Creating space: A conversation with NYC architects MABU

How do you see this consciousness translate into the way we conceive of and design the skeleton of a space?

(M) – We see our architecture and interior design as a spatial practice. While it is commonly understood that design involves the design of physical things, we feel that a fundamental component of a well-designed environment is the quality of the space itself.  We believe that this hidden “DNA” is a kind of underlying armature of our everyday experiences.  So, much of what we do is to help visualize, and give value to, this aspect of a project by shifting focus from an object-oriented perception to a spatial one.

(L)  – In practice, a client might express a feeling or desire, for example: “I want my kitchen to feel open”.  This is a spatial concern. But it is often hard for people to articulate how they want their vision to come to life. So instead, they will focus on things that are easier to visualize, such as materials, components, and products.  Our primary interest is in how such things are assembled into a coherent and elegant whole.

(M)  – Our design process takes a curious, creative, and critical look at preoccupations and preconceptions about what one “wants” and “needs”.  This takes a little time, process-wise, but is really worth it in the end.  An interesting aspect of this dynamic is the presumption that a “perfect” design can be created. We don’t think good design is quite so formulaic.

We also don’t think that a designer can create the “right” kind of experience on “day one” after a project is finished.  That ideal version, in reality, happens over time; once you have used it and feel comfortable in it. A good design produces a new reality and experience, but one that is not static – one that is able to evolve over time.  Hopefully, it changes you as much as you change it.

A lot of your work focuses on adaptive reuse – taking old, exhausted buildings and repurposing them. Tell us about your drive to work in this way?

(M) – To work on existing buildings is to work with things and situations that have already had a previous life. They have a history and come with all of the traces of time that a great second-hand item would have.  There is a certain kind of creativity that this situation forces – a bottom up approach rather that top-down one – one that necessitates an open, flexible, and resourceful design approach.  Over the years we have come to embrace the unexpected ways that existing buildings present challenges that push our creativity into unexpected places.

On a more “meta” level, we think this more evolutionary approach will be more widespread in the future – one that faces existential questions about how we as humans use natural resources and our collective footprints on the earth.  Designers, rather than just always making new stuff, need to become more adept at re-making things.  It has been said that, in our anthropocenic era, everything has already been “made”. If this is indeed true, then architecture needs to get out of the business of expanding footprints fast and get to work on alternative forms of growth and consumption. We think that activities like repurposing old buildings might be a good place to start.

How do you balance: the idea of creating someone’s perfect space with the realities of how that space will accommodate the things they own and will bring into it?

(M) – “Perfect” is relative. A space can be specifically tailored to organize those things or not. A “perfect” design tends towards “tight-fit” custom solutions, but we also believe in the value of “loose fit” flexibility. A common design scenario is to combine is a super-efficient, compact storage area with a flexible, open living space.  Both are ways to accommodate one’s “stuff”.

(L) – As an example, take the idea of a “European Kitchen”.  I’m from Germany, and there, it is common that an apartment rental does not come with a kitchen.  Instead, you buy your own kitchen and appliances, and you take them with you from one apartment to the next. Because of this mobility, you buy something you know that you will have a long time and be something that you will love.

(M) – Here in America, we think of a “European Kitchen” as a model of  luxury. It is an ideal. This is so interesting because the kitchen Lucy talks about is rooted in a particular, practical cultural norm, whereby the “perfect” product is the one that you take with you.  Because of this, the European kitchen has been designed to be modular, flexible, and durable, and in effect designed as a ‘kit-of-parts” system that can adapt to fit in a myriad of different spaces.  This relation of product to space is also a form of designed accommodation.

Why do think people are trending towards the “minimalist” and “luxuriously organized” aesthetic? Do you think this is sustainable the constant churn of products through a consumeristic society?

(M) –  “Minimalism” has a century-long history and in many ways has been understood as synonymous with the aesthetics and ethics of Modern design. The classic mantra linking these two components is the mantra that “less is more” from architect Mies van der Rohe.  So, while there may be new trends, I also would say that what we experience today in the marketplace are permutations of trends that have deep roots in design culture.

Early 20th century minimalism was a rejection of luxury, a purge, a re-boot.  Over time, modernism’s “white walls” evolved to be just another kind of “designer dress”.  This re-alignment of meaning of the same visual style has an interesting permutation today that stages minimalism as a form of luxury.  For example, to create a “minimalist” interior can require substantial effort and resources…just to make things seemingly “disappear”.

To leave a room near-empty is a statement saying that emptiness is choice made possible by such means.  A good example of this kind of paradoxical excess is the minimalist art gallery.

All that said, we are interested in the trend away from “conspicuous” consumption towards more minimal aesthetics, but in our own work we feel more comfortable with the term “understatement” than “minimalism”.

So minimalism does not necessarily mean having less. Back to sustainability – is “sustainable consumerism” an oxymoron?

(L) – It does not have to be.  You can make the choice to buy fewer things overall, and instead buy better, long-lasting items – ones that are made well, responsibly sourced, and look great.   I think you need to have a certain level of awareness, but it is not hard.

When making a new purchase, I think we should consider how we will feel about an item in the future.  I would prefer to buy something that I know will last and that I will want to keep.  For example, I love to find things at flea markets and second hand stores.  It is more sustainable than buying a brand-new product, and there is joy in finding new value and giving a new life to something that has already been made.

(M) – Our home is filled with furniture that other people didn’t want any  more – some items were left out on the street, others were sourced from sample sales.  Most of our “stuff” is not new.

(L) – We have a bunch of classic Russell Wright dishes.  We love them and use them all the time. They are beautiful and durable.  However, some of these dishes we found on Ebay, so I can’t ignore the packaging and the carbon footprint of shipping.

(M) – Yes, trash trouble!  This is the kind of situation that makes you feel bad about doing something that makes you feel good. Rather than seeing less waste or a more conscious consumerism as a burden or restriction, we look for ways to see it as an enabling opportunity.  So, in our work, we choose to see old buildings as material and cultural resources, rather than as waste to be dumped into the junkyard.

As the way we think about consumption shifts, do you think we’ll also see a shift in the way spaces are created?

(M) – Definitely. The adaptive reuse projects we referred to before have produced new spaces, not by adding new construction, but actually by removing old construction.  We would like to continue to develop these design strategies as part of a larger project on architectures‘ relation to the “circular economy“.

Another thread here is with architecture’s place in the sharing economy.  We’re currently working with a start-up company called Homebase on a co-work/co-live project that is inspired by ideas of healthy living and sustainable footprints.  It’s been quite interesting to work with this client to develop a vision for how we might understand “home” in the future.

What we’re seeing is an emerging generation’s voice that is giving rise to a new formulation of space that is less of resource-intensive in favor of a “less-is-more” experience.  In contrast to previous generations, millennials have a fundamentally different sensibility about how much space and stuff is needed to feel happy, comfortable, and secure, which is profound.

(L) – As part of these emerging “sharing economy” trends that shift away from individual ownership to shared access, we are seeing new kinds of design trends such as micro-living, multi-use spaces, and transformable furniture.

In some ways, this is new, but as an example, Japanese design culture has, for a very long time – for centuries – developed these kind of design strategies and features, from the ancient spatial concept of “ma”, shoji screens, and tatami mats to the radical mega-structure housing and pod hotels of the 1970’s.

(M) – They have developed unique ways of using space in efficient, serene, and innovative ways that offers an instructive model and source of inspiration for us in the way we all think about the design of our homes and the design of our cities, especially large, dense cities. This also suggests a different attitude for what is understood to be the motivator of the consumers of the future.

Taking all things into account, these new ideas and conversations about space –  I don’t think we’re simply seeing trends.  I think we’re on the brink of seeing a major shift in the design of the built environments of the future, and that’s exciting.