“Most Swedes want to live in a single-family home, but few can afford it. That’s why we look for new forms of housing with our students,” says architect Mikael Bergquist

You lead a master’s studio at KTH Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm focused on housing. How do you choose topics for the studio?

For a long time, I headed a studio focused on working with existing buildings and transformation. When we started it was considered a fringe topic. Today more than half of the master's theses at KTH relate to existing buildings. I think that's a good thing, because it's a crucial area for architects.

But on the other hand, I think it is also crucial for us as architects to be able to lead the design processes of emerging projects. And that’s why I’ve founded a new studio where we explore the issue of housing – smaller-scale apartment buildings, in the suburbs of Stockholm, not something for the masses. Most Swedes want to live in a single-family home, but only few can afford it. So, the students seek to find new forms of low-rise housing for different groups – families, individuals or seniors. It is not a matter of simple research and clear answers and every year they come up with a number of amazing designs.

You also work with references quite often. This year you’re taking your students to Milan. Will you be looking at references of this type of housing there for the next semester? 

Not directly. I would say that Milan doesn't have the ideal type of housing that we focus on with the students. But it is exceptional in something else – in a certain mix of modernism and inclusivity. We mainly look at projects from the 1950s to the early 70s, which beautifully blend history and modernism. They are elegant and show how architecture helps shape everyday life. We also use a lot of examples from Sweden.

You personally often design single-family homes or smaller buildings and publish on individual housing. What fascinates you about this scale?

I think it has to do with Swedish tradition. Just a generation or two ago, almost all Swedes were farmers. Many families still have country cottages. It’s simply a part of life. They're often painted that traditional red that you're probably familiar with. 

Another reason is that Sweden is not densely populated and nature is everywhere. Even in Stockholm, there's an effort to bring nature into the main city parks. You can see some quite large animals in the middle of the city, which is strange, but it shows how nature is a part of our lives.

And I would say that this is also an important component of my own studio – relating to nature in different ways. I often and gladly design wooden houses in the countryside, but also new villas and their reconstructions.

In the Czech Republic, cottages are a legacy of communism. Is the tradition of weekend cottage stays that strong in Sweden as well? Or are they more likely to be used only on certain occasions?

My clients might not even realise it at first that they in most cases use their houses all year. They go there in the summer, in the winter, on vacation and even spend the Christmas holidays there. I think it has to do with how easy it is to heat them. They are well insulated and dry inside.

Have you ever thought about working on larger residential projects with your studio? After all, it’s a current issue, given today’s housing crisis.

Yes, sometimes. But with a small studio like mine, you are, to a certain extent, limited within a certain scale.

I think the architecture market is much more divided these days – into small offices like mine, medium-sized ones, and then really large firms. In Sweden we have several studios with hundreds of people, some even have branches all over Europe. And of course that limits the possibilities for architects like me. It’s not something I give much thought to, but as you say – considering that I run a residential housing studio and we do certain projects that could be related to my own practice – sometimes I miss working on larger projects.

You studied at KTH in Stockholm and the Royal Danish Academy in Copenhagen in the 1980s. How has the teaching of architecture changed since then?

Teaching has changed a lot since then. When I was a student, we did everything by hand. Architecture was mostly analog. It was slower for us. Today, student can endlessly modify and test variations on a computer.

The early years at KTH were really great, we had very dedicated teachers. But in the upper grades we lacked a broader overview of what was happening abroad. Our studies felt very local.

It was just a different time back then. You had to have a thick pencil, a roll of sketch paper and create. Architecture was almost like making art. We didn't relate much to the surrounding buildings. We didn't work on existing buildings at all. It wasn't even mentioned. Everything was to be designed "from scratch". As if nothing else existed but your own building.

At that time, postmodernism was peaking in Europe. I hated it myself, but it was still an important period for me, during which I realised the importance of history. As an architect, I always look at historical examples and relate to them.

I did not even create a design for my diploma thesis, but a study of Adolf Loos's Raumplan. Thanks to that, I came into contact with people in Vienna – Otto Kapfinger and Hermann Czech. This experience influenced me for the rest of my life.

You are talking about Viennese architects. Did you have any role models during your studies?

No, I think I looked for inspiration more in books and magazines. When I was a student, the internet didn’t exist. There was a culture of small and large architectural magazines, which were of a very high standard. You could also find very specific and fringe things in them.

Scandinavian schools tend to be less time-consuming and stressful. What, in your opinion makes them so strong – because Scandinavian architects still produce top-notch architecture?

Swedish culture is very egalitarian. We don’t have many authority figures – or of course we do, but we try not to emphasize them too much. The teacher is more like a guide.

But on the other hand, I wouldn't say it's less stressful – it's more like a different kind of stress. At KTH, we keep students quite busy. But there's one thing that differentiates study in Sweden from study in other countries. Students don't have mandatory technical subjects like mathematics or structural analysis. Of course, they work with engineers, they have a dialogue with them, but there's a clear division between the role of an engineer and the role of an architect.

We want students to be independent. They carry a lot of responsibility for themselves. For some, it can be quite challenging, but in a different way than when you are pressured by a grading system and deadlines.

You mentioned architectural firms that employ hundreds of people. How difficult is it today for graduates to find work as architects Stockholm?

It was very easy in Stockholm for a long time, but in the last, let's say, three years the situation has deteriorated significantly. Now things are slowly improving again, but it has been really difficult for some of my students.

And that’s perhaps one of the downsides of architecture… periods of surplus and shortage are constantly alternating. Sometimes the market goes up, then down again, and then up again. And there’s not much you can do about it.

When I started in the mid-90s, it was not exactly the ideal time either, there was not much work. I had a few projects, but at the same time I wrote, put on exhibitions, published a few books and so on. And I recommend the same to my students – to look at the architectural profession in a very broad and diverse way.

I'm curious as to what led you to pursue architecture. Did you already know as child that you wanted to be an architect?

My uncle on my father’s side was an architect. I remember visiting my grandmother's house and finding several of his cardboard models in the attic, and that’s when I first felt a special fascination with architecture. It wasn't that I immediately understood what an architect actually did, but there was something very appealing to me about those models.

I loved drawing from an early age and I was fond of art. And my father was an engineer. At home he had a drawing board, pencils, rulers, all the equipment for drafting. I’d spend hours drawing. Back then what attracted me about architecture was not so much working with space or social issues, but rather the craft itself.

For a long time, I thought I would go into film. But in the end, I realized that architecture suited me better because I like to spend long hours thinking and creating in peace.

I saw on your Instagram that you sketch a lot – people, furniture, plants. Is that a way of relaxing for you?

Yes. I set myself a challenge over the summer – to do one drawing every day without thinking too much. I enjoy people like David Hockney, who depict everyday situations – more of like a documenting of everyday life than “art”. I often drew from photographs, without striving for a perfect image. Sometimes it didn’t turn out well, like when I drew hands (laughs), but I still enjoyed it. It gave me a certain freedom.

In Prague, you’ll be lecturing on Swedish housing “from the beginning of the 20th century to the present day.” How did you select the projects you will be reviewing?

First of all, I have to say that I am very happy to have been invited. It is a good opportunity for me to spread a bit more awareness about Swedish architecture. Sweden has never been very good when it comes to promotion and publications. Even the best Swedish architects have never been very interested in how to promote their projects. They were mainly interested in how to execute them. 

My aim is to select a few projects that show a certain way of thinking that we have in the Nordic countries. And also, the experimental side of housing, which is somewhere between everyday practicality and striving to introduce new types and standards.

You’ve written four books about the Austrian / Swedish architect and designer Josef Frank. What brought you to his work?

I actually came across Josef Frank almost by accident. Shortly after graduation, me and my classmate from KTH with whom I had also worked on my thesis, were approached with the idea of ​​organising the first exhibition about Josef Frank’s architecture  in Stockholm.

I must admit that at first his work seemed a little bit strange and not entirely comprehensible to me. But the more I delved into it, the more I discovered its fascinating dual nature. Frank was a modernist, but at the same time he insisted that the interior should be comfortable, personal, and sometimes even traditional. He said that you can afford to have “anything” inside, even things that others consider tasteless. That was his magic – rational and stable architecture on the outside, freedom and individuality on the inside. For me it was literally a revelation, a new way of looking at architecture.

Frank showed me that architecture can be multi-layered, that it can contain contradictions and still make sense. He inspired me to find my own path and formulate my own approach. Later, when I had the opportunity to visit his houses, I realized that he had an extraordinary sense of space. His houses seemed natural, almost perfect. You just felt good in them.

You describe Frank’s buildings as “living spaces”. What do you mean by that?

When you are inside Frank's houses, it feels completely natural. He has a certain musicality when it comes to the scale of the rooms, how they are connected, sizes of windows and how daylight comes in during the day. During the day you are drawn towards the light. In the evening you move back to a darker corner because that is where you feel good. The architecture gives you different possibilities... to be together or alone, to sit or stand. His architecture is very closely connected to the human body and has a richness that does not demand acclamation.

I try to bring all of this into my own work – so that architecture doesn't demand recognition but rather forms a natural backdrop to everyday life. Like now, when we're talking to each other or when you're with someone close to you or by yourself – architecture should be the backdrop that makes this possible.

You took part in the Alternative Histories exhibition in London, where over 80 architects were invited to respond to historical drawings with their own models. That's a very interesting concept for an exhibition. What historical drawing did you receive and how did you approach it?

I think that exhibition was really special. The curators of the exhibition had access to a collection of archival drawings and came up with a kind of game. They handed out a certain drawing to each of us – contemporary architects from all over Europe. We were supposed to imagine that we had accidentally found it in a drawer: "Ah, this old project, I'll keep working on it."

I was very happy to get a drawing of the garden facade of the house that Peter Märkli designed for his sister. It is not a very well-known project; it is from his early period and has a certain Roman touch to it. The drawing itself was fascinating – hand-drawn, with a relatively simple geometry of the concrete facade but with a really complex geometrical grid underneath.

The result was my red house. It had a lot in common with Märkli's project, but at the same time I wanted to come up with something of my own. I enjoyed the whole process immensely. Sometimes you have a lot of trouble when designing, but here it was surprisingly easy and joyful. The model was then made for me by a carpenter, the husband of one of my colleagues from the faculty, and it was truly beautiful.

Let's briefly return to your thesis. You mentioned Adolf Loos. Have you ever visited his projects in the Czech Republic?

I’m almost embarrassed to say this but, for some reason, I have never been to the Czech Republic. So, I am really looking forward to Prague.

I want to see Plečnik, Loos's buildings and of course the whole city. I have heard that Prague is very similar to Vienna, where I have been about thirty times. I am looking forward to seeing it with my own eyes.

Many people associate Sweden with IKEA. Do you use their products in your designs?

Of course! (laughs) It’s funny – when I was younger, IKEA products were considered more of an embarrassment. You had them at home, but you didn't tell anyone. The quality wasn't good, and you were almost always missing some screws during assembly. (laughs) But you bought them anyway because they were cheap. Today, the tables have turned. In the second-hand furniture market, IKEA is even considered a certain indicator of quality.

However, I don't usually include freestanding furniture in my designs. My clients of course buy furniture from IKEA. I have nothing against that. On the contrary, I think it's actually okay. And maybe that has something to do with the Frankish concept of the inclusive interior – IKEA allows you to combine different things together, and yet it works. Not everything needs to be colour coordinated, made of the same wood, or in the same style. And that's something I really like. 

Interview by Sára Kročková.