The Space Between Buildings

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?