Design comes from thinking

Atmosphere arises from the unquantifiable elements of architecture. We make plans for everything and, of course, have the necessary know-how. However, atmosphere is a meta-level, which is created by things like light, acoustics, and smell. It also involves how the body behaves in space, and how the space invites the body to interact with it. These highly sensual experiences—sensual because we perceive the space not only through sight or touch but with all our senses—create atmosphere. There are a few things we need to talk about in this context.

The tactile quality. For example, the material must live up to its promise when touched, based on how it looked when viewed. Then, of course, light. And when I work with light, I must also work with darkness. This is actually the more important factor: the shadow. And ultimately, what matters is that the whole thing feels self-evident. The goal is sensory experience, paired with beauty and elegance. Elegance arises from self-evidence. When something makes sense and I don’t have to ask myself why I need it, then it can be elegant.

Exactly. I remember a story: A friend of mine visited a Japanese master craftsman about 40 years ago who builds bows. An old man who uses traditional tools to build them. So, my friend was at the workshop with the bowmaker, and later drove with him in the car. The Japanese master had a GPS in his car—this old master was also using the latest technological advances with a certain sense of self-evidence. And that's what it’s about: applying new things where it makes sense. You can’t say, “They did it that way in the past, so we should do it that way too.” You have to figure out what the advantage was, why it was done that way. Then, you have to see whether you can develop that advantage or add other advantages.

I believe we, as humans, need the real thing. If something can only be made of plastic, then I’m glad that it’s plastic and looks like plastic. But I don’t want something real—like a wooden floor—to be replaced by cheap materials. That’s a big problem in society—the replacement of quality with cheaper alternatives. Most ideas in our society start off great. And then, over time, they are mass-produced cheaper by clever managers. And that’s how we go from the Orient Express to the Railjet restaurant car. That’s why it’s important when doing craftsmanship and having such a rich history, like Josef Göbel does, to preserve things and see how they were made. To go back to the roots because it benefits us. We need the real thing. We need beauty. Even though everyone defines beauty differently, we still need it; we need that experience, otherwise, we constantly dull our senses.

Ah yes, "The Dancers in the Street." That’s how it’s often perceived, and that’s how it’s often practiced. Many architects escape into urban planning. They want to work on only the big projects. That’s what happens when buildings are placed on streets. The streets of Dubai are exactly that: placing containers, statues. Add a twist or another rotating element. We are interested in developing the building from the inside out. The outer form is the last thing. It emerges from what happens inside. Right now, we unfortunately have this problem where we have incredible facades, but inside, the spaces are often banal. The exciting part is in the facade. It’s a bit like when I buy a new outfit and think that makes me a great person.

And ones where you feel understood. That’s what really matters, to ensure that people enjoy being inside. The architecture and interior design must be tailored to the people.

You can feel a lot of Wiener Workshop influence. You can feel the craftsmanship—what is increasingly being lost. That was really the beauty for us, to implement this with Josef Göbel. We knew that if we worked with local companies, we couldn’t execute it as we wanted. We convinced the client primarily with the quality of the execution and the fact that you can see the quality. The project celebrates the Austrian approach to architecture through craftsmanship. Of course, it was also important that everything "plays together." We designed how things open, how they can be moved. We even designed the door handles ourselves and integrated horizontal joints into the bathrooms, where we could hang elements we designed ourselves—exactly where they’re needed.

You have to take the next step. In the case of the bar, for example, we knew we needed lighting. If we want the most beautiful light, the lights need to be fabric-covered. Then, the question is: which fabric? And there are different directions you can go in. If you design them out of Romy Schneider’s nightgown, it might be too personal. Design comes from thinking. You have to take one step after another. Think it through. And then you can find what really fits.

One of my heroines is Vivienne Westwood, and she also said: “Things are no longer thought through to the end.” And this is true in fashion as well. It’s taken away from the creator before it’s even finished because money has to be made. Right now, we also have the problem of having to work with such short attention spans. There are studies about this: 2 seconds is all you get, for example, in advertising. That’s why I believe that when you experience something physically—like being in a room—you can still achieve more. A room, fortunately, is consumed in a completely different way. That’s why it has to be thought through to the end.