Over the past decade, I have been gradually working on our ancestral farm, making small additions and alterations while complementing the existing structures and agricultural terraces originally built by my grandfather. The intention has never been to impose something new on the land, but to preserve the spirit of the place—to fit things together in a way that feels as though they have always belonged there.
I think of the farm as a garden in progress rather than a finished project. It continues to evolve slowly, adapting to new needs while allowing old and new elements to coexist. This way of thinking has also shaped my approach to architecture and teaching. I am interested in incrementality—in how places are shaped over time through small acts of care, observation and adaptation.
Today, I work from a small studio on the farm, dividing my time between designing, reading, writing, sculpting and farming. My relationship with the land began in childhood through time spent with my grandfather and the everyday routines of the farm. After his passing, I felt a deeper responsibility towards caring for the land and continuing its gradual evolution.
Working on the farm has shaped the way I think about architecture and life. It has taught me patience and attentiveness, and made me more observant of the changing rhythms of the landscape—the shifting light, the seasons, and the cycles of growth and renewal. The farm remains both a place of work and a place of refuge.
In many ways, my studio, teaching practice and understanding of architecture continue to emerge from this relationship with the land. It constantly reminds me that our sense of place and belonging is deepened through care, and that architecture, like a garden, is often shaped gradually over time.