Architects about facades

Your home’s exterior is the first thing people see — it tells a story about your style and your vision. But redesigning a facade can feel intimidating, involving architects, renderings, and long renovation cycles. Now, thanks to advances in artificial intelligence, that process is getting a serious upgrade.

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With GetFacade.ai, you can upload a photo of your home and watch the platform instantly generate fresh, realistic design concepts. Want to see how your house would look in a sleek modern style, cozy farmhouse aesthetic, or Mediterranean charm? The AI understands structure and proportion, transforming your photo while keeping your home’s character intact.

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Unlike simple rendering apps, GetFacade.ai gives you real control. You can choose from curated style templates, adjust materials, and refine the look to match your taste. Whether you want to explore new colors, window designs, or materials like stone, wood, or stucco, the tool adapts intelligently to your preferences. It’s like having an architect and a visualizer rolled into one — available anytime, right from your browser.

Beyond Pretty Pictures: Real Renovation Guidance

The best part? GetFacade.ai goes far beyond generating nice visuals. The platform delivers complete design concept albums — curated sets of design ideas, color palettes, and material suggestions that act as a roadmap for actual renovation. When you’re ready to take the next step, you’ll have everything you need to share with your contractor or designer.

Reimagine your home's facade with AI-powered design tools. Upload exterior photos, apply style templates, control structure, and get professional concept albums — not just pretty pictures, but complete renovation roadmaps.

The Future of Home Design Starts Now

Whether you’re upgrading before selling, modernizing your forever home, or just exploring possibilities, GetFacade.ai helps you visualize the outcome before you commit. With AI doing the heavy lifting, you can make smarter, faster, and more creative design choices — all with a few clicks.

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Reading a recent note about coffee, I wondered—what do those who don’t drink coffee do?

Interestingly, Frank Lloyd Wright practiced polyphasic sleep—short periods of rest every three to four hours instead of a long night’s sleep.

Luis Barragán would order entirely pink lunches—for example, half a melon with sherry. Makes sense! As one of the most vibrant Mexican architects, Barragán used tropical colors in his works. And if you design pink walls, you should eat in matching tones too.

I. M. Pei loved lying in bed in the dark—it was there that his most productive, dream-like ideas came to him. As he got older, he switched entirely to a “paper-free” approach to design. Imagine—a designer who doesn’t draw!

Denise Scott Brown had the habit of “people-watching” in her completed projects. She would stand and smile at students at the University of Pennsylvania, observing how they sat “like bees in a hive” on the steps of her building. And the students just saw “some old lady in a skirt” and wondered why she was smiling so broadly.

“Architectural art cannot be created in an office environment,” said Aalto, and he would drink “like a fish” right in the office in order to create a bohemian atmosphere.

Eileen Gray encoded the names of her lovers in the titles of her projects. The villa E.1027 stands for “E” (Eileen), “10” (J), “2” (B), “7” (G)—the initials of her and Jean Badovici.

Romantic and architectural at the same time!

Fiber cement is a story about how technology transforms our understanding of building materials. Cement, sand, cellulose fibers — nothing extraordinary, it would seem. Yet the result is astonishing: the material can mimic any texture — from smooth concrete to weathered barn wood with cracks and scuffs.

The Japanese developed the technology back in the 1980s, but the real breakthrough happened in recent years. Today, manufacturers have learned to create such convincing imitations that it's nearly impossible to tell them apart from natural materials—unless you touch them.

Fiber cement has changed the way we think about facade materials. In the past, you had to choose: either beautiful but high-maintenance (wood), or practical but boring (siding). Fiber cement brings together the best of both worlds.

The material doesn’t burn, rot, attract insects, or warp from moisture. At the same time, it looks just as natural as real wood. That said, there are some caveats — the price is steep, and the weight is significant.

Fiber cement is especially valuable where natural materials tend to fail. The base of a house is an area of constant contact with moisture, where wood deteriorates quickly.

Working with fiber cement is much easier than with natural wood. The panels don’t warp or twist, and their dimensions remain stable. They attach to a standard batten system. The key is to provide a ventilation gap and use high-quality fasteners. However, there are some considerations: the panels are heavy — not every structure can support them without reinforcement.

Of course, as always, there’s no single perfect solution that fits everyone — all conditions must be considered in context. But one thing is certain: fiber cement is part of a larger trend toward "smart" materials that combine the aesthetics of natural elements with the advantages of modern technology.

Yesterday I was sitting with a cup in my hands over a sketch and suddenly it hit me—coffee and architecture are so much alike!

Think about it: both are about creating an atmosphere. Good architecture shapes the mood of a space, and good coffee shapes the mood of the day. And in both, proportions, the quality of the source materials, and the steeping time are crucial.

Coffee gives you the perseverance to work through countless iterations—just like in design. We don't just stop at the first version of a façade, do we? We sort through options, refine, and search for the ideal solution. Coffee fuels that process.

There's another aspect, too—the ritual. Those five minutes "in between tasks" often bring a moment of clarity. It’s as if the brain uses the pause to rethink the project.

Maybe the secret is that both coffee and architecture are about transformation? Beans turn into a drink, ideas—into buildings. And there's its own kind of magic in both processes.

In our practice, we increasingly encounter clients' desire to bring elements with «soul» into their modern homes – materials that have already lived one life and are ready to start a new one. Old bricks with makers' marks, barn wood with traces of time, antique roof tiles – these are not just building materials. They are artifacts carrying stories that can enrich even the most ultra-modern facade.

Why are we drawn to the «old»?

• Tactility and uniqueness. In an era of mass production, materials with history offer unique textures, patinas, and imperfections. Every scratch on a barn board, every chip on an old brick tells its own micro-story.
• Emotional connection. These materials create a sense of rootedness, even if the house was built yesterday. Touching an 18th-century brick is like touching time itself.
• Environmental friendliness. Reusing materials is a trend, but it's important to understand their origin and processing.

Practical advice

• Where to look: specialized companies, demolition sites, restoration workshops. The material must be cleaned, treated for pests, and strengthened if necessary.
• Sense of proportion: A «speaking» material requires a calm background. One accent on the facade is better than three. The house should not turn into a museum exhibit.
• Construction: Old materials often have non-standard sizes and characteristics. Pre-revolutionary brick may require thicker joints, and its load-bearing capacity differs from modern brick.
• Dialogue with modernity: Contrast – yes, conflict – no. Modernity should emphasize the beauty of historical material, and the latter should add warmth to new architecture.

Using materials with history in modern facades is a way to create architecture with depth and character. It is an opportunity to tell a story without writing a word, to create an emotional connection between a person and a home.

Architecture is not only about convenience and beauty, but also about memory, about the connection between generations.

We are used to perceiving façades as something static and eternal, but in reality, they are the most changeable part of architecture. The frame and load-bearing walls can stand for centuries, but the face of a building changes with the tastes of the era.

An interesting paradox: the façade is both the most enduring (what remains in the memory of the city) and the most ephemeral (what is easiest to change). When we design a new façade, do we do so with the thought that in 50 years it might be redesigned to suit a new fashion?

Sometimes I catch myself wondering: how would a 19th-century architect react if he knew that his elegant stucco decor would be covered with aluminum panels in the 1970s? Would he be glad that the building continues to live, or horrified by the new aesthetic?

Maybe we should design façades with their future transformations in mind? It’s like writing a letter to the future, knowing that it will inevitably be edited. But I hope some phrases will remain unchanged.

3Many of our clients confuse pilasters with columns. And that’s perfectly normal! After all, most people don’t deal with architectural terminology on a daily basis.

A pilaster is a flat vertical projection on the wall surface that imitates a column. Essentially, it is a “ghost column” embedded into the wall. It has all the same elements — base, shaft, capital — but it only protrudes from the wall by a third or a quarter of its width.

Historically, pilasters served not only as decorative elements but also had a structural function — reinforcing the wall at points of highest stress. In classical orders, pilasters often “supported” an entablature or a pediment (seems like a good topic for the next explanatory note).

So when are they appropriate in modern architecture? It’s an interesting question we often discuss with colleagues.

Here are a few situations where pilasters can be a great solution:

— When renovating or stylizing historical buildings, pilasters help preserve the authentic character of the facade, even if the interior space is fully modernized.

— In modern minimalist projects, pilasters can be used as a subtle way to add rhythm and vertical articulation to a facade without overloading it with details. We recently completed a project where very shallow pilasters made of light concrete created a barely noticeable play of light and shadow on a monochromatic facade.

— Pilasters can help visually correct the proportions of a building. For a tall narrow house, horizontal articulation and wide pilasters create a sense of stability. Conversely, for a squat building, vertical pilasters add a sense of height.

— An interesting modern technique is using contrasting materials for pilasters. For example, on a plastered facade, pilasters made of clinker brick or natural stone become striking accents.

Have you noticed pilasters on buildings in your city? They are much more common around us than one might think at first glance.

I am more attracted not to the buildings themselves, but to the spaces between them. These pauses, intervals, "architectural breaths" between volumes.

In modern design, we often forget that architecture is not only what we build but also what remains around it. Ancient architects seemed to understand this better than we do. Think of Greek temples—they were never crowded together; there was always space for air, for the gaze, for contemplation.

When I work on a facade project, I often think: what will this house "say" to the neighboring buildings? What kind of dialogue will arise between them? Will it be a fruitful conversation or a cacophony?

Interestingly, many clients want to "maximize the use of the plot"—as if emptiness is unproductive. Yet, meaning is often born in that very emptiness. Just like in music—pauses between notes are just as important as the notes themselves.

Perhaps our studio could design not only facades but also the spaces between them. It sounds unusual, but why not? After all, can’t we design silence?

Have you ever noticed the intervals between buildings in your neighborhood? What do they tell you?

Sorting through a folder of samples, I realized that I had unintentionally created my own spring palette for facades. Soft gray plaster combined with dark wood no longer seems as interesting to me. Right now, I’m in love with the combination of light stone with metal inserts.

Yesterday, I proposed an unusual solution to my clients: white brick and Corten steel panels. At first, they were skeptical, but when I showed them a visualization and photos of similar projects, they got excited. The contrast of textures and colors creates a dynamic feel that many modern houses lack.

I've also noticed that the trend for natural textures is making a comeback. Right now, I’m trying to incorporate gabions into a project as decorative elements—these are mesh structures filled with stones. They create a bold and striking effect. I’ll share my client’s reaction with you later.

Yesterday, I passed by a new private house in a historic district. A house like any other—modern, minimalist, with large windows. But surrounded by century-old mansions, it looked like an alien at a village fair.

And this made me reflect on a deeper question: do we have the right to impose modern aesthetics on a historically established environment? Or perhaps every building should engage in a dialogue with its surroundings, respecting the architectural language of the place?

On the one hand, architecture has always evolved, and in any historic city, buildings from different eras coexist. On the other hand, there is the concept of context, the spirit of the place, genius loci, which one can either respect or ignore.

I believe the answer lies not in blindly imitating historical styles nor in boldly rejecting the past, but in a thoughtful dialogue with the context. One can use modern materials and technologies while still considering the proportions, rhythm, and scale of the surrounding buildings.