Unagru

Category: Urbanism

  • Planning Success in Croydon: HMO Conversion and a New Family Home

    Planning Success in Croydon: HMO Conversion and a New Family Home

    How this article works

    This is the practical companion to Part 1. If that earlier essay explored why conservation areas exist and how they came to shape London’s identity, this one explains what they mean for daily life — what can and cannot be changed, and how those decisions are made.

    You can read it straight through as an introduction to the system, or skip ahead to the most useful sections: Appraisals and Management Plans and Article 4 Directions. These two tools are the real engines of conservation policy. Appraisals describe why an area is special and outline which alterations are likely to harm its character — often roofs, front façades and anything visible from the street. Article 4 Directions, meanwhile, limit automatic planning permissions, especially for works such as window replacements, boundary walls, paving, and roof extensions.

    If you live or work in a conservation area, understanding these documents will save time, money and frustration — and, more importantly, deepen your appreciation of what makes your neighbourhood distinct.

    Living with heritage

    Conservation areas sit at the meeting point of architecture, law and identity. Their purpose is not to prevent change but to guide it, ensuring that the city continues to evolve without losing its memory. Knowing the framework helps you navigate it, but it also helps you enjoy what it protects: the balance of your street, the grain of brick, the canopy of trees that makes the air gentler.

    1  The legal foundation

    The authority for conservation areas lies in Section 69 of the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990. Every local council must identify parts of its district that are of special architectural or historic interest, whose character or appearance it is desirable to preserve or enhance.

    That phrase — preserve or enhance — still defines how planners assess proposals. It is less about freezing time than about allowing change that sustains significance.

    Historic England summarises it well: conservation is the management of change in a way that sustains significance. The city continues to move, but with care.

    2  Different kinds of conservation area

    The term covers a wide range of contexts. Each type brings its own sensitivities and opportunities.

    Architectural or historic character areas

    These form the majority of London’s designations: Georgian terraces in Islington, late-Victorian streets in Hackney, Edwardian villas in Ealing. Their value lies in the harmony of façades, materials and rooflines. Altering a window or boundary wall can affect an entire rhythm.

    Our new Bromley project, for example, sits in one such area, where the designation recognises the consistent relationship between plots, rather than any single building.

    Garden suburb and green character areas

    Neighbourhoods such as Hampstead Garden Suburb blend architecture with landscape planning. Hedges, trees and verges are part of the composition. Removing a tree or paving a garden can alter character as much as a new extension.

    Mixed or industrial heritage areas

    In Camden’s workshops or the Docklands, the essence lies in the grain of yards and warehouses. Scale and spatial rhythm matter more than ornament.

    Landscape or topographical areas

    Along riverbanks or on rising ground, conservation may focus on skyline, contour and view. Control extends to massing, planting and how buildings meet the land.

    Unagru Bromley project is in a Bromley conservation area, the details and materials express a continuity of language.
    Unagru Bromley project is in a Bromley conservation area, the details and materials express a continuity of language.

    3  Layers of protection

    Most conservation areas overlap with other designations. Understanding the layers prevents confusion.

    Listed buildings

    A listed building is protected nationally for its special interest. Grades I, II* and II mark levels of importance. Any alteration affecting its character requires separate Listed Building Consent. Within a conservation area, this protection extends to the building’s setting — the surrounding streets and spaces.

    Locally listed and non-designated heritage assets

    Councils often maintain local heritage lists of buildings valued by residents. They appear in appraisals as positive contributors and are material considerations in planning decisions. Altering or demolishing them requires clear justification.

    4  Permitted development and Article 4 Directions

    The General Permitted Development Order allows some small-scale works without full permission. In conservation areas those rights are narrower, and a council can withdraw them entirely through an Article 4 Direction.

    What an Article 4 Direction does

    It removes specific permitted-development rights so that changes are assessed individually. It does not forbid work; it requires a proper application. Typical restrictions concern:

    • Windows, doors and roof coverings
    • Porches or side extensions
    • Boundary walls, fences and gates
    • Roof extensions or dormers
    • Hard-surfacing of front gardens
    • Painting or rendering façades visible from public streets

    Boroughs such as Camden, Islington, Hackney, Kensington & Chelsea and Richmond maintain detailed Article 4 maps showing where these controls apply.

    How it is applied

    A direction must be justified, consulted upon and confirmed by the local authority. Its reasoning almost always refers to the Conservation Area Appraisal, which identifies particular vulnerabilities — often the gradual loss of traditional details.

    What it means for design

    In an Article 4 area, even like-for-like replacements may need permission. Expect to provide measured drawings, material samples and a design statement showing how your proposal preserves or enhances the area’s character.

    Victoria Park Conservation Area, Hackney
    Victoria Park Conservation Area, Hackney

    5  Conservation Area Appraisals and Management Plans

    If the Act provides authority, the appraisal provides understanding. It explains why the area is special and how it should be managed.

    What an appraisal contains

    A typical appraisal describes:

    • Historical development and urban form
    • Architectural types and materials
    • Street patterns, open spaces, trees and key views
    • Buildings that contribute positively, neutrally or negatively
    • Pressures and opportunities for change

    Appraisals often specify the kinds of intervention regarded as harmful: changes to roof profiles, loss of chimneys, modernised windows or alterations visible from the street. They act as both evidence and guide. Historic England recommends updating them every five years.

    Management Plans

    Many councils pair the appraisal with a Management Plan setting out maintenance policies, public-realm priorities and guidance on sustainability. Together, they form the local design manual.

    Why they matter

    Planners consult the appraisal first when assessing proposals. A project that undermines the qualities identified as essential is likely to be refused. The appraisal also provides the evidence base for any Article 4 Direction.

    6  How planners think

    When a proposal arrives, officers consider:

    1. Does it preserve or enhance the character described in the appraisal?
    2. Is its scale and materiality sympathetic to context?
    3. Are details such as joinery and reveals handled with care?
    4. Does it respect key views, trees and open space?
    5. Is new work distinct yet harmonious?
    6. What is the cumulative impact?
    7. If harm is unavoidable, is there clear public benefit?
    8. Are sustainability measures integrated sensitively?

    Approvals often carry conditions requiring samples or detailed drawings before work starts.

    De Vere Gardens, Kensington & Chelsea
    De Vere Gardens, Kensington & Chelsea

    7  Reading your site

    Before design begins, three sources tell you almost everything you need to know.

    Article 4 Direction — what needs consent

    Check the council’s heritage map or register. If your street is covered, assume that visible external works require permission.

    Conservation Area Appraisal — why it matters

    Read the sections on character, materials and trees. They reveal what the planning officer will defend most strongly.

    Local Guidelines and SPDs — how to treat it

    Supplementary Planning Documents translate the appraisal into practice, covering roof extensions, windows, boundaries and retrofits.

    Together they create a simple hierarchy:

    1. Appraisal – defines significance
    2. SPD – interprets it
    3. Article 4 – controls consent

    8  A short checklist

    Before embarking on any work in a conservation area:

    1. Confirm the boundary and any Article 4 Direction.
    2. Read the latest appraisal and management plan.
    3. Check for listed or locally listed status.
    4. Consult SPDs and Local Plan heritage policies.
    5. Survey the street — materials, boundaries, roofline, trees.
    6. Review recent planning approvals.
    7. Engage the conservation officer early.

    This preparation ensures that your design speaks the same language as local policy.

    9  From bureaucracy to craft

    These documents are often seen as bureaucracy, but they are really guides to good design. An appraisal explains what gives a place its strength; SPDs show how to work with it; Article 4 Directions remind us that small details matter.

    Working within such a structure encourages precision. Every parapet, window reveal or garden wall contributes to the collective beauty of the street. Conservation work, at any scale, is a quiet craft that rewards attentiveness.

    10  Take a moment

    Living in a conservation area is a privilege. Before opening the drawings folder, walk your street. Notice how the roofs step with the slope, how the brick catches light, how a line of trees ties the whole together. These are the things the framework protects. It exists so that you, and those after you, can enjoy them — and add to them thoughtfully.

    Further reading

    • Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act 1990, ss. 69–74 — legislation.gov.uk
    • Historic England, Conservation Area Designation, Appraisal and Management (2019)
    • General Permitted Development Order (England) (2023)
    • Local SPDs and CAAs — Camden, Islington, Hackney, Kensington & Chelsea, Richmond

  • The Evolution of “Acoustic” Architecture

    The Evolution of “Acoustic” Architecture

    The Evolution of “Acoustic” Architecture: Beyond the Visual

    Architecture is often discussed in purely visual terms—façades, silhouettes, and how buildings interact with light. However, the real defining quality of architecture is the deeper, multisensory experience that spaces offer. At our practice, we frequently return to Le Corbusier’s concept of “acoustic” architecture, which shifts the conversation from what we see to how we experience space with the whole body. This idea opens up a richer dialogue, one that acknowledges the role of organic shapes, movement, sound, touch, and light in shaping our interaction with the built environment.

    Le Corbusier’s use of the term “acoustic” goes beyond technical sound properties; instead, it refers to how space resonates emotionally and physically with those who inhabit it. In Le Poème de l’Angle Droit (The Poem of the Right Angle), Le Corbusier wrote about how his Chapel of Notre-Dame-du-Haut at Ronchamp, with its sweeping curves and dynamic forms, creates a dialogue with the landscape. He stated that architecture should act as an “acoustic receiver” of the hills, valleys, and sky surrounding the chapel (Le Corbusier, 1955). He spoke of a “phenomenon of visual acoustics” where the building was meant to capture and reflect the visual and emotional vibrations of the landscape itself. The landscape and chapel were designed to become one, creating a spiritual and sensory experience for visitors, much like how sound reverberates through a space. Light pours in at different angles, and shadows shift throughout the day, offering a dynamic interaction between the architecture and its surroundings. The design forces the occupant to experience the space beyond just visual observation—it must be moved through, felt, and sensed.

    Similarly, we strive to create what we call “acoustic” spaces—spaces that move beyond the visual and engage the full spectrum of human perception. Whether working within the constraints of Victorian terraces or experimenting with more open, fluid forms, our goal is to challenge conventional orthogonality and introduce new layers of resonance into our work.

    Image: Ronchamp Chapel, Dezeen

    A bit of Neuroscience, why not?

    The connection between architecture and the body is not just theoretical; it is grounded in the way our brains process space. Cognitive neuroscience tells us that the brain processes space through multiple sensory pathways, engaging vision, sound, touch, and proprioception (Graziano & Gross, 1998). The hippocampus, which plays a critical role in navigation and memory, works with the parahippocampal gyrus to help us understand where we are in space and how we move through it (Ekstrom et al., 2003). Additionally, the amygdala is involved in evaluating our emotional responses to our surroundings—whether we feel safe, comfortable, or anxious in a given environment (Phelps & LeDoux, 2005).

    Research in cognitive science shows that humans respond more positively to organic, curvilinear forms than to sharp, rectilinear ones. This can be traced back to our evolutionary past when humans lived in environments filled with natural, irregular forms—trees, rivers, hills—where these shapes often indicated safety and refuge (Joye, 2007). In contrast, jagged edges and sharp angles are associated with danger (think of cliffs or thorny plants). Our brains are wired to interpret these forms differently, with curved spaces activating the brain’s reward systems, including the orbitofrontal cortex, which is responsible for aesthetic appreciation and pleasure (Vartanian et al., 2013). Studies using fMRI have shown that these areas of the brain are more engaged when people view curvilinear spaces instead of rectilinear environments.

    However, the desire for clarity and orientation is equally important. Kevin Lynch, in his landmark study The Image of the City (1960), identified the importance of legibility in urban environments. Legibility refers to how easily people understand and navigate a city or space. Clarity and predictability in spatial layouts reduce cognitive load, making it easier to orient oneself and move comfortably through an environment. This is where orthogonal grids and rectilinear layouts come into play—they provide clarity and order in what might otherwise be chaotic or confusing spaces.

    The Role of Orthogonal Spaces: Efficiency and Calm

    Orthogonal spaces, like the grid systems found in Roman cities or the rectilinear layouts of Victorian terraced houses, offer a different kind of spatial experience. They are defined by clarity, predictability, and simplicity. Greek and Roman cities were laid out with orthogonal grids to facilitate navigation and enable efficient construction and urban planning (Rykwert, 1976). These layouts allowed for the easy division of land and the straightforward development of infrastructure, promoting a rational and ordered cityscape. The same principle can be found in the Victorian terraces of London—spaces that prioritised economy and efficiency.

    The brain processes orthogonal layouts with ease, given their clear lines and simple geometry. In an increasingly overstimulating world, the simplicity of these layouts can offer a kind of psychological relief. Minimalist, rectilinear spaces are often associated with calmness, as their clear boundaries and comprehensible forms reduce the cognitive effort required to interpret the space (Ching, 2007). For many, the orthogonal layouts found in monastic architecture, for example, offer a sense of peace, providing a quiet, orderly retreat from the noise of modern life.

    However, orthogonal spaces can also be limiting if they are not balanced with more dynamic elements. While clarity and predictability are essential for orientation, they don’t always engage the senses or emotions as organic, flowing forms do. This is where the tension between orthogonality and fluidity becomes critical. Architects often aim to balance the efficiency and simplicity of rectilinear spaces with the emotional richness of more complex, curvilinear forms.

     Having studied and worked in Italy and Spain, this train of thought brings me back to several Spanish and Italian architects who have explored the balance between orthogonal clarity and organic fluidity in their work, often creating spaces that, like Le Corbusier’s, resonate emotionally with their inhabitants.

    Antoni Coderch, a major figure in Catalan modernism, is known for his sensitivity to the lived experience of space. A great admirer of Gio Ponti, his Barceloneta apartment building is composed of a sequence of angled surfaces from the inside to the façade (Samper & Capitel, 1992). The architecture school building where I attended was originally a modernist slab building and then extended by Coderch with a sequence of curved spaces stepping down to adapt to the landscape.

    Elias Torres and José Antonio Martínez Lapeña took a similar approach in their work, not only in public projects but also in private homes and apartment buildings. Their residential designs often feature non-orthogonal layouts and organic forms that enhance the sensory experience of the inhabitants (Torres & Martínez Lapeña, 1993). The subtle shifts in geometry make the spaces feel alive, constantly engaging the senses as people move through them. Their work demonstrates how manipulating form can transform even conventional residential buildings into deeply sensory and emotional experiences.

    In the same generation as Elias Torres in Barcelona, architects like Josep Llinàs, Lluís Clotet, and Carme Ribas have also been experimenting with non-orthogonal solutions. Josep Llinàs has explored complex geometries in both public and private projects, creating spaces that challenge conventional perceptions of form and function (Llinàs, 2008). Lluís Clotet’s work often incorporates irregular layouts and fluid forms, adding layers of richness to the architectural experience (Clotet & Tusquets, 1985). Carme Ribas focuses on how subtle deviations from orthogonality can create more engaging and humane spaces (Ribas, 2010). Collectively, these architects contribute to a tradition in Barcelona of pushing the boundaries of conventional design, exploring how non-orthogonal geometries can enhance the phenomenology of architecture.

    Enric Miralles, another Catalan architect, took these ideas even further. His Scottish Parliament Building in Edinburgh and the Santa Caterina Market in Barcelona are both extreme experiments in the composition and construction of fluid, organic forms (Rowe, 2005). Miralles’ use of undulating lines and complex geometries creates a sense of movement and energy that makes the spaces feel dynamic, rich and joyful. These buildings act as landscapes and environments that change and evolve as people move through them, creating a constantly shifting experience.

    In Italy, among others, Gio Ponti and Luigi Caccia Dominioni also explored how non-orthogonal layouts can create acoustic resonance in residential architecture. Ponti’s Villa Planchart in Caracas, for example, uses flowing interior spaces to create a seamless connection between the occupants and the surrounding landscape (Ponti, 1961). The curves guide movement through the house, making it feel as though the architecture is constantly responding to its environment. Luigi Caccia Dominioni delved deeply into the phenomenology of architecture, focusing on how non-orthogonal flat layouts can influence the lived experience. His research into the emotional and sensory impacts of spatial configurations highlights the importance of considering more than just functional efficiency in design (Irace, 2002).

    Top: EMBT (Enric Miralles Benedetta Tagliabue), Mercado de Santa Caterina, Barcelona, 2004

    Bottom Torres Lapeña, Casa Gili, Ibiza, 1987

    Reconciling Orthogonality and Organic Form

    In our practice, we often work within the constraints of pre-existing orthogonal layouts, particularly in Victorian terraces. These spaces are defined by their rectilinear grids, which offer clarity and efficiency but can also feel rigid and confining. We often feel the instinctive urge to test elements that challenge this rigidity, creating moments of fluidity and resonance that engage the senses more fully.

    In the House for a Cellist, for instance, we reduced the orthogonal layout of the original Victorian structure to its minimum terms: two party walls and one façade. Within this clear constraint, we introduced geometric forms that break up the rigidity of the space. A triangular wooden prism encloses the stairs and service areas, creating a dynamic centre that contrasts with the straight lines of the surrounding rooms, and enveloping the sitting and rehearsal areas in an acoustic scenography. A circular roof light introduces natural light into the house’s core, softening the rigidity of the acute angles. This combination of orthogonal clarity and curvilinear movement creates an “acoustic” resonance, making the space feel alive and responsive to its occupants.

    Similarly, in The Sponge, we took a traditional terraced house and punctured its orthogonal layout with skylights and windows, allowing light to filter deep into the space. The long convex joinery walls guide movement through the house, creating a sense of flow and fluidity within the otherwise rigid structure. The angled joinery wall contains and hides the kitchen and all the other ground floor services. This balance between the clarity of the original structure and the dynamic nature of the interventions transforms the space into something far more engaging.

    The Boat Pavilion is another example of how we apply “acoustic” principles. Here, the curved forms evoke the shape of a boat, while the pitched roof—cut at the top to allow light to filter in—expands the sense of space and openness.

    Image, The Boat Pavilion

    In The Tent on a Hill, we introduced a continuous curved ceiling that stretches the length of the open-plan space. This design choice not only expands the perceived volume of the room but also creates a subtle sense of movement that guides the eye and encourages flow through the space. The fluidity of the ceiling adds dynamism to what could otherwise be a static orthogonal structure, creating an interplay between clarity and acoustic resonance. This combination of fluidity and clarity reinforces the idea that even within rigid, rectilinear spaces, it is possible to introduce moments of sensory and emotional engagement that transform how the space is perceived and inhabited .

    Our journey into “acoustic” architecture is an ongoing exploration. Each new project serves as both a challenge and an opportunity to deepen our understanding of how space can resonate with its occupants. We are not merely designing buildings; we are crafting experiences that engage the senses and emotions on multiple levels.

    Our upcoming projects aim to push these concepts even further. By experimenting with new materials, forms, and spatial configurations, we hope to expand the vocabulary of acoustic architecture. These endeavors will not only enrich our portfolio but also contribute to a larger body of work that investigates the intersection of human perception and architectural form.

    In time, this collection of projects will evolve into an extensive research library—a resource for both our team and the wider architectural community. By documenting our processes, successes, and even our missteps, we aspire to foster a deeper conversation about the role of sensory engagement in design. After all, architecture is not just about walls and roofs; it’s about creating spaces that feel alive, dynamic, and responsive—a truly acoustic experience.

  • Housing Crisis. Who cares about small sites?

    Housing Crisis. Who cares about small sites?

    London’s housing market is facing significant challenges, with rising costs, slowing sales, and a drop in new housing starts. House prices have already fallen by 5%, with another 4% drop expected, and when adjusted for inflation, prices have effectively fallen by 20%. With new build sales down by 37%, and construction starts dropping by 60%, the pipeline for new housing is shrinking at a time when demand is still high, particularly for affordable homes.

    The government has ambitious plans to boost affordable and social housing, but the question remains: how can this be achieved when the housing market is stagnating and large developers are hesitant to start new projects? One of the answers may lie in small developers—those who focus on smaller sites of 20 units or even less.

    The Broader Housing Context: A Market Under Pressure

    With planning applications down by 70%, the obstacles facing developers are significant. The end of the Help to Buy scheme has dampened demand for new builds, and domestic buyers are shifting away from smaller, new-build flats in favour of larger, second-hand properties. The typical first-time buyer, now 33 years old and needing a deposit of £500,000, is more likely to opt for a larger, established home rather than a new-build, one-bedroom flat.

    Meanwhile, the supply of new homes is shrinking. Large developers are scaling back due to uncertainty and viability challenges, and the pipeline of new projects is drying up. This combination of factors is putting the government’s housing targets at risk, particularly in terms of delivering affordable and social housing.

    The Role of Small Developers: A Missed Opportunity?

    At Unagru Architecture Urbanism, we believe that small developers could play a crucial role in solving London’s housing crisis. Small-scale projects, typically 30-40 units, offer a unique opportunity to deliver housing that is both affordable and innovative. These smaller sites can often be developed faster and with more flexibility than larger projects, particularly when it comes to infill developments or smaller, underutilised plots of land.

    But despite their potential, small developers are often left out of the broader conversation about housing reform. We believe that this is a missed opportunity, and several key questions need to be addressed in order to unlock the full potential of small developments.

    Our project on The Broadway, Greenford, will deliver eight new flats.

    Key Questions for Unlocking Small Development Potential

    1. Should there be a fast-track planning service for small sites?

    One of the biggest challenges facing small developers is the planning process. With planning applications down by 70%, it’s clear that the system is not working efficiently, particularly for smaller projects. We believe there should be a fast-track planning service for small sites, enabling quicker approvals and faster delivery of new homes.

    This would benefit not only developers but also local communities, as small sites are often well-suited for infill developments, which can add housing units without requiring large-scale regeneration projects. A streamlined planning process could unlock these sites, helping to alleviate the housing shortage without sacrificing quality.

    2. Should Section 106 be adjusted to maximise housing delivery on small sites?

    Section 106 agreements, which require developers to contribute to affordable housing or community infrastructure, can often be a financial burden for small developers. While these contributions are essential for funding affordable housing, they can make smaller projects financially unviable.

    Could Section 106 be adjusted for small developers? Rather than focusing purely on financial contributions, the policy could be more flexible, allowing developers to contribute in different ways—such as through off-site contributions or by partnering with housing associations to deliver affordable homes.

    3. Quantity AND quality?

    In the rush to meet housing targets, there is a risk that quality will be sacrificed for the sake of quantity. While it’s important to deliver more homes, we believe that small developments offer a unique opportunity to prioritise high-quality, well-designed housing that meets the needs of the community. Smaller sites could benefit from a simplified regulatory and approval process in exchange for more attention to design quality and innovation.

    4. Should small developments be a testing ground for higher quality standards?

    Currently, there is a lack of scrutiny over the quality of development on small sites. In many cases, there are no qualifications required of builders, and very few checks are in place to ensure the quality of construction. This is a missed opportunity to raise standards across the industry.

    We believe that small developments, particularly those with 2-3 units and 9-10 unit projects, could serve as testing grounds for minimum quality certifications for both developers and contractors. By implementing higher standards on small sites, we can begin to build a cohort of new actors in the built environment who are capable of delivering high-quality, affordable housing on a larger scale. This bottom-up approach could help address the skills gap and ensure that the industry evolves in a way that prioritises quality.

    5. Should we consider closer ties with the European Union to address the skills shortage?

    One of the most pressing issues facing the construction industry is the skills shortage. With Brexit limiting access to skilled workers from the European Union, the construction sector is struggling to fill key roles, driving up costs and slowing down projects. Given this challenge, it may be time to consider closer ties with the EU to ease restrictions on labour movement and help fill the gaps in the workforce.

    Addressing the skills shortage is crucial for both large and small developments, ensuring that projects can proceed without unnecessary delays or compromises in quality.

    Conclusion: Small Developers, Big Impact

    The housing crisis in London is a complex problem that will require bold solutions. While large-scale developments will always play a central role, small developers must also be part of the equation. These smaller projects, which focus on high-quality, community-driven housing, have the potential to meet the needs of younger, middle-class buyers in a way that larger developments cannot.

    At Unagru Architecture Urbanism, we are committed to advocating for the role of small developers in solving London’s housing crisis. By fast-tracking planning, adjusting Section 106 agreements, and focusing on quality over quantity, we believe that small developers can unlock new opportunities for growth and innovation in the housing market.

    The time has come to ensure that small sites are not just part of the conversation but a central part of the solution.

  • Unagru New Office in Malaysia

    Unagru New Office in Malaysia

    We are thrilled to announce an exciting development for Unagru – we are extending our wings to Asia by opening a new design and research branch in Malaysia. This initiative is led by Gary Yeow, our brilliant associate and a dearly missed former member of the London team. We had several conversations about what Unagru Malaysia could and should become, so we shared our thought processes in the same dialogue format.

    Tell us about yourself.

    Hello everyone! My name is Gary Yeow. I was born and lived most of my life in Malaysia. I am an associate of Unagru Architecture Urbanism and am now leading our newly launched multidisciplinary Unagru design office in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I also teach interior architecture at the Malaysia Institute of Arts. I write for some publications and host some podcasts during my free time.

    I completed my architectural degree at Taylor’s University, Malaysia. I worked for a year at ZLG Design Office, an architectural practice in Kuala Lumpur, before furthering my studies at the University of Strathclyde, Scotland. I worked at the Unagru office in London for two years as an office manager, and now I am permanently based in Malaysia.

    Why did you choose to study architecture? 

    Close-up detail of KLIA’s vaulted roofs in Malaysia, by Kisho Kurokawa

    It’s interesting to recall why I chose to study architecture because it was not my first, or any considered, choice at all. When I was young, I found KLIA (Kuala Lumpur International Airport), designed by Kisho Kurokawa, fascinating. It is still a fantastic place to visit. I used to ride my motorcycle to the airport at night to see the empty (sometimes crowded) airport and the moments when the planes took off. 

    So, I initially considered studying aviation engineering or becoming a pilot. Aviation engineering was a niche field in Malaysia, so my brother, who was already studying at a local university, suggested that I choose mechanical engineering as an alternative closer to what I wanted to do. Eventually, I chose architecture and decided to try my luck. So here I am! I’m not working as a practising architect but revolving around the world of architecture.

    Favourite books?

    The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton is my all-time favourite. I bought the book while completing my architectural foundation course, and it took me quite a while to finish reading it. I was always keen to know more about happiness from a general humanistic perspective, so that book holds a special place in my heart. Another one, not a book but an exhibition publication, is Architecture Without Architects by Bernard Rudofsky.

    There are books I enjoy reading for ‘academic’ purposes and the clarity of their writing, such as On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin, Delirious New York by Rem Koolhaas, The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith, and Utopia or Oblivion by Buckminster Fuller.

    Favorite building in Malaysia?

    I am a fan of modernist / art-deco concrete buildings, simply practical and elegant in the tropical context. It’s hard to identify my favourite building in particular because it is scattered around Malaysia in urban and rural settings.

    Teluk Anson Chinese Club, an art deco building in Perak, Malaysia

    I recently discovered the Teluk Anson Chinese Club, which is a memorable one. It has a well-designed facade for natural air ventilation, beautiful proportions with shades and brise-soleils, and the ‘least disrupted’ facade with minimal signboard intrusions. This is noteworthy as many buildings in Malaysia, modernist or not, need to be more focused on shop signages and billboards. 

    PJ Trade Centre, an office tower with well-designed landscape, materiality and openness

    Oh yes, a rather contemporary one is the PJ Trade Centre, designed by Kevin Mark Low. It stands out as a gem representing a good Malaysian architectural example. Interestingly enough, I live across from this building, and the familiarity contributes to my liking.

    Share with us how did you join Unagru.

    After completing my master’s at the University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, I moved to London to look for a job. I came across Unagru’s job ads for a recruiting office and content manager, and I found it interesting, so I applied. Partly because my final year thesis focused on sustainability and resilience in architectural business and its operations, it’s intriguing how architects often discuss buildings or society but seldom talk about themselves, their stories, businesses, or their well-being—my time in the London studio allowed me to observe the evolution of architects’ roles over different periods, offering a contemplative moment to rethink the building and construction industry’s ecosystem. 

    What inspired the decision to move back and set up new office in Malaysia?

    The decision to move was challenging. Life in London was enjoyable, mainly when I could cycle everywhere and work with fantastic colleagues. However, there were limitations to my growth for new challenges, particularly in teaching and for personal reasons. Also, having more friends and collaborators across different disciplines who shared a mutual passion in the Asian region, I decided to move back to initiate more conversations around architecture through practice and education, hoping to contribute more at home. 

    Speaking of setting up a new office, I want to applaud and thank Davide, the director of Unagru Architecture Urbanism, who believed in and respected my decision to move back to Malaysia. This has allowed me to embark on a new journey, personally and professionally. While I continue to assist the UK office with marketing matters, we stay in touch while exploring exciting opportunities to expand Unagru’s business globally and locally. 

    What would be the projects are you planning to do?

    Unagru’s philosophy centres on creating ‘ecological and narrative design.’  

    Our multidisciplinary design office in Malaysia operates as an extension, closely aligning with ESG (Environmental, Social, and Governance) principles as design strategists. We view ourselves as researchers, communicators, educators, writers, participants, and designers of places—in a regionally and locally engaging manner, enabling good architecture and design. 

    The approach is inspired by modern-day polymath Buckminster Fuller, motivating us to utilise design as a holistic solution by ‘doing more with less’. This prompts us to interpret efficiency and economy consciously when considering existing and new energy, resources, and labour—not exploitatively, but through embracing mutual collaborations to deliver optimal results by prioritising communication and trust. 

    Our Malaysia office aims to be sensitive, conscious or frugal about energy, people, and economy as a sustainable business ethos. When we demand an efficient workflow and planning for our (and our clients’) expectations, we can achieve more with less… which will provide a surplus of time and energy to observe our everyday problems and solutions. This method of working provides, most importantly, many opportunities to collaborate with individuals that we usually do not encounter in a construction project. Therefore, as a collective, our work revolves around everyday life, including culture, art, small businesses, finance, city connectivity, and more.  

    There was a podcast by Scaffold, and during the conversation, Tony Fretton mentioned that ‘nothing is too trivial’ when he was asked about his photographic documentation of everydayness and ordinariness. I like it very much, where daily observations are critical opportunities for designers like us to engage in conversations and initiate design as solutions. We must be proactive rather than wait for the right time or client. Architectural thinking or approaches can be the starting point, where we can expand architecture, predominantly perceived as a building-making medium or instrument, to offer a broader range of creative outputs. 

    Our directions hinge on two keywords: purpose and collaboration. 

    A sketch depicting the possibilities of revitalising KL downtown by adaptive reuse strategies

    The first direction is termed ‘the purpose to activate.’ We initiate projects by sensitively observing everyday surroundings and proposing what we can offer to improve our surroundings. Ongoing research projects may evolve into architectural endeavours, such as exploring the potential of unused office towers in downtown Kuala Lumpur with circular economy and adaptive reuse strategies (inspired by 51N4E’s ongoing WTC re-using project), or experimenting with low-carbon materials like rammed earth or mycelium. Though this process is time-consuming, we can highlight critical or urgent issues through strategic project brief planning and collaboration with various disciplines. This category also includes participating in design competitions or open proposals.  

    The second direction is termed ‘the purpose of alternating.’ This occurs when engaged by clients, consultants, or builders with their brief, like a housing project. We collaborate closely with local architects to understand project potentials and weaknesses, proposing alternatives to enhance design, reduce costs, and minimise environmental impact.

    Tales of Vessels, an artwork by Gary during KL Design Festival ‘DomesticDomicileDominate’ exhibition, curated by Danial Ismail, Shamin Sahrum and Gary Yeow

    The exciting aspect of this research-and-practice business model is its diversified outcomes. 

    In the architecture and construction scene, we help clients define clear and feasible project briefs, work on designs with Unagru UK, collaborate with local architects and builders on project progress, and engage in post-occupation stages with marketing or branding strategies if required. We lead the project by distributing the workload to other collaborators. The takeaway is everyone learns from each other while zooming into different deliverables. 

    Meanwhile, our framework of architecture expands beyond buildings. The most recent ones would be my writing on Malaysian architecture history on the period between the end of WW2 and the national independence and an exhibition about Domestic Culture titled “DomDomDom” (Domestic, Domicile, Dominate) I curated with my friends Dan and Sam for KL Design Festival 2023. So, don’t be surprised to see exhibitions, events, or publications in our portfolio.

    Stay tuned for more!

    For collaborations, please contact Gary at gary@unagru.com or you can visit us at:

    15-05, Tower 2, Faber Towers, Jalan Desa Bahagia, Taman Desa, Kuala Lumpur 58100, Malaysia.

  • A sequence of Rooms (Ecology and Design.1)

    A sequence of Rooms (Ecology and Design.1)

    Our latest participation in the Open House Festival allowed us to reflect on our domestic projects. The result was a little booklet alternating ecological and design matters we care about. Seeing how the two categories liked to intertwine and work together was fascinating. This is the first paragraph in the design section.

    The room has been the founding principle of domestic life and architecture for a long time. It is the founding structure elements composing a building that needs continuous support while it allows privacy (a walk-in wardrobe), specialisation (a kitchen) and character (the dining room). A room can be someone’s room or a specific one with its character, light conditions, materials and all the rest. Throughout the history of modern and contemporary architecture, the room has been fought as a legacy of class separation and social conformity. Modern architects have gradually broken up the room until reaching its complete dissolution before a new generation has returned to review the quality of discrete spaces. Between the total dissolution of space into the exterior landscape and the formal separation of rooms, most contemporary architecture seeks to find balance, character and sense.

    In our work, we often deal with existing conditions. One of the ways in which we reduce our carbon footprint and the cost of our projects is to exercise the eye in recognising existing qualities and structural principles of the buildings we are entrusted to modify. When working on a traditional building – founded on rooms, a large portion of our work consists of remodelling these rooms to unlock the movement of air and people. This is one of the principles of the narrative open plan. We look at what’s there. We identify its qualities. Recognising the buildings’ structure allows us to work with its grain and reduce costs and carbon footprint; recognising its founding character allows us to compose complex, eventful projects.

    Loop House was born from this analysis: a series of rooms that needed to open into one another and towards the garden. Mies van der Rohe’s houses in Krefeld, Germany, have become the main reference. A series of wide portals only partially and very clearly connect the original rooms, guiding us through the house. We preserved the rooms’ identities while ambiguously letting them open into one another and then into the garden.

    The Spider is another similar exercise where a single structural element (also painted red) joins three rooms into one while preserving the old distinction by preserving and enhancing the differences between ceiling shapes, floor finishes and decoration. Rather than simply knocking down walls and creating a single space, we have worked with clients on selecting the features worth preserving to increase rather than reducing the richness of the resulting space. We also decided we should record the intervention by exposing the new structure. The latter is conceived as a single object with flush, continuous surfaces: an asymmetric portal reminiscent of LeCorbusier’s Villa Savoye’s entrance portal, Louise Bourgoise’s sculptures, and Sol LeWitt’s incomplete structures.

    The traces of the original rooms are celebrated, allowing a series of rooms to become a sequence of rooms.

    The space between the rooms, the transition or liminal space, becomes the object of the design. Its detailing determines how well our space is perceived as one or how will the original rooms.

    The red structural portal is set 400mm beneath the ceiling level to preserve the trace of the original layout. One of the existing ceiling decorations is also preserved, with two new ceiling shapes playfully counteracting the traditional features. The floor design is also conceived to combine the clarity of the new design with the complexity of original fragments. The clients proposed to use a beautiful, traditional tile, together with a more typical engineered wood floor. The changes in materials coincide with the footprint of original rooms: the tiles denote the bay window area (now imagined as a greenhouse), and the breakfast room; the engineered wood outlines the original dining room and kitchen (with planks laid in two different directions).
    The kitchen island is left free to cross the original partition lines: a very large, coloured, freestanding object. The entire kitchen was designed to wrap around the existing corner chimney breast and make the most of the high ceilings.
    The result is a composite and sequnce of spaces composed of four volumes.

  • On Being Or Building A Platform

    On Being Or Building A Platform

    [A reflection from an architect to the architects, on questioning our being (role) or building a platform in the construction industry.]

    This post is for the architects.

    I attended the Belgian Architects 51N4E lecture at the Barbican (Architecture Foundation’s On Stage Series) and was enthusiastic about their design, their structure, and message.

    Their design is clearly founded on a deep knowledge of architectural culture, and in the Flemish tradition focused on design innovation, humble materials and pragmatism. What struck me and resonated with me the most was their openness and their attention to the process. Their culture is founded on complexity and the knowledge that the architect’s real skill is the ability to control, manage and eventually synthesise complexity through design. It is a very rare skill, and – in times of artificial intelligence, and social and environmental crises, it’s a fundamental skill for the future of society.

    Secondly, the structure. They started off as mostly architecture-driven practice and evolved they evolved into what they call a platform for collaboration, activism and for design at every scale. (An idea I am very fond of and is at the foundation of Unagru; so listening to these words was like dreaming of a successful future). 51N4E is constantly seeking collaborations and interactions with artists, citizens, and other actors, as part of the innovative design approach.

    Thirdly their attitude towards reality. 51N4E are curious about almost everything; they will investigate almost anything as part of the design process and do not shy away from any type of project. They work with developers, the public sector, and organised citizens and are successful financially. This allows them to bring real change into the built environment, both into the material world and the theoretical and procedural. So a practice that acknowledges the importance of several actors and the importance of working in knowing different sectors of society and different interest groups will inevitably redefine the role and methods of design works. In fact, according to 51N4E, design is not an agenda in itself but the space where environmental, social and financial agendas find common ground. Design is that common ground: a result rather than a goal. It was refreshing to hear that architects should meet all sectors of society and be comfortable in every environment because that’s how our agency will grow. At the same time, it was thrilling to see how they took over for more than a year an abandoned building, moved their office into it, invited people to take over other parts of the building and built extensive knowledge on the possibility of its reuse. I invite everyone to see the lecture as soon as it’s available and also buy their book, How to Not Demolish a Building. (The lecture was about this building, previously known as World Trade Center, and how they managed to recycle it and preserve a big portion of it instead of demolishing it as everybody else wanted, and the result is phenomenal).

    AJ Small Projects Award where House for A Cellist was a finalist

    A second we took part that ties into this topic was the finals of the AJ Small Projects Awards. We were shortlisted for a residential project. We didn’t win, and I was very happy that we didn’t because the variety, design diversity and attitudes towards work in society among the shortlisted practices were truly exciting. It was great to see small practices working for two years to deliver a temporary urban landscape project or three years to build a pavilion in the park. In other words, this diversity of approaches to our work and ultimately different forms of agency was refreshing and inspiring.

    Finally, to the point: hundreds of small practices with particular talents and views are an amazing resource that is grossly underused and incredibly needed today. This resource needs to either become or find a platform to collaborate and increase its agency. And I wonder whether the RIBA and ARB should do a lot more to provide this platform and incentivise collaboration. So that smaller practices can have a wider impact, take part in it long-term, large-scale and prominent projects; to have stronger financial support when they are investing in public projects with very low returns.

    What shape does this platform take? I do not know, but I would, I would probably start with template contracts and legal forms for agile, flexible collaborations. Then we need a space for networking and for the selection of topics and projects to collaborate on. These two simple steps could accelerate the growth of more resilient and diverse groups of professionals who could do much more and better for society, and infiltrate many more sectors.

  • Narrative Open Plan

    Narrative Open Plan

    Imagine being invited for dinner. You knock on the front door and hear someone shouting, “It’s open!” Upon entering, you see a sofa to your right, people ducking to avoid the draught. The whole ground floor is open to you. Someone is cooking while chatting with a friend; someone is watching TV; children are running around and away from the prospect of bedtime. The cheerful image resembles those fantastic dutch paintings of kitchen interiors: kitchens as large as churches, where the entire city life seemed to coagulate. This is the open plan: a space where the kitchen, dining, and sitting areas cohabitate without significant separation. Not a wall, or enough steps, a screen or a change in direction. Often, not a change in materials or detailing.

    You are invited to a second dinner party the following night- a busy week. They greet you in the hall, which is a bit too narrow to have a conversation or take off your coats, so you move inside, but the entrance/corridor only leads to the stairs and several doors (twenty, thirty?). It’s infested with doors. The first leads into a tidy, beautifully traditional sitting room with a TV and a fireplace. The room is quiet, and you can almost see dust particles hanging in the last rays of light. You must return to the entrance to explore the rest of the house; door number two opens into a dining room with a round table lit by a pendant. You can hear noises coming from the back of the house; the set table reveals future and past use. Finally, the sixth door takes you into the kitchen, which is too small to accept the guests and several family members. You seem to remember seeing someone in the other rooms, but you can’t be sure, and there is no way to find out from the cosy corner you have conquered in the kitchen. The traditional layout was determined by construction constraints as much as social habits. The most crucial social norm was the separation of the kitchen from the rest of the house. It’s a long and fascinating story of noise, risk of fire, social status, and condition of the women that brought most people today to favour the open plan. We prefer the brightness and cheeriness of being together all the time to the lonely rooms of the traditional house.

    What is commonly known as broken plan, and we will call a narrative open plan is an attempt at finding the right balance between fragmented layouts and the open plan, where the openness is tempered with architectural features to provide pockets of privacy, changes in the atmosphere, sometimes the possibility of closing a door to contain noises or kitchen smells, or heat. The difference between open and narrative open plan is sometimes very subtle and often rests on the designer’s intentions and attention; we have broken it down into three characteristics.

    Firstly, the openness to movement: avoiding doors and corridors when possible. Avoiding the act of opening a door, the space occupied by the door swing, the gush of air, and the expectation and fear connected to closed doors remove tension and free up corners of the mind. Moving freely through the living areas without doors or pinch points allows us to be lost in thought, to scan different distances, to move, dance or gesticulate with others.

    The second is narrative: we strive to design homes that require attention, time, and some effort to be known. There are always hidden corners, protruding volumes and twists that need us to move inside and discover. This is where the narrative plan speaks to our need for quiet and privacy. There should be some form of screening from the front door, and there should be areas where we feel protected and alone. Seats that envelop us, with a wall protecting our backs from the unknown and facing the rest of the space give us a sense of control. The ability to slide a door temporarily provides even more privacy for a phone call or to feel alone in a smaller room, again giving us a sense of control. Therefore, the experience of the narrative open space affords us the luxury of deciding what degree of privacy we are inclined to on any given day.

    The third is to design what we call eventful spaces. Even though we have a minimalist aesthetic, we love to embed as many points of interest as possible: an interior window, a stone step, a bench cut into the bespoke furniture, round steel columns, a roof light, a light well, a slatted screen, a miniature greenhouse, a sequence of three huge steps, a change in materials, and so on.

    The narrative surrounding narrative open spaces.

    One of my teachers, Bernardo Secchi, used to say that the history of urbanism is continuous research on the proper distance between human beings. Like porcupines in winter, we get closer to one another until we start pricking each other, and then we step back and feel a little cold. Designing a house also has to do with finding the right distance. It is an evolving idea of social and psychological comfort. A combination of needs for privacy, risk of loneliness, and research for the right human scale. For example, morality and privacy have changed considerably in time: it was common to witness sex or nudity in the Middle Ages.

    Another aspect of residential design research is intertwined with technological evolution. It took a long time before we could afford enough to build and heat private, large spaces exclusively to live in (no sleeping, no animals). Technological evolution also allowed the opening of the kitchen to the rest of the house because appliances became quieter and integrated into the joinery.

    Charlotte Perriand and Le Corbusier's Unitê d'Habitation open kitchen
    Charlotte Perriand and Le Corbusier’s Unitê d’Habitation open kitchen

    Women’s role in society has changed rapidly in the last century, mostly accompanied by the opening of the residential layout and the progressive integration of the kitchen in the living areas. Women were at first almost segregated in their quarters, then mostly in the kitchen, and now finally, equal (ideally) members of society and the family. There are as many histories of the kitchen’s location in the house as social classes at any time. From a middle-class point of view (the widest social group that could afford private houses), the kitchen has moved from the separate servants’ quarters to become a room where mostly women spent a lot of their time, to slowly getting closer and more open onto the living areas, to now being the centre of most homes.

    Today, working from home increasingly entails a home office as a place of privacy and quiet, while the living quarters want to be shared. Technology can also separate us more, keeping us attached to our devices instead of engaging with others.

    How did we get to the open plan, and where are we headed?

    The next chapters of this essay will investigate the relationship between the kitchen and the home, starting with the three most iconic architects of the early XXth century.

    Frank Lloyd Wright's Willey House 1933.
    Frank Lloyd Wright’s Willey House 1933.
  • How Is Open Plan Different To Broken Plan

    How Is Open Plan Different To Broken Plan

    Davide was invited by Built It Magazine to discuss on the topic of broken plan in our residential projects. This article was written by Built It Magazine, and published in the issue December 2022.

    Peckham Courtyard, photo by Sara Moiola

    A broken-plan layout seeks the balance between a traditional, fragmented floorplan and one that’s completely open. The entire space is tempered with architectural features that provide pockets of privacy, changes in the atmosphere and – in the right scenario – the option to close a door to contain noise, kitchen smells or heat.

    The difference between open- and broken-plan can be subtle and often rests on the designer’s intentions. To help clients craft their own broken-plan concepts, we pinpoint three characteristics typical of this kind of layout. Firstly, we aim to facilitate openness when moving from one area to the next, which is why we tend to avoid doors and corridors. Where absolutely necessary, partitions or entrances are either sliding or lead directly into cupboards.

    The second factor is about creating a design narrative. We strive to produce homes that require attention to detail, where the character and design unravel the longer you spend inside. A successful floorplan might reveal hidden corners, protruding volumes and unexpected layout twists that require you to move further into the house to discover what’s there.

    The third element of a successful broken-plan layout hinges on how interesting the space feels. As a practice, we err towards a minimalist aesthetic, though we love to embed as many points of interest as possible. Design features might include interior windows, steps, bench seating cut into bespoke furniture, steel columns, rooflights, lightwells, slatted screens etc.

    What are your tricks for zoning the space effectively?

    I follow a three-step process. First, I imagine the room as a series of distinct uses separated by filtering or threshold elements. The areas are interconnected, but do not merge into one. Secondly, I identify strong and weak zones. The former are noisier and more rigid in terms of function – kitchens are a good example. Weak uses are ideal threshold zones for creating distance between the strong areas. For instance, the dining and entrance spaces form distinct, transitional zones. Finally, I separate each section within the whole sequence by incorporating architectural features, some of which are mentioned above.

    What are the key design pitfalls to avoid when planning a broken-plan layout?

    I would generally advise against incorporating a kitchen or a central island that’s too dominant. It works well to have the culinary zone slightly peripheral to the rest of the space, positioning it so it’s not always the main focal point. Careful planning is required if you want the kitchen, dining and sitting areas near one another. In several ways, employing the broken-plan technique helps avoid the risk of over cramming the space. At the opposite end of the scale, too much separation between zones can be detrimental.If there are too many fixed obstacles and architectural features, you run the risk of recreating the boxy Victorian interior but with the accompanying noise of an open-plan layout.

    What’s the best way to achieve this type of layout on a tight budget?

    A lot depends on the condition of the house. In some cases, you can’t avoid structural work if you need to remove walls. If you already have an open-plan layout, you might be able to use furniture to create distinct zones. Bespoke joinery also goes a long way to establish areas that can be flexibly separated.

    What structural work is required?

    Most of the time, you’ll need to join several rooms by (at least partially) demolishing the existing dividing walls. This often entails knocking down a structural partition, which requires the insertion of a steel or glulam supporting beam. The new support may provide an opportunity to incorporate a striking aesthetic feature, for instance, if you paint overhead steel beams in a bold colour.

    Do you have any further advice on how to craft a broken-plan layout?

    At the outset of the design process, always imagine several different layout options and iterations – even when the principal solution seems evident, you’ll find that new ideas spark when you’re open to fresh concepts. Another useful exercise is to format the spaces you’d like to include into a list. Assign each area with its own name and try to get a feel for what its character might be once the project is complete. For instance, some zones perhaps receive a cold, northern light while others will be brighter. Some will be loud and others will be quiet. You can use this process to hone your vision for how the entire space will be.

  • News From Our Open House Festival

    News From Our Open House Festival

    London Open House is our favourite Architecture festival: zero special effects, zero narratives, symbols, concepts, metaphors, sarcasm and very little postmodernism. Instead, it shows buildings, which should be what almost all architecture is about. We showed our House for a Cellist, Peckham Courtyard House, and the Bau House, also in Peckham. We met more than a thousand architecture enthusiasts and went back to projects and clients we love. A great couple of very full weekends coronated with my son’s birthday party. Best month of the year.

    We couldn’t visit others because I was busy managing the crowds invading our projects. I was intrigued by a project by nimtim architects, also in Peckham (I was there on the wrong weekend), and would like to hear other impressions. Has anyone taken part or visited a building during the Open House? Are there any buildings people would like to see open for once?

    During the second weekend, Thomas and Jamie took over the role of hosts with great success.

    Bau House during the Open House Festival 2022
    Bau House during the Open House Festival 2022
    Bau House during the Open House Festival 2022
    House for A Cellist during the Open House Festival 2022
    House for A Cellist during the Open House Festival 2022
    Peckham Courtyard during the Open House Festival 2022
    House for A Cellist during the Open House Festival 2022
  • On Rain And Gardens Water In The City 1 100

    On Rain And Gardens Water In The City 1 100

    A drought caused the Great Stink in London in 1858: the hot spell caused an awful smell and coincided with several cholera outbreaks. This episode is considered a turning point in the history of urban waters. Until that day, water had been the richness of the cities, a resource to be celebrated with beautiful fountains. After the Great Stink, water needed to be hidden from the site, insulated from urban noses and longs. A triumph of civil engineering, commanded by Joseph Bazalgette, ensued and dominated the practice of city building and urban expansion. Water is piped as soon as possible – if we could, we would erect funnel towers to grab it closer to the sky – brought to a purification plant and then released, clean, in water bodies. We became so efficient at managing water that we started overdoing it: all rainwater was piped away too, to avoid the risk of flooding and keep the streets clean. The water disappeared from the city and even from the manuals of urban planners and designers. The result is that less and less water stays in the ground, replenishes the water tables and feeds rivers.

    Exponential urban expansion has exacerbated the issue with more impermeable surfaces: the water falling on them is again collected in pipes and directed to the closest water body. Intensive and extensive agriculture has reduced tree coverage and made the existing water bodies more vulnerable. Climate change is making things worse: shorter rain events (with the associated risk of flooding) are spreading apart more. Combining these three processes explains the images of the river Po, the longest and most extensive in Italy, reduced to a streamlet.

    The disappearance of water is a massive loss and risk for us all, from an environmental perspective and the quality of the space we live in. Water could play a central role in harmonising the relationship between built and unbuilt, reminding us of the shape of the landscape and structuring different parts of the city as it had done traditionally. Fortunately, water’s importance is returning to the centre of the design debate. It was a central theme in my PhD and is the core of the Design Unit I co-lead at Cardiff University’s MAAD . Our ability to act at even the tiniest scale, to affect significant and complex systems, often escapes most designers. And given that my mission is to expand the agency of ecological design and designers, I want to dedicate some time to tools that can help us create beautiful ecological designs at every scale.

    There are several ways to adapt and improve the water cycle in our urban age. From replacing a tap to wonderful and complex urban ecology projects, we love to be involved. I like to start with simple things, so I’m going to dedicate a new post every month to systems that help manage water sustainably, often called SUDS: sustainable urban drainage systems. They are meant to collect, purify, store, and slowly release water into the ground.

    1. The SUDS principle is simple: we should safely retain as much clean water as possible into the ground. This strategy’s advantages are reducing pressure on the sewage system and the risk of flooding.
    2. Reduce stress on the purification plants. These have a maximum operating capacity, beyond which they release whatever is coming into our water bodies.
    3. Improve the health of the ground and the whole water system: groundwater, rivers etc.
    4. In many cases, by providing open spaces to collect water, SUDS give the grounds for new ecosystems and an increase in biodiversity.

    No solution is too small, and the smallest of all, the leaky water butt – is so bright and efficient that it should be free and mandatory for every building. In this post, we will discuss an alternative water harvesting design: the rain garden. Or better, the hybrid rain-harvest garden we designed for our dear friends Amell and Antony.

    Water harvesting means simply storing (usually) rainwater in tanks of different shapes and forms and then re-using the water (usually) for irrigation. Water gardens, instead, are shallow landscape systems or depressions in a garden, built by cleverly layering different soil types to allow the right degree of permeability and planted with species that like wet environments. They are the equivalent of a massive tank spread in a garden and teaming with beauty and life.

    bromley rain gardens unagru architecture urbanism

    In our Bromley project, we combined the two principles to design a compact rain garden and harvesting system. We were approached to re-design the rear patio of a previously remodelled house, The Spider. We had a tight budget and high ambitions. We designed a new deck with recycled railway sleepers embedded in a concrete base – inspired by Enric Miralles’ Barcelona Cemetery. We then re-used the paving stones of the side alley to build a rain garden. The garden looks like a swimming pool, half encroaching the central concrete patio and extending onto the lower garden to form a bench and a flower bed. Rainwater from the house is collected into pipes that run under the concrete floor and into the rain garden. A small overflow re-connects back to the sewer to avoid the risk of flooding. The result is a compact but very deep, capacious rain garden filled with diverse plants and flowers. Hundreds of litres of the dirtiest and riskiest rainfall are not passing through the sewer system, reducing flood risk. Hundreds of litres of rainwater slowly seep into the ground and will help replenish the water table.

    With some attention, anyone can build their rain garden. Hundreds of thousands of refuges for birds and insects, billions of litres returned to the water cycle and a healthier, happier ecosystem. What are we waiting for?