Our Influences | In pursuit of the Primitive

Over the weekend I watched the Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown. Set against the backdrop of Cold War anxiety and rapid post-war modernisation, it reminded me how folk music emerged not just as cultural expression, but as a kind of resistance—raw, real, and rooted in something ancient. It felt eerily parallel to the moment we’re living in now.

Today, the world is in the throes of another transformation—AI, hyper-connectivity, and digital immersion shaping not only how we work and communicate, but how we think, relate, and even imagine. It’s exciting, yes. But it also feels precarious. Disembodied. In response, I’ve noticed a shift—not just in myself, but among peers and clients too—toward something quieter, slower, and more elemental.

In our studio, we’ve been thinking about what it means to pursue a “primitive” architecture. Not primitive as in undeveloped or regressive, but in the sense of the essential: forms and materials that speak to permanence, legibility, and human instinct. A kind of architecture that resists noise. That feels analogue—not digital. Solid and earthen—not elusive.

In many ways, it’s a return to fundamentals: heavy materials, clear structure, courtyards, thresholds, walls that frame rather than dissolve. There’s a renewed appreciation for things that age and weather, that hold heat or give shade. Our recent work increasingly centres around these archetypal moves—simple geometries, grounded floor plans, spaces defined not by novelty but by necessity.

This isn’t nostalgia and it’s not anti-technology. We use digital tools every day. But we’re asking: where’s the counterweight? If the world is rushing toward lightness, fluidity, and frictionlessness, can architecture do the opposite? Should it? Can it offer resistance in the form of slowness, stillness, and solidity?

We’ve found inspiration not in novelty, but in permanence. Ancient buildings that remain legible centuries later. Rural constructions built without drawings, only instinct. Rooms where sound echoes in just the right way. Light that enters once a day with purpose.

In some ways, the most radical thing we can do now is to make something calm. Something that doesn't move. Something that gives weight to your day and allows for ritual and consideration.

Architecture, at its best, is a cultural record—an echo of its time. But it can also be a correction. A reminder that in a rapidly dematerialising world, the most meaningful spaces might be those that are the most grounded. The ones made not of code or cloud, but of timber, brick, earth, and shadow. The ones you can feel.

So we continue, not with grand gestures or new theories, but with quiet convictions. A well-proportioned opening. A shaded courtyard. A wall that does what it’s meant to do. In pursuit not of innovation for its own sake, but of the primitive—simple, enduring, and deeply human.

Design Insights | Time as a Material

This series offers a glimpse into the ideas that shape our work: the role of time, the behaviour of materials, the pursuit of feeling over formality.
Not manifesto, but meditation — a way of sharing what we value, and how we design for life as it is truly lived.

In architecture, the conversations that shape a project often live beneath the surface — decisions about materiality, time, feeling, and restraint that are rarely seen, but deeply felt.

What is a material you love more once it has aged?

Quality, natural materials — detailed with sensitivity and understanding — have the rare ability to improve with time. Sun, wind, rain, and the human hand all leave their mark. Materials like leather and timber soften and darken through use; concrete limes and discolours as it settles into place; metals like brass and steel patinate, deepening in richness.

Fresh concrete can look good — but it only feels resolved once it has weathered, begun to lime, and absorbed the atmosphere of its setting. As ivy finds its way across the surface, or rain carves faint patterns, the building begins to feel inevitable. A similar story can be told of brass, steel, and stone — they find their full expression through time, not despite it.

Can you describe a favourite moment when a material surprised you over time?

Travertine is a material we return to often. Its natural pores and pits often lead to questions: should they be filled or left open? Our preference is to leave them exposed. Over time, dust and fine debris naturally settle into the voids, subtly darkening the surface and softening its overall appearance. It is a process that brings an authenticity and depth no synthetic material can replicate. Rather than resisting the character of the stone, time reveals it.

Why is imperfection beautiful in architecture?

Architecture holds space for both perfection and imperfection. Embracing the natural weathering of materials introduces time as a deliberate ingredient in the design. Ageing, patination, and imperfection allow a building to feel more human — connected to its environment and its occupants — rather than frozen at the moment of completion.

How do you design for patina — do you invite it rather than resist it?

Designing for patina begins with a respect for durability and appropriateness. This operates at every scale: from the choice of wall finishes that will soften with exposure, to a stair tread subtly rounded in anticipation of decades of wear. Some signs of age are celebrated openly; others, such as the softening of a well-used threshold, are anticipated quietly through careful detailing.

If you had to choose: perfect crispness forever, or graceful ageing? Why?

Architecture is not static. Buildings are prototypes of human imagination, crafted by hand rather than machine. Pursuing the illusion of perfect crispness often leads to fragility and disappointment.
We design with an understanding that craft, buildability, and the realities of time are not constraints but opportunities. In that light, graceful ageing is not simply accepted — it is invited.

Design Insights | Courtyards: Integrating Nature within Modern Living Spaces

In Melbourne, landscapes often function as a backdrop, appreciated more for their visual presence than as spaces to actively inhabit. Yet, when thoughtfully conceived, courtyards have the power to transform a home, enhancing both its interior and exterior expressions.

Courtyards bring more than landscape into a design; they allow the introduction of air, sky, and light, elements that add depth and vibrancy to a floor plan. Their presence creates an opportunity to shift the spatial experience, blurring the boundaries between indoors and outdoors and fostering a dynamic relationship with the natural world.

The role of a courtyard is often defined by how it engages with the spaces around it. Some are designed as active extensions of living areas, hosting gatherings, meals, or quiet moments of recreation. Others take on a more contemplative function, offering framed views of a lush garden, a sculptural centrepiece, or the shimmering surface of a water feature.

These spaces might reveal themselves slowly, with glimpses through carefully framed openings, where shards of light and shadow dance across walls, or they might be bold and transparent, functioning like a 'fishbowl' that connects expansively to its surroundings.

Equally important is how the courtyard sits within the architecture itself. The transition between indoor and outdoor might be seamless, with flush thresholds that invite continuity, or slightly stepped, creating subtle separation. Windows and doors become more than functional—they frame the courtyard, shaping how it is experienced from within.

Some of our favourite courtyards are below.

LDS Residence I

To mediate the transition between the rear of the house and the swimming pool and tennis court beyond, we designed a cloistered courtyard that extended the house through two covered areas. The first served as an extension to the meals area, while the second connected to the living room and featured an outdoor fireplace. The open space between these areas was left exposed to the sky, housing an ornamental garden that brought a sense of calm and elegance to the design.

EPSC Residence

Situated on a steeply sloping site, this house was designed around two courtyards to allow light and air to penetrate the spaces. The first courtyard is small and private, offering a quiet retreat, while the second is larger and highly functional. Acting as the entry point to the house, the larger courtyard serves as an enclosed outdoor room, providing shelter from the strong winds characteristic of the site.

LPS Residence

In this rural home, the courtyard was envisioned as a central element, creating a transition between the vast openness of the surrounding property and the intimacy of the interior spaces. This courtyard became a unifying feature, linking the expansive natural landscape with the comfort of the home’s living areas.

JDF Residence

One of four courtyards in this house, this central courtyard acts as a focal point, visible from the entry and meals area. It also includes a covered dining space, offering both functionality and a striking visual anchor within the home.

Design Insights

At the heart of every well-designed space is a dialogue between form, function, and the experience it creates. With Design Insights, we aim to share our perspective on design—how we approach crafting environments that feel inspiring, thoughtful, and enduring. These reflections offer a glimpse into the interplay of light, materiality, and spatial relationships that guide our work, bringing insight into how we conceive and approach our architecture and interior design.

Our first article focuses on a quintessential element of our practice: courtyards - spaces that integrate nature within architecture, creating moments of connection and dynamism.