Mazzocchioo

An interview with Smiljan Radić

The following interview was recorded via ZOOM on July 9th, 2024. with the participation of Ștefan Simion, Irina Meliță and Eliza Voiculescu

Maybe it’s significant to start with the fact that your grandfather emigrated from Croatia to Chile in 1919.

My roots are in Croatia, primarily because of my grandfather, but I didn’t find it particularly relevant until I came to Europe in 1991. At that time, I was very curious about why he had moved to Chile. The answer is quite straightforward: he left due to hunger and a lack of opportunities in Brač. There are no other reasons, no poetic explanations. Back then, Chile might have been seen as the end of the world, yet it offered some job opportunities and a chance to earn a living. It was a practical decision.
This is the reality for many immigrants; it’s about striving for a better life and survival. However, at the same time, you carry the memories of your heritage within you, and that is incredibly important. There are two layers to this experience: one involves building your own life and being practical, while the other consists of the memories that travel with you.
My travels around Europe and the Mediterranean have been about discovering parts of myself. I identify as Chilean, not Croatian. I carry Chile with me wherever I go, and that is truly significant.

SS
You studied in Chile and then you went to Venice for further studies. So you have travelled a lot, beginning very early in your life. So you have experienced what it means being in foreign places.

SR
Venice was another consideration that seemed like a significant possibility. At the beginning of the ‘90s, everyone wanted to study something in the United States, whether it was at Harvard, MIT, or in Barcelona—the school in Barcelona was very prestigious at that time. After I graduated, I started reading a lot. I found a small book that featured contributions from people who came from Venice, specifically from the IUAV, and these were really important figures. I thought to myself, okay, I would like to study in this place. That was it; I didn’t think too much about it. More than just living in Venice, which is amazing in itself, it was this small book I discovered in a secondhand bookstore that motivated me to move to this city.

SS
Do you remember what book it was?

Yes, “De la vanguardia a la metrópoli.” It is a book that was published by Gustavo Gili. When I arrived in Venice at the IUAV, I told other students that I had read this book. Everyone I spoke to about it told me that the book contained incorrect ideas and that it was a big mistake. So, I traveled from Chile to Venice just because of a mistake.

SS
Was the political regime change important for you when you decided to go to Venice?

It was just at that time, with the arrival of democracy and the transition that followed. It was a really good time for architecture in Chile because the economy was growing rapidly, and government-sponsored architectural competitions were flourishing as people sought to reclaim public spaces. Many of my friends stayed in Chile for that reason., I didn’t feel ready to work in an office because I felt I didn’t know enough about history and construction. So, I traveled for a while and studied in Italy.

SS
We had a discussion with Rodrigo Pérez de Arce, that…

Yes, he came to Chile when the democracy arrived and he won a lot of public competitions with Teodoro Fernández. I worked with them later in their office. And it was really important because he came from the Architectural Association with some fresh air. Enric Miralles and the AA group architects were our background or references, against of the postmodern architecture.

SS
Yes. Rodrigo told us that he was part of the jury for your diploma when he came back to Chile. Do you do you remember, in a few words, what your diploma was about?

It was about public space, but it was terrible. I mean, you have two phases here. You need to present your pre-project with an in-depth study. Its implications were urban. In the end, it wasn’t urbanism, but rather something on a smaller scale—a square, I could say.
Initially, we had two tutors: one from Harvard University and the other from MIT. It was really disheartening because the jury initially rejected my project. I had to start over by myself with no help. I worked on a small-scale project: a typical square, not a major urban issue. In two months, I completed my thesis and was passed to the next stage. Then I took the exam with Rodrigo Pérez de Arce. I think my project must have seemed quite ordinary to Rodrigo, but for me, it felt very experimental. I felt like I was finding my voice, and that was a valuable experience.

SS
We’d like to mention the Fundación Frágil. From afar, it seems to cover two distinct areas: the fragile constructions and a collection of radical architectures of the ‘60s and the ‘70s. Maybe can you tell us a little about how everything began? We read somewhere that in the ‘90s, Marcela Correa and you were just driving around and spending much time simply observing the city and discovering things – fragile as you call them, which otherwise would pass unseen.

Fundación de Arquitectura Frágil, description
Source: official web-site

There are two main points to consider. One is fragile construction. When I wanted to invite some friends from Europe to Chile to showcase certain buildings, I carefully selected the buildings I wanted to highlight. I was particularly drawn to buildings located near roads, often constructed with minimal resources. There are some key aspects to these buildings. They are genuine constructions, not vernacular architecture. They lack a long-standing tradition but have a unique character of their own. The materials used in these buildings are crucial. They often depend on just one person to build them; it’s a form of self-construction, quite literally. When the builder passes away, the structure often disappears with him. These buildings are deeply intertwined with the life of their creator.
The second point relates to the materials available in the area. Instead, they often mix various techniques, which can be quite beautiful. They don’t aim to simplify things; rather, they focus on replacing parts rather than repairing them. For example, when water leaks through the roof, they don’t fix the hole; they just place another plastic sheet over it. These characteristics are somewhat typical of Chilean architecture.
Another key aspect is the Fundación de Arquitectura Frágil. This organization explores the limits of architecture, particularly the concept of “Arquitectura Improbable” (Improbable Architecture). This term reflects the idea that such architecture often lacks formal validation; you need to test and experiment with it to understand its viability.
You’re right, a collection of European, American, and some Japanese issues on radical architecture. In the end, all of this is for young people - to bring a breath of fresh air to Chile. This “radical” architecture is paper architecture; it’s not built. But these papers are architecture, these projects are real, they’re not a reference. I love producing something just to think. At the same time, I believe that a good architect is the one whose project improves consistently during the construction process. Usually in that case, the concept appear really poor or dry and reality appear complex and fluid.

SS
Yes. So, would you say that these fragile constructions and this gaze that you cast on these things affects or informs your architecture and your approach? Is there a certain echo in the way you are doing architecture? I mean, as you said, these fragile constructions, are about improvisation, about natural reaction to what happens. It’s a very lively process.

Yes... I could say they are a reference, of course, because they are around me. But it’s not always that I’m reacting to them. When asked by someone if I’m part of the Chilean architects, I can’t say my architecture is Chilean because I don’t think that exists.

SS
There’s no tradition of Chilean architecture?

I don’t think lacking tradition is necessarily a good idea just because it allows for freedom. Personally, I feel more comfortable with that sense of rootedness. Fifteen years ago, I visited Peru and was amazed by their architecture school. It was fantastic to see students incorporating references to the Inca Empire into their projects—such a strong connection to their cultural roots! However, I’m not sure if that’s entirely beneficial. I feel it might be challenging for them to fully appreciate the centuries of history surrounding them. At that moment, I wondered if they could find something new, fresh, or original in their lives beyond the freedom to act unconventionally.
I love the architecture in Chile for its isolation, in a way, as it allows for interactions with architects from diverse backgrounds, like Romanians, Japanese, or Australians. You might find yourself feeling a closer connection with these international colleagues than with someone working in the next room.

Maybe the tradition is in the making and preparing for the interview now, I really enjoyed discovering the greatest house, as you name it, the Bug House by Miguel Eyquem. Of course it’s a project we didn’t know before. But maybe it’s just a way of speaking. I imagine that this house it’s about trying to deal and work with the local conditions, with the materials and know-how at hand.

Bug House (Los Bichos), Miguel Eyquem, 1981
Photo: José Vial Armstrong Historical Archive

I said that because it’s true, in my opinion. I believe it’s the best house you can find in Chile. Whenever someone visits, I always take them to see it. Nishizawa, Sejima, Moisés Puente and many others have been here, and I always make it a point to show them this house to illustrate what Chilean architecture is all about. I let them interpret its significance themselves; I’m simply presenting an example. We published a small book about it maybe 15-20 years ago. I would say this house is definitely relevant for Chile.

Maybe we can talk just a little about your practice. How do you work? What’s the size of your office? How many architects are working on your various projects?

In my office, there are five of us at the moment. We all work together at one large desk, and that’s pretty much it.

SS
A big table? Is it the Ines Table?

SR
No, that’s different. I couldn’t use that one. The Ines Table is currently at home. It’s a large table, and we all work together at it. However, I used to have a studio with around 12 people working with me about 15 years ago, but it became overwhelming. I couldn’t manage it effectively. Now, with just five people, the office is at a good size for me to handle projects in depth. At the same time, I collaborate extensively with studios outside of Chile, which significantly expands the scope of our work.

Ines Table, Enric Mirales,1993 Photo: Giovanni Zanzi,
El Croquis Magazine

The exterior offices are also implicated for projects in Chile?

For projects outside of Chile, I prefer not to learn about the local regulations or standards. It’s not my area of expertise, I’d rather not take on a project if it requires me to handle those details myself.

SS
And for the project in Chile, do you try to control all phases of the project from initial client meetings, the technical and budgetary phases?

Right now, we’re working on just two small projects here in Chile—both are really minor. One is a restaurant where our goal is to make minimal changes, just to improve some unattractive rooms [laughs]. The existing steel structure is quite cheap and unappealing, but I think this unusual aspect gives it a lot of character. We’re trying to enhance it a bit by adding some tables and making a bit of profit. The other project is a small house in Chiloé.

SS
Aren’t the small projects the best projects?

SR
I always say my projects are limited to about 10,000 square meters. I might go up to 15,000 square meters in Chile, but those projects can only be completed as a single phase. If the project exceeds this size, it usually ends up being broken into multiple construction phases, which can take six years to deliver even half of the project. That’s frustrating because it feels like we’re just waiting to see the final result. I prefer to have a complete project and truly evaluate its outcome.
Currently, I’m working on designing a clock. It’s quite amazing because I had always said I would never take on a project of that scale, but here I am. Sometimes, I think, “How terrible!” But as I grow older and receive new commissions, my perspective changes. I find myself asking, “Why not?” Life is short, after all.
On another note, we are waiting for approvals on two hotels: one in Brac, Croatia, and another in Matarranya, Spain. However, these projects aren’t very large. It’s quite challenging for a client to hire a team from Chile to implement something in Europe; it creates significant logistical difficulties. Strategically, it might be beneficial to have a studio operating directly in that region.

SS
Talking about the beginning of the project, how do you relate with clients? Do you have extended talks with them? Do you try to convince them? Does it happen for you to maybe refuse clients?

No, what I mean is that the clients who come to me really know what I do. My projects are a bit unusual and strange, and they come because they know what I can offer. Usually, we meet at the site for the first time; sometimes the first meeting is also in my office. The second time would be at the site. There might be a third meeting, although sometimes that’s not the case. Then, I prepare a preliminary project.

SS
How do you present your initial ideas?

For example, for a house, we prepare drawings at a scale of one to one hundred, like this, and we usually present small model made of wood at the same scale. We don’t create many renders—usually just two or three.

So hand drawings?

Hand drawings and some renders. I try to make them less realistic because the model can be deceptive, and clients often feel as if the house is actually there. The renders leads to many irrelevant discussions that blur the real issues I’m trying to explain to them.

Are you trying to explain these things in depth to the client? Do you bring into discussion your themes, your architectural obsessions or you’re just revealing the project according to the respective phase?

Normally, it’s a mix. I can’t say definitively; it depends on the client. Typically, this is quite political. One of the most important tasks for the architect is to persuade others, which requires active engagement in the process. One of the truly remarkable aspects of many architects is their ability to convince everyone to build in such innovative ways. This is an essential part of the job. You must have a strategy and be flexible in your approach.

SS
Let’s talk about how you start a project. From afar, it would seem that the important references for you would be poetry, art and literature. It seems to me that they’re fundamental for your imaginary and only in a second phase your projects somehow address the architectural themes. I was wondering, how do you begin the project? Do you have a certain strategy or just take the time and let things settle in?

SR
At 59, you have a wealth of experience in architecture, which allows you to be more experimental in your approach. Experience enables you to make decisions quickly. You carry a multitude of ideas within you, and when someone presents a problem, you often find the solutions already existing in your mind. However, there are times when you misjudge a situation and make erroneous decisions due to your preconceptions. Yet, if you trust your intuition, you can effectively apply your knowledge.
One challenge I face when working on-site is the absence of contextual stimuli that could evoke relevant memories related to the project. It’s not about seeking something entirely new; rather, it’s about recalling a memory that could be applicable. When that imagery doesn’t come to mind, it becomes problematic for me. I sometimes struggle to clearly identify the core issue.
Fortunately, my experience provides me with a mental repository of concepts, making it easier to apply them when needed. I feel the references could be into two types: initial references, which serve as a foundation for your work, and secondary references that emerge during the project. These latter references enrich your understanding and help clarify the idea behind the project. Essentially, the true essence of a project is not just present at the outset; it evolves throughout the process.

SS
I think it’s so revealing when, working on a project, you talk about future memories. I think you’ve written this somewhere about the competition project Antenna Tower in Santiago. And there you say that these are the memories of a project that has not even been constructed yet.

Antenna Tower, First-Place Winner of Santiago Landmark Competition: Smiljan Radić, Gabriela Medrano, Ricardo Serpell, 2014
Rendering by: Winning Team

If you could touch the elements (theoretical, materials, etc.) that you could find around you in a good way, they could become part of your project. Because I am not a Chilean architect, I am an architect. Honestly, to take elements from anywhere and use them in a good way is just a strategy to place myself in the middle of the history of architecture. Normally, decades ago, when the Latin America’s architects talk about their architecture, they separate it from others and define it as something distinct. I don’t want to be different. No, I don’t need this kind of isolation to be particular – if someone suggests playing tennis, you should play tennis; you don’t have to play ping pong, you have to play tennis, with the same rackets, but in your own field.

I find inspiring that you share so sincerely these doubts you have about various things. Are there good mistakes that simply appear during the process of making a project?

In terms of the process, if you are there, working on the physical model and also on the digital model, sometimes mistakes can be really beneficial. You have to be fully immersed, paying attention observing these issues because they could turn out to be truly amazing if you are behind of a fixed form.

Yes, maybe we should replace the word mistake with accidents.

I love the word mistake in the sense of accidents. A mistake can seem like a really good thing when you embrace it. Usually, the best facade is the back facade [laughs], and this happens for a reason. Perhaps it’s an intuition; you overlook something, and it ends up in the building, and that - wow! - it’s due to factors you never fully anticipated; some things only become real during construction; things you couldn’t have designed because you feel like you’ve made a mistake. However, when these elements are constructed, they reveal new insights into the construction process.

Do you use to visit often the building sites? Do you do you like to improvise? Can you take decisions and maybe change things?

Not so much in the sense of the details and simplifying because you have to be very flexible with the builder when, for example, there is a detail that they couldn’t execute. We created numerous drawings for each project to ensure everything was specified, but there are always issues in Chile, especially the first one being getting the builder to interpret them correctly and not how they assume they should be.

SS
And the building, the construction process, all these confirm some the ideas that you had as abstract in the project.

SR
When a young architect visits a construction site in Chile, they typically learn something new because they may not have extensive knowledge of the building process. This was also the case for me during that time. However, the situation has changed now, and I often find myself having to correct certain construction processes. When this occurs, it can come as a surprise to the workers.

Yeah, regarding that, we read that you are interested in the drawings that are connected to the process of construction, that are really connected to how that architecture is going to be made. And in your books, you present your buildings, not with additional drawings, with the a-posteriori drawings, but you are always keen to maintain these production drawings. I’ve thought about your idea when you said that you are not interested in the rhetorical production of drawings, which are not technical, I mean for publication.

It’s something in the middle. I mean, we have to somehow adjust the drawings in order to be published, but normally we send drawings, more or less technical, to the magazines, but some of them don’t accept them. The stage when the architectural drawings are superposed with the technical projects of whole systems that converge in a construction into your screen, It’s really amazing, because you could feel how a simple building starts to become complex. This kind of drawing pushes the project far. I love that phase and mixed drawings. It just happens on the screen because it is not really useful on-site, as the builders get confused.

SS
So, in your work you mix hand drawings with computer drawings.

SR
You really are inside of your work when you are in frontof the screen. In this way many things, many solutions appear on the screen, not out of it. On the screen, correlations, ideas, superposition appear; not because the computer or your hand would be smart, but because there are a lot of accidents inside of this process. The screen it’s a really amazing place.

SS
Well, were the drawings of Enric Miralles important for you? They resonate in your drawings.

SR
He worked with paper rather than computers, and that was remarkable. For instance, when we worked on the Ines Table here in Chile, I spoke with Benedetta, who was incredibly generous with us. I asked her to send us the original plans, which she had scanned, and with those we were able to prepare the 3D model. We also used numerous photographs of the table.
Through this process, we discovered that the hand-drawn plans by Enric did not exactly match how the Ines Table was built, as there were some changes during its construction that is really normal. Consequently, we adapted the 2D drawings when creating the 3D model and together of that made a few adjustments, such as adding more hinges to improve strength. These changes were documented in the exhibition catalogue, as they did not alter the spirit of the table.
A couple of years ago, Benedetta requested the 3D model so they could produce a new version of the table that was showcased in Barcelona. Enric was a visionary—an incredible architect who could model his practice world in such a unique way.

SS
Regarding the themes that traverse your projects, even though I feel that each of your projects is complete in itself, there’s also the family of your many projects. And there are a few themes that, for me at least, appear obvious. First, it’s this meeting between lightness and ephemeral somehow opposed to heaviness and permanence. Could you talk about the rocks, about the boulders, this heaviness, that you attach to the project? You use them on the exterior of the houses to add weight and poetically ground it to the earth. But they’re also inside the houses. They also have this land-art value.

SR
Much of the beauty of rocks is reflected in their representation of just a geological time in Chile. In Japan, for example, rocks also carry other various symbolic meanings. When something new appears amidst a garden of rocks, it often seems as though the rocks were there before the new construction. This creates a paradox: it’s a bit artificial because the rocks are transported, yet it feels authentic. I use rocks in different ways; sometimes they are structural elements, and other they are purely part of the landscape.
After the Mestizo restaurant, I stopped using them as structural elements because it involves significant risk, especially since I had not thoroughly tested the rocks at that time. However, I realized that placing rocks under a structure integrates the surrounding garden, blurring the boundary between inside and outside. I discussed this concept at Highpoint II in London, inspired by Lubetkin’s use of caryatids to support part of the entrance structure. It’s a similar idea of incorporating elements typically found in a park into the interior of a building.

Highpoint II, Berthold Lubetkin, Northill, London, 1935-1938

On the other hand, you work with these translucent membranes and with these very, very light materials. I don’t know if ephemeral is a good word...

SR
Right now, it’s not the right term to use because they are not ephemeral; they could remain in place for 30 years without any issues. The technology of membranes has evolved significantly over the last 15 years. They may appear simple, but they are quite complex. It’s not the same as in the ‘60s, when they were just using “plastic”.
For example, three years ago, we worked on a project in London called London Sky. This translucent enclosure on top of a building was for an Alexander McQueen show and involved very high-tech solutions. The precautions were extensive due to the presence of people inside, the location in London, and the need for advanced engineering, climate control, and security.
In contrast, two years later, we did another project in Chile using techniques similar to those from the ‘60s—without engineering or calculations, relying only on experience, specifically mine. When we tested the structure in a field outside Santiago, it collapsed twice, and we couldn’t properly test it until the setup in downtown. We had to take a risk, knowing that we would have on-site a man assistance to monitor the structure, as it could collapse in winds over 40 kilometers per hour. We also knew that if there were strong winds during the conference, we would need to dismantle the structure and evacuate the people.
The material used was very ephemeral. The structure, which accommodated 500 people, cost only 35 000 euros, an inexpensive price for such an operation, which included 10 days of climate control. The material was essentially Mylar reinforced with bubble plastic used for insolation, and the pieces were joined with scotch tape. It was quite amusing because, despite looking impressive, no one was aware of the risks involved in this process. A Swiss individual even contacted me to buy the structure for a show in Switzerland, but that was impossible and ridiculous. We are in a different world, and the safety limits we work with are quite different from those elsewhere.

alexander-mcqueen-smiljan-radic-inflatable-dome-spring-summer-2023-fashion-hero_dezeen_236

Inflatable Dome by Smiljan Radić, Alexander McQueen Spring-Summer 2023 show, Old Royal Naval College, London,

Photo:Alexander McQueen

Estructura inflable, Smiljan Radić & Nicolás Schmidt,
Santiago, Chile, 2023
Photo: Cristóbal Palma

Both the heavy boulders and this light membrane have such a strong poetic when you use them as architectural parts. Another theme would be the skeleton structure, which is so important for Bíobío Theater, Casa de Madera and Prism House, among other projects. Here you work with these repetitions of elements, which become a skeleton. I was wondering if there’s a certain relation here to what you have called the scrawny houses; is it about looking to find the essence of a project?

In some places, you can be very schematic with architecture, and that approach can be very effective. For example, we are currently starting a project in Bali, Indonesia. The climate there is quite consistent—hot with rain—and that simplicity affects architectural choices. In such environments, you can blur the lines between inside and outside, eliminating the need for traditional windows or glass. This context forces you to rethink what architecture truly requires, often leading to simpler designs with fewer layers.
For instance, in Bali, what you primarily need is a terrace. This focus on essential needs can be quite enlightening. I designed a house in Peru with a similar approach. There, impermeabilization is unnecessary due to the lack of rain, and insulation isn’t needed because temperatures range from 22 to 30 degrees Celsius. The main requirement is shade, nothing more.

Bíobío Theater, Smiljan Radić, Región del Biobío, Chile, 2018
Photo: Estudio Palma, Cristóbal Palma

Casa de Madera, Smiljan Radić, Colico, Chile, 2015
Photo: Estudio Palma, Cristóbal Palma

Some of my buildings, like the Bíobío project, aim for a schematic approach, even though they are public structures. However, this simplicity can also make them quite fragile. Perhaps this indicates a flaw in my thinking, as public spaces typically require a more permanent, durable approach.

You mentioned the climate and temperatures and the weather. Do you think architecture can still be sincere? I mean, when there is an insulation layer, all these legal requirements, fire, climate control, etc. Do you think we’re still in this age of having this ideal where construction remains visible in the end and determines space and expression towards the exterior?

I mean, Alberti’s De re aedificatoria is similar in this regard. The first five chapters focus on the material conditions of architecture, such as how to position a house within a landscape or in relation to water, how humidity affects it, and its relationship to the sun. These chapters go beyond geometry and proportion, which are the parts that most architects tend to focus on. They address practical, common-sense considerations.
Today, I think this kind of common sense is still relevant, especially when considering the technology we can apply. However, some parts of my buildings are not designed for constant use; they might only be used at specific times. This approach allows for more radical and cost-effective solutions, as it helps to avoid many potential problems and simplifies the design. Of course, trying to address every issue can make things more complex. Therefore, it’s crucial to consider how you want the building to be used.

SS
We are getting close to the end of the interview. We have just two final questions. So you have worked in the same office with Cecilia, right? And you have been to visit at least the house with the three volumes. And now she’s the director of the Pre-Columbian Museum, which you have designed, the innovation. Do you still keep in contact? Do you work together from time to time?

Prism House, Smiljan Radić, Chiloé forest, Chile, 1997
Photo: Estudio Palma, ,Cristóbal Palma

Extension & Remodeling of the Chilean Museum of
Pre-Columbian Art, Smiljan Radić, Santiago, Chile, 2014
Photo: Estudio Palma, Cristóbal Palma

We used to share the same workspace, but I’ve recently moved my studio to a new location. We remain friends for more than 30 years and see each other often, but we don’t usually discuss architecture in depth. Architecture isn’t everything in life. Even when we shared a space, our conversations weren’t focused on architecture; we mostly just joked around. The last time we collaborated was on the contest for the Chilean pavilion for the Dubai Fair that we won, but unfortunately, it was never built. Cecilia has her own unique approach to architecture.

One last question that anticipates the conference. You have given many conferences. I was wondering if you would maybe have some thoughts about what a conference of architecture is. As you know, there are great architects today that besides the actual work, they write essays, they teach, they are active in their communities; and there’s also the conference as a genre in itself. Have you given any thought to this?

I usually give only one or two conferences a year. That’s it. I limit the number because I don’t receive much feedback from them, and it can be exhausting. When you present your work and don’t get any feedback, it’s frustrating. You start to wonder if you’re on the right track or if you’re just talking nonsense, and neither scenario is pleasant.
I don’t need the validation, but I see conferences as an opportunity to review how I present my projects and ideas to others and to engage them in the process. I approach my projects as a cohesive family, trying to connect them to explain the overall process, which might be complex or intertwined.
Currently, I’m considering showing a project I’ve never presented before — perhaps not buildings, but other types of projects. I want to share some that are significant to me but will never be produced, along with some mistakes I’ve made. We’ll see how it goes.

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An interview with Smiljan Radić