Interview with Vasa J. Perović

The invitation to your lecture in Prague was enticing with the visualizations you plan to build in Austria or Belgium. However, I would like to return to Slovenia at the beginning to one of your first realizations, which was the residence of the Dutch ambassador in Ljubljana. How defining was the victory in this competition?
Since I come from Serbia, returning from the Netherlands to Slovenia at that time was not a true return for me, but rather a move to Slovenia for the realization of the primary school in Kočevje (1995-2002), which we won while still living in Amsterdam.
Just briefly about the lecture in Prague two weeks ago, which I had to update and present upcoming projects. I lectured in Prague last year and did not want to repeat myself. Therefore, I decided to point out a problem in our profession that we do not often realize or do not want to acknowledge, which is how much the role of the architect has changed in the process of building over the last two decades. Today, architects are held to high demands, but we also have far less knowledge than is required to practice our profession. The time of the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, when the architect emerged from the position of the great creator speaking into the conception of the entire spatial scheme, no longer applies; rather, the architect is just one small cog in a complex process. And if we want to assume that architects will continue to control this process, we will have to reassess our position and find new ways to communicate.
That was a brief summary of my last lecture in Prague, but the question was more directed towards my beginnings, and our first private house was indeed for the Dutch ambassador (2002-03). It was an interesting program set by the Dutch government to use architecture for cultural messaging. Part of this project also included the Dutch embassy in Berlin (Rem Koolhaas, 1997-2003), Maputo (Claus en Kaan, 1999-2004), and Addis Ababa (Bjarne Mastenbroek, 1998-2005). Slovenia is a much smaller country, which corresponded to the building program, but it was still a very important project for our emerging studio. The design then defined a theme that we have been profiling and engaging with for a long time. Just for perspective, at that time in Slovenia, it was not customary to use wood in family homes. In the 20th century, modern architects were reluctant to use this material and the craftsmanship was forgotten. Today's architects are once again fond of using wood, but back then we were the first in Slovenia, even if it was just façade cladding.

You mentioned that it was a program of the Dutch government. Did the Slovenian side implement something similar? I mean support for architecture and openness, as it is a small country that must be able to react dynamically in order to compete.
I came to Slovenia as a foreigner, but as a member of the former Yugoslavia, I could feel just as comfortable here as in Belgrade since I had several friends here. From the perspective of openness, I would not see Slovenia so great. Perhaps it is more open to some countries than to others. Now, even the Czech Republic seems to me more open and reminds me of Slovenia twenty years ago. Nowadays, no one in Slovenia asks whether you are a foreigner; they are more interested in what kind of architect you are. Our office is made up of sixty percent foreigners, but in terms of how many people have their own practice, there are not as many foreign architects in Slovenia as in the Czech Republic.

The fame of the post-communist architectural scene abroad was secured by the six:pack exhibition, curated by Andrej Hrausky from the Dessa Gallery. How was this event groundbreaking for you?
We are talking about the late 90s when none of us could have anticipated the eventual success. There were several groups of architects competing against each other. We were not even great friends. Our views on architecture were completely different. What united us as six:pack was that we were approximately from the same generation and emerged on the architectural scene at the same time. We all also had experience from foreign schools. Some from AA, UCLA, Harvard, and I studied at the Berlage Institute. It was meant to be an occasional project that one of our friends working at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs came up with. He was responsible for cultural programs, which managed to include architecture. Until then, Slovenia had presented itself globally with pop-art paintings. Slovenia was a young state, and architecture seemed to be a very effective and spontaneous way to communicate externally. We simply took advantage of the opportunity presented to us and created the traveling exhibition six:pack, whose success surprised us. The ministry dedicated a lot of effort to it for its presentation abroad.
However, we did not rely solely on the government and seized every opportunity to present our work abroad, which led to further invitations to various schools and institutions in Helsinki, Buenos Aires, or New York. Over time, people began to take more interest in this small country. However, I do not delude myself that today in America they can distinguish Slovenia from Slovakia.
Alongside six:pack, another interesting project emerged later, when we were invited by Mohsen Mostafavi, the former director of London’s AA, who meanwhile became the dean at Harvard University, where he invited us to lecture and organized an exhibition. We realized that sometimes we need to unite, even if we compete professionally at other times. Thus, a platform arose that far exceeded the framework of the exhibition and helped improve the overall image of Slovenian architecture. However, international success did not come from nowhere. Through a series of fortunate circumstances, Slovenia could historically draw from such masters as Ravnikar or Plečnik. What also united us in six:pack was a sense of belonging to the Slovenian tradition and the need for its continual innovation.
So far, I have not noticed that representatives of the current generation in the Czech Republic refer to local historical figures in their works. Today’s creators prefer to reference themselves.

Although your studio is based in Ljubljana, you studied in Belgrade and also completed postgraduate studies at the Berlage Institute during the time of the first dean and founder Herman Hertzberger. How was this school beneficial for your further career?
If I remember correctly, I started at Berlage in 1991, but I met Herman Hertzberger in 1988 in Split, Croatia, where he organized a workshop 'Indesem' and was preparing to open a new school. It was Hertzberger's promotional tour for the future educational platform. He invited, for example, Renzo Piano or Aldo van Eyck to Split. When I then completed my diploma in Belgrade two years later, I immediately applied to Hertzberger's school. It was a bit of a step into uncertainty, but looking back, I could not have made a better decision. In the context of that time, it was the best school of architecture in Europe. As students, we had disputes over how the school was run, but after years I must acknowledge that Herman had a very open mind. The school was not built on the basis of one doctrine, but as a platform where everyone could express their opinion. On the same academic ground could work, for example, Neave Brown, Juhani Pallasmaa, Kenneth Frampton, Rem Koolhaas, or Zaha Hadid, who are personalities representing completely opposite positions. With other deans, this spirit has disappeared, and the school has tried to profile itself or compare. An architecture school should be understood as a project, and in my view, the best schools are those where the school holds a higher priority for the dean than his private practice. Alvin Boyarsky, who established AA in the 70s and 80s, was such a dean, and in the 90s, Herman Hertzberger, who founded the Berlage Institute. He spent an enormous amount of time there, but he never taught, only occasionally commented and primarily led the school. Berlage was the only school in Europe that offered only two subjects: those were architectural studio and theory. It was by no means insignificant. Studio assignments were concentrated into short intense periods. We all had to change our way of thinking, which resembled real practice more. Before that, I had experiences from a technical university, where we created one or two projects a year, and here, in the same period, we created sixteen projects. I had to completely reassess my way of thinking about a project, which on one hand was very stressful, but on the other hand liberating. It was not a master school of Herman's thinking, but an open platform. During my stay at Berlage, there were only twelve students in the year, who resided in the Eyck Orphanage. We lived like one family or twelve orphans from different corners of the world.

Then the school moved to various Dutch cities and finally settled at TU Delft.
With later success, the school grew and became increasingly commercial. The relocation to Delft helped in better embedding into the educational system. In the Netherlands, left-leaning experiments in teaching without a solid structure became unacceptable. Another advantage of the merger was the support with financing operating costs, as there is generally a lack of money for culture and education in Europe. The standalone Berlage was an excellent school, but with such a small number, it was an unfinanceable project.

Currently, you are a visiting professor at the Faculty of Architecture at CTU in Prague. You also have extensive teaching experience in Bochum, Ljubljana, and Navarre. Do students in these countries differ significantly? Do you differentiate your teaching style? Or is there something main that you try to pass on to architecture students regardless of the country or culture?
Of course, there will always be cultural differences. Europe is not so unified that students are the same across Europe. Similarly, each university differs in its teaching methods. However, I have never penetrated fully into the academic structure to evaluate because I have always been invited as a visiting professor for a short period. My methods remain the same and only slightly adapt to the conditions of the given school. Students are lazy all over Europe. It is necessary to set mutual discussions and spark their interest. I have the longest experience with the university in Ljubljana, where I lead second and third-year students, and since we know each other and spend more time together, I can afford to be more “authoritarian.”

You have dozens of realizations behind you. Do you ever go back to look at some of your older buildings?
Only when we remain friends with clients after completion. Two weeks ago, a teacher from Belgrade visited me, and we went to see two buildings. Some are doing better than others. In general, however, it can be said that the vast majority of our housing projects turned out well.

In the case of the residential project Pojle in eastern Ljubljana, it is evident that clients are satisfied with you and turn to you for more commissions. Over the course of a decade, you built a vast residential complex with hundreds of apartments in three phases.
Here, too, we had to compete, and in all three phases, we won. It was never a direct commission. The principle of competition, so characteristic of construction in Slovenia, was central to our entire architectural generation. It was the only way we could get work. Try to imagine young architects starting out without any previous experience. Open competitions are lacking in the Czech Republic. They could be occurring in many more cases, as your country is many times larger and therefore has more opportunities to compete for kindergartens or primary schools. This competitive model of distributing public contracts under favorable conditions leads to improvement in architectural standards. When we opened the office back then, my partner Matija Bevk was still a student, and although we built nothing, we succeeded in a rather large competition and subsequently realized it. The same was true in Pojle, where the client was satisfied, but with each phase, we had to prove our qualities. Family homes usually are not competed for, but in our portfolio, you will find very few projects that we did not win in a competition.

Slovenia is about the same size as Vienna. The market of enlightened clients must have quickly saturated, and you had to start looking for commissions abroad. What led you to this successful expansion onto the European scene?
The primary reason was that we started teaching at various schools abroad with Matija Bevk and found it interesting to try working in these different environments. We wanted to see if it would be easier in some ways, but that is not the case. In foreign conditions, we obviously know far less about how the local environment functions. We started operating abroad even before the onset of the economic crisis that strongly affected Slovenia. It turned out to be beneficial for us that we had some work abroad. Projects in Austria or Belgium helped us survive the crisis.

Your office's work has an international character, which is also evidenced by the list of competitive successes throughout Europe. Can this minimalist language be applied anywhere in the world?
I do not believe that our projects are more easily acceptable. We have a certain approach; we know how to proceed, but every project differs based on specific conditions. Perhaps a few realizations could be classified into a certain “family.” In my opinion, it is easier to establish oneself on the international scene when we have developed our own language. People more easily recognize a Chipperfield house in Taipei, New York, or Prague, but our projects do not have this strong character.
I attribute our international success to the fact that we teach at foreign universities, have received foreign awards such as the Mies van der Rohe Award for young architects, and primarily to the fortunate period when the rest of Europe began to discover architecture from Eastern countries, and Slovenians, who never felt part of the Eastern Bloc, were among the pioneers who received attention. In this groundbreaking time, the communist system transformed almost overnight into pure capitalism. Many large design offices went bankrupt, and their places could be filled by professors with small studios. Our young generation also joined in, so we were fortunate in many ways. We were also tireless and did not give up. At a very young age, we quickly gained practical experience and built a lot. If we look at the number of projects, today we build far less than ten years ago. There are more projects across Europe, but they are fewer in number. Today’s generation has it much harder in many respects.

Despite numerous foreign projects, you remain very active in Ljubljana, where you are now completing an Islamic cultural center, which again speaks in a highly modern minimalist language and could stand in any other country. How is this building specifically received in Slovenia?
We are still very much interested in events in Slovenia, and if a large public contract is announced, we participate. We consider it a kind of obligation to offer our rich experience and express our opinion, even if we do not win. In the case of the mosque, we expected a traditional assignment and client. Slovenia is, like Bosnia, a former Yugoslav country. In Bosnia, you can find several old mosques, and there is still a strong Muslim population, which significantly shapes the image of the country. Our design for Ljubljana was in terms of openness to different cultures, as the Muslim faith is not indigenous to Slovenia and is mostly brought by Bosnians who decide to live in Slovenia. Our design, on one hand, looks back to the legacy of the Ottoman Empire, which existed in the former Yugoslavia area in the 16th century, but at the same time reaches for the present and chooses today's means that would be in harmony with the local environment. However, the local Muslim community was initially not very pleased with our winning proposal. Fortunately, they had an advisor who was a professor of Islamic architecture at Harvard University, and he convinced them that they should also strive for greater openness. Of course, all parties had to make a number of compromises and get closer to each other's views, but in the end, the project is nearing successful completion. However, I do not know if I agree with the term international appearance.

My naming does not only relate to this specific project, but I tried to seek connections in all your work that is so successful on the international scene. Your studio has not developed a characteristic language like Sadar Vuga, which is derived from Slavic ornaments. Your work can easily be classified among Swiss or German minimalists and could be more easily accepted in non-Slavic countries.
Yes, their sports hall looks more like a mosque than our mosque. Sadar with Vuga took a different path than we did and created their own architectural language, but I do not think that their or our model is more successful. To establish oneself on the international scene, it pays off to maintain contacts from the time of studies at foreign universities.

I promised myself that I would not use Plečnik's name throughout the entire interview, which you must already be allergic to after all the journalistic inquiries, but at what stage is your winning project NUK II today, which is perhaps the most significant public contract in Slovenia in the last two decades?
That was another of the competitions where we felt a duty to participate. In the international competition with famous personalities on the jury, hundreds of proposals came together, and the chance of winning was small. The current context was very constraining when you design on a familiar site. Too much knowledge can also be restrictive. Plečnik's library is rightly considered one of the most significant buildings in Slovenian history. At the end of the 1930s, it was the first time that "Slovenia" appeared in the name of a building. In addition to national awareness, it is also a masterpiece that is difficult to follow up on. It is similarly difficult to imagine completing the Eiffel Tower. We wrestled with the dilemma of how much we should relate to the historical building or go against it. To this day, we do not know if the library will be realized. We signed a contract, started drafting, and suddenly, during the economic crisis, the finances ran out. Now we are trying to revive the debate.
The whole idea is that Plečnik's library remains a national institution with all historically valuable volumes, and our facility will serve university needs. It is therefore not about an expansion, but rather about dividing the tasks that the libraries will fulfill. In this day and age, a purely library is somewhat an outdated program. Sooner or later, all information will be available in digital form; moreover, rather than storing physical volumes, the focus will be on creating a communication platform or even better, a living room for the entire university. A great asset of the Ljubljana University is its location in the city center. Conversely, a disadvantage is that it has no central building where everyone could gather, which is precisely what our project could fulfill. I believe that NUK II will eventually be built.