In the book New Work in der Architektur, which you co-authored with Vera Starker, you quote Günter Behnisch: “Authoritarian modes of working lead to authoritarian architecture; and if that is so, then democratic, open modes of working must lead to architecture with democratic and open qualities.” How much do our cities and buildings still carry the imprint of authoritarian work structures, and what would it take to make planning processes more open and democratic?

Our cities are shaped by many decisions, rules, and processes that have developed over centuries. Behnisch’s quote cuts through the complexity, and there’s truth in it. What we see in architecture is set long before construction begins. It starts inside the practice itself, in the way people work. Everything else follows from that.

We often think about this through the lens of people, process, and projects. Every plan, every building starts with people, with their attitude, their sense of responsibility, and the way they work together. That foundation shapes the frameworks and processes that guide the work. From there, projects—buildings and cities—reflect what a society values, whether that is openness, participation, or a shared expectation of transparency. When a work culture is open, that openness can become visible in built form.

You also write about the idea of the “learning organization.” What does that look like in the day-to-day life of an office?

Change in the world outside requires learning on the inside, consistently and structurally, and without turning it into a performance. A state of constant reinvention means we test assumptions and we state hypotheses clearly, with the understanding that design often takes shape under uncertainty. To stay capable when the ground shifts, a learning organization needs system thinking. It helps teams understand how decisions interact across social, environmental, and economic realities. It also needs a circular perspective, because materials and resources require a plan beyond their first use.

Learning depends on how people develop within that structure, which requires attention to both individual growth and collective work. Personal growth requires attention through conversations that support reflection and progression, while teams need space to learn together, define their goals, and take responsibility for how they evolve as a group. Post-occupancy studies offer another useful instrument. Once a project is in use, the team returns to it and checks it against its original claims. Did the assumptions hold? Did the internal process support the outcome? Those findings feed directly into future projects. Over time, this builds continuity between projects and anchors learning in the work itself. At its core, however, learning depends on attitude. It needs a clear place within the organization, grounded in curiosity and a willingness to question your own decisions.

And yet the starchitecture cult persists, which keeps that shift under tension. Why is it so persistent?

Architecture carries a long memory. The “master” model reaches back to the Renaissance, to the idea of a single author who concentrates vision and authority, and architectural education has reinforced that structure over time. It has settled into a professional reflex, where one voice sets the direction and others align around it.

At Snøhetta, a different orientation took shape from the outset. The name, drawn from a Norwegian mountain instead of a founding figure, signals a collective identity. At the same time, architecture today operates within a level of complexity that no single perspective can fully grasp. It still surprises me how persistent the belief is that one person could carry that complexity.

Power structures keep the myth in place, sustaining a culture shaped over decades in male-dominated environments, where authority and identity often merge. In conversations with other colleagues about restructuring their offices, the same tension returns. But cultural change cannot come from below alone; it has to be carried from the top, which means those in leadership need to reconsider how they define direction and control. Once that shift begins, responsibility moves into the team, and the work itself begins to change. It gains depth by holding multiple perspectives throughout the process.

So if the “master” model became a reflex, what did it take for Snøhetta to build a different one over time, and how did that collective approach evolve in practice?

It began with an open workshop format that brought landscape architects and architects into the same space. Exchange guided the process from the outset, and this transdisciplinary conversation became the driver of the work. Over time, this dialogue-led ethos moved to the center of the practice, and collective authorship followed as a natural consequence. To carry that ethos across projects, we developed a workshop method focused on conceptual clarity. It grew out of Idea Work, a four-year research project that connected us with organizations from very different fields, including an oil exploration firm and a business law practice, to look closely at what makes innovation possible independent from the professional field. During an intensive day, team members, clients, and collaborators work in changing constellations through exercises and prototypes to identify the core of a project. We refer to this as the conceptual springboard, which forms the base for the subsequent design process.

The UN report Our Common Future also influenced the early outlook of the office. It brought social responsibility into focus and positioned architecture within a broader cultural and societal context. This reinforced the importance of interdisciplinary exchange and set an ethical direction for the work.

Carrying that ethos into the everyday life of an office is the more demanding step. It requires structure. Different perspectives need space, and that space requires commitment. The phrase “singular in the plural” captures this. A collective depends on the active contribution of each individual. It asks for generosity and a willingness to take responsibility, and it shapes how people engage. Instead of waiting for direction, they step forward and invest in the outcome. For that to work, teams need a common vision of their creative process, along with clear roles, expectations, and qualitative indicators that help them understand whether they are on the right track.

Many offices rarely pause to reflect on their internal culture or working methods; one project follows the next. At the same time, it is clear that organizations improve when people have room to contribute, and responsibility is shared. You speak of “psychological safety.” What does that mean in practice, and how do you apply it in the office?

At its core, it begins with trust. Creativity depends on a setting where every voice carries weight in the design process, regardless of role or hierarchy. Whether intern or principal, the argument holds authority. The work becomes a shared search, and sometimes a single unexpected question, a question that may seem obvious or even beside the point at first, can shift a project onto a new track. That requires a culture where people can speak openly, and where responses show that what’s said matters and influences decisions.

Psychological safety grows through careful moderation and formats that bring different perspectives into the conversation, along with an attitude that treats disagreement as part of the thinking process. It also becomes visible in how a practice deals with uncertainty and mistakes. Anyone who works experimentally, who follows new questions or tests the edges of a brief, will encounter them. That is part of the work, much like in research. A team sets an assumption, tests it, revises it, and sometimes takes a longer route than planned. What keeps that process active is a shared understanding that mistakes belong to the development of the work and do not lead to blame. Clients sense that culture immediately. An office where people laugh and debate carries a distinct energy, and that energy becomes visible in the work.

A culture that treats mistakes as part of the process shifts internal dynamics. What does leadership look like in that environment?

Leadership begins with the conditions it creates for the people it serves. That calls for attention and curiosity, starting with two simple questions: what does someone need to do their best work, and where is clarity most needed? In that sense, leadership shifts from a person to a practice. It focuses less on giving instructions and checking results, and more on creating the conditions for strong work and shared goals. It also carries responsibility, and when difficulties arise, stepping aside is not an option. The deeper question is how that responsibility is understood. Leadership builds structures that allow a team to act with autonomy, while remaining present when orientation is needed.

The strength of an organization depends on how much trust it places in its people and how much responsibility they take on. When that works well, people begin to take ownership of their work more directly. They understand what they are doing and why it matters, and that clarity shapes how they collaborate and move through challenges. Leaders who work in this way tend to recognize where people’s strengths lie and how to bring them together around the work. That means, leadership shapes both process and purpose. From shared responsibility, quality improves, along with a culture grounded in meaning, not just output.

Leadership shapes processes, and so does the technology that surrounds it. AI now enters the conversation constantly, often framed as an efficiency engine built for speed and volume. The harder question is how to integrate it without eroding quality. How do you approach that?

Our curiosity about technology has never been driven by speed. It has been driven by precision, and that shapes how we work with it. We look for the parts of a workflow that consume time and refine them, so time returns to what needs care: conversation and the careful development of the design concept. When technology takes over repetitive or administrative tasks, time gets redistributed. Digital modeling once did this, and 3D printing did, too.

AI extends that shift. Within our projects, it assists with site analysis, simulations, and the testing of assumptions, and it does that well. In the design process itself, though, we use it more sparingly, at times as a point of reference, because we want to understand the technology better before it becomes more embedded in how we design. Nevertheless, the human encounter remains central to our work. AI cannot replace the shared process of defining meaning or taking responsibility for decisions. In that sense, technology tends to amplify the methodology that precedes it.

If leadership, technology, and new forms of collaboration are changing how architecture is practiced, the question also turns to how architects are trained. How should architectural education evolve so that future architects can work within these conditions and maintain agency once they enter practice?

Architects entering the field soon face tighter resource limits and carbon budgets. That pressure appears early, in material choices, disassembly, or energy performance. That means, sustainability can no longer be an add-on; it must become an integral part of the design process and determine how buildings are conceived and built. Education, therefore, needs to place a holistic ecological intelligence at its core and train systems thinking across scales.

From there, digital literacy follows. Software skills are an entry point, but architects also need to understand what data does to decisions, and how simulation influences assumptions. AI belongs in that picture as well. It can generate options and sort information, but the work still depends on interpretation, and a position where the architect has to commit to a direction.

That shift also changes the role in a very practical way. In our daily work, architects often sit between different kinds of expertise. They mediate and name trade-offs, then turn discussion into spatial proposals. Education should prepare young architects for that by providing better training in collaboration, both among students and across disciplines.

What sustains young architects over time is capacity. Critical thinking matters, especially when conditions feel unstable. Communication matters in how ideas are expressed and received. From that, leadership grows through cooperation and a steady habit of testing and adjusting. Many young architects already bring a strong sense of responsibility to their work. What the future asks in addition is judgment: the ability to recognize what matters and act within complexity, with the awareness that architectural decisions extend into the lives of others. It calls for a grounded optimism that challenges preconceived assumptions, enabling innovation and allowing architecture to guide change with care.

If architecture extends into the lives of others, and if, as you suggest, architects have to increasingly integrate other perspectives, how does that expand their responsibility? Who, in that sense, needs to be part of the process from the beginning?

Architecture enters a larger civic and ecological reality from the moment it begins. To work within that, architects need to bring in perspectives from the social sciences, philosophy, and related fields. These disciplines help us understand how people actually use space, how behavior changes over time, and how cultural expectations shape whether a building continues to make sense in its context. This brings sustainability into very concrete decisions, such as how long a building can remain useful, how it can adapt, and how it relates to what is already there.

It also brings users into focus in a more immediate way. If architecture sets the framework for everyday life, the people who inhabit a space cannot remain abstract. Their knowledge and routines need to inform how a project is defined from the beginning. When all these perspectives enter the process early, architecture can respond with more precision and take responsibility for what it sets in motion. It becomes a way of working that stays open and engaged, and one that reflects the shared responsibility it is built on.