need time to be accepted—for example, transforming a wastewater treatment plant into a playground seems impossible at first glance: too strange, too wild. Competitions can be a great way to experiment and test ideas, but they’re not always the best approach.

RL: The thing is, there are a lot of architectural competitions with landscape architects, but there aren’t many competitions specifically for landscape architects. Most of the time, when we enter competitions, it’s alongside architects for an architectural program. We did win one competition just for a landscape architect— a campus for a school in the Valais region (Ecole d’agriculture du Valais à Châteauneuf). But if you look at all the competitions, I’d say less than 20% are specifically for landscape architects.

AM: Every competition comes with a brief. But the most interesting part for us is when there isn’t really a brief, or when we can reconsider it and propose something that goes beyond its limits. In a competition, you have to respond to the brief as it stands. That’s why almost all of our projects come through direct commissions from public clients, where we can work together to shape or even rethink the brief. Each project we’ve done has involved reinterpreting the initial brief or making small but meaningful shifts from what the client first imagined. That takes time on one hand, and openness from the client on the other. In competitions, by the time the brief is set, it’s usually too late—everything has already been decided, and there’s little room to change it.

Evolutions: Maintenance & fauna

RL: For us, finishing a project is really just the beginning. In landscape, you work with living systems, so when the construction is done, you’ve only created the conditions—the project truly starts afterwards. Maintenance then becomes a crucial question. Vegetation never stops growing, and maintenance not only has financial implications but also defines the final image of the project. The more we practice, the more we realise its importance. Sometimes, simply changing the type of maintenance completely transforms the appearance of a place. This is one of the main differences with architecture. 

When a building is finished, it is delivered as a complete structure—clean, new, and ready to be used. In landscape, the process is open-ended. Choosing vegetation, grasses, soil, or pavements all requires thinking ahead about how they will evolve, how they will face cold, rain, snow, or heat. But many things remain unpredictable: how public space will be used, who will come, and how often. Surprises are part of the process, and you need to accept them. For example, in our project in Aproz, we were very attached to the form and colours we designed. But after completion, the village association came with painters and covered the façade with a large mural, completely changing the image. At first, it was far from our concept, but we had to accept it—it’s a public space, and therefore belongs, first and foremost, to the community. 

Unpredictability also comes when working with other living forms, like animals. You cannot talk to birds, so you can only make assumptions. We once designed a structure for birds, but working with metal surfaces, sun exposure, and human presence around the site made it uncertain whether they would come. It was a gamble. During the tests, it failed, and even on opening day, only one bird appeared. The curator asked if we were sure birds would come, and I said, “Yes, no worries”—though I wasn’t sure at all. But eventually they did. That’s the reality of working with living systems: you prepare, you design, you anticipate, but ultimately you cannot control everything.

AM: In landscape, we can test and try things, and if they don’t work, it’s not such a big issue. Our projects also allow for much more reversibility and adaptability. In architecture, a building is often constructed for a very specific use, and while adaptability can be designed in, it’s not always the case. In our work, this flexibility is almost inherent, and that’s something we find very interesting: the possibility to adjust, to adapt, and to rethink over time.

RL: For us, this concept of flexibility also happens on the construction site. Of course, we draw plans—because we have to—but once we are on site, many things can still move. The position of trees, the placement of plants, sometimes even the path itself. If you have a good relationship with the workers, you can make a lot of these decisions together on site, often at the level of detail. This freedom is much greater than in architecture. Every time I draw a planting plan, I end up completely reworking it on site—and I love that. 

AM: Sometimes we can decide to wait—leave something unresolved—and see how it evolves. Maybe after two years, we’ll know whether to do it one way or another. This openness means we don’t have to close every decision at the moment of delivery; the project can stay alive, with room to adapt.

RL: That’s why I sometimes have this strange feeling as a landscape architect. You spend so much time on site, but when the project is “finished,” you have to leave—because there’s another project, another deadline, and often the site is far from where you live. Yet that’s exactly the moment when the project really begins. It’s a bit like having a baby and then leaving it behind—it feels strange. That’s why I think it’s so valuable when we get the chance to stay involved with a project for a long time. 

Guided by natural surroundings

AM: We’ve been working for years on a project in the town of Nendaz, involving two buildings and a very small public plot. The process has been long, including drawing and building models together with the private owners during a series of collaborative workshops. The lot is divided among nearly 50 owners, and we need all of their signatures before starting the project. At the moment, one signature is still missing. Last year, however, we decided to begin construction on the public portion, where we were allowed to build without the private owner’s approval. While designing the public furniture and the square, we were looking for stones. We often source them from a quarry in these situations, but we try to minimise the extraction of new materials whenever possible. Around the same time, a huge stone fell near the building site—part of the mountain had broken off. We requested permission from the municipality to use this stone in our project and incorporated it into the design.

RL: The process was very interesting. The stone measured about 2 metres so we could cut more than the typical 90 centimetres. We used a variety of tools, including one capable of cutting large surfaces along a line, in collaboration with Disco Beton, a company specialised in different types of stone cutting in the Valais region. We also had to carefully plan how to manage the weight of the truck and crane to transport the stone. Understanding these parameters was crucial to successfully moving it from the site.

AM: Beyond the extraordinary experience itself, it was exciting to design the benches and furniture using the possibilities offered by the stone-cutting process. It wasn’t just about drawing furniture—it was about shaping the design through the act of cutting the stone. We always put a lot of energy into the furniture and details that shape a landscape project. But in this case, we were happy not to focus on that and simply work with the stone—turning a rock that had fallen from the mountain into an integral part of the project. It’s a perfect example of what we mean by flexibility.

RL: Like Arnaud said, we’ve been thinking about this project for eight years. We had workshops with the owners four years ago, and it felt like a good momentum to move forward, to make something out of this materiality that came to us. It’s a strong example of how we respond to the context—being flexible, open to change, and ready to adapt as circumstances evolve.

Different, not easier

RL: We try to choose interesting projects every time, but it’s not always easy because we have a work ethic to uphold and need to pay our team regularly. There are many expenses—rent, computers, and everything else—but we want to remain passionate about our work and select projects carefully. 

Nowadays, it’s easy to say yes to every opportunity in landscape architecture because, as we mentioned, interest in the field is growing. For example, many promoters reach out to us, but we try to choose projects that truly interest us. It’s tempting, of course. Currently, our team consists of six people. I think it’s a good size: two associates, two permanent staff, and two or three interns. This allows us to work in two groups within the office and stay compact.

AM: The size works well because both Romain and I remain directly involved in the projects. We don’t just assign tasks and review them later—we spend time drawing and actively working on each project.

RL: We also have regular reviews. Every three or four weeks, we gather around the table and share all the projects. Everyone gives feedback on every project. It’s an important moment for us, because it’s not just about one person’s work—it’s about sharing ideas. And, it’s worth mentioning, we’re the only landscape architects in the office. The rest are architects, urbanists, and students. But even though we don’t have a landscape architect employed, everyone is working on landscape architecture projects. Landscape architecture is a broad field, and there’s always more to discuss about what this field actually is.

AM: The two main schools, ETH in Zurich and EPFL in Lausanne, have been pushing the field forwards in the last 10 years. Even in Zurich, there are now landscape architects heading some landscape architecture chairs. It’s a good moment for the field, and these schools are playing an important role in that.