Architectural Archaeology: You often “uncover” a site’s hidden code. How do you know when you’ve found the site’s “code”? Is it a moment of clarity, or a gradual uncovering through iteration and dialogue?

It’s a mix of intuition, exploration, and study. When we start a project, we investigate the site deeply – its geology, how the land formed, how erosion shaped it. That natural logic often becomes the first clue of the site’s “code.” At Desert Rock, for instance, the patterns in the eroded rock guided the forms we created, reflecting how the landscape naturally shapes itself.

We also look at how people historically lived in these environments. The Nabataean people carved into mountains between Saudi Arabia and Jordan, creating structures that responded to the land with incredible intelligence and resourcefulness. Similarly, the Hopi in North America built cliff dwellings using materials at hand, techniques refined over generations. These examples aren’t about copying the past. They teach us truths about inhabiting a place in a way that’s inherent, sustainable, and timeless.

We call it “architectural archaeology” because, like archaeologists, we uncover the site layer by layer, brushing off history, geology, flora, and fauna, and learning from them. The process is iterative, but moments of clarity emerge when the architecture feels viscerally right. It’s not intellectual or stylistic; it’s about a feeling everyone can share, whether a critic or a visitor.

Ultimately, it’s about creating architecture that is of its place, celebrates nature, and feels eternal. By studying the land, the history, and the life it supports, we can design spaces that are both deeply rooted in the past and open to the future.

Silent Monumentality: How do you achieve presence and drama through silence and restraint, in an age obsessed with spectacle?

When we designed Ayla, a clubhouse on the Red Sea in Jordan, the client asked for something “iconic.” For us, spectacle is the opposite of what we aim for. It’s about ego, not experience. We approach projects with humility, letting architecture celebrate the beauty of the place rather than dominate it.

We use local materials, minimize environmental impact, and let the landscape guide the design. At Ayla, the sand dunes inspired vaulted forms, mixing sand with cement to echo the surrounding geology. The result is a space that can disappear into its environment, yet feel monumental – not through size or flash, but through proportion, material, and atmosphere. The building becomes an inhabitable landscape rather than a conventional structure.

Silent monumentality comes from creating comfort, calmness, and equilibrium. Thoughtful scale, natural ventilation, filtered sunlight, and carefully composed spaces foster a feeling of quiet power. Visitors experience drama through the senses – through light, shadow, breeze, and connection to the land – without spectacle or distraction.

This approach also reconnects us with nature and each other. In a world of constant connectivity and digital noise, architecture can redirect attention to natural rhythms and create moments of physical and emotional engagement. Silence, restraint, and respect for place produce a presence that resonates deeply, proving that monumental architecture doesn’t need to shout; it can speak quietly, powerfully, and memorably.

Global, yet Local: Oppenheim Architecture operates across six continents. How do you ensure that your global reach doesn’t dilute the local essence of your projects? What strategies help your teams in Miami, Basel, and Tirana maintain a shared philosophy while responding authentically to different cultures and landscapes?

I grew up in New Jersey, which isn’t always seen as inspiring, but I’ve always traveled with a sponge-like curiosity, absorbing everything. For us, every project is like a love letter to a place. We arrive with fresh eyes, asking not what has been done, but what could be.

We study the geology, the local civilization, the flora and fauna – everything that defines a site. Like an investigative process, we learn from the past without replicating it. We look at materials, environmental strategies, and human comfort, seeking ways to create architecture that is sensitive, contextual, and timeless. It’s about uncovering a place’s truth, not imposing a style.

Our global offices – from Miami to Basel to Tirana – share the same philosophy: a method of inquiry rather than a signature look. Each team approaches the site with humility, translating local conditions, culture, and climate into something unique. The goal is always the most sensible project for the client, informed by the environment and by local history, rather than a repeatable “Oppenheim” template.

Take again Desert Rock and Shebara in Saudi Arabia. The Crown Prince asked for something unseen before. It had to be spectacular and iconic. We started elsewhere: invisible, sensitive, attuned to landscape and climate. The projects ultimately fulfilled the brief while remaining connected to the place. They became celebrated landmarks, but not through ego – they emerged from a process of listening and responding to local conditions.

Across continents, our approach recalibrates architecture: globally informed, locally rooted, and always focused on the balance between human needs, environmental respect, and emotional experience. It’s not about replicating a style. It’s about translating philosophy into context, wherever we build.