Some of our work is large and visible. It changes the outline of streets, the way a place is recognised, the way it is spoken about. This is the work most readily called Architecture with a capital ‘A.’
But much of our work is smaller, quieter and less accommodating to spectacle. It does not announce itself or expend resources to flatter a camera. Often it involves no more than repair, adjustment, or care taken at the right moment. This work may not significantly alter the form of a building, yet it alters how that building can be used, entered with dignity, appreciated or understood. We refer to this as architecture with a small ‘a.’
We do not see these modest works as lesser. They will not trend or be monetised as imagery - that type of work has its place. They will, however, keep buildings alive. They ask for the same judgement as our larger projects, and often demand more patience.
To intervene without harm requires an understanding of what must remain. Integrating access, fire safety, and energy upgrades without diminishing an existing building's worth calls for close attention and strategic compromise. It is a form of architectural intelligence.
Many of the projects we care most about will never appear in magazines or awards lists. This does not trouble us. The projects still matter. They contibute to the lives of people. They allow places to endure.
Our practice is grounded in the belief that architecture has a purpose beyond profit and appearance. It is a form of service, carried out over time, in conversation with clients, buildings, and places.
Our approach to building fabric follows the same logic. We favour materials that are environmentally responsible, durable, and repairable — often those refined through long use rather than recent fashion. Traditional materials carry embedded knowledge: how they weather, how they fail, how they can be mended. This wisdom matters now more than ever.
At the same time, we do not treat tradition as static. Our understanding of materials is developed through physical engagement and ongoing experimentation. We work with our hands. We visit quarries to understand stone, forests and timber kilns to develop a deeper appreciation of wood, workshops to see how precision is earned rather than specified. Knowledge emerges through making, testing, and sometimes failure. It is in this space — between inheritance and experiment — that good design can emerge.
Whether the project requires (A)rchitecture or (a)rchitecture, our responsibility is the same: to design buildings and places that work for the people who depend on them, and to do so with restraint, respect, and care.
(A)rchitecture + (a)rchitecture: This is the work we choose to do.