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Our field of activ­i­ty ranges from res­i­den­tial and office build­ings (Buwog head­quar­ters) to inner-city sausage stands (“Bitzinger”), exhi­bi­tion designs and artis­tic projects. Tech­ni­cal knowl­edge and expe­ri­ence accom­pa­ny the imple­men­ta­tion. Archi­tec­ture and inte­ri­or design are always close­ly inter­twined. We have been imple­ment­ing our qual­i­ty stan­dards as sib­lings togeth­er with the team since 2005.

/ Dialog /

Some hous­es are like old build­ings even before they are fin­ished. Swiss archi­tects once called them Räum­linge. The con­ver­sa­tion with them can also be imag­ined as a dream, with famil­iar fig­ures and strange lit­tle ani­mals. The foy­er as an old danc­ing bear in a blue trouser suit. The stair­case is as wide and nar­row as nec­es­sary, dou­ble doors open and close, friend­ly or seri­ous, the hall in an aus­tere cos­tume that only shim­mers when it is turned away. Some things are inscrutable or curi­ous, you will come across rooms that you like one day and not the next, nich­es that you will some­times avoid.
At the end of a project, the dream should remain invis­i­ble; just as one still notices the wind in the rip­pling water.

/ Architecture /

When asked about the ten most impor­tant build­ings, a fel­low stu­dent once said that first he had to name the apart­ments and hous­es of his child­hood and youth, and only then did works of archi­tec­tur­al his­to­ry come to mind. Even if there is a stub­born inward­ness in the answer, every room in a house should be treat­ed as if it were of par­tic­u­lar impor­tance.

If there is an eye­less lan­guage that some writ­ers fear falling back into, how would one rec­og­nize an eye­less and silent build­ing? Rooms that don’t answer and don’t want to show them­selves, in the dream this could be a mute per­son with­out a face or age who leaves you per­plexed. The Russ­ian archi­tect Alexan­der Brod­sky called one of his build­ings, which seemed to him to be less suc­cess­ful than oth­ers, a house that still lacks a soul.

/ Clothing /

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, Johan­na gave up her plan to sew a sep­a­rate dress for each project due to time con­straints. She reg­u­lar­ly empha­sizes that she will make up for it one day; a lit­tle implau­si­ble.

An old­er col­league likes to say that of the hun­dred hous­es he had built, not a sin­gle one was like any oth­er. He did­n’t set out to do that, it just hap­pened that way. You can find that non­sen­si­cal, or hap­py.

The metaphor of the home as a tai­lor-made suit is more rem­i­nis­cent of a bygone era. Both should still sit well today, some­times be com­fort­able and prac­ti­cal, some­times sober and func­tion­al, and usu­al­ly look good at the same time.

/ Colors and butterflies /

We would like to set a rule that at least one room in every house should be paint­ed dark. We are still look­ing for an incon­testable deriva­tion.

Until 1257, the Cis­ter­cians were for­bid­den to use col­ors on their build­ings. Neces­si­ty is the moth­er of inven­tion, and every nuance seemed worth the effort: even lead glass panes were now tint­ed using the elab­o­rate gri­saille tech­nique in fine gra­da­tions from clear white to gray to anthracite. So the ban remained half-heart­ed and was even­tu­al­ly lift­ed. Col­ors returned to the sur­faces of the build­ings.

Sun­day, Mon­day, Wednes­day: home­ly and col­or­ful, dark grey and mus­tard yel­low.
Tues­day, Thurs­day: dar­ing and agile, ore red and petrol blue.
Fri­day, Sat­ur­day: moody, cheer­ful, errat­ic and sim­ple, per­haps more in mint green and water gray. Sketch of the col­ors and moods of a week.

Free and artis­tic ele­ments can be scat­tered through­out a project like but­ter­flies. They come into con­tact with the user, per­haps as the shoe­horn, to slip into the fray. This could be a talk­ing clock or a fly­ing lamp­shade.

/ Bricolage /

As a tra­di­tion­al com­pa­ny name, the name Gebrüder Schu­berth would have been obvi­ous, but Gre­gor was unable to get away with it, and it would also have been incor­rect.

How much con­trast and con­trast are nec­es­sary to cre­ate effect and dra­ma is some­thing we are always con­cerned with. Is it pos­si­ble to imag­ine a har­mo­ny of oppo­sites? A per­ma­nence and liv­ing force that grows from oppo­sites? Whether you pre­fer to stir the uneven lay­ers in Fru-Fru or spoon them out one after the oth­er is a ques­tion of tech­nique, taste or mood — in essence, our pre­oc­cu­pa­tion.