Architects about facades

As an architect, the question I hear most often is not about materials or price. It is quieter than that: people simply cannot picture how their house could look. They feel the current facade is tired, but the new one stays a blur, and that blur makes every later decision harder.

My advice is always the same. Before we talk specifics, see it on your own house, not on a different one. A reference photo from a magazine rarely helps, because your walls, proportions and windows are not the same. What helps is trying ideas directly on a photo of your building.

These days that is easy. I often suggest people first experiment with an AI tool that previews facade designs from a photo and even sketches out the materials and a rough estimate. By the time they reach us, the conversation is no longer about whether they like something in the abstract. It is about refining a direction we can actually build, with real drawings and a real plan.

The tool does not replace an architect, and it is not meant to. But it removes the most frustrating barrier at the start, when you want change and cannot yet name it. Once the picture is there, the rest is our job.

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, with architects, renderings, and long renovation cycles to navigate. Now, thanks to advances in artificial intelligence, that process is getting a serious upgrade.

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You don’t need any design experience — just curiosity. In a few minutes, you’ll see multiple versions of your home’s potential, each one a professional-quality concept ready to inspire your next renovation.

Take Control of Your Design Vision

Unlike simple rendering apps, GetFacade.ai gives you real control. You can choose from curated style templates, adjust materials, and fine-tune 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 serve as a roadmap for an 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 the structure, and get professional concept albums — not just pretty pictures, but complete renovation roadmaps.

The Future of Home Design Starts Now

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Reading a recent note about coffee, I got to wondering—what do the people who don't drink coffee do?

As it turns out, Frank Lloyd Wright practiced polyphasic sleep—short rest periods every three or four hours instead of one long night's sleep.

Luis Barragán would order lunches that were entirely pink—half a melon with sherry, for instance. It makes sense! As one of the most vivid Mexican architects, Barragán filled his work with tropical color. And if you design pink walls, you may as well eat in matching tones.

I. M. Pei loved lying in bed in the dark—that's where his most productive, dreamlike 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 a habit of people-watching in her finished projects. She would stand and smile at the students at the University of Pennsylvania, watching them perch "like bees in a hive" on the steps of her building. The students, meanwhile, just saw "some old lady in a skirt" and wondered why she was smiling so broadly.

"Architectural art cannot be created in an office setting," said Aalto, who would drink "like a fish" right there in the office to cultivate 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 herself and Jean Badovici.

Romantic and architectural all at once!

Fiber cement is a story about how technology reshapes our idea of building materials. Cement, sand, cellulose fibers—nothing extraordinary, you'd think. And yet the result is remarkable: the material can mimic almost any texture, from smooth concrete to weathered barn wood complete with cracks and scuffs.

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

Fiber cement has changed the way we think about facade materials. In the past you had to choose: 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 considerable.

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

Working with fiber cement is much easier than working with natural wood. The panels don't warp or twist, and their dimensions stay stable. They attach to a standard batten system. The key is to provide a ventilation gap and use quality fasteners. There is one consideration, though: the panels are heavy—not every structure can carry them without reinforcement.

And of course, as always, there's no single perfect solution that fits everyone—every situation has to be judged in context. But one thing is certain: fiber cement is part of a broader trend toward "smart" materials that combine the look of natural elements with the advantages of modern technology.

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

Think about it: both are about creating an atmosphere. Good architecture sets the mood of a space; good coffee sets the mood of the day. And in both, proportions, the quality of the raw ingredients, and the steeping time are everything.

Coffee gives you the stamina to work through countless iterations—just like in design. We never stop at the first version of a facade, do we? We weigh the options, refine them, and hunt for the ideal solution. Coffee fuels that process.

There's another side to it, too—the ritual. Those five minutes "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 become a drink; ideas become buildings. And there's a kind of magic in both processes.

In our practice, we're seeing more and more clients who want to bring elements with "soul" into their modern homes—materials that have already lived one life and are ready to begin another. Old bricks with makers' marks, barn wood marked by time, antique roof tiles—these aren't just building materials. They're artifacts that carry stories, and they can enrich even the most ultra-modern facade.

Why are we drawn to the "old"?

• Tactility and uniqueness. In an age of mass production, materials with a history offer one-of-a-kind textures, patinas, and imperfections. Every scratch on a barn board, every chip on an old brick tells its own little 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.
• Sustainability. Reusing materials is a trend, but it's important to understand where they came from and how they've been processed.

Practical advice

• Where to look: specialized suppliers, demolition sites, restoration workshops. The material has to be cleaned, treated for pests, and reinforced if necessary.
• A sense of proportion: A material that "speaks" needs a calm backdrop. One accent on the facade is better than three. The house shouldn't turn into a museum exhibit.
• Construction: Old materials often come in non-standard sizes and properties. Pre-revolutionary brick may call for thicker joints, and its load-bearing capacity differs from that of modern brick.
• Dialogue with the modern: Contrast—yes; conflict—no. The modern should highlight the beauty of the historic material, and the historic material should bring warmth to the new architecture.

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

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

We're used to thinking of facades as something static and permanent, but they're actually the most changeable part of architecture. The frame and load-bearing walls can stand for centuries, yet the face of a building shifts with the tastes of each era.

It's an interesting paradox: the facade is at once the most enduring thing (what stays in the city's memory) and the most ephemeral (what's easiest to change). When we design a new facade, do we do it knowing that in 50 years it might be reworked to suit a new fashion?

Sometimes I catch myself wondering how a 19th-century architect would react if he knew his elegant stucco ornament would be covered with aluminum panels in the 1970s. Would he be glad the building lives on, or horrified by the new look?

Maybe we should design facades with their future transformations in mind? It's like writing a letter to the future, knowing it will inevitably be edited. But I hope a few phrases will stay unchanged.

Many of our clients confuse pilasters with columns. And that's perfectly understandable! Most people don't deal with architectural terminology every day.

A pilaster is a flat vertical projection on a wall surface that imitates a column. Essentially, it's a "ghost column" embedded in the wall. It has all the same parts—base, shaft, capital—but it projects from the wall by only a third or a quarter of its width.

Historically, pilasters served not only as decoration but also had a structural role—reinforcing the wall at points of greatest stress. In the classical orders, pilasters often "supported" an entablature or a pediment (which sounds like a good topic for the next explanatory note).

So when do they work in modern architecture? It's an interesting question we often kick around with colleagues.

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

— When renovating or restyling historic buildings, pilasters help preserve the authentic character of the facade, even when the interior is fully modernized.

— In modern minimalist projects, pilasters can be a subtle way to add rhythm and vertical articulation to a facade without overloading it with detail. We recently finished a project where very shallow pilasters in light-colored concrete created a barely perceptible play of light and shadow on a monochrome facade.

— Pilasters can also help correct a building's proportions visually. On a tall, narrow house, horizontal articulation and wide pilasters create a sense of stability. Conversely, on a squat building, vertical pilasters add a sense of height.

— An interesting modern approach is to use contrasting materials for the pilasters. On a plastered facade, for example, pilasters of clinker brick or natural stone become striking accents.

Have you noticed pilasters on buildings in your city? They're far more common around us than you might think at first glance.

What draws me in isn't so much the buildings themselves as the spaces between them—those pauses, those intervals, the "architectural breaths" between volumes.

In modern design, we often forget that architecture is not only what we build but also what's left around it. Ancient architects seemed to grasp this better than we do. Think of Greek temples—they were never crammed together; there was always room for air, for the eye, for contemplation.

When I work on a facade project, I often wonder: what will this house "say" to its neighbors? What kind of dialogue will spring up between them? Will it be a meaningful conversation or just noise?

What's interesting is that many clients want to "make the most of the lot"—as if empty space were wasted. Yet meaning is often born in that very emptiness. It's like music—the pauses between the notes matter just as much as the notes themselves.

Maybe 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 too?

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

Sorting through a folder of samples, I realized I'd unintentionally put together my own spring palette for facades. Soft gray plaster paired with dark wood no longer excites me the way it used to. Right now I'm in love with the combination of light stone and metal inserts.

Yesterday I pitched an unusual solution to my clients: white brick and Corten steel panels. They were skeptical at first, but once I showed them a rendering 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 toward natural textures is making a comeback. Right now I'm trying to work gabions into a project as decorative elements—wire mesh structures filled with stone. They make a bold, striking statement. I'll share my client's reaction with you later.