Evolving models of reference

AS: The growth of small architectural practices in Switzerland seems tied to broader economic and social conditions. It’s quite simple—there’s strong economic growth and a rapidly increasing population, which creates both the need and the resources to build. Good schools also attract many people interested in architecture, so the rise in the number of architects feels natural. But why are so many of these practices small and emerging? I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps it’s because competition is high and pay isn’t great, creating a “dumping” effect. Working as an employee can feel unfulfilling: you study architecture in an inspiring way, believing you’ll realise certain ideals, but in practice, opportunities can feel limited and salaries may not match the cost of living. That gap might push many to start their own offices, as a way to pursue their own vision and live their ideals.

RC: I think it’s also part of the lifestyle today—people want to do their own thing, and here in Switzerland, it’s very easy to make that happen. The title of “architect” isn’t protected in the same way as in other countries. In some parts of Europe, you have to pass certain tests or gain years of experience before you can open your own business. Here, it’s very easy—anyone can kind of do it.

AS: Another possible reason is that young architects today aren’t looking at the same references we did a few years ago. Back then, there were these “author architects” we studied under, where having your own style and identity was everything. Early in your career, you might have wanted to work for someone like that. But today, things have shifted. Architecture is more collaborative—you do it together. Being “the author” is less important, though you still want your own input: asking, "What is good architecture?”.

BZ: For us, during our studies, we never thought, “I want to open my own practice.” Our professors always talked about the big offices—Herzog & de Meuron and others—and they would say, “Maybe one or two of you in this entire lecture hall will become really famous.” It was often about fame, less about small offices doing solid work. Today, of course, all these small practices exist, and none of them are “famous.” So none of us thought, “I’m going to be that famous one,” and we certainly didn’t imagine opening our own office right after school. It always seemed too difficult, at least from what we were told. Then, after starting to work in offices and gaining experience, you begin to think, “Maybe I could try this too.” That’s basically how it happened.

AS: This shift in reference models actually began during the later part of our studies, moving in the direction we’re now working in. I remember the big “star” architects—the famous names—but they weren’t always presented positively, especially in theoretical classes. Many professors emphasised the importance of local architecture and responding to the specific context. From early on, we were encouraged to value not only “star architecture,” but also city-scale, community-oriented, and locally rooted approaches.

A gradual beginning

AS: We know each other from university. We were first just friends, getting through our studies, but then we realised we had common interests—we went to the same professors, shared similar ideas. The practice didn’t really start with a big, formal decision like, “Now we’re starting our own office.” It was more gradual. We started with a competition just to see if we could work together again, to see if we could find that same passion we had during school. It felt more like a hobby at first. Then we got a prize in an open competition, and that gave us a reason to continue. But it wasn’t a planned or strategic decision from the beginning.

BZ:  I had just left an office and wanted to try something different—Alexia felt the same. Romana was still working, but in that in-between time, we decided to try an open competition. It was for a kindergarten and a Tagesstruktur (daily program). We worked on it—Romana joined in evenings and weekends—and submitted it. Afterward, we all went back to looking for jobs. Then we found out we had won third prize. We hadn’t planned to do another competition, but that result made us think: “Maybe we should keep going.”

RC: Honestly, the whole story of the office has been more like a series of lucky coincidences. It’s not like we won a huge competition and had no choice but to start. It was a slow, steady progression. A key moment came about a year later, when we won the Foundation Award—an award for very young offices. To apply, we had to describe our approach to architecture, and doing that helped us clarify what we truly cared about. Winning gave us visibility—we were invited to exhibitions, lectures, and even other competitions. That moment helped define our direction more than we expected. Until then, we were always combining side projects with jobs—working in offices or universities. It wasn’t until 2020 that the office became fully official. And that’s the short story of how Studio Barrus began.

A double-edged sword

BZ: Competitions are central to our practice. For example, last year we entered about ten competitions and won a first and a second prize. But there are years when we can only do three or four. As for typology, we are not that rigid, but we’re often interested in schools and kindergartens because they are open projects—easier to enter and a theme we are particularly drawn to, along with housing or elderly housing. After entering so many school competitions, I think we have developed a certain drive—we know what’s important, and we’re a bit faster than with other typologies. We’ve done a lot of second prizes. For housing, we see that there are offices that focus exclusively on it, and it’s really hard to compete with them.

AS: The competition is really high. On one side, you have larger offices that bring many people and lots of experience to competitions. On the other, you have fresh graduates who put in a tremendous amount of energy, day and night, with new ideas. So the level of competition is intense on every side.

RC: In these years, we learned you have to have enough time for a competition, or else you don’t stand a chance. You can deliver an okay project, but you won’t win. Finding time is a daily struggle because ongoing projects press on you—you have to deliver plans, manage construction sites, and you can’t just delay. In the beginning, we were very committed to competitions; all of us had side jobs to finance the office. Now we have to finance ourselves and our co-workers, so it’s different and challenging.

BZ: Even if it’s hard, competitions are the main and most logical way for us to get projects right now. Private clients are rare, and competitions always have important societal themes. That’s what interests us more than doing single-family houses—more social issues.

RC: One of our recent competition projects is a wooden roof extension, added onto a stone building with plastered walls and small openings. The key feature of the floor plan is that it sits entirely under the roof: a central hallway, lit from above by a skylight, connects all the rooms. This space is highly flexible—it can serve as an atelier, living area, guest room, or more. That kind of adaptability is something we’re very interested in, since it’s not limited to the needs of a typical family or couple.

BZ: The buildings already have each eight flats, and the extension adds two more per building—a smaller two-room flat and a larger four-room flat. The design was also shaped by the noisy street: sleeping areas couldn’t face it. We organised the entire floor plan around the kitchen, which needed to be closed off for acoustic reasons, yet remains visually open through glass doors. Because the kitchen is enclosed, the central space can function independently, adding flexibility. Our goal was to create a distinctive living experience tied to the roof itself—different from the pitched roof below. The skylight enhances this sense of place, bringing a unique atmosphere to the space.

Founding principles

RC: There are a few principles that define our practice, and the Foundation Award (Förderpreis für junge Baukultur), which we received in 2019, marked an important turning point, allowing us to pause and ask ourselves essential questions that shaped our discourse: What do we want to pursue in architecture? What do we want to approach differently? How do we wish to position ourselves?

BZ: Before that, we never really took the time to define these aspects. And that reflection really shaped our practice and it’s still important to us today. One of the main principles we defined was placing the human being at the centre of design. That was also the moment we chose the name Studio Barrus, which means elephant’ in Latin.

RC: We didn’t want to use our last names: Studio Barrus reflects collaboration and the idea that even a very good co-worker can bring in ideas that shape a project. The elephant became a metaphor: a strong, joyful, powerful presence—like the user or the human in a space. Architecture should always consider this presence.

AS: The presence of the user is something you can’t ignore. But it’s not just about function. It’s about emotion—how we live and how we feel. We want to create architecture that gives people a certain feeling, even if it’s not a specific or singular emotion. People should be able to appropriate the space in their own way, but it should still feel strong.

BZ: Another important idea for us is that restriction enables richness. In each project, we look for a guiding thread that shapes and directs the design. When you stick to that narrative, you can draw inspiration from anywhere—art, engineering, other disciplines—and always return to the core idea. We try to define that red line at the beginning of every project. It’s what holds everything together.

AS: Our working process is quite free—everything is allowed. We use sketches, models, 3D renderings … The narrative, however, ties it all together. This also reflects our flexible approach: we don’t have a rigid style. On the contrary, we enjoy exploring, and even though the form may change, we always return to the essence of an idea.

BZ: A major source of inspiration for us is always the place itself. Every project begins with a context—sometimes an existing building, sometimes just an empty site. That context gives us the first sense of direction or idea. We often work with existing structures, and we are particularly interested in how to introduce something new while still respecting what is already there.

AS: Our approach is sensitive to the context, but it’s also about creating something new—It is not about merely repeating what’s there, but opening things up. We used the phrase “a happy era” to convey an optimistic vision for the future of a place. 

RC: At the same time, we enjoy working with contrasts—not just harmony. The old and the new, the heavy and the light—these juxtapositions can create tension, interest, or clarity.

AS: We first developed these principles for the Foundation Award, but we keep returning to them. Whenever we are invited to a conference, exhibition, or interview, we take the time to revisit and refresh them—always grounded in the same core values.

From principles to action

BZ: Our first competition was the kindergarten in Huttwil, where we received third prize. The jury appreciated our approach to the site, positioning the building to create a new, smaller space that extended the existing schoolyard and generated a sequence of connected spaces. 

RC: A key focus for us was the entrance—from below—so we designed an open tower that unified the building. The jury described our tower typology as “too poetic”, which is funny because such open towers weren’t common at the time. Now they’re everywhere. 

BZ: Competitions are very important to us, and we’ve won three so far. One earlier win was a two-apartment extension—a red house in Binz, near our former office. It was a small competition requiring a cost proposal alongside the design, completed in 2024. The most recent, for the same client, is now in the planning stage.

AS: The one that is now completed is called Uetlibergstrasse, named after the street. During the competition, we referred to it as Déjeuner sur l’herbe. It is an old Zurich building, typical for the area, featuring a closed stone structure with plastered facades and large windows. A central staircase with windows serves one flat on each side across four floors. 

The extension consists of two small wooden towers placed around the staircase, allowing natural light to enter. These towers have a free, polygonal form and are carefully tucked under the dormers, which are important for the roofline. The original house is symmetrical, but the towers aren’t—they face the same direction but break that symmetry. The material is wood and glass. It contrasts with the existing building but still blends with it. It gives the house a new face, opening it up both inside and out. 

RC: Our proposal was the only one that didn’t block the staircase with an extension, which the client greatly appreciated. While some others proposed just one tower, our idea—constructing two towers—respected the existing structure without losing the original character of the building. This reflects one of our main principles: creating something new that doesn’t merely contrast old and new, but merges into a cohesive and fresh whole.

BZ: The client builds for people who cannot afford high rents, so flexible floor plans were essential—spaces that could work for families or student groups. Rooms needed to be neutral in use, functioning as a living room, dining area, or office. The existing layout already supported this, with a corridor connecting all rooms, which we preserved. We moved the kitchen next to the staircase to connect with the new space, which could now serve as a dining or living area, while the former kitchen corner became more suitable for sleeping or office use. With the towers, each flat gained an extra room, turning three-room units into four-room ones. The extension is mostly glass, framed by thin timber, allowing light to enter these deeper spaces. The floor visually extends into the garden, blurring the boundaries between inside and outside—it’s often unclear whether you are on a balcony or inside the flat.

AS: The client wanted to expand the flats because Zurich is full—space is scarce, and this is one of the main issues nowadays. They had a little room to build, so by adding just one more bedroom per unit, they could house one or two more people per flat, which made it worth it.

BZ: Also, more square meters allowed them to keep the rent low. Their model requires that the number of rooms minus one equals the number of tenants—so a four-room flat must house three people. That’s how they control affordability.

AS: Another important principle that applies to this project is balancing hard facts—economics, structure, and sustainability—with something poetic. We aim to include an atmospheric quality, exploring what architecture can achieve beyond mere function. In this project, the word that emerged after construction was transparency. Not just in terms of glass, but in the ability to perceive multiple spaces at once and reinterpret what a space can be. You are in an old, protected flat, then step into the open garden room—you feel the openness while still glimpsing the old building. You can also see the new elements through the garden. This layering of views allows introverted and extroverted spaces to merge seamlessly.

RC: The shutters also help shape this relationship. You can change and move them, creating different perceptions. That multiplicity of space—how it feels and shifts—is inherent to our design method.