Interviews with Nima Keivani

Becoming an architect was not a momentary decision; it was a progression fueled by curiosity, artistic passion, and a desire to improve people’s lives. From an early age, I was drawn to the interplay of geometry in historic Iranian structures—intricate tilework, symmetrical courtyards, and the poetic use of light. This fascination led me to study architecture academically. My formal education gave me both technical knowledge and a broader philosophical grounding. Initially, I was influenced by vernacular Iranian building techniques, but I also immersed myself in global modernism and sustainable design principles. The driving force was a conviction that architecture is a social responsibility—a way to weave cultural threads and modern needs into cohesive environments that uplift communities.

Contextual Insight: Every project begins with an examination of site-specific conditions—cultural, environmental, and functional. I want each design to reflect and elevate its locale.
Human-Centric Experience: Spaces should not only be beautiful but also intuitive and comforting. Human well-being—emotional, physical, and social—is always at the forefront.
Sustainability & Innovation: We adopt both traditional craftsmanship and advanced digital tools. Physical mock-ups, 3D parametric modeling, and performance simulations all help us discover new forms and optimize resources. The goal is to create a symbiosis between tradition and technology.

I’d describe our style as contemporary reinterpretations of Iranian architectural heritage, emphasizing spatial fluidity, geometric nuances, and an ongoing dialogue with nature.

Designing evokes a deep sense of wonder, curiosity, and responsibility. Initially, there’s the excitement of conceptualizing—like painting with possibilities. As ideas mature, I feel a kind of focused intensity; it’s both thrilling and meditative. The final stages, when a concept transitions from drawings to reality, produce profound satisfaction and humility. Each design phase has its emotional cadence: from the spark of inspiration, to the constructive friction of refining ideas, to the relief and joy of completion. Ultimately, the knowledge that design can tangibly improve people’s lives gives me a daily sense of purpose.

Cultural Heritage: Growing up amidst Iran’s age-old architectural legacy—courtyards, windcatchers, intricate brickwork—engrained in me an intuitive grasp of proportion, light, and ornamentation.
Interdisciplinary Curiosity: I’ve always found value in studying and trying fields outside architecture, such as philosophy, cinema, theater, and anthropology, enriching my design toolkit.
Empathy & Communication: Understanding clients’ narratives, communities’ aspirations, and local constraints has been crucial. Good listening and collaboration skills often matter more than strictly design-based expertise.

These dimensions foster a mindset that merges creativity and empathy, bridging local identity with modern demands.

My personal and professional growth path hinges on continually deepening our architectural language at Keivani Architects. We aspire to broaden our reach internationally, forging design dialogues that transcend national boundaries. We’re also expanding our work into urban-scale interventions, helping shape more holistic environments that integrate public spaces, housing, cultural institutions, and ecological frameworks.

Stay Curious: Continuously explore emerging technologies and historical precedents. Don’t limit your learning to architecture—draw insights from fields like psychology, sociology, and environmental sciences.
Embrace Critique: Early in my career, critical feedback (even if daunting) was the greatest catalyst for growth. Surround yourself with people who challenge your ideas constructively.
Be Resilient: Design processes can be long and fraught with constraints. You’ll need persistence, adaptability, and the ability to pivot.

A mentor once told me: “The best architecture emerges when all constraints—cultural, financial, environmental—are creatively resolved rather than sidestepped.” That advice still guides me today.

Define Your Ethos: Understand your values and vision before diving into any trend. Authentic design stems from clarity of purpose.
Network Wisely: Collaborate across disciplines. Artists, scientists, local craftspeople—diverse perspectives lead to unique solutions.
Balance Ambition with Humility: Confidence is key, but remain open to learning. Continual refinement of methods, materials, and conceptual frameworks is how you stay relevant.

Constant iteration, rigorous research, and a strong moral compass (especially concerning sustainability) build the foundation for long-term success.

I typically start my morning reviewing sketches and design briefs while having coffee. Then I delve into team meetings, where we discuss project progress, brainstorm new concepts, and troubleshoot design or engineering problems. I might spend part of the day overseeing site visits to check on construction details or meeting with clients for feedback. Between these tasks, I carve out time for reading: architectural journals, theoretical essays, and global design news. I wind down by revisiting sketches or working out design details—often in the quieter evening hours—before planning the next day’s objectives.

Small joys like an insightful team discussion, a well-executed façade detail, or a new parametric experiment that works perfectly can spark excitement amid the routine.

I stay informed by reading international architectural journals, participating in conferences, and observing global award-winning projects. Social media platforms also offer quick glimpses into emerging technologies and material innovations. However, trends are a double-edged sword. While they can inspire fresh thinking, they risk overshadowing authenticity if blindly followed. I aim to distill the essence of a trend—like a new building methodology or sustainability approach—and see if it resonates with our contextual design ethos. Ultimately, it’s not about chasing fleeting fashions, but incorporating innovations that can endure and enhance user experience long-term.

For me, good design has three pillars:

Resonance with Context: It must reflect and enhance the cultural, environmental, and social fabric where it resides.
Functionality and Well-being: A design succeeds if it meets or transcends user needs, fosters comfort, and can adapt over time.
Timelessness: Does it remain conceptually and aesthetically relevant even as trends evolve?

Common pitfalls include flashy aesthetics lacking depth or solutions that ignore fundamental sustainability or user-experience concerns. A truly well-designed space or object is one that stands quietly confident, serving its purpose gracefully while evoking a sense of emotional connection.

I often say a design reaches completion when all key constraints—functional, aesthetic, financial, and environmental—are resolved in a harmonious manner. Perfection is elusive; there’s always room for refinement. However, practical realities—like budgets, timelines, or client needs—set boundaries. I know a project is sufficiently complete when further tweaks would compromise the balance that’s already achieved. Even after construction, I view designs as living entities—the dialogue continues through user feedback and post-occupancy assessments, informing improvements for future work.

I admire a wide spectrum of architects and designers for different reasons. From the Iranian perspective, I’m in awe of vernacular masters who innovated climate-responsive solutions centuries ago, such as the unknown artisans behind Yazd’s windcatchers. Globally, Louis Kahn and Peter Zumthor stands out for his poetic interplay of light and structure, and Tadao Ando for his mastery of minimalism and space. If I could have a conversation with a single (late) visionary, it might be Zaha Hadid—to explore the fluid dynamism of her forms and her visionary approach to parametric design. Each of these figures revolutionized how we perceive space and potential.

I live and work primarily in Tehran, deeply influenced by Iran’s artistic legacy—from calligraphy to intricate mosaics. My cultural identity seeps into every design I undertake, manifested in courtyards, daylight patterns, or semi-private transitional zones. Music often plays a backdrop in my creative process: I enjoy classical Persian music for introspective moments and contemporary global genres when exploring new ideas. Design for me is an instrument of cultural preservation, societal improvement, and personal expression. Small improvements—like adopting local craftsmanship or championing sustainable materials—create incremental but meaningful changes in how I live and design.

Keivani Architects is centered on a collaborative environment. We have interdisciplinary dialogues with engineers, artisans, urban planners, and even sociologists. I believe that a culture of open communication and mutual respect unlocks synergy that leads to rich, multifaceted design solutions. Qualities I look for in new hires or partners include curiosity, adaptability, and moral responsibility. We strive for ethical design—cost-effective yet environmentally conscious, aesthetically captivating yet contextually sensitive. Transparency with clients and stakeholders is vital; each project is a shared venture in pursuit of a refined outcome.

We’ve engaged in pro bono consultations for charity community-driven projects, such as small libraries or schools in underserved areas, where design can significantly enhance quality of life. I’m also active in academic workshops, guiding emerging architects on sustainability and cultural integration. Occasionally, we participate in design competitions that champion humanitarian causes—seeing design as an instrument for broader social impact. I believe that artists, designers, and architects hold a collective responsibility to advocate for ethical and equitable environments. Investing in youth education, mentorship, and public design events remains a personal priority.

Participating in design competitions like the A’ Design Award offers several benefits:

Global Exposure: It’s a platform that connects you to an international audience of peers, media, and potential collaborators.
Professional Validation & Motivation: Recognition acts as a catalyst for pushing boundaries and refining quality standards.
Community & Dialogue: Competitions foster discussions around evolving trends, new technologies, and sustainability challenges.

Being named “Designer of the Day” is both humbling and invigorating. It underscores the collaborative efforts of my team and reaffirms our guiding principle—architecture that merges cultural authenticity with visionary thinking. I hope it inspires other emerging designers to be both courageous and compassionate in their approach.

Our focus was to create a design that transcends utility, serving as both a functional lamp and a sculptural reflection of human existence. We aimed to evoke warmth, intimacy, and introspection while highlighting the tension between traditional and modern living through contrasting materials and thoughtful light integration.

We plan to expand The Home Lamp into a series, exploring variations in size, materials, and functionality. We aim to showcase it internationally, collaborate with luxury brands for production, and position it as a symbol of thoughtful design bridging art and function.

The design process spanned two months, from conceptualization to realization. This included ideation, material experimentation, technical integration of the dimming system, and prototyping to ensure the balance of form, functionality, and symbolism.

This design was a personal exploration of the philosophical meaning of "home." It was not commissioned but rather born from an inspiration to merge light, space, and human connection into a single object that embodies warmth and introspection.

Currently, we retain production rights and are considering limited-edition releases. We are open to collaborating with design-focused companies to scale production while maintaining the artistic integrity of the design.

As architects, we are drawn to the interplay between space, light, and human interaction. This lamp allowed us to explore these elements on a smaller scale while preserving the architectural narrative within a functional object.

While no specific designs directly influenced The Home Lamp, we drew inspiration from the works of modernist architects and designers who emphasized the emotional impact of space, materiality, and light, such as Alvar Aalto and Tadao Ando.

Our target customers include design-conscious individuals, art collectors, and interior designers seeking unique lighting fixtures that blend aesthetics, functionality, and deeper symbolism for their spaces.

The Home Lamp combines a profound philosophical narrative with functional lighting, merging symbolic elements like the four nature-inspired houses with advanced technology, such as touch-sensitive dimming, in a sculptural form.

The name The Home Lamp reflects the essence of the design—representing the idea of "home" as a space of safety, consciousness, and connection, encapsulated in a tangible and functional object.

We utilized AutoCAD for technical drawings, Rhino for 3D modeling, and rendering software like V-Ray to visualize the interplay of light and materials. Physical prototypes were also developed to test materials and technology.

Its philosophical depth, expressed through the integration of light, form, and materiality, is its uniqueness. The touch-sensitive dimming, combined with the rotational alignment to the sun, enhances both functionality and symbolic meaning.

This project was a collaboration with my brother, Sina. We worked closely with an electronics team to develop the custom dimming system and experimented with material specialists to create the lightweight concrete frame.

Technology plays a pivotal role in creating intuitive functionality. The custom touch-sensitive dimming system, integrated seamlessly into the copper structure, enhances user interaction without disrupting the sculptural form.

The design was influenced by conceptual and material research. We analyzed the emotional and spatial impact of lighting, studied copper’s conductive properties, and explored the architectural symbolism of "home" in different cultural contexts.

Challenges included achieving structural precision in welding copper without compromising aesthetics and integrating the dimming system into the design without visible disruptions. Material experimentation with lightweight concrete also required multiple iterations.

We believed The Home Lamp represented a unique convergence of art, architecture, and technology. Submitting it to the A' Design Award allowed us to share our vision on an international platform and connect with a global audience.

This project deepened our understanding of material behavior, functional integration, and the emotional impact of lighting design. It also reinforced the value of collaboration and iterative prototyping in achieving a balance between art and utility.

The Home Lamp is more than a product—it is a narrative that bridges architecture and design. It invites users to reflect on their relationship with space, light, and nature, emphasizing the importance of thoughtful design in daily life.

The focus was to create a residence that revives the essence of Persian architectural heritage while maintaining a modern aesthetic. By blending space psychology with functional design, the aim was to offer residents a sanctuary that harmonizes with nature and reflects their cultural roots. Reinterpreting the hanging gardens in a contemporary style, the project establishes an emotional connection between the user, architecture, and the surrounding environment.

As the building has already been sold, future plans for this specific design lie in the hands of the new owners. However, the recognition this project has received strengthens the studio's commitment to promoting Iranian architectural identity in future projects. We envision continuing to explore similar principles in upcoming designs to merge tradition with innovation.

The design phase for Pardis Khaneh was completed within 6–7 months. This timeline included extensive research into historical Iranian gardens and developing innovative features like the movable wooden panels.

The design was commissioned by a client who sought a unique architectural solution for their residential building. The concept was shaped by the site’s contextual needs and a desire to create a landmark design rooted in Iranian culture.

No, the building has been sold, and there are no current plans to reproduce the design. However, its unique elements might inspire future projects.

The project presented an opportunity to revive the spirit of Persian gardens in a modern architectural framework. This blend of tradition and innovation offered a creative challenge that aligns with our studio’s philosophy of merging Iranian identity with contemporary needs.

Persian miniature paintings played a significant role in shaping the aesthetic and functional aspects of the design. These artworks offered a symbolic and detailed representation of paradise, which was adapted into the project's terraces, courtyards, and facade.

The target customers are individuals or families seeking a modern residential experience that remains deeply connected to Iranian cultural heritage. The design appeals to those who value a balance between tradition and innovation.

forgotten Iranian architecture concealing the identity of the region, The identity which must be introduced in modern form today. Traditional Architectural elements are not seen in this building and even the used materials are not similar to their traditional patterns. But the applied simplicity and harmony in its architecture and modernized traditional construction causes the resident finds himself in a modern house but with traditional feelings and atmosphere. Pardis Khaneh stands out due to its unique approach to integrating Iranian architectural identity without replicating traditional patterns. Instead of using overtly traditional elements, the design employs simplicity and harmony to evoke a sense of cultural familiarity in a modern setting. Features like the cedar-planted facade, dynamic wooden lattice, and multi-level green spaces create a soothing, responsive living environment that is both aesthetically and climatically adaptive.

"Pardis" means "green garden" and symbolizes paradise in ancient Persian. Combined with "Khaneh," which means "house," the name reflects the project's essence: a modern sanctuary infused with the spirit of a Persian garden.

The project utilized a combination of hand sketches and digital tools, including 3ds Max, Revit, Lumion, and AutoCAD, for modeling, visualization, and precise detailing.

The integration of cedar trees on the facade is a standout feature, along with the movable wooden lattice panels that allow users to adjust privacy and light. These elements interact with sunlight to create dynamic visuals while maintaining a connection to traditional Iranian architecture. Also climatically responsive building.

Collaboration with specialists in structural engineering, landscape design, and material fabrication was essential to achieving the technical and aesthetic goals of the project.

The main facade is consisting of three main materials: thermos wood for window shading devise, turquoise Stone facing for the main facade and exposed concrete as a Complementary Neutral material used in entrance, The detail of wood panels is originally designed and all the wooden frames were cut and bolted under the supervision of the design team in the place. each panel has a steel frame covered by wooden finishing. Which not only can move linearly in rails but also can have hinge rotation. As mentioned the occupants are free to move and rotate the panels which make it an interactive, flexible, dynamic facade. Technology played a pivotal role, especially in fabricating the wooden lattice panels and their hinge rotation system. Advanced structural analysis ensured the panels were durable and functional, while modern irrigation systems supported the vertical gardens.

Yes, the design is informed by historical research into Persian gardens and their representation in miniatures, as well as modern studies on urban connectivity and environmental performance. The design team has so despite the study of historical aspects of Iranian garden architecture, also analyzed Persian garden in Iranian miniature paintings. In many cases, the gardens in miniature were mostly applied to illustrate the paradise on earth and that is why the word Pardis derives from paradise.So pardis khane is a type of residential building that is designed for the modern lifestyle, but it is conscious of Iranian identity.

The biggest challenge was ensuring that the architectural identity resonated with Iranian heritage while meeting contemporary living standards. Balancing aesthetics, functionality, and environmental performance required extensive experimentation and collaboration.

I had participated in A design competition before and I find it a well organized competition .So it is a good experience to participate here every time.

The project deepened our understanding of integrating cultural motifs into modern designs and highlighted the importance of technical innovation in bringing traditional concepts to life. It reinforced the studio's ability to address complex urban challenges creatively.

Pardis Khaneh represents not just a building but a philosophy of reconciling heritage with modernity. It sets a precedent for future projects in Tehran and beyond, showing how architecture can serve as a bridge between the past and the future. This project has also inspired us to continue exploring the integration of cultural identity with innovative design approaches.

The focus was on preserving and evoking the romance of the past while offering a luxurious experience. The design captures a narrative of love and longing, making guests feel as if they’re stepping into a Persian poem brought to life. The goal was to create a sanctuary of emotion, culture, and comfort. The primary focus was to create a dialogue between past and present, seamlessly merging historical identity with modern hospitality standards.

Delbar Khaneh is envisioned as a flagship boutique hotel that can serve as a template for similar cultural restoration projects. The next steps include promoting its cultural significance and potentially franchising the concept for similar locations in Iran and beyond.Delbar Khaneh’s love story provides a unique marketing angle, making it ideal for becoming a destination for romantic getaways and weddings. Plans include enhancing its narrative through curated experiences, such as storytelling evenings, themed events, and cultural workshops that celebrate love and Persian heritage.

The project took approximately one year to design, including historical research, concept development, and architectural planning, ensuring that every detail honored the historical context while meeting modern hospitality requirements.

The inspiration came not just from the architectural heritage but from a local legend of two lovers separated by fate, which the site is said to embody. The design honors this tale of enduring love, blending it with the cultural and historical significance of the space.The project was commissioned by a client passionate about restoring historical Iranian architecture. This aligned perfectly with my inspiration to revive traditional designs while adapting them for modern uses.

The design is exclusive to this boutique hotel and currently not sold or leased for reproduction. However, future adaptations for similar heritage restoration projects are possible under our studio’s management.

Heritage restoration is a personal passion, and Delbar Khaneh allowed me to contribute to preserving and showcasing Persian culture. It’s an opportunity to bring historical architecture into a modern context, making it accessible and appreciated by new generations. Also This project was an opportunity to tell a story through architecture—a tale of love, culture, and heritage. The idea of preserving a historical narrative while allowing visitors to feel part of a romantic legend made this project particularly compelling.

My brother Sina Keyvani and I designed it together. In general, we always work together and brainstorm ideas and then we talk and collaborate regularly during the design process.

The target audience includes cultural tourists, architecture enthusiasts, and luxury travelers who value unique and immersive experiences. It caters to individuals seeking authentic, high-end stays rooted in cultural identity.

Delbar Khaneh is not just a boutique hotel but a vessel for storytelling. Its design incorporates elements symbolizing love and connection, from the interwoven geometric patterns to the intimate courtyards. It’s a place where architecture and narrative unite to create an unforgettable emotional experience. Delbar Khaneh stands out for its meticulous balance of preserving historical integrity while integrating cutting-edge amenities. Its ability to harmonize cultural storytelling with luxury sets it apart from other boutique hotels.

“Delbar Khaneh,” meaning “House of the Beloved,” pays homage to the site’s love story and its architectural charm. The name reflects both the intimate atmosphere and the romantic legacy tied to the hotel’s history, making it a fitting tribute to the tale that inspired it.

We utilized 3D modeling software such as Rhino and Revit for spatial planning and Autodesk’s visualization tools for rendering. Additionally, hand sketches played a significant role in conceptualizing traditional patterns and details.

The most unique aspect is how the architecture embodies a love story. From the romantic courtyards to the light play through lattice windows that symbolize unity and separation, every detail resonates with themes of love and connection, making it deeply emotional and cultural. َAlso the standout feature is the seamless integration of traditional Persian elements, such as tile mosaics and wooden lattice windows, into a modern, functional boutique setting. The harmonious blending of eras creates a truly one-of-a-kind experience.

The project involved a team of historians, artisans, and skilled craftsmen to ensure historical accuracy and authenticity. Specialists in Persian tiling and stucco art contributed significantly to the detailing.

Advanced modeling and rendering tools were critical in visualizing and refining the design. Additionally, modern engineering solutions ensured the structure adhered to contemporary safety and sustainability standards without compromising authenticity.

Extensive research into Afsharid architecture, including field visits to historical sites and consultation with cultural experts, informed the design. Data on modern hospitality trends helped optimize functionality. We also conducted extensive research into the history of this house, which ultimately led to the discovery of its unique story. Our curiosity and study began when we discovered, through field studies and layering, that parts of the house were never finished.

Balancing historical preservation with modern standards was a significant challenge. Ensuring that the structure met modern safety and comfort standards while maintaining its cultural authenticity required innovative solutions. Another challenge was interpreting the love story architecturally without over-romanticizing the space. Balancing the emotional narrative with practical functionality required careful planning to ensure guests felt the romance without compromising comfort or modern standards.

The decision to submit Delbar Khaneh to an international design competition stemmed from its unique narrative and cultural significance. The project transcends architecture, blending design with a timeless love story and Persian heritage. I believed it deserved global recognition for its ability to evoke emotion while showcasing the artistry of Persian craftsmanship. Winning such awards not only validates the cultural and creative aspects of the design but also provides a platform to share the story of Delbar Khaneh with a wider audience, inspiring others with its poetic and architectural fusion.

The project reinforced the importance of collaboration between architects, historians, and artisans. It also deepened my understanding of how traditional architecture can be revitalized for modern use.

Delbar Khaneh represents a blueprint for cultural sustainability, showing how architecture can preserve heritage while remaining relevant. It’s a testament to how design can bridge the past and the future. Delbar Khaneh is more than a design; it’s a journey through Persian art, love, and heritage. By intertwining architectural beauty with the emotional weight of its love story, the project exemplifies how spaces can transcend functionality and become living, poetic experiences.
This version ties the love story directly into the design, enriching its narrative appeal while maintaining the architectural and professional context.

Chahar Gah villa is designed to adapt to climatic conditions and exchange energy. Chahar Gah Creates an interactive dialogue from residential veils and environment, seasons and what nature watches over time. there is no mask between inside and outside, and despite the transparency, it answers the problem of privacy. In addition to the outdoor space and nature around the building, the user also can feel that inside. And while solving energy concerns, discovery and intuition add to the quality of the space.

This villa has been sold out. therefore, the future plan is out of designer's hand.

About 2-3 months.

It was commissioned by a client.

Chahar Gah villa has been sold out .

In 2016 we designed a building which could be transformable as the nature itself. This conceptual framework expects the building to transform with the change of seasons and ecological alterations and eventually adopts itself with the surrounding environment. The transformable house impressively appeared in international events and awards. years later we were asked to design a villa in a region of Iran which was climatically similar to the climatic context of the Transformable house. Therefore , we decided to expand the Transformable house idea into a new villa and design another project in harmony with nature.

The Latvia villa ,another design by me and our team.

The Arsess Group.

The design of the building is transparent and layered. Sloping outer covering that covers the interior space and interior spaces that are suspended in separate boxes around the hallway and living space. Efforts have been made to create empty spaces at the common border between inside and outside the building; intermediate space to create visual boundaries, the play of light and shadow in the interior.

According to the idea of the design, which was compatibility with four seasons of the year, the project has named Chahar Gah.
In the ancient Persian language , Gah means season and Chahar means four seasons.

Hand sketch , 3D modelling and rendering programs (3D max, Revit, Lumion, Autocad)

Due to the beautiful scenery around and the beach in front of the site.

Structure engineers and the electrical and mechanical installation consultants.

The building expands from east to west due to the climatic conditions of the region, and the elongated form and chimney of the outer shell are due to better air circulation. This twisting of the roof also prevents air twists.

The main studies on the climate and indigenous architecture of the region have been done in a library and field, and along with it, the ways that have the best results in terms of sustainability and optimization of energy consumption have been studied. The final result was the sum of studies with statistical data and output graphs of energy software. This region has a temperate climate and is influenced by the Caspian Sea and the Alborz Mountains and has a lot of rainfall. As a result, natural ventilation and rain control are one of the most important issues in this climate.

Designing a building with contemporary architecture while responding to traditional and climate issues and energy sustainability and at the same time making the most of the surrounding landscape has been one of the most important challenges of the work. Having simultaneous response for fresh air and optimizing energy consumption, transparency and privacy, creating spaces for social interactions and personal space, interacting with nature with a biophilic approach, and shaping the form according to the prevailing winds of the mountains and the Caspian Sea The most important challenges that answered in this design.

I had participated in A design competition before and I find it a well organized competition .So it is a good experience to participate here every time.

Perhaps what sets this building apart is its new look at biophilic architecture, Architects have always paid attention to the use of plants and light and water. But this house has become a place for more interaction; birds. This is a house for humans and birds. In this respect, inspired by Iranian historical dovecotes, a part of interior space was dedicated for this purpose.The interior spaces is formed around the patio where the birds live, by creating cross-sectional play and level differences in the spaces, as well as the special design of the stairs and the holes inside it.

This villa has been sold out. therefore, the future plan is out of designer's hand.

3-4 months.

It was commissioned by clients.

This villa has been sold out.

The widespread of birds exist in the project's site has been the source of the idea.

A young couple.

Perhaps what sets this building apart is its new look at biophilic architecture, Architects have always paid attention to the use of plants and light and water. But this house has become a place for more interaction with birds. This is a house for humans and birds. In this respect, inspired by Iranian historical dovecotes, a part of interior space was dedicated for this purpose. The interior spaces is formed around the patio where the birds live, by creating cross-sectional play and level differences in the spaces, as well as the special design of the stairs and the holes inside it.

Kabootar means bird and Kabootar Khaneh is the name of an ancient Iranian building which has provided nesting space for 4000 birds.

Hand sketch, modeling & Rendering programs (3D max, Revit, Autocad)

With the structure engineer and mechanical installation consultant .

The role of technology in Kabootar Khaneh villa is to collect the absorbed water for the domestic use. But generally, because of the limitation of the budget ,indigenous material has been used in this project.

Kabootar Khaneh villa is influenced by Kabootar Khaneh in Iranian architecture which is a splendid functioning structure left over from the Qajar Dynasty, for all tourists and travelers to see.
This particular example, with its fine brick work, is around 200 years old and provided nesting space for 4000 birds.

Every project is a new practice which makes us face many different challenges and we try to find or create the best solution to influence the society.

I had participated in A design competition times before and I find it a well organized competition .So it is a good experience to participate here every time.

At its core, I’m motivated by a desire to shape environments that foster human well-being, cultural continuity, and environmental harmony. From a young age, I was captivated by how architecture can uplift or transform communities. The creative challenge of merging culture, climate, and user needs in a single coherent design is an ongoing source of inspiration for me. Ultimately, I became a designer because I see architecture as a bridge between imagination and social responsibility—a means to leave a positive imprint on the world.

My choice to become an architect was entirely my own. I was fortunate to have a supportive environment that recognized my passion for the arts and sciences. Architecture felt like a natural evolution of my interests in art, geometry, and problem-solving. Nobody compelled me to follow this path; it was a calling rooted from my childhood in curiosity and a desire to create meaningful spaces. I have tried to be an artist or architect as a always.

I primarily design architectural projects—residential, commercial, cultural, and educational buildings. Over time, my team and I have also ventured into interiors, furniture concepts, and urban design strategies. Looking forward, I’d love to work more on public and civic projects: museums, cultural centers, or community hubs that serve broader societal needs. Such projects allow us to weave together heritage, technology, and community engagement on a larger scale.

First, remain humble and open to learning. Ground your work in both technical rigor and a clear philosophical vision. Second, be persistent—design excellence is a product of iterative refinement and resilience in the face of challenges. Third, cultivate your own voice by embracing your cultural heritage and unique experiences; these elements will distinguish your designs. Finally, maintain empathy: consider the end-user at every stage. True design “legends” are those whose work resonates meaningfully with people’s everyday lives.

A good designer skillfully meets functional and aesthetic requirements. A great designer goes further—transcending constraints to create a sense of wonder, emotional resonance, or a deeper cultural statement. Great designers also demonstrate leadership, inspiring teams and communities, while advocating for ethical and sustainable practices. It’s that added layer of vision, emotional depth, and social responsibility that sets a great designer apart.

I evaluate design by three main criteria:

Functionality: Does it meet the user’s needs effectively?
Contextual Sensitivity: Does it reflect and respect local context, culture, and environment?
Timelessness: Can it adapt to future needs, and does it hold an aesthetic and conceptual relevance over time?

If a design excels in these areas while also elevating the human experience, it is more than good—it’s exceptional.

Good design elevates everyday life. It can reduce energy consumption, foster healthier living, and create spaces that stimulate creativity and emotional well-being. For companies, good design improves productivity and brand image. For cities, it fosters stronger communities and sustainable growth. Ultimately, it’s an investment in long-term quality of life, cultural identity, and environmental stewardship.

If time and resources were unlimited, I’d design comprehensive community-focused developments—integrated housing, cultural centers, and public parks. I would love to collaborate with NGOs or municipalities in under served areas to design socially responsible, sustainable habitats. The idea of creating holistic environments that uplift communities is incredibly appealing.

A multi-purpose cultural center that merges traditional Iranian architectural principles with cutting-edge technologies for renewable energy and interactive public programs. It would be a living laboratory for cultural exchange, showcasing how architecture can unify community, heritage, and innovation under one roof.

The secret ingredient is a synergy of curiosity, empathy, and discipline. Curiosity compels me to explore new ideas and technologies; empathy ensures my designs truly serve people; and discipline translates lofty concepts into real-world solutions. Underlying these is the mindset of continuous improvement with more crazy ideas—each project becomes a stepping stone for the next. I have no border for inspiring.

I derive great inspiration from both Iranian and international visionaries. From the Iranian side, the vernacular masters who pioneered ingenious solutions in desert architecture inspire my approach to climate-responsive design. Internationally, I admire the works of architects like Louis Kahn for his poetic use of light, Tadao Ando for his minimalist sensibility, and the late Zaha Hadid for pushing the boundaries of form and fluidity. And i really enjoyed from Peter Zumthor and Steeven Holl architecture.

I am deeply intrigued by the Salk Institute by Louis Kahn for its profound interplay of geometry, space, and light. Tadao Ando’s Church of the Light resonates with me for its serenity and powerful manipulation of natural light. These designs illustrate how minimal elements can evoke a monumental emotional response. on the otherhand i ispiring of Bernard Tschumi projects too.

I think my next future project.

Expand your horizons—study art, history, technology, psychology, and even philosophy. Travel to understand diverse architectural traditions. Seek critiques regularly and learn from every project, success or failure. Collaboration is also key; working with diverse teams exposes you to new perspectives. Personally, I’ve continuously engaged with mentors, academic research, and industry events to sharpen both my technical and conceptual skills.

If I weren’t an architect, I might have pursued Cinema director or urban planning—something that still integrates problem-solving with societal impact. Alternatively, I might have become a teacher or scholar, channeling my passion for learning and mentorship in another way.

Design is a holistic, iterative process of problem-solving that synthesizes art, function, context, and culture. It’s an act of empathy—understanding human needs and desires—and a form of storytelling, weaving narratives about identity, place, and aspirations. Design transforms intangible concepts into tangible realities that enhance everyday experiences.

I owe a great deal to my family, who nurtured my early inclinations toward creativity. My brother and co-founder, Sina, has been a steadfast collaborator and supporter from the inception of Keivani Architects. I’ve also been fortunate to have dedicated mentors—professors, fellow architects, clients—whose insights and encouragement propelled my career forward.

A relentless curiosity and willingness to adapt. Each project, mentor, and challenge has shaped me. I also believe that respecting local culture and learning from traditional construction techniques enriched my design vocabulary. Above all, focusing on sustainable, user-centered solutions continually elevates my perspective.

I faced hurdles like limited budgets, regulatory constraints, and at times a lack of understanding about the value of good design in certain projects. Navigating bureaucracy and balancing commercial demands with artistic integrity can also be tough. These challenges forced me to become more resourceful, resilient, and persistent.

Designers should present context, concept, and technical details in a coherent narrative—showing how each design decision addresses user needs, site constraints, and environmental goals. Visual storytelling through sketches, 3D models, and interactive digital platforms can make the presentation more compelling. Transparency about process and challenges also fosters trust and appreciation.

We’re currently exploring a mixed-use complex that integrates renewable energy systems, adaptive façades, and communal green spaces. Future initiatives will likely delve deeper into cultural centers and public buildings that address societal needs. Expect further experimentation with parametric design tools, sustainable materials, and traditional Iranian elements re imagined for contemporary living.

My ultimate goal is to leave a body of work that enhances people’s quality of life and preserves cultural and ecological integrity. I aspire to influence the global discourse on architecture by promoting context-driven, human-centric, and sustainable methodologies that can serve as references for generations to come for make better universe.

People often expect visionary thinking, reliability, and the ability to translate abstract ideas into functional realities. There’s also an expectation of leadership—both in project management and in setting ethical, environmental, and social standards within the design industry. Lastly, clients and followers expect designs that endure the test of time—both functionally and aesthetically.

Design shapes the environments in which we live, work, and interact. Thoughtful, equitable design can improve mental health, foster community bonds, and enhance social inclusivity. Public spaces, for instance, can become incubators of creativity, dialogue, and learning if designed responsibly. On a grander scale, sustainable design can help mitigate climate change and preserve resources for future generations.

We’re designing a series of residential units with integrated micro-climate strategies—like rooftop gardens, natural ventilation corridors, and courtyard concepts reinterpreted from historic Iranian architecture. I’m excited about the potential to significantly reduce energy use while offering a healthy and culturally resonant living environment.

Projects that push the boundaries of traditional Iranian architectural elements—like the innovative façades we’ve done that reinterpret historic geometric patterns—are especially satisfying. Seeing how these approaches not only pay homage to our heritage but also bring practical benefits, such as improved shading and ventilation, is gratifying.

I’d like to see broader adoption of truly sustainable and socially responsible practices, beyond mere lip service. The design industry should prioritize collaborative frameworks that unify different disciplines—ecologists, sociologists, technologists—and encourage open-source knowledge sharing to tackle global challenges like urban sprawl and climate change.

Design is becoming more interdisciplinary, data-driven, and community-centered. We’ll see advanced computational tools guiding everything from structural optimization to adaptive environmental systems. Simultaneously, I believe there will be a renaissance in cultural authenticity, with designers re-examining local traditions to create more grounded, responsible, and personalized solutions.

Timelines vary widely based on project complexity. A single-family home might take several months from conceptual development to construction documents, while larger public or commercial projects can span years. Factors like municipal approvals, engineering collaboration, and client feedback cycles can all extend or compress the schedule.

I begin by understanding the site, context, and user requirements. This involves on-site visits, research into local culture or zoning codes, and dialogue with clients or community members. I also investigate environmental conditions—solar orientation, prevailing winds, etc.—to ensure the design is as responsive and sustainable as possible.

“Design with integrity and empathy.” Every choice—from the broad concept down to the final material selection—should serve both the people who will inhabit the space and the environment that hosts it.

It’s reciprocal. Visionary designs often spark new trends, but they also emerge in response to changing societal, technological, and cultural shifts. A good designer is attuned to these shifts but also not afraid to challenge them and propose new paradigms.

Technology is an enabler, allowing us to visualize complex geometries, simulate environmental performance, and fabricate precise components. Advanced software like parametric modeling helps optimize resources and tailor each design element to the project’s unique needs. However, technology should never overshadow fundamental human and environmental considerations; it is a means, not an end.

We use a range of software, including AutoCAD, Revit, Rhino, Grasshopper, and rendering tools like V-Ray or Lumion. Physical model-making and rapid prototyping also remain vital for understanding scale and tactility. In terms of hardware, powerful workstations and occasionally 3D printers or CNC machines are integral to our workflow.

Color and materials establish the emotional and sensory qualities of a space, shaping how occupants feel and behave. Ambient factors—like lighting, acoustics, and ventilation—directly influence comfort, mood, and productivity. Thoughtful, context-aware choices in these areas can radically elevate a design from purely functional to holistically nurturing.

I wish people would ask more about the research, cultural references, and ecological strategies behind each project. Understanding the “why” can deepen appreciation for the “how” and the “what.” Design is an iceberg; what you see is just a fraction of the deeper conceptual and technical effort underneath.

I wonder about its underlying logic—how the designer arrived at that solution, what constraints they overcame, and which cultural or emotional narratives it carries. Great designs provoke curiosity and admiration in equal measure.

My ideal partner is someone who shares a commitment to ethical, contextually grounded design. Collaboration fuels creativity. Co-design is invaluable—it diversifies perspectives, reduces blind spots, and enriches the solution. I often collaborate with engineers, artisans, and even sociologists for a well-rounded approach.

Clients who brought unique perspectives to the table, master craftsmen who introduced me to time-tested techniques, and visionary mentors during my academic journey all shaped my understanding of architecture. Every interaction presents a learning opportunity, shaping my evolving approach to design. But most important person to open my view to art, life and helped me to find a simple solutions in the between of confused crazy ideas is Abbas Kiarostami Iranian famous cinema director.

Books on Iranian vernacular architecture, such as works exploring Yazd’s desert buildings, profoundly influenced my understanding of climate-responsive design. Internationally, seminal texts like “Towards a New Architecture” by Le Corbusier, S,M,L,XL by Rem Koolhaas, and “The Poetics of Space” by Gaston Bachelard broadened my conceptual framework, addressing the emotional and spatial depths of architecture.

Practice and iteration, combined with academic research and professional critiques. Frequent collaboration with skilled colleagues and constructive feedback from clients further refined my skill set. Traveling to see iconic buildings firsthand helped me absorb various cultural and architectural contexts.

I’d love to have a dialogue with the legendary Persian polymath Omar Khayyam—his blend of scientific rigor, poetic imagination, and philosophical depth would be an inspiring perspective to integrate into modern architecture. Meeting visionary architects like Antoni Gaudí or Louis Kahn would also be extraordinary, as their conceptual frameworks were groundbreaking in their own eras.

Awards and recognition are humbling; they affirm that our efforts resonate beyond immediate circles. Fame, however, is not an end goal for me. It can bring pressures and distractions, but the real reward lies in the impact our work has on people’s lives and the environment.

Color: Earthy tones like terracotta or muted greens, reflecting natural landscapes and local materials.
Place: Historic city centers and natural landscapes that reveal cultural narratives, such as Yazd in Iran or Kyoto in Japan.
Food: Iranian cuisine—particularly dishes like Lavangi, my home town special foods and Ghormeh Sabzi—reminds me of home and tradition. and Italian special cusins.
Season: Spring, for its sense of renewal and optimism, which resonates with the creative process.
Thing: Sketchbook—it’s where raw ideas first come to life.
Brand: I appreciate brands that integrate sustainable practices and quality craftsmanship, such as Vitra for furniture or Herman Miller for ergonomic design.

Seeing genuine enthusiasm from my team or clients about new ideas is a powerful motivator. Also, witnessing the progress of a project—turning sketches into physical form—brings a sense of accomplishment. My day is made great by small wins: a well-executed detail, a clever structural solution, or a concept that finally clicks.

I don’t know if it was obvious, but I was always dissecting spaces and drawing plans of imaginary buildings. I also loved studying history, ancient heritage, patterns and geometry in traditional Iranian art. These early passions foreshadowed my path into architecture and design, but I owe the cultivation of those innate curiosities to the supportive environment I had.

A thousand years is a vast timeframe. I imagine design will become highly adaptive, intelligent, and integrative—structures that self-regulate based on environmental and societal needs. Culturally, I hope we’ll preserve local identities while benefiting from the shared knowledge of a global society. Perhaps architecture will merge seamlessly with nature, blurring boundaries between built and organic realms.

I want people to know that every project I undertake is driven by a vision of synergy—between tradition and innovation, culture and sustainability, past and future. I believe design is fundamentally an optimistic act. Even in uncertain or challenging times, the potential to create places that uplift human experience is limitless. I’m deeply grateful for everyone who supports our work at Keivani Architects, and I look forward to future collaborations that continue to expand the horizons of architecture and design.

Keivani Architects is a design studio I co-founded with my brother, Sina, with a primary focus on architecture and interior design. Based in Tehran, our practice is dedicated to exploring how traditional Iranian architectural principles can be thoughtfully reinterpreted in a contemporary context. Over time, we have developed a body of work that is both distinctly rooted in our cultural heritage and forward-looking in its use of materials, technology, and form.

Our firm is a collaborative environment where architects, designers, engineers, and craftsmen work together. We emphasize sustainable design, context-driven solutions, and an architectural language that balances innovation with respect for local culture and the environment. Our projects range from residential and commercial buildings to cultural and educational spaces, each approached with sensitivity to site, climate, and cultural narrative. We’ve received international recognition for our designs, which often feature a seamless integration of traditional craftsmanship, geometric exploration, and state-of-the-art technology.

To me, design is a thoughtful and compassionate problem-solving process. It’s about creating environments that resonate with the human spirit, respond to practical needs, and engage with their cultural and ecological context. Design is not merely about aesthetics; it’s also about utility, sustainability, and meaning. A well-designed space should enhance human well being, foster connections, and inspire people. Ultimately, design is a bridge between imagination and reality—a way to shape the world so it better aligns with our aspirations and values.

I find the most joy in designing projects that allow for a deep dialogue with their surroundings—works that integrate natural elements, cultural references, and a strong narrative. Whether it’s a private residence that embodies a family’s heritage or a public building that aims to inspire a community, I gravitate toward projects with meaningful context. Designing spaces where tradition meets innovation and where people can truly feel at home—both emotionally and physically—is what I find most fulfilling.

While I have been fortunate to work on many projects that are close to my heart, one standout is the “Orsi Residential Building” in Tehran. This project is a manifestation of our approach: blending Iranian architectural elements—like screens, geometry, and spatial layering—with contemporary functional demands. The façade’s interplay of solids and voids, the use of natural light, and the balance between privacy and openness create an environment that feels at once modern and deeply rooted in local traditions. The Orsi Building symbolizes the synthesis of past and future, form and function, and remains a personal milestone in our architectural journey.

Early in my career, I contributed to the interior layout for a small office space. Although modest in scale, it taught me the importance of understanding user needs, optimizing workflows, and considering how lighting, color, and material choice influence morale and productivity. That first corporate design experience underscored the power of design to transform even the most basic interior into an environment where people feel valued and motivated.

I am drawn to natural materials like wood and brick due to their tactile qualities, cultural resonance, and versatility. Brick, in particular, is very common in Iranian architecture and can be adapted into intricate patterns that filter light and air. I also value new technologies—such as parametric design tools and sustainable building systems—that allow us to push the boundaries of what’s possible. The combination of traditional materials and advanced digital modeling or fabrication methods can yield truly unique, contextually rich solutions.

I feel most creative when I’m fully engaged with a context—visiting a site at different times of day, absorbing the local atmosphere, or discussing user needs with a client. Creativity often emerges at the intersection of constraints and possibilities. Also, having quiet moments, perhaps early in the morning or late at night, helps me channel fresh ideas. Travel, art exhibits, and reading about history or philosophy can also trigger bursts of inspiration.

I focus first on spatial organization, how people will move through and interact with the environment. This includes the interplay of light, ventilation, and the relationship between indoor and outdoor spaces. Once I have a strong spatial concept, I delve into materials, details, and the finer aesthetic choices. In other words, I start with the ‘soul’ of the project—its conceptual foundation—before fine-tuning its personality.

Designing often evokes a sense of curiosity, excitement, and optimism. There’s also a reverence for the responsibility I hold—knowing that my decisions can affect how people live, work, and experience their daily lives. Sometimes I feel the tension of balancing various constraints—budget, regulations, client requests—but the overarching feeling is one of possibility and hope.

Seeing a completed project evokes pride, relief, and gratitude. Pride in the collaborative effort, relief that the concept has successfully become reality, and gratitude for everyone—clients, colleagues, craftsmen—who contributed to bringing it to life. It’s deeply rewarding to witness people occupying and enjoying a space you’ve envisioned. At those moments, architecture becomes more than sketches and renderings; it becomes part of people’s lived experience.

A successful design resonates with users, respects its context, and endures both functionally and aesthetically over time. It addresses practical needs—comfort, safety, efficiency—while also uplifting the human spirit. If it can adapt to changing conditions, age gracefully, and continue to inspire, then it has truly succeeded.

My initial assessment focuses on the fundamentals: Does the design serve its intended purpose? Is it sensitive to its environment? Is it constructed responsibly and ethically, and does it improve the user’s quality of life? These core questions guide my evaluation before I consider stylistic choices or decorative elements.

Designers hold a crucial role as stewards of cultural legacy and environmental sustainability. We must create buildings and products that not only look beautiful but also conserve resources, minimize environmental impact, and contribute positively to communities. This includes using sustainable materials, embracing energy-efficient solutions, supporting local craftsmanship, and designing inclusive, accessible spaces. Our responsibility extends beyond aesthetics; we are shaping the future of the planet and its societies through the spaces we create.

Design is becoming more interdisciplinary, collaborative, and technologically driven. We are witnessing the integration of artificial intelligence, parametric modeling, virtual reality, and sustainable innovations into the design process. The future lies in intelligent, responsive environments that adapt to changing needs, and in a heightened global awareness of environmental responsibility. I believe we will also see a renaissance of cultural specificity—designers revisiting traditions and local vernaculars, blending them seamlessly with contemporary methods to create meaningful, future-proof spaces.

We’ve presented our work through various architectural forums and exhibitions over the years, both in Iran and internationally. For instance, our works have been featured in exhibitions and design conferences that highlight contemporary Iranian architecture. While I have a specific recent public exhibition to mention here in Venice, we’re always exploring opportunities to showcase our projects—whether through galleries, architecture biennales, or academic talks. I hope to participate in another international exhibition soon, where we can share our recent projects and engage in meaningful dialogue with the global design community.

My inspirations come from a variety of sources: the intricate geometry of historic Persian architecture, the warm textures of local materials, global architectural discourse, and the natural landscape—mountains, deserts, and gardens. I feed my creativity by traveling, reading extensively about art, philosophy, and history, and staying updated with emerging technologies and design trends. Conversations with clients, craftsmen, and fellow architects also spark new ideas. It’s a continuous cycle of observation, reflection, experimentation, and learning. And also, Iran's rich literature, historical stories, and the roots of local and indigenous architecture are inspiring to me at many times.

My design style is a contemporary interpretation of Iranian architectural vocabulary, blending minimalist forms with culturally significant motifs and materials. I value simplicity, elegance, and spaces that feel both timeless and current. What led me down this path was the desire to create a language that pays homage to my cultural roots while embracing modern needs. The main characteristics are sensitive contextual response, geometric clarity, interplay of light and shadow, and the balanced use of materials like brick and wood. My approach is holistic—combining conceptual thinking, cultural referencing, technical rigor, and a human-centered focus.

I live and work primarily in Tehran, Iran. Iranian architecture is steeped in a millennia-old tradition of craftsmanship, geometric patterns, and poetic spatial concepts, and this cultural heritage deeply influences my designs. The advantage is having a wealth of historical precedents and artisanal skill sets to draw upon. There’s a rich narrative to explore and reinterpret. On the other hand, economic and regulatory challenges, evolving urban conditions, and resource constraints can sometimes limit design freedom. Still, these constraints often inspire more inventive solutions.

When collaborating with companies—whether as clients or partners—we begin with extensive dialogue to understand their brand values, operational needs, and objectives. We then develop conceptual proposals, refine them through iterative feedback, and guide the project from design through construction and completion. Regular communication, transparency, and mutual respect define these relationships. We aim to become partners in their success, offering solutions that enhance both their physical environment and their identity.

Companies should seek designers who are good listeners, open-minded, and aligned with their values. Look for a portfolio that demonstrates not just beauty but also thoughtful problem-solving and consistency. Communication skills are crucial—designers who can articulate their vision and incorporate feedback effectively are more likely to deliver successful results. Finally, consider a designer’s understanding of sustainability, cultural context, and long-term adaptability. Trust and chemistry between the company and the designer are essential for a truly fruitful collaboration.

My design process starts with understanding context: site conditions, cultural and historical background, user needs, and environmental factors. I then brainstorm concepts, sketch ideas, and refine these into more concrete proposals using digital modeling tools. Collaboration with my team and consultants ensures practicality. We test materials, lighting conditions, and structural systems. The process is iterative, balancing conceptual vision with real-world constraints. Finally, we detail every aspect and guide the project through execution, making adjustments as needed to maintain design integrity.

A handcrafted ceramic vase made by a local artisan—it embodies traditional craftsmanship and personal history.
A classic Persian carpet with intricate geometric patterns that inspire my architectural details.
A well-designed reading chair—ergonomic yet elegant, encouraging quiet reflection.
A minimalistic floor lamp with a warm LED light that enhances mood and ambiance.
A set of custom-designed shelves that blend form and function, showcasing books, art, and personal mementos. and some antique objects.

My typical day begins early, often with a morning walk to clear my mind before heading to the studio. The first part of the workday involves reviewing ongoing projects with my team, discussing design challenges, and coordinating with engineers or consultants. Later, I may meet clients or visit construction sites to oversee progress. Afternoons often include creative sessions—sketching, model-making, or exploring new materials. Evenings are for catching up on emails, reading architectural journals, or researching inspiration for future projects. I strive to maintain a balance—time for intense focus, for collaboration, and for personal enrichment.

First, embrace your cultural roots and personal experiences—they can become a powerful source of uniqueness. Stay curious; never stop learning about art, technology, history, and human behavior. Practice empathy and always consider how your designs will affect the people who use them. Learn to communicate your ideas clearly, both visually and verbally. Don’t shy away from challenges or constraints; use them as catalysts for innovation. Finally, understand that good design is a process, not just a product. Patience, persistence, and humility will guide you to excel over time. And be like a crazy about your ideas.

On the positive side, being a designer allows you to shape the world in tangible, meaningful ways. You get to combine creative thinking with real-world impact and see your visions improve lives. It’s deeply fulfilling to turn abstract ideas into built realities. On the negative side, design can be demanding, requiring long hours, patience with constraints, and the delicate juggling of client expectations, budgets, and timelines. There’s also the emotional toll of seeing brilliant concepts sometimes compromised due to external factors. But these challenges often fuel resilience and creativity.

My golden rule is to design with integrity and empathy. Every decision—whether spatial, material, or aesthetic—should serve the people who will inhabit the space and respect the environment it occupies. If you remain true to this principle, your designs will naturally be more meaningful, enduring, and impactful.

A designer needs a balanced set of skills: creative vision, technical proficiency, and strong communication abilities. Understanding materials, construction methods, and sustainable principles is essential. Equally important is empathy—truly grasping user needs—and adaptability, allowing you to evolve as new technologies and social conditions arise. Strategic thinking, time management, and the capacity to work collaboratively are also crucial.

My toolbox is multifaceted. It includes traditional tools like sketchbooks, pens, and physical models to quickly test ideas. On the digital side, we use CAD software, BIM platforms, parametric design tools like Grasshopper, and rendering applications for visualization. I maintain a personal library of architecture and art books, as well as journals on philosophy, history, and culture. Inspiration also comes from online archives, architectural databases, and visits to museums and historical sites. Finally, collaboration with artisans and material suppliers provides hands-on knowledge that shapes design decisions.

I prioritize tasks, break them down into manageable segments, and set clear milestones. Effective delegation within my team ensures that everyone contributes their expertise. I also schedule regular reviews and deadlines to keep projects on track. I believe in maintaining a healthy work-life balance because stepping away from work momentarily can renew creativity. Good time management is as much about efficiency as it is about preserving your mental and emotional well-being.

The time frame varies greatly depending on the scale and complexity of the project. A small piece of furniture or a single-family home might take a few weeks to conceptualize and detail, while a larger building could span months or even years from initial sketches to final construction documents. We tailor our process and timeline to the project’s needs, complexities, and the pace of our collaborators.

Clients and students often ask, “How do you balance creativity with practicality?” or “How can we ensure that our project remains true to the initial concept when confronted with real-world challenges?” This is a core inquiry, touching on the heart of architectural practice—the delicate dance between imagination, constraints, and execution. And another most repeated question is, how we can win international awards!

One of the most pivotal experiences was working on projects that required integrating traditional Iranian building techniques with modern construction methods. This experience taught me the value of cultural continuity and how technical innovation can enhance, rather than overshadow, vernacular wisdom. Such projects refined my approach and solidified the core philosophy of Keivani Architects.

Our clients range from private homeowners and entrepreneurs to corporations and cultural institutions. We work with individuals and organizations who appreciate culturally resonant, sustainable, and innovative designs. Our portfolio includes both local Iranian clients and international collaborations, all seeking a unique architectural identity that reflects their values and aspirations.

I particularly enjoy projects that challenge conventions and invite a deeper cultural or environmental narrative. Whether that’s a civic building that engages the community, a residence that reinterprets traditional courtyard typologies, or a workspace that promotes well-being through biophilic design elements—I relish opportunities to push boundaries. Such projects often bring out the best in our team and yield richer, more meaningful outcomes.

I aim to continue refining our firm’s architectural language, deepening our approach to sustainable design, and exploring new materials and technologies. I’m also interested in more international collaborations, exhibitions, and academic engagements to share insights and learn from a global community. The future involves expanding our repertoire—designing more public spaces and cultural projects that foster dialogue, well-being, and environmental stewardship.

While I provide creative direction and maintain a strong personal vision, our designs are ultimately a team effort. Architects, engineers, designers, interns, and consultants all contribute their expertise. I believe in a collaborative studio culture where ideas can flow freely, be debated, refined, and improved. This synergy leads to better, more holistic design solutions.

Yes, we are currently working on a few projects that embody our core philosophies—most notably, a residential complex that integrates green terraces, traditional Iranian courtyard principles, and contemporary energy-efficient systems. We are also designing an educational facility that aims to create inspiring, flexible learning environments infused with natural light and local craftsmanship. Though still in development, these projects represent exciting milestones as we continue to bridge heritage, innovation, and sustainability.

I’m always open to discussing potential collaborations, sharing insights, and engaging in conversations about architecture and design. You can reach out to me and my team in the following ways:

Website: www.keivani-architects.com
Email: keivani.architects@gmail.com
Cell Phone (Iran): +98 912 183 4347

Whether you’re a fellow designer looking to exchange ideas, a potential client with a new project in mind, or a student seeking mentorship, I welcome you to get in touch. My team and I value constructive dialogue and look forward to building relationships that foster innovation and creativity.

One area I am passionate about—and would like to emphasize—is the educational and community impact of architecture. Beyond the aesthetics, I believe architects can play a key role in shaping public awareness about sustainability, cultural heritage, and social responsibility. This goes beyond our day-to-day practice and touches on:

Mentorship & Education: I often engage with universities, design workshops, and community programs, offering lectures and critique sessions. Encouraging the next generation of architects and designers is essential for the continued evolution of our field. Sharing knowledge and experiences not only benefits students but also enriches my own perspective.

Cultural Diplomacy: As an Iranian architectural firm, our works serve as a bridge between local traditions and international conversations. I see architecture as a form of cultural diplomacy—each building or project communicates aspects of our heritage while engaging global design trends. This enriches the world’s architectural tapestry and helps promote mutual understanding.

Research & Publication: At Keivani Architects, we strive to create dialogues within the architectural community through research papers, articles, and exhibitions. Documenting traditional Iranian design principles and examining how they intersect with modern technologies can serve as valuable resources for others. I’m always exploring ways to contribute to global design discourse.

Social & Environmental Advocacy: Architecture has a profound impact on communities and ecosystems. We continually seek more environmentally responsible solutions—from energy-efficient facades to locally sourced materials. We also advocate for inclusive design, aiming to create spaces that welcome diverse populations, regardless of age, ability, or cultural background.

Awards & Recognition: While we appreciate the acknowledgments we’ve received—such as various architecture awards and features in design magazines—our focus remains on the integrity and purpose of each project. Still, these accolades do help us connect with a broader audience and initiate more impactful collaborations.

All of these elements collectively inform who we are as designers, as teachers, and as community members. I believe it’s important to highlight that our mission goes beyond just creating buildings; it’s about fostering human connection, cultural identity, and ecological balance through the built environment.

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned from studying traditional architecture is that heritage should not be copied; it should be understood. Traditional buildings are not important simply because of their forms, but because they embody generations of accumulated intelligence about climate, culture, human behavior and spatial experience. My interest in Iranian dovecotes was therefore never about recreating their physical appearance. What fascinated me was the way they organized relationships—between void and mass, humans and nature, movement and stillness.This way of thinking gradually shifted our design process away from treating architecture as a composition of façades and plans. Instead, we began designing the project through its sections.For me, the section is one of the most powerful yet underestimated tools in architecture. A plan tells us where spaces are located, but a section reveals how life unfolds through them. It describes relationships rather than boundaries. It connects vision, movement, gravity, light and atmosphere into a single spatial experience. In Kabootar Khaneh, almost every important architectural decision emerged through sectional thinking rather than formal composition.The historical dovecotes inspired this approach because they were never experienced as flat objects. Their spatial richness came from vertical relationships, internal cavities, layered volumes and constantly changing perceptions as one moved through them. We translated that principle into a contemporary residential environment instead of replicating its historical language.As the project evolved, we intentionally abandoned the idea of perfectly stacked floors connected only by a conventional staircase. Real life is not experienced in isolated horizontal layers. We move continuously between moments, views and levels. Therefore, the architecture should reflect that continuity rather than interrupt it.This led to a sequence of carefully calibrated level changes that create gradual transitions instead of abrupt separations. Each shift in height subtly transforms the relationship between the inhabitant, the central bird sanctuary, natural light and the surrounding landscape. Sometimes the birds are at eye level; sometimes they are viewed from above or below. Sometimes they are clearly visible, while at other moments they are only perceived through movement or sound. These constantly changing perspectives create an architecture that is discovered progressively rather than understood instantly.This idea also influenced the staircase, which eventually became much more than a circulation device. I often believe that stairs are among the most overlooked architectural spaces. They are frequently reduced to engineering requirements, yet they possess extraordinary potential to shape perception. In Kabootar Khaneh, the staircase became a spatial journey where every landing introduces a slightly different relationship with light, volume and the surrounding spaces. Instead of simply connecting floors, it connects experiences.Equally important was the role of visual continuity. We carefully positioned openings so that views rarely terminate at a wall. Instead, they extend through multiple spatial layers. A small opening may frame another window, which in turn frames a tree, the sky or the bird sanctuary beyond. This layering of perspectives encourages curiosity. Rather than revealing everything immediately, the house constantly invites exploration. I have always believed that architecture should reward movement. A building should not reveal its entire identity from a single viewpoint. As people walk, climb, pause or turn around, architecture should continue offering new discoveries. This creates an emotional engagement that remains alive long after the novelty of a new building has disappeared.There is also a psychological dimension to sectional design that interests me deeply. Contemporary life is often characterised by speed, predictability and visual overload. We immediately consume images without truly experiencing places. Architecture has the opportunity to resist this condition by slowing perception. Changes in level, carefully framed views and gradual spatial sequences encourage people to become more attentive to their surroundings. The building quietly asks its inhabitants not only to move through space, but to notice it.In Kabootar Khaneh, this slower rhythm becomes part of everyday life. Morning light enters differently from evening light because each opening responds to a particular sectional condition. Shadows move across walls and stairs in constantly changing patterns. Seasonal changes alter the appearance of the central courtyard, while the movements of birds introduce an additional layer of unpredictability. As a result, everyday routines never become entirely repetitive because the architecture itself continues to evolve through time.Looking back, I believe the sectional organization of Kabootar Khaneh ultimately became a way of designing experience rather than designing form. The level differences are not gestures intended to create visual complexity. They exist because each one contributes to a richer dialogue between the inhabitants, nature, light and movement. Perhaps this reflects a broader architectural belief that continues to guide my work today. Buildings should not simply accommodate activities; they should cultivate awareness. They should encourage people to observe more carefully, move more consciously and reconnect with qualities of everyday life that often go unnoticed.If Kabootar Khaneh succeeds in creating memorable experiences, I do not think it is because of its geometry alone. It is because the geometry was always developed in service of human perception. Ultimately, architecture becomes meaningful not when people admire its form, but when the spaces quietly transform the way they experience ordinary moments. For me, that is the enduring value of designing through sections rather than merely designing objects.And perhaps we can even mention the concept of parallax in this sensory and psychological effect of the section game.

One of the recurring questions in architecture is whether a building should honestly express every technical requirement or whether technology can quietly disappear into the architecture itself. In Kabootar Khaneh, we deliberately chose the second approach. We wanted the technical performance of the building to remain highly effective without becoming visually dominant.The project is located in northern Iran, a region characterized by abundant rainfall, high humidity and climatic conditions that have shaped its vernacular architecture for centuries. Traditionally, steep pitched roofs are an essential response to this environment, and for very good reasons. They efficiently shed rainwater, protect building envelopes and contribute to long-term durability.At the same time, however, the conceptual language of Kabootar Khaneh was based on the idea of a calm, minimal and almost archetypal cubic volume. This purity was not pursued as a stylistic preference alone. We believed that reducing the visual complexity of the exterior would allow greater attention to be directed toward the spatial experiences unfolding inside the building and toward its dialogue with nature. The challenge, therefore, was not choosing between a pitched roof and a cubic form—it was finding a way for both to coexist. Rather than treating climate and architectural expression as competing priorities, we asked whether they could reinforce one another.This question led us to develop a concealed sloping roof system positioned behind the perimeter walls of the cube. From the outside, the building maintains a quiet and restrained silhouette. Yet behind that apparent simplicity lies a carefully engineered roof geometry that efficiently manages heavy rainfall while preserving the architectural concept.Although the solution appears visually effortless, it required considerable coordination throughout the design process. Every change in roof geometry affected structural relationships, waterproofing details, drainage routes and construction sequencing. The greatest challenge was ensuring that none of these technical necessities compromised the clarity of the overall architectural idea.For me, this reflects an important principle in design. Simplicity is rarely achieved by removing complexity; it is achieved by absorbing complexity.The cleaner an architectural form appears, the more carefully its hidden systems usually have to be resolved. In that sense, minimalism should never be confused with reduction alone. Genuine simplicity often demands a higher level of technical discipline because every detail becomes more visible and every imperfection more apparent.Rainwater management became another opportunity for integration rather than concealment. Instead of allowing water simply to leave the building, we considered it as part of a broader environmental cycle. The concealed drainage system collects rainwater and directs it toward landscape irrigation, allowing one of the site's most abundant natural resources to continue contributing to the life of the project after every rainfall. This strategy may appear modest, but I believe sustainability is often most meaningful when it becomes an ordinary part of everyday building performance rather than an isolated technological statement.The hidden roof also allowed us to create an accessible green rooftop that offers an entirely different spatial experience from the exterior image of the house. This contrast interested me greatly. From outside, the building presents a restrained and almost silent presence within its surroundings. Once inside, however, the architecture gradually unfolds into a sequence of unexpected spaces, culminating in a roof landscape that reconnects the inhabitants with the surrounding trees and sky.I have always been interested in architecture that reveals itself progressively rather than immediately. Contemporary visual culture often encourages buildings to communicate everything through a single photograph. Yet architecture is not experienced in one image. It is experienced through movement, discovery and time. In Kabootar Khaneh, concealing the roof became another way of rewarding exploration instead of instant consumption.This project also reinforced an important lesson for our practice. Innovation does not necessarily mean inventing completely new technologies. Sometimes innovation lies in reorganizing familiar knowledge in response to a specific context. The pitched roof itself is not new. The cube is not new. Rainwater harvesting is not new. What interested us was how these familiar architectural ideas could be combined into a coherent system that simultaneously addressed climate, sustainability, spatial quality and architectural identity.Looking back, I believe the hidden roof represents something larger than a technical solution. It embodies a design philosophy that continues to guide our work today: architecture should never force people to choose between beauty and performance. When a project is developed through an integrated design process, technical intelligence and architectural expression stop competing with one another. They become different manifestations of the same idea.Ultimately, I hope Kabootar Khaneh demonstrates that some of the most meaningful aspects of architecture are the ones people never immediately notice. A visitor may remember the purity of the white volume, but that visual calm is only possible because an invisible layer of technical thinking is working continuously in the background. To me, this is one of architecture's greatest achievements—not when technology asks to be admired, but when it quietly enables a richer and more enduring human experience.

When sustainability is discussed today, the conversation often revolves around certifications, advanced technologies or high-performance materials. While these aspects are undoubtedly important, I believe sustainability begins much earlier, with a fundamental question that every architect should ask before drawing the first line: What already exists here, and how can architecture work with it rather than against it?For me, sustainability is not simply about reducing environmental impact. It is about recognizing the value that already exists in a place—its materials, its climate, its cultural memory and even its imperfections. Architecture should not begin by replacing everything. It should begin by understanding.This mindset shaped many decisions throughout Kabootar Khaneh.Instead of treating materials as products selected from a catalogue, we approached them as carriers of history. The reclaimed timber used for parts of the façade and roof structure came from older local buildings that had already lived one life before becoming part of this project. We were not interested in recycling merely because it reduced waste, although that was certainly beneficial. More importantly, these pieces of wood carried traces of time that no newly manufactured material could reproduce.Weathering, texture and subtle irregularities give materials a kind of honesty that industrial perfection often lacks. They remind us that architecture is part of a continuous cycle rather than an isolated event. By allowing those materials to continue their journey in a new building, we were also preserving fragments of the region's material memory.The same philosophy guided our use of indigenous sedimentary rocks collected from the surrounding area for the landscape design. Transporting imported stone from distant locations would have increased both environmental cost and visual detachment from the site. Instead, using local stone allowed the landscape to appear as though it had always belonged there. Rather than imposing an entirely new identity onto the land, we tried to reveal qualities that were already present.This distinction is important to me. I believe architecture should contribute to the identity of a place without erasing the identity that already exists.Interestingly, these decisions also influenced the overall aesthetic language of the project in ways we did not initially predict. The architecture is often described as minimalist because of its restrained white cubic form. However, I have never understood minimalism as the elimination of character. For me, minimalism is about reducing unnecessary visual noise so that the essential qualities of space, light and material can be experienced more clearly.In Kabootar Khaneh, the quiet white volume creates a calm architectural background against which the warmth of reclaimed wood, the natural texture of local stone, the movement of birds and the changing colours of vegetation become much more perceptible. The building itself intentionally avoids competing with these elements. Instead, it frames them.This relationship between simplicity and material authenticity became one of the project's most rewarding discoveries. The fewer materials we used, the more responsibility each material carried. Every surface had to communicate something meaningful because there was nothing unnecessary to distract the eye. In this sense, minimalism actually demanded greater precision rather than less effort.The limited budget of the project also reinforced this way of thinking. Financial constraints encouraged us to ask more intelligent questions instead of searching for more expensive solutions. Rather than asking what additional materials we could introduce, we focused on how fewer materials could perform multiple roles simultaneously—environmentally, structurally, emotionally and aesthetically. Looking back, I believe these limitations ultimately strengthened the architectural clarity of the project.There is another aspect of sustainability that I consider equally important but that is discussed less frequently: emotional durability. A building cannot truly be called sustainable if people stop caring about it after only a few years. Architecture should create lasting emotional connections that encourage preservation instead of replacement.Natural materials play a significant role in achieving this. Unlike synthetic surfaces that often remain visually unchanged until they deteriorate, wood and stone continue to evolve throughout the life of a building. They respond to sunlight, moisture, touch and time. Rather than resisting ageing, they record it. I find this quality deeply human because people also change over time. Buildings should have the ability to age with dignity alongside their inhabitants.This perspective reflects a broader philosophy that guides much of our work at Keivani Architects. We try to see architecture not as the production of objects, but as the creation of long-term relationships—between people and place, between contemporary life and cultural memory, and between the built environment and the natural world.Ultimately, I do not believe the success of Kabootar Khaneh lies in the fact that recycled wood or local stone were used. Those are only visible outcomes of a deeper way of thinking. The real objective was to create an architecture that consumes less by understanding more; an architecture that respects what already exists before introducing something new.Perhaps that is the quiet lesson this project has taught us. Sustainability is not defined by how many technologies a building contains, but by how thoughtfully it enters the life of a place. When architecture learns to value existing resources—both material and cultural—it not only reduces environmental impact, but also creates spaces with greater authenticity, resilience and meaning. In the end, the most sustainable buildings may not be those that appear the most technological, but those that feel as though they have always belonged where they stand.

I have never considered windows to be simple openings in a wall. For me, they are instruments that shape perception. They determine not only what we see, but also how we experience time, movement and atmosphere. In Kabootar Khaneh, the windows were never designed independently from the architecture. They emerged from the sectional organization of the house, becoming an essential part of its spatial narrative rather than isolated façade elements.Very early in the design process, we decided that every window should have a specific purpose. None of them exist simply to satisfy a façade composition or to maximize daylight. Each opening establishes a particular relationship between the inhabitant, the birds, the surrounding landscape, the changing sky and the movement through the house. In this way, light itself became a design material rather than merely an environmental condition.I often say that architecture is one of the few disciplines that works with materials that cannot be touched. Space, silence, shadow, wind and light are all intangible, yet they shape our emotions as profoundly as concrete, stone or timber. Among these invisible materials, light has always fascinated me the most because it is never static. It transforms architecture every minute without altering a single physical element.That continuous transformation was central to the experience we wanted to create.Instead of filling the interior with uniform illumination, we carefully positioned the openings to allow light to enter from different directions and at different heights throughout the day. As the sun moves, the house slowly changes its character. Morning light introduces calmness and clarity, while afternoon light creates stronger contrasts and deeper shadows. By evening, the atmosphere becomes softer and more contemplative. The architecture itself remains unchanged, yet the emotional experience constantly evolves.This is why we described it as a "dance of light." It is not a decorative effect but an ever-changing dialogue between architecture and nature.Equally important was the relationship between light and movement. Because the windows respond to the sectional composition rather than a repetitive façade rhythm, light accompanies people differently as they move through the building. Climbing the staircase, entering a bedroom, pausing beside the central patio or looking across different levels all produce distinct encounters with daylight. The inhabitant never experiences the same light twice because every position in the house offers a slightly different spatial condition.This variability was intentional. Contemporary buildings often strive for complete visual consistency, but human experience is rarely consistent. Our emotional lives are shaped by variation, surprise and subtle change. I believe architecture should embrace these qualities rather than eliminate them.Another aspect that interested us was the relationship between light and anticipation. Not every window reveals a complete view. Some frame only fragments of the landscape. Others capture the movement of birds, a tree beyond the courtyard or a portion of the sky. These carefully edited views encourage curiosity rather than instant visual consumption. The mind naturally completes what the eye cannot fully see, making the inhabitant an active participant in the experience of the space.This principle extends beyond vision. As daylight changes, it also alters how materials are perceived. Reclaimed wood reveals different textures under oblique light than it does under direct sunlight. White walls become surfaces for moving shadows. The changing brightness inside the bird sanctuary subtly influences how its presence is perceived from surrounding rooms. In this sense, light does not simply illuminate architecture; it continuously reinterprets it.I also believe that changing light affects our psychological relationship with time. Many contemporary interiors are designed to maintain identical lighting conditions throughout the day, creating environments that feel disconnected from natural rhythms. While this may offer visual consistency, it can also distance people from the subtle cycles that have shaped human life for thousands of years.In Kabootar Khaneh, we deliberately chose a different approach. The changing quality of daylight reminds the inhabitants that time is passing, seasons are shifting and nature remains present in everyday life. The architecture becomes a quiet calendar, recording the movement of the sun without requiring clocks or screens.Perhaps this explains why many people describe certain spaces as peaceful without immediately knowing why. Often, it is not the furniture or the materials that create this feeling, but the gentle alignment between architecture and natural rhythms. When a building allows people to unconsciously reconnect with these rhythms, it supports not only physical comfort but also psychological well-being.Looking back, I think the windows in Kabootar Khaneh perform a role far beyond providing views or daylight. They choreograph relationships—between interior and exterior, between movement and stillness, between observation and imagination, and perhaps most importantly, between human life and the passage of time.Ultimately, I believe architecture should not seek to freeze beautiful moments. It should create conditions where beautiful moments can continue to emerge on their own. Light is one of the few architectural materials that is renewed every single day without any intervention from the architect. Designing with light therefore requires a certain humility. We design the framework, but nature completes the architecture. To me, that collaboration between human intention and the changing forces of nature is one of the most meaningful forms of beauty architecture can offer.

In many residential buildings, the staircase is treated simply as a functional necessity—a device that connects one floor to another as efficiently as possible. From the very beginning of Kabootar Khaneh, however, we wanted the staircase to play a far more meaningful role. Rather than being a neutral circulation element, it became an integral part of the architectural experience and one of the project's primary spatial protagonists.This decision emerged naturally from the overall concept of the house. Since the central bird sanctuary was conceived as the living heart of the project, we did not want people to encounter it from a single fixed viewpoint. We wanted their relationship with it to evolve continuously as they moved through the building. The staircase therefore became the architectural instrument that choreographs this evolving dialogue.Instead of repeating the same geometry on every level, each floor slightly transforms the staircase and the spaces surrounding it. These subtle changes create different visual relationships between the inhabitant, the birds, the patio and the exterior landscape. As one ascends through the house, perspectives constantly shift. At one moment, the birds are experienced through filtered openings; at another, they become part of a broader spatial composition framed by natural light, the surrounding rooms and distant views toward the trees outside.This constantly changing sequence was intentional because I believe movement is one of architecture's most powerful design materials.Unlike a painting, architecture is never experienced from a single position. We understand buildings through walking, climbing, turning, pausing and looking back. Every step slightly changes our perception. Yet surprisingly, movement itself is often underdesigned. Many buildings prioritize what they look like in photographs rather than how they unfold through the body of the person experiencing them. Kabootar Khaneh was designed in the opposite direction.Instead of asking how the staircase should appear, we asked how people should feel while moving through it. We wanted every transition between floors to become an opportunity for discovery rather than simply a change in elevation. This is why the staircase gradually reveals different spatial relationships instead of repeating the same experience on every level.One small detail illustrates this philosophy particularly well. From one of the bedrooms, an opening connects visually to the staircase, which then frames a much larger exterior window overlooking a tree beyond the courtyard. Although the inhabitant is physically inside the room, the sequence of framed spaces extends perception far beyond its immediate boundaries. This layered visual connection transforms an ordinary circulation space into an active participant in everyday life.The relationship with the birds also benefits from this approach. Importantly, our intention was never to display the birds as if they were objects in an exhibition. We were careful to preserve their independence and sense of security. Instead of constant exposure, the architecture creates moments of encounter. Sometimes the birds are close, sometimes distant; sometimes visible, sometimes only heard. These variations make every encounter feel authentic because they occur naturally rather than being forced by the design.This idea reflects something I find increasingly important in architecture: meaningful experiences often emerge through anticipation rather than continuous visibility. When everything is immediately revealed, curiosity disappears. By allowing moments of concealment and gradual discovery, architecture encourages people to remain attentive to their surroundings.The staircase also became an important mediator between vertical movement and natural light. Because each landing occupies a slightly different spatial condition, daylight enters from varying directions and heights throughout the journey. Shadows shift across the walls as the sun moves, while the changing perspectives toward the central patio continuously alter the atmosphere. Consequently, the experience of ascending the staircase in the morning differs subtly from climbing it in the afternoon or evening. The architecture remains physically unchanged, yet the journey is never exactly the same.Looking back, I believe the staircase ultimately became a reflection of the project's broader philosophy. It is not merely a route between destinations; it is a sequence of relationships. It connects floors, but it also connects people with light, movement, nature and moments of unexpected discovery.More broadly, I believe architects should think of circulation not as the space between important places, but as architecture itself. Some of our strongest memories of buildings are formed while moving through them rather than while standing still. The path is often more memorable than the destination.Perhaps that is why the staircase became one of my favorite elements of Kabootar Khaneh. It quietly reminds us that architecture is not only about where we arrive, but also about how we journey through space. When movement itself becomes meaningful, the building begins to participate in everyday life instead of simply containing it. For me, that transformation—from circulation to experience—is where architecture reveals one of its greatest potentials.

From the beginning, we understood that coexistence could not simply be declared as an architectural concept—it had to be carefully designed. If the birds felt constantly exposed, they would abandon the space. If the residents felt their privacy was compromised, the house would fail as a home. The real challenge, therefore, was not bringing humans and birds closer together, but finding the right architectural distance between them.I believe coexistence is sustained not by eliminating boundaries, but by designing intelligent boundaries.This distinction became one of the guiding principles of Kabootar Khaneh. We were never interested in creating an environment where people could continuously observe birds as if they were part of an exhibition. Nor did we want the birds to become decorative features integrated into the architecture. That would simply replace one form of domination with another.Instead, we tried to create conditions in which both species could maintain their own autonomy while remaining aware of one another.The central bird sanctuary was therefore conceived as an independent habitat embedded within the spatial organization of the house rather than absorbed into its daily activities. It remains visually connected to many interior spaces, yet physically protected. Transparency creates awareness, while separation preserves security. This balance was essential because genuine coexistence requires mutual respect rather than constant interaction.The same philosophy influenced many seemingly small architectural decisions. Openings were carefully positioned to allow selective visual connections instead of uninterrupted exposure. The sectional organization offers changing perspectives toward the birds without making them permanently visible. The staircase introduces moments of encounter as residents move through the building, yet these encounters remain brief and naturally integrated into everyday routines. Even sound became part of the architectural experience. Often the birds are heard before they are seen, creating a subtle awareness of another living presence without demanding visual attention.I find this quality particularly meaningful because relationships are often strengthened through gentle presence rather than continuous contact.Architecture frequently attempts to maximize everything—more visibility, more openness, more interaction. Yet life teaches us that healthy relationships often depend on balance rather than intensity. Respect requires distance as much as proximity. I believe architecture should understand this emotional principle just as carefully as it understands structural principles.Another important consideration was ensuring that neither species became dependent upon the other. The birds should be able to continue their natural behaviours without adapting to human routines, and the residents should experience the birds as companions within a shared environment rather than as responsibilities that constantly require attention. This independence was fundamental because coexistence should never become captivity disguised as design.Throughout the project, we often asked ourselves a simple question: If architecture disappeared for a moment, would both forms of life still feel naturally supported? This question helped us evaluate many design decisions. Whenever an element appeared to privilege one inhabitant at the expense of the other, we reconsidered it. Gradually, the project evolved toward a quieter and more balanced relationship.Looking back, I realize that Kabootar Khaneh is not really about birds alone. The birds simply made a broader architectural question visible. They encouraged us to reconsider an assumption that has shaped much of contemporary building culture—the belief that architecture exists exclusively for human use.Of course, buildings are created to serve people. However, human well-being is deeply connected to the health of the larger ecosystems that surround us. When architecture acknowledges the presence of other forms of life, it also enriches the human experience. The residents are constantly reminded that they are not isolated occupants of a private object, but participants in a living environment that extends beyond themselves.This subtle shift has profound psychological consequences. Instead of experiencing nature as something observed through a window, people begin to perceive themselves as one component within a larger ecological network. I believe this awareness quietly nurtures empathy. And empathy, perhaps more than any technological innovation, is essential for building a more sustainable future.In many ways, Kabootar Khaneh challenged us to redefine what hospitality means in architecture. We usually associate hospitality with welcoming human guests, yet perhaps architecture can also express hospitality toward the living world that already exists around us. That does not mean erasing distinctions between species. On the contrary, true hospitality begins by respecting difference.Ultimately, I believe the project succeeds not because humans and birds occupy the same building, but because neither one is forced to surrender its own identity. The architecture does not dissolve the boundary between them; it gives that boundary meaning. It transforms separation into connection, distance into awareness and coexistence into a daily experience rather than an abstract idea.Perhaps this is the lesson Kabootar Khaneh has left with me most deeply: architecture reaches its highest potential not when it demonstrates control over nature, but when it creates the conditions for different forms of life to flourish together with dignity. In the end, the measure of a truly humane architecture may not be how exclusively it serves humanity, but how generously it makes room for life itself.

In many contemporary houses, the courtyard or patio is often understood simply as an outdoor space that brings daylight and ventilation into the building. While these functions are important, we envisioned the central patio of Kabootar Khaneh as something much more fundamental. It was not designed as an empty space left between rooms; it became the conceptual heart from which the entire architecture emerged.From the earliest sketches, we deliberately avoided thinking of the patio as a void surrounded by architecture. Instead, we considered it a living space around which architecture could organize itself. This subtle shift completely changed the design process. Rather than placing rooms beside a courtyard, we allowed the courtyard to shape the relationships between all interior spaces.In this project, the patio is not an absence of building. It is the presence that gives meaning to the building.This idea was deeply influenced by traditional Iranian architecture, where courtyards have historically served not merely as climatic devices but as mediators between different worlds. They create transitions instead of abrupt separations. They negotiate relationships between interior and exterior, private and collective, built form and nature. What interested us was not reproducing their historical appearance, but reinterpreting this mediating role within a contemporary house.In Kabootar Khaneh, the patio became precisely such a mediator.Because it accommodates the bird sanctuary while remaining visually connected to the surrounding rooms, it establishes a relationship that is based on awareness rather than occupation. The inhabitants never completely possess this space, and the birds are never isolated from the life of the house. Instead, both remain connected through carefully designed visual, spatial and atmospheric relationships while preserving their individual territories.This distinction is essential because I believe architecture should not always strive to erase boundaries. Sometimes its greater responsibility is to transform boundaries into places of dialogue.Today we often celebrate openness as an unquestionable architectural value. Yet complete openness can sometimes eliminate the very sense of discovery, privacy and respect that gives spaces emotional richness. In Kabootar Khaneh, transparency and separation were designed to work together rather than oppose one another. Glass allows visual continuity, while physical distance protects both human life and the birds' natural behaviour. The architecture therefore communicates connection without demanding intrusion.The patio also became the environmental core of the house. Light enters through it, shadows travel across it, natural ventilation benefits from it, seasonal changes become visible through it, and the sounds of birds quietly spread throughout the surrounding spaces. In this way, the patio does not simply occupy the centre of the plan; it becomes the centre of the building's daily rhythms.I have always been interested in architecture that engages all the senses rather than relying exclusively on vision. We often think of space as something we see, yet much of our emotional experience comes from qualities that are less obvious: the changing sound of birds in the morning, the subtle movement of air, shifting reflections on glass, or the gradual transformation of light throughout the day. The patio became the place where these invisible experiences could naturally unfold.Another aspect that gradually revealed itself during the project was the psychological role of the central space. Contemporary homes often encourage people to withdraw into separate rooms, each functioning as an independent world. By organizing the house around a shared living core, we sought to create gentle moments of reconnection. Even when family members occupy different parts of the house, they remain visually and emotionally linked through the presence of the central patio. At the same time, the birds continue their own independent life within that shared environment, subtly reminding the inhabitants that home extends beyond purely human occupation.Looking back, I realise that the patio ultimately became more than an architectural element. It became a spatial expression of balance. It balances openness with protection, interaction with independence, movement with stillness, and human life with the rhythms of nature. Every surrounding room establishes a different relationship with this central space, ensuring that the experience never becomes repetitive. As people move through the house, the patio is continuously rediscovered from new perspectives, reinforcing the idea that architecture should unfold gradually rather than reveal itself all at once.More broadly, I believe meaningful architecture is rarely created by designing objects alone. It is created by designing relationships. Walls, roofs and windows certainly matter, but what people ultimately remember is how spaces relate to one another and how those relationships shape everyday life.For me, the patio of Kabootar Khaneh represents this belief more clearly than any other element of the project. It is not simply the center of the house; it is the place where architecture quietly negotiates coexistence. It demonstrates that the most meaningful boundaries are not those that separate worlds, but those that allow different worlds to encounter one another with mutual respect.Ultimately, I hope the project suggests that architecture does not need to choose between connection and separation. When thoughtfully designed, the space in between can become the most meaningful place of all. In many ways, that is what the patio truly represents—not a void inside the building, but the living threshold where architecture, nature and everyday life continuously meet.

I have always been cautious about claiming that a single project can change the future of architecture. Architecture evolves through the collective efforts of many designers, researchers, communities and cultures over long periods of time. Kabootar Khaneh is only one small contribution to a much larger conversation. However, I do hope it encourages architects to ask different questions.For many decades, architectural innovation has often been measured through technology, formal experimentation or increasingly sophisticated building systems. These advances have undoubtedly expanded the possibilities of our profession. Yet I believe another equally important challenge now lies before us: rethinking the relationships that architecture creates.Buildings do much more than shelter human activities. Whether intentionally or not, they continuously shape relationships—between people and nature, private life and public life, culture and environment, permanence and change. In many cases, architecture has become exceptionally successful at controlling its surroundings, but perhaps it has become less skilled at collaborating with them.Kabootar Khaneh emerged from a simple observation during our first visit to the site: the place was already inhabited before we arrived. That realization fundamentally altered our role as architects. Instead of imagining ourselves as creators of an entirely new world, we began to think of ourselves as participants entering an existing one.Looking ahead, I believe this shift in perspective may become increasingly important.The environmental challenges we face today cannot be addressed solely by making buildings more efficient. Efficiency is essential, but it is only one part of the equation. Equally important is developing an architectural culture that recognizes existing ecosystems as active participants in the design process rather than as conditions to be managed or obstacles to be overcome.This does not necessarily require spectacular architectural gestures. In fact, I believe some of the most meaningful changes may emerge through modest interventions that fundamentally reconsider how buildings occupy land, respond to climate and acknowledge other forms of life.The idea explored in Kabootar Khaneh was never about designing a house specifically for birds. That would be far too narrow an interpretation. The larger question was whether residential architecture could become more attentive to the networks of life that already exist around it. Birds happened to make that question visible, but the principle itself extends much further. Every site possesses ecological relationships that architecture can either weaken or strengthen.I hope future architectural practice will increasingly move beyond viewing nature as scenery surrounding buildings. Nature is not merely the background against which architecture is photographed. It is an active system within which architecture inevitably operates. Once we begin from that understanding, many design decisions naturally change—from site planning and material selection to spatial organization and long-term environmental responsibility.At the same time, I believe the future of architecture depends not only on environmental awareness but also on cultural continuity. Traditional architecture across many parts of the world contains profound knowledge about coexistence, climate adaptation and resource management. The challenge is not to imitate historical forms, but to reinterpret the intelligence embedded within them. Innovation becomes most meaningful when it grows from cultural understanding rather than stylistic novelty.This has been an important lesson throughout my own practice. The most valuable architectural ideas often emerge not from trying to invent something completely unprecedented, but from observing familiar realities more carefully. Sometimes innovation begins simply by noticing what everyone else has overlooked.If Kabootar Khaneh contributes anything to future architectural thinking, I hope it is this attitude of observation. Before architects transform places, perhaps we should first learn to listen to them. Every site already contains stories, histories, rhythms, climates, materials and living communities. Architecture becomes richer when it begins by discovering those qualities rather than replacing them.Ultimately, I do not believe the future of architecture will be defined by buildings that appear increasingly complex. I believe it will be shaped by buildings that understand relationships more deeply. Relationships between people and place. Between technology and ecology. Between memory and innovation. Between individual experience and collective responsibility.Perhaps the greatest opportunity for our profession is not to design ever more extraordinary objects, but to cultivate more meaningful connections. If architecture can help people rediscover that they are part of a larger living world rather than separate from it, then even small residential projects can have an influence far beyond their physical scale.Looking back, I see Kabootar Khaneh less as an answer and more as a question—one that I hope remains relevant for many years to come. How might architecture evolve if we measured its success not only by what it builds, but also by the quality of the relationships it makes possible? I believe that question may become increasingly significant as our profession continues to redefine its responsibilities in the decades ahead.

Every architect appreciates the freedom that generous budgets can provide. They allow access to advanced technologies, sophisticated construction methods and a wider range of materials. However, I have also learned that abundance does not automatically produce better architecture. In fact, some of the most meaningful lessons in my professional life have emerged from projects where resources were limited. Kabootar Khaneh was one of those projects.From the outset, we understood that the project could not rely on expensive materials, complex construction techniques or spectacular architectural gestures. Instead of asking what we could add, we repeatedly asked ourselves what was truly essential. Surprisingly, those two questions lead to very different kinds of architecture.I have always believed that limitations should not be viewed simply as obstacles. They are design conditions. Every project has them. Sometimes they are financial, sometimes climatic, cultural, technical or environmental. Creativity begins when architects stop resisting those realities and start designing with them.In Kabootar Khaneh, the limited budget encouraged us to think with greater clarity and discipline. Every decision had to justify its existence. Every material had to perform more than one role. Every square metre had to contribute not only functionally but also emotionally to the experience of the house. Rather than reducing ambition, the constraints refined it.This way of working gradually reinforced our commitment to simplicity—not as a visual style, but as a design methodology.Minimalism is often misunderstood as doing less. For me, it has always meant understanding more. It is the process of removing everything that does not strengthen the central idea of the project. When unnecessary elements disappear, what remains must carry greater meaning. Simplicity therefore demands confidence, because there is nothing left to hide behind.The financial limitations also encouraged us to make better use of resources that already existed around us. Reclaimed timber from older local buildings, indigenous stone from the site and passive environmental strategies were not chosen simply because they were economical. They became part of a broader design philosophy that sought intelligence before consumption. Instead of compensating for limited resources through expensive technology, we tried to achieve richer architectural experiences through careful observation, thoughtful planning and precise spatial relationships.Looking back, I realise that many of the qualities people now associate with Kabootar Khaneh—the calm architectural language, the emphasis on light, the sectional richness, the central patio and the careful dialogue with nature—did not emerge despite the project's limitations. In many ways, they emerged because of them.Constraints encouraged us to concentrate on the aspects of architecture that remain valuable regardless of budget: proportion, light, space, movement, atmosphere and human experience. These are qualities that cannot simply be purchased. They must be designed.This project also reinforced something that has become increasingly important in my own architectural thinking. I no longer see architecture as the art of creating unlimited possibilities. I see it as the discipline of making thoughtful decisions within real conditions. Every project asks architects to negotiate between aspiration and reality. The quality of architecture depends not on avoiding those negotiations, but on embracing them with imagination and integrity.Perhaps this perspective is particularly relevant today. Around the world, architects are being asked to respond to increasingly complex environmental, economic and social challenges. Under such circumstances, creativity can no longer depend on excess. It must emerge from resourcefulness. The future of architecture may well belong to those who can achieve more with less—not by compromising quality, but by redefining where quality truly comes from.Kabootar Khaneh reminded me that architecture is rarely improved by adding more elements. More often, it is improved by understanding which elements are indispensable. Every design decision should strengthen the central idea rather than compete with it. In this project, the budget became an unexpected editor. It constantly challenged us to distinguish between what was desirable and what was genuinely necessary.If there is one lesson I continue to carry from Kabootar Khaneh, it is that constraints are not the opposite of creativity—they are often its origin. They compel architects to observe more carefully, think more critically and design more responsibly. When approached with curiosity rather than frustration, limitations reveal opportunities that unlimited freedom can easily conceal.Ultimately, I believe the value of a building should never be measured by how many resources were consumed to create it, but by the richness of the life it makes possible. Kabootar Khaneh taught us that architecture does not become meaningful because it has everything. It becomes meaningful when everything it has serves a clear purpose. In the end, the greatest luxury in architecture is not excess, but clarity—clarity of thought, clarity of intention and clarity of experience.

The narrative of love and loss became the soul of the design. Every space was crafted to evoke intimacy and connection. For example, the Burnt Room symbolizes renewal through its bold palette, while the Narenjestan Room creates a serene, dreamlike atmosphere. By blending traditional crafts with soft lighting and fluid forms, we sought to immerse guests in an emotional journey that echoes the poetic beauty of Yazd’s culture.

Collaborating with Yazd’s artisans was pivotal. The Suzani textiles in the Shah Neshin Room and the hand-carved wooden lattices reflect centuries-old craftsmanship. The mirror work in the New Shah Neshin Room, modernized with geometric patterns, honors a Persian tradition while introducing a contemporary aesthetic. These partnerships enriched the project with authenticity and cultural depth, making each detail a tribute to Yazd’s heritage.

Our lighting strategy emphasized interplay between natural and artificial light. Skylights and latticed windows illuminate spaces organically, while modern fixtures enhance the historic textures. Ambient lighting fosters intimacy, while accent lights highlight details like mirror work, creating a layered narrative of light that merges function with emotion.

The cypress tree, a symbol of resilience in Persian culture, guided our designs. We abstracted its form into minimalist, modern furniture that fits the hotel’s dual identity. For example, the full-length mirror’s silhouette echoes the cypress, blending traditional symbolism with modern functionality. Each piece reflects local heritage while meeting contemporary aesthetic and ergonomic standards.

We emphasized a journey-like spatial experience, ensuring pathways felt natural and intuitive. By maintaining the courtyard as the heart of the structure, we allowed rooms to flow seamlessly around it, preserving the intimacy of a traditional Persian home. Spatial layering, strategic openings, and adaptive use of light guided guests to explore while ensuring every corner retained its charm.

One surprising discovery was the ingenuity of traditional Yazdi cooling systems, which inspired modern adaptations in the project’s ventilation design. Another was the use of plaster reliefs as storytelling elements, leading us to incorporate narrative-driven details, such as geometric mirror mosaics that symbolize unity and fragmentation. These insights allowed us to innovate while respecting tradition.

We prioritized textiles that conveyed a sense of warmth and history. Suzani patterns were chosen for their intricate storytelling, echoing the project’s romantic roots. These textiles were paired with minimalist furniture to balance tradition and modernity, offering guests a tactile connection to Yazd’s artisanal legacy while enhancing comfort and visual depth.

We devised solutions like embedding modern HVAC systems within historic walls and using modular fixtures to minimize structural alterations. Features like custom glass baths and hidden wiring ensured modern functionality while respecting the building's integrity. These innovations preserve heritage while meeting hospitality standards.

Delbar Khaneh serves as a blueprint for merging historical preservation with modern needs. By showcasing the value of local craftsmanship and adaptive design, it highlights how cultural heritage can be reinterpreted for contemporary use. I hope it inspires a new generation of architects to approach preservation with innovation, ensuring Iran’s rich history remains alive in modern contexts.

Our architectural background heavily influenced The Home Lamp, symbolizing the dialogue between modernity and tradition. The concrete base represents industrial modernity, while the copper houses evoke warmth and intimacy. This juxtaposition mirrors the essence of architecture: balancing utility with meaning, reminding us that homes are more than structures—they are spaces for human existence and connection.

Incorporating the four elements of nature with light as a core symbol emerged from our belief that design should transcend function. Light, representing awareness, illuminates the interconnection between man and nature. The Home Lamp merges spirituality and utility, inspiring users to see beyond the object’s physicality and reflect on the harmony of natural and human-made worlds.

The material contrast between warm copper and cold concrete reflects the duality of contemporary living—balancing warmth and utility. The copper evokes the intimacy of traditional homes, while the concrete symbolizes the rigidity of modern life. This interplay captures the tension in today’s architecture: creating spaces that balance human needs with structural efficiency.

Our exploration of human consciousness, space, and light shaped The Home Lamp’s form. The integration of light as a central, spiritual element encapsulates our vision of architecture and lighting as a means to enhance awareness. Winning the A' Design Award validated this pursuit, proving that design can resonate deeply on both functional and conceptual levels.

Developing custom electronics for The Home Lamp posed challenges in maintaining both sculptural integrity and intuitive functionality. The seamless integration of dimming technology into the copper structure required innovative engineering, ensuring the lamp’s visual and tactile interaction harmonized with its minimalist aesthetic.

Balancing The Home Lamp’s artistic essence with practical lighting was central to our design. By focusing on scale, materiality, and light diffusion, we ensured it functions as a lamp while standing as an architectural sculpture. This duality blurs boundaries, inviting users to engage with light as both utility and art.

Our research revealed that lighting deeply influences the emotional and spatial experience of homes. The Home Lamp reflects this connection, symbolizing human presence and consciousness. Its design encourages users to perceive light not merely as illumination but as a medium that shapes space and fosters emotional warmth.

The lamp’s rotation aligning with the sun embodies a connection between natural and artificial light, reminding users of their place in the universe. This astronomical alignment bridges indoor and outdoor environments, symbolizing the cyclical rhythm of life and fostering a harmonious coexistence between technology and nature.

The Home Lamp’s success inspires us to explore the intersection of light, architecture, and human experience further. It demonstrates how thoughtful design can transcend boundaries, influencing future creations to prioritize human connection, environmental harmony, and aesthetic innovation in lighting and architecture.

The suspended spaces and transparent design were inspired by Anzali’s stunning landscape and traditional extroverted architecture. By framing nature through expansive openings, we created a seamless dialogue between interior and exterior spaces. This design strengthens residents’ connection with the Caspian Sea while ensuring privacy and maximizing light, air, and scenic enjoyment, offering an immersive experience with the environment.

The elongated form and chimney were carefully designed to enhance natural ventilation by aligning with the region’s climatic conditions. The sloping shell ensures rainwater drainage and prevents air turbulence, while the chimney fosters airflow. This balance between functionality and aesthetics optimizes indoor air quality and energy use, exemplifying how thoughtful architecture can harmonize nature and design.

To balance transparency and privacy, we employed suspended cubic volumes within the transparent shell, strategically positioned to provide independent zones. The intermediate spaces, layered facades, and insulated glass foster visual openness while maintaining seclusion. This innovative layout ensures residents enjoy unobstructed views without compromising their sense of security or privacy.

The varying cubic volumes evolved from our desire to merge functional diversity with architectural intrigue. By raising certain spaces, we created distinct yet interconnected zones that enhance privacy, light flow, and spatial dynamics. This configuration enriches daily living by offering versatile environments for communal activities and personal retreat, emphasizing human sociality within the architectural form.

The sloping outer covering draws from traditional roofs, reimagined with modern material and structural efficiency. This element shelters against rain and wind while creating a striking visual identity. It acts as both a symbolic homage to local heritage and a functional feature that supports ventilation, temperature regulation, and energy efficiency, making it integral to the villa’s design.

To embrace Anzali’s coastal environment, we designed biophilic spaces with large openings, suspended volumes, and natural ventilation. Seasonal adaptability was key, allowing residents to experience nature while sheltered from rain or wind. The interplay of light, air, and views creates spaces that respond to seasonal changes, enriching the living experience with harmony and sustainability.

Natural light was integral to shaping intermediate spaces, creating dynamic interactions between light and shadow. The transparent layers and sloping roof guide daylight into transitional zones, enhancing spatial depth and ambiance. This approach enriches the architectural experience, connecting residents with the natural rhythms of the environment while reducing reliance on artificial lighting.

Chahar Gah Villa’s passive systems use its elongated form, sloping roof, and natural ventilation to enhance energy efficiency. The shell’s chimney and openings regulate airflow, while thermal insulation minimizes energy loss. These elements collectively optimize heating, cooling, and lighting, reducing energy demands year-round while maintaining comfort and environmental harmony.

The suspended volumes and open spaces facilitate interaction and retreat by integrating family and private zones into a cohesive layout. The central open area fosters social activities, while elevated cubes offer solitude. This balance supports both community and individual needs, ensuring a dynamic living environment that adapts to diverse lifestyles and interactions.

The wooden lattice facade is a reinterpretation of the “mashrabiya,” a traditional Persian architectural element that blends aesthetic beauty with functional privacy. This flexible design element allows residents to control light, shade, and privacy, creating a personalized atmosphere while connecting them to the external environment. Inspired by nature’s seasonal shifts, the lattice’s dynamic quality transforms the building’s appearance throughout the day, interacting with sunlight and shadow. This intentional layering adds richness to the facade, making it responsive to the user’s lifestyle and enhancing the resident experience by merging function with artistic expression.

Persian miniature art, known for its intricate details and symbolic representation, deeply influenced Pardis Khaneh’s design philosophy. These artworks offer a window into traditional Persian landscapes, often filled with harmonious proportions and nature-inspired elements. By applying these aesthetics, we aimed to create a narrative within each architectural component, evoking a miniaturized paradise that combines visual elegance with functional utility. For instance, pathways, garden spaces, and structural details reflect the deliberate composition seen in miniatures, contributing to a cohesive visual story within the building’s architecture.

The turquoise stone facade as symbol of water, juxtaposed with wooden elements, was chosen to evoke the rich colors found in Persian architecture, particularly in historic houses and gardens where turquoise tiles are prevalent. This material choice serves both aesthetic and symbolic purposes, representing spiritual depth and timeless beauty while connecting to Iran’s cultural identity. The wood softens the stone’s boldness, adding warmth and echoing the cedar trees incorporated into the design. This combination not only celebrates Iranian heritage but also fosters an inviting, organic feel that harmonizes with the natural surroundings

Developing the hinge rotation system for Pardis Khaneh’s movable wooden panels was technically demanding. These panels needed to be sturdy, weather-resistant, and user-friendly. Through rigorous material testing and structural modeling, we devised a custom hinge system that allows smooth rotation while minimizing wear and tear. This innovation enables residents to easily adjust the panels, adapting the level of privacy and ventilation as desired. The solution reflects our commitment to blending tradition with modern functionality, providing a versatile architectural feature that enhances the user’s interaction with their environment.

Pardis Khaneh embodies a respectful fusion of Iranian architectural identity and contemporary lifestyle requirements. This balance is maintained by drawing from cultural motifs while adapting them to modern forms and functions. For example, the garden terraces and wooden lattice elements offer a fresh take on Persian design traditions, while spatial configurations cater to urban living demands. This dual approach ensures the design remains relevant and accessible to today’s residents while preserving a cultural resonance that feels authentically Iranian.

Incorporating cedar trees across multiple floors presented both structural and botanical challenges. To ensure the trees could thrive, we collaborated with landscape architects and structural engineers, designing custom planting beds with adequate soil depth and drainage. The building’s irrigation and support systems were carefully engineered to maintain the health of these living elements, which add a unique layer of greenery and vertical continuity to the facade. This integration not only enhances the aesthetic but also supports the microclimate within the building, reducing heat and improving air quality.

Winning the Bronze A’ Design Award and another international awards underscored the successful equilibrium between tradition and modernity achieved in Pardis Khaneh. Throughout the design process, we continuously evaluated how each element—whether inspired by heritage or cutting-edge technology—would interact. By maintaining a deep respect for cultural identity while addressing present-day needs, the project embodies a harmonious blend that resonates on multiple levels, honoring the past without compromising the future.

The sunken courtyard and roof garden introduce layers of green space that significantly enhance the building’s environmental performance. By maximizing green coverage, these spaces reduce heat absorption, lower energy consumption, and create comfortable communal areas for residents. The courtyard fosters a cooler microclimate within the building, while the roof garden offers an elevated sanctuary, promoting mental well-being. Together, these features encourage a holistic lifestyle where residents can engage with nature, benefiting both their health and the building’s ecological footprint.

By bridging two public gardens, Pardis Khaneh redefines residential architecture’s role in urban connectivity. This approach envisions buildings not as isolated entities but as part of a larger urban fabric, where architecture can positively impact community interactions and access to green spaces. most of people who walking front of project stopped for watching facade . As Tehran continues to grow, this perspective could guide future developments, encouraging designs that foster connectivity, sustainability, and shared green spaces. Such integration can lead to more livable, harmonious cities, where architecture actively contributes to urban well-being.