Interview with Valentin Bearthem

In previous years, your colleague Andrea Deplazes has lectured twice in Prague. This is your first lecture in the Czech Republic. Have you visited our country before, and if so, did any building catch your attention?

I am in Prague for the first time now. And it's about time, I must say. I would definitely like to see the works of architect Jože Plečnik; so far, I've only taken a short walk around the landmarks. It would be nice to visit the city without the crowds of tourists, but even so, Prague is incredibly beautifully situated geographically. It shows what architecture can do – that people come not only for good food and drink but also for architecture; it moves people. Although it's already historical, it still feels current.

The first two monographs were edited by Hungarian native Ákos Moravánszky, who later published a book about Adolf Loos. Does the work of this monarchist architect with roots in the Czech Republic appeal to you?

I have been fascinated by Adolf Loos from an early age, during my studies. His work is a celebration of rationality, precision, and versatility. He is undoubtedly a very important figure for me. He dedicates great care to interior design, as the theme of the interior is completely central and essential for architecture. I believe that architecture begins with housing. The first thing we care about is having a roof over our heads. Housing combines intimacy (private spaces, uniqueness) and collective values.

For a long time, you were a professor at a private school of architecture in Mendrisio, which maintains a somewhat mysterious aura. Could you describe this academy a bit? What do you consider its foundational stones in architectural education?

I teach with an excellent team, I have four assistants. The students form a group of thirty people. I try to spark curiosity in my students during teaching. Our goal is not to discuss one area of design after another, to fragment, but rather to mix, connect, and look for relationships. We discuss the same themes at the small scale of an apartment, then seek answers at the large scale of the entire city. Our teaching is heavily based on sketching and working with models. Recently, I have been teaching a two-semester course that discusses the relationship between humans and nature. The first semester focuses on a small basic shelter, a house, Italian rifugio (a small house in the mountains, by the coast, in a park), where we explore various aspects of living, how the different parts of the apartment function, with reference to the relationship with nature.
In the second semester, we are in the city. I spend a few days with students in the historical centers of European metropolises – Venice, Hamburg, Barcelona, Lisbon, Copenhagen… We observe and study these cities. We try to complement historical cities. In this course, it's not about learning how to draw a house, but understanding the essence of architecture.

Is sustainability important to you when designing buildings? How do you approach it?

Sustainability is a big word today; it is often discussed. I am very cautious with it. I believe that good houses are inherently sustainable; just look at the historical houses in Prague. On the other hand, the Monte Rosa project shows how one can build energy-efficiently in challenging conditions with regard to nature.
The word sustainability is just one of many requirements that buildings must fulfill for me. Architecture is a complex work.

At ETH Zurich, you graduated under Professor Dolf Schnebli, a prominent figure who had a significant impact on generations of Swiss architects during his quarter-century at ETH. Unfortunately, he is not very well known here. Do you have any memories of him that you still cherish today?

Dolf Schnebli was a very important figure for me. Shortly before his death, he even visited me in the school studio to see the students. Then he wrote me a letter, which I have saved at home, congratulating me on the wonderful course. He concluded by saying that I could still improve this and that. And that was precisely Dolf Schnebli. He was very important for our generation – he taught architecture at ETH in the 1960s with a wide range, showing connections with sociology, ecology, transportation planning… Schnebli brought important architects to Zurich – for example, Aldo Rossi.
From Dolf, I learned that architecture is passion. I came as a beginner student from Chur to Zurich, looking forward to studying in a big city. However, at that time, ETH was moving from the city center to a new campus on the outskirts of the city, which was a disappointment for me. So, I enrolled in Dolf Schnebli's studio, which was one of the last to resist and remain teaching in the center of the city. He claimed, and I agree with him, that future architects cannot be educated somewhere on the periphery; they must perceive the city surrounding them and learn to understand it.

Subsequently, you collaborated with Peter Zumthor, who, on the other hand, does not need much introduction. Nevertheless, could you mention a strong experience you took away after four years with Zumthor?

I met Peter when I graduated under Dolf Schnebli. I chose a so-called free diploma, which meant that I chose a co-examiner who would essentially defend me during my defense. Through my acquaintances, I then met a long-haired man who lived in Haldenstein; I asked him if he would like to be my co-examiner. He immediately agreed. That was Peter Zumthor.
I started working for Peter Zumthor right after graduating from ETH. At that time, we were a small team of four: one student, an engineer, myself, and Peter. I still remember the first days in the studio; it was winter. We first had to heat up in the morning; we worked in a small wooden house. And by ten, we were in a restaurant because it was too cold in the studio to work.
I learned from him how important it is to be stubborn and at the same time have an overview, to keep track of what is happening in the world and to be interested in where everything is heading. The second experience he imparted was that if you want to do something, it will be possible. In the sense that if I need a window, I cannot just choose it from catalogs; I have to design it. To determine what profile it should have, where the lock will be placed. We thought all this through, which for me as a fresh graduate with almost no practice, who had just left the gates of university, was completely new.
I digress a bit. My father's cousin was a pastor. When he informed me that there was a competition for a new chapel in nearby Sumvitg, Peter and I decided to participate as well. At four in the morning, when we were already dozing off over the competition plans, Peter was still full of energy, and I stayed up the latest with him. At that time, I told him that if we win this competition, I would get married in this chapel of Saint Benedict.
The chapel had an elliptical shape during the competition, later evolving into a drop shape that we had to construct. An engineering colleague then stated that since the chapel had such a beautiful shape, it would certainly be mathematically describable. He was silent for two or three days and then came back: it’s a lemniscate! When we described the chapel to the investors, the Benedictine order exclaimed, that is amazing – lemniscate, the symbol of infinity, that is the sign of Christianity.
I then lived with several roommates from various fields, including a gallery owner, a musician… and I described to them how the shape of the chapel was evolving. One of them, a musician, got up and brought a thick book about the mandolin. We thought that there must also be excellent acoustics if the chapel has such a beautiful form. I got engaged with my current wife on a trip to South America, where we agreed to get married in the chapel of Saint Benedict. We were the first to get married there. The strong experience was emphasized by beautiful music. The chapel of Saint Benedict is a story of architecture that accompanies people.
Projects in Peter Zumthor's studio last about ten years. A project must be worked on precisely; the ideas need to mature. Good things mature like wine.

Since the end of the 1980s, for almost three decades now, you have run a joint office with Andrea Deplazes. What is the recipe for your successful collaboration?

That must be answered by someone else; we don't even know ourselves! I must point out that from the beginning, we have been three, along with Daniel Ladner. And it is precisely important that we are three. Each of us is completely different, but we respect each other.
One moves from one project to another; it's a continuous and dynamic process. At the beginning of our collaboration, we felt that architects worked madly day and night. But we established a principle that we would not work on weekends. We realized that one cannot dedicate time only to work. One must also perceive what happens around, have a view, and rest with family. Quite early on, both Andrea Deplazes and I started teaching as well. The university and the contact with students expand the horizon, which one has quite narrowed in practice. Daniel Ladner acts as an important, calming link that leads the studio in Chur.

From small family houses, your work has shifted over the last ten years towards the realization of large public buildings. Has there also been a shift in your thinking about architecture, or is there a theme that interests you in the long term regardless of scale or assignment?

The theme of light is becoming increasingly important to me. Last fall, I was in northern India with fellow architect Markus Breitschmid. We visited the Taj Mahal and other temples. I was completely amazed by what architecture can do. How it works with light, connecting humans to the universe. Architecture is the embodiment of light.
And I am also interested in designing public buildings that many people use, regardless of who designed them. They are like stages for life. Ten years ago, we decided in the studio that we would no longer design family houses and would focus solely on public buildings. Even so, we worked on several family houses; the investors were amazing, and it was impossible to refuse them.

Your office is located in the thirty-thousand-strong Chur, which is the capital of the canton of Graubünden, where, for comparison, as many inhabitants live as one-tenth of Prague. However, the standard of building culture and engineering here remains at the highest level. Can you describe this phenomenon, and is there something to learn from it?

I can't give tips! For me, the geographical location of Graubünden plays an important role. This Swiss canton lies in the midst of the Alps at the junction of major European cities; in the past, all major cultures passed through here, leaving their mark. You can see this in the languages we use, in the churches built here during that time. On the other hand, we are experiencing a certain isolation. We live in narrow valleys surrounded by high mountains. One must know how to survive in the mountains, so the theme of man and nature is important to me. And then there is the desire to escape, to go into the world… and return. A beautiful metaphor is the story of Swiss pastry chefs from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – pastry chefs from Graubünden who had to go out into the world because they lacked raw materials here. They traveled the entire continent – Venice, Naples, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Stockholm… It is fascinating to look at a map and find out where they have been. Those Bündners (inhabitants of Graubünden) seem to know almost the whole world!
In Switzerland, there are three options for studying architecture – in Zurich, Lausanne, and newly also at the Academy in Mendrisio, where I teach. And I was in a generation that was, in a certain sense, “satiated,” having enough orders. Our generation was active, and we managed to change the rules of architectural competitions – we turned the established rule that competitions must be attended by five experienced and one young architect upside down. We introduced the rule of participation of one experienced and five young architects. This way, the younger generation could gain access to large projects.
At that time, we organized lectures with Peter Zumthor, inviting both the young and older generations. We reached out to journalists who wrote about architecture, found photographers who photographed it; architecture thus entered the public consciousness, and newspapers wrote about architecture like it was a sport. However, we were not alone; we already had a foundation to build on.
As part of the approval process for issuing building permits, it is therefore a matter of course in Switzerland that the investor of a given project must outline the edges of the building so that its volume is clear. Sometimes they are also asked to prepare 1:1 facades to clarify the relationships to the surrounding buildings.

The previous two lectures by Andrea Deplazes in Prague were titled “Mistake as a prerequisite for design” and “Experience and intuition,” which highlight two words that architects often do not mention.

Things evolve based on discord, where something doesn't work, and one has to solve it. To design is Italian progettare – one has a goal in mind, an ideal vision, and tries to get closer to it. Every problem pushes us further.
The work of an architect is a holistic activity; it is complex work on multiple levels at once. We must instinctively and spontaneously decide which direction to take. Architecture is an imprecise science; we are entirely different from engineers, geographers, chemists, who work with precise numbers. But even so, we must make decisions based on something. In design, important concepts include experimentation, curiosity, and openness. And that brings us closer to the core of the problem. The intuition that guides us is alternated by curiosity, where we ask questions and seek answers and arguments.
Ultimately, the design must work. And that brings us back to rationality, and we are again with Adolf Loos. It is the same with other arts, but architecture is unique in that it is applied. I must work during the process with many people, whom, like in a concert, I have to direct and harmonize. The result must be precise; it must work. I go back to nature: one does not have so many resources that one can afford to replicate their work. Resources are not infinite; we must work as precisely as possible.

Thank you for your time and answers.