Photograph by José Havio, courtesy of MAIO.

Born out of the 2008 financial crash, the Barcelona-based studio MAIO cares less about form (although their forms are striking) and more about the politics of practice. At the heart of their work is the idea that architecture must change over time to keep up with mutating social and behavioral patterns. Their practice involves extensive research in order to find loopholes in the existing system that can be utilized to make architecture that, simply, works better. For example, with their first ground-up built project 110 Rooms, the studio developed a floor plan comprising uniform-sized rooms so that residents could use as them as they see fit rather than conforming to predetermined programs. After all, the typical father-mother-children family is not so typical anymore. MAIO is helping architecture catch up.

In this feature from the first issue of Archinect's new print publication Ed, we talk with the studio about 110 Rooms and their practice more broadly.

What's MAIO's origin story? How did you guys meet and what brought you together as a practice?

Anna Puigjaner: We met a long time ago doing installations. Then, in 2011, the crisis hit Spain really hard and suddenly we decided to get together and try to define new ways of using architecture. We found a space and started collaborating. We also share the space with other disciplines. For us, it was a kind of working-together system that helped us to grow during the crisis, but also define our way of working and, at the end of the day, how we understand architecture.

Guillermo Lopez: We were trying to develop an ideal workspace format and so we designed a long table, which has no partitions, so the space itself parallels how we understand our practice. Everybody is sitting around this long table: designers, landscape architects, our building surveyors. There's a kind of little community around this table. Sometimes we do our projects together, sometimes we split up depending on the size of the thing itself. So the space itself was also a way of designing our practice.

How would you define your practice? What motivates your work?

AP: Well we always use this concept of 'spatial systems,'—basically, we like to design rules, instructions of use, order. Sometimes our projects are materialized, so sometimes we build them physically, in other cases we don't. Our projects can take different forms, from writing to building housing. But, all this time, we're looking at things in the same manner. Our designs allow things to happen and change through time. That means we don't have, so to speak, a clear 'photo-finish.' Our projects are always changing—and it's not super-fast changes from one day to the other but rather a change that goes really at another speed. A slow change. Every year or every two years, depending on the project, they change through time.

GL: And because of that, for instance, in the 110 Rooms [project], we designed, instead of apartments, rooms that can define a whole building. It's the same investor and he can get apartments of five, or three, or six rooms and divide them up. We're trying to think of formats that can allow change through time instead of, let's say, closed forms.

AP: We talk a lot about flexibility and conceive of our projects as unfinished. The project is in a permanent state of unfinished-ness, which allows change.

GL: For instance, the first project we did as a studio was in 2012, so five years ago, and it was a square. There was no budget. There was just budget for some lighting poles and we used them as the basic elements of a grid that, alongside a set of rules, could allow the space to grow as more money came in. So it's been evolving through time because we thought of this grid that was very simple but could also accommodate future uses. That's the way we think of design and it happens with this housing block and it happens with a lot of our projects. We like to think of elements that can be reconfigured and changed, always through a set of rules everyone can understand and use in their own way.

we wanted to define a space that could answer to these new and different types of society

So in a sense you create a framework and then allow the occupants to determine the actual practice of living within it. How do you work around existing rules and strictures? For example, with 110 Rooms, did you have to tweak Barcelona's existing housing protocols?

AP: You mean tweak by not respecting them or breaking them or shifting them?

Yes.

AP: Of course we follow the law. But, in Spain—and especially here in Catalonia but I would say it's kind of a Spanish way of building housing in general—the typical apartment is defined by a big living room and then a corridor that leads you to differently-sized rooms. A big room for the parents and then smaller rooms for the children. The law is defined regarding that. So you have to have a minimum square meters for a living room and for a bedroom. The size of each room is fixed according to its use. We were against that because, if you think that architecture has to change throughout time, the first thing you have to think about is how its use is going to change. We wanted to allow anything to happen in a room. So any room could be the living room or the bedroom or even the kitchen. Any room could be used for anything. We had to find a size of room that could fulfill all the laws and not break them. It was tough.

GL: And then you have some tricks; for example, if you have two rooms connected by the same surface then you get what the law asks you to do. So it's kind of how you interpret or read the law and there are always loopholes.

AP: Guillermo is talking about a loophole that we found: if you have a big door, then you can consider two rooms together. So that's why we didn't use small doors; all of them are really large. You can get one room out of two.

GL: At the end of the day, we wanted a nonhierarchical house defined by a big space... It was about that.

AP: It was about establishing an equal status among the rooms. The house is not going to predefine the family type. Parents with children... that's so crazy. Nowadays, we know that our society is much more diverse and there's a lot of ways of occupying a house and a lot of types of family structures that go beyond what we consider the classical family based on a wife, a husband, and children. So, regarding that, we wanted to define a space that could answer to these new and different types of society. No hierarchies. A house without a hierarchy.

You're responding to these rapidly changing domestic norms. Do you also think you're enacting change? That people who reside in your building might alter their patterns of behavior according to the formal structure? Is that something you hope for?

I wouldn't argue that architecture defines society in a radical manner.

GL: We don't know. We have to wait and see. That's the interesting thing. You never know how will people use it. So, we'll see.

AP: I wouldn't argue that architecture defines society in a radical manner. It's always a dialogue. Of course, architecture influences our society and might influence how people live. But, again, society also influences architecture.

Are you interested in people being aware of the kind of manipulations or loopholes that you are working with? Do you want the building to also speak rhetorically?

GL: That's an intriguing question. I mean, somehow, yes. But in a special way because, for instance, we were just trying to rethink a tradition that is very linked to a culture or place like Barcelona. The [110 Rooms] building itself is placed in L'Eixample, which is a grid, one of the first grids of 19th century Europe. So, in this grid, everything could happen, but there were also a lot of rules and regulations and so on. We wanted to rig this tradition. Before the 19th and 20th centuries, the rooms were like this—they were equal. This was not some kind of statement, but rather a result of constructive constraints like, say, the size of the beams and things like that. So you could find in the traditional typology these rooms that we have visited and that we liked because they have changed through time and still work without being touched. That's sustainability—not just this green, eco-whatever. With nothing you can allow a lot of things to happen.

it’s better to do it with one or two of three gestures than doing a lot.

 This was one thing, a way of rethinking a typological tradition. It happens the same with the hall that we did. We got materials that in the '70s were used, like marble and so on. It's a way to express and for people to feel comfortable with things that they are used to. It happens the same with the façade. We were thinking about Ed Ruscha's Sunset Boulevard pictures. Of course, all the buildings are different but you can reconstruct the feel from the street, even if they are so different. There's a generic thing when you see all of them. You have this feeling of what is LA. We wanted to do the same thing with our façade. We made a generic one with, let's say, no design. There's a design, of course, but the idea was to make the most archetypical, generic façade we can think of. In that sense, it's rhetorical because it wants to talk about things that are culturally understandable, things that can be communicated.

AP: I can add that we are interested in communicating these things, of course, but I wouldn't say that it's in a plain manner. It's not obvious. It's something that's more unconscious than conscious.

You're saying that the building is intended to appear generic, but, at the same time, the lobby is pretty extraordinary and distinct. How would you define your aesthetic? Is there a uniform aesthetic running through your work?

AP: I would say that we are really more conceptual in that most of the time we define the concept, so to speak, the order or the rule, and then we go from there. Of course, there's always an aesthetic. You can't deny that. It's a way of doing. And we like materiality, we like colors very much. Maybe the use of colors is a reaction to our time. We weren't taught in school how to use color. And, during the crisis, it was like—well, color is cheap, right? You paint it white, you paint it pink, and suddenly it appears differently. That might be an aesthetic already attached to our work.

And then we like to do simple things in the sense of: it’s better to do it with one or two of three gestures than doing a lot. I would also say that. It's a tricky question. Nobody has asked us that before. Would you agree?

GL: Yeah, I agree.

You all also engage in independent projects. Anna, I know that last year you won the Wheelwright Prize. What is the role of these different side projects—your independent practices—in MAIO's work?

AP: All of us have our personal parallel work. It's feeding the office and the office is feeding the independent work. We try to encourage everyone who works with us to have an interest outside of the office. That's why, for many years, we ran an architectural magazine. Again, in a sort of parallel manner, that helped us a lot to understand, to learn how to write, how to edit, how to define formats, for instance. We find that as much as we do in and outside the office is better. It's also something of a philosophy, I would say.

GL: At the same time I think there are some connections between the way we understand architecture, that we explained before, and, for instance how Anna is addressing her research. She is talking about this 'Kitchenless City,' that means that the house itself... Well, there are kind of two statements. One is that architecture is political and the way we think about architecture is political. Even in the kitchen, which is, you could say, a small piece, there are a lot of political connotations, from the superstructures down to these little things you have in the home. It's very interesting to look at these small fragments and become aware of what's behind them.

That's one side. On the other side, these systems are important because you understand the house as a set of things. What happens when you remove one of these pieces from the whole? A new set of relationships begins to appear. I think these reflections aren't so different from what we are doing with these spatial systems.

AP: Also, apart from the research, we run a little gallery with an art curator and cultural critic, who’s a designer. It's a place that helps us to reflect. We try to have some other things on the table that go beyond the office itself.

Could you hash out a little bit more what you consider the politics of your practice? And the political responsibilities of architects more broadly?

AP: Well that's a good question. And, actually, it answers also the other question. We try to do other things in part because we started in the deep crisis... It was quite a conscious move. Suddenly, you're more aware of how things were done until then—what we like and what we didn't like. The idea of reshaping how architecture was being produced is actually an answer to ways of producing architecture that we didn't like at all. A good practice doesn't mean necessarily to build a lot. There's a lot that has been done and there's no need to do a lot more. What we need is to be conscious of everything we do and to do it right.

We were hearing the other night Michael Webb who was visiting Barcelona last week, and he was talking from his time—from Archigram time. The discourse was so similar with our mentality. Basically, he talked about not building anymore and reusing what we have. It's more about how you see things, how you use things, than what it is that’s there. Little changes can radically matter and produce a big social change.

A lot of the time we talk about how curious this parallel is between the ‘70s and nowadays. There are big parallels. There's a big movement in exhibitions and museums in bringing back people from the ‘60s, ‘70s. There is a parallel between the social crisis that happened at that time and the social crisis that we are living in today. Of course our situation is different from that time, but there are a lot of things that are still current and valuable.

A good practice doesn't mean necessarily to build a lot. 

How did the 110 Rooms project get started?

GL: There was a competition. It's a private project but there was a competition among five offices. In fact, there were four and we were asked to give an opinion about the competition and, suddenly, maybe we said something smart, I don't know, but they said okay you can join the competition. So there were four big offices and then these young people starting an office, with no [neck]ties or anything.

AP: We were competing against big firms. It was kind of difficult.

GL: We won, I don't know, because there was a lot of energy and we probably did more work than the others and so on.

AP: And they liked the floorplan.

GL: Again, we liked that the floorplan is a kind of statement. But, at the same time, it is not just in a typological manner; but rather, from an economic point of view, that was the only floorplan that allowed each unit to have two bathrooms as well as two bedrooms that could share the two bathrooms. Instead of using the corridor we used those square meters for the rooms. So, suddenly, a new room appeared for them and a new bathroom and they were really happy because the profit was 100%. So it's a win-win situation. You give them what they want and, at the same time, you propose something that is kind of interesting.

AP: Yeah, when we explained to them the adaptability through time they loved it and considered it great. It's a family that already has other buildings in Barcelona, but it's the first time that they built a new one. Most of them are in bad shape so they needed to build a new one to get money back and redo the others. So, for them, working with architects was quite new. And they are quite a traditional family, so they do believe that apartments have to be there forever. So showing them how apartments could change without radical alterations, and how people would adapt the building without too many big transformations—they really liked that.

GL: We liked the fact that they are not investors that are just doing it for the money but rather they want to have a good project because they care about that. They were very precise and careful about how it should be done. So it's people that are there not just for the money, but instead still believe in a kind of quality.

AP: Based on that, it was really a pleasure to work with them. It's quite difficult to find people who understand that whatever you do is going to last hundreds of years. So whatever you do matters. Because of that, it was a luxury. We talked quite easily with them.

Politically-speaking, does it matter who you work with as a client? I mean, obviously, one has limited options and you had a good client in the case of 110 Rooms. But is that a responsibility architects need to take on?

GL and AP: Yes.

AP: We say no to projects.

Okay, then I have a bit of a hot seat question. I've asked this of others and I'm interested in your response. You participated in the last Chicago Architecture Biennial and will participate in the forthcoming one. They’re primarily sponsored by BP, a company responsible for one of the worst environmental disaster in human history. Does that matter?

GL and AP: Yes.

GL: Yes, we are guilty. Every one of us is guilty.

AP: It's a good critique towards us. It's true. We say no to certain project but we say yes to the biennials. Yeah, it matters. It matters. It's difficult to answer. We always check companies and things like that. We try to do that in terms of labor practices and things. But there are moments where it's difficult to control. For instance, I don't know why BP is sponsoring the Biennial and what are the reasons.

Sometimes it's difficult to say no because you don't know the situation. When it comes to a client or project, for me, it's much more easy. You know, this guy... nothing good is going to come out from here. Not even a good project but also whatever we do is going to have a bad impact, bad for everyone, even bad for us.

Regarding sponsors, it's much more complicated because we don't know the politics behind it.

Alright. So you guys are part of a generation of architects who exhibit in biennials, in these big international events, which didn't really happen before. What is the value of these in general? And for your practice?

At the same time that you reflect you are practicing.

GL: I think it's valuable because it's valuable to reflect on things. We really want to become not just executors and people doing buildings, but we also want to keep one foot in this theoretical part. At the same time that you reflect you are practicing. This is a kind of balance we like to keep. It's always a kind of excuse to do that.

AP: It's true that in these recent years there has been an extraordinary production regarding events, biennials, triennials, et cetera. They are often overlapping. And it's true that, thanks to that overproduction, there's kind of an international sphere that’s formed. So you meet people in these biennials and triennials. The same people, somehow. There's new people but there's also some people who are always somehow there!

This is a generation that's different than ten years ago. For me, I think that basically it's a challenge because every time there is a question that is raised. And, every time we have the feeling that we have to answer it. And through those answers you position yourself regarding the discipline, regarding your colleagues, regarding society. So, all the time, you're asking yourself questions and trying to answer them—which is good. But, of course there's also a bad side to it. Maybe the overproduction is bad. It allows, for instance, the possibility to banalize the production itself because there's so much and so many people trying to say things.

But, of course, it can also be understood that somehow it was needed.

Circling back to 110 Rooms, you said you were responding to changing family structures. What are the other big transformations you perceive at the domestic front? What are the most important changes in how we live?

AP: Many. As I was mentioning before, if you take any sociology study you will realize that the family structure has changed a lot. In Spain, as I was mentioning to you before, what we call the 'family'—so the father, mother, children—it represents around 30% [of the population]. It's not even half our society. It's quite a small portion of it. And our society is divided at the end by many, many small differences in types of living. That's why we claim that our houses should—at least the collective ones—be much more neutral in order to allow all these differences.

And, of course, our daily habits have also changed. The idea of sharing is changing radically our way of living. For instance, in our generation, we don't own a car, we share it. Owning a car is something quite luxurious. For our parents' generation, it was actually the first thing you were doing when you were growing up. Before the apartment, you were buying a car. For us, it's kind of odd. So this idea of ownership, how ownership is changing. It’s also related to how we live our lives. We move a lot. The periods of changes in where and how we live are much more frequent. So architecture has to also change.

The idea of sharing is changing radically our way of living.

GL: Around the world, there's a more and more blurry edge between the public and private sphere. So it's not so easy to split into different spheres. They're merging. Architecture has to respond to that and it's starting to do that. For instance, Anna is investigating these collective kitchens, which have lots of differences among them—socially-speaking, economically-speaking. For example, in Switzerland, you can find a lot of collaborative housing, and it's a very wealthy country, but it happens also now in Mexico. Wherever you go, you find very different approaches but some of them coincide in this new blurry edge between private and public.

AP: Sometimes when we speak about how we understand the city we use how Rem Koolhaas understood New York in Delirious New York. First, because it's related to my personal research but also because it's a book that, like everyone, we always refer to. But there's a big difference between how he looks at the city and how we look at the city nowadays. For Koolhaas, the city was defined by these huge envelopes that have extraordinary walls. So each of them were kind of independent chapters and independent stories.

For us, it's quite radically opposite. We look at the city and what we see is a city that is dependent. Each part of it depends on the other. We are in a dependent society and the city operates in the same manner. For us, the city is not filled with envelopes and isolated buildings but rather by a system of things that depend on one another.

GL: It's not about the extraordinary, it's about the ordinary. It's not about these big things but about the sum of these small things.

For more on "The Architecture of Architecture," pick up a copy of Ed #1 here!