Here’s what Instagram and glossy design magazines want you to believe:

That beautiful buildings exist in isolation.

They don’t. And they shouldn’t.

When you think about it, buildings sit at the intersection of many lives and many stories;

of infinite potential and finite resources;

of those who live with them now, did before us, and will after us;

of neighbourhoods, ecosystems and identities;

of needs, desires, and, yes, dreams.

Just like... people.

I’m an architect. I studied at the same school as Richard Rogers and Zaha Hadid, and worked for John McAslan and Norman Foster before starting my own practice. But it took me 25 years to truly understand this:

Architecture is really about human relationships.

Have you noticed how both are at their best when there’s authenticity, a sense of ease, and something shared - a space, a conversation, common values?

I’m also a writer, a dad, and a certified mediator. And after a big life crisis, I asked myself:

What if we viewed projects through the lens of everything we believe about successful human relationships? (including the principles of mediation, I’ll get to that later).

What would an architecture practice look like then? Let’s call that human-centric concept “gentle architecture”.

Gentle architecture would be a wonderful design philosophy: open, authentic, playful even, prioritising good living over smart features, anchored in the now while enhancing the best parts of a building’s history – all to allow for the greatest number of possible bright futures.

Gentle architecture would also be a method to address the elephant in the room: how difficult and risky the experience of building is. Design the process as carefully as the space, for better transparency and less conflict.

Now, I love concepts as much as the next architect. But what would that mean in practice?

It would start, and probably end too, with listening.

To the client & the team.

To the site.

To the laws (spoken and unspoken) by which they live.

To the challenges (with their silver linings).

To the history (the good and the bad).

Then asking better questions, even unexpected ones! Investigating gently until we’d find the highest, truest potential of what we have here and now. Not what we wished we had, not what others said we ought to have, not what we feel we have the right to have.

(Also, while we’re at it, being diligent about compliance, better use of the briefing stage, smarter tools and opportunities for team communication, a framework in place to strengthen the construction process’s known weak points, questioning ‘best practices’ as soon as they no longer serve us, and always, always “pre-mediating” before problems escalate.)

Because only then can we achieve these 2 extraordinary goals:

A space that sits on elevated common ground, and is greater than the sum of its many parts.

And, woven in its fabric, the memory of building it – a good experience all in all.

Now let me ask you this:

If you were an architect, wouldn’t you want to go all in on gentle architecture?

Well, that’s what I’ve decided to do with my own practice.

Let’s find out if my gentle architecture approach is right for you and your project.