Architecture is leadership
This article is part of Martina Rahmfeld’s column in md Magazin - Interior | Design | Architecture.
"We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us." Winston Churchill said this in 1943, and the quote has been cited at every other architecture conference since. We nod, we applaud—and we keep building as if architecture were neutral. As if we could design spaces without exerting power. As if floor plans were geometry rather than management tools.
Yet we have known better for a long time.
Every wall we build is a decision about proximity or distance. Every light source we place determines where people feel comfortable—and where they don't. Every choice of material, every colour, every plant speaks a language of appreciation, atmosphere, and belonging. Architecture is never just form. It is always an instruction.
And that is precisely why we must stop seeing ourselves as service providers who translate space programmes into floor plans. We are more than that. We are architects of culture.
Space as a silent conductor
Imagine an orchestra. The conductor raises the baton—and without a word, everyone knows what to do. Tempo, dynamics, cues: everything lies in their gesture.
Architecture works the same way. It conducts, quietly but relentlessly.
A well-thought-out open space—not to be confused with the open-plan offices of the 90s, which have been proven to lead to 60 percent more sick leave—is the score for intentional interaction. It includes zones for collaboration, retreat, and focus. A cellular office is a composition for concentration, for autonomy, for the feeling of "I."
But as with any good melody, the effect only emerges from the interplay of sound and silence. An office that relies solely on communication becomes constant noise. One that only offers retreat falls silent. The art lies in orchestrating both: spaces for interaction and spaces for concentration, moments of exchange and moments of calm. And in the exact measure required by the company we are designing for. It is this tension that brings work to life.
But it is not just the spatial structure that conducts. It is the light that decides where we gravitate. The materiality that tells us whether we are welcome or merely tolerated. The colour that energizes or calms. The greenery that lets us breathe—or the lack thereof, which suffocates.
The question is not which form is more beautiful. The question is: What culture do we want to conduct?
The illusion of neutrality
Planners organise usage, design beautiful spaces, and perhaps even consider the impact on the individual. But they often underestimate that space does not just touch individuals—it shapes entire organisations. And that is where the illusion lies: there are no neutral spaces. There are only planners who are unaware of the systemic reach of their decisions.
Take the canteen. Placed in the basement, it becomes a functional transit point: you eat, you leave. Centrally located on the ground floor, with natural light and a welcoming atmosphere, it becomes the social heart, a stage for chance encounters and exchange across departmental boundaries. Two canteens, two worlds. In both cases, the architect is making a decision about how people interact within the company. If you don't know the anecdote about the origin of Post-its, you should quickly Google it—it’s always a great story about the value of spaces for informal exchange.
Or consider the question of how many workstations we plan for how many employees. Do we share desks? Then we force flexibility—or insecurity, depending on your perspective. Do we give everyone a fixed spot? Then we secure territory—or cement a sense of entitlement. In hybrid structures, we also create desk deserts that are often abandoned and lifeless—spaces that exist, but do not live. And even though companies intend to do something good for their employees, they end up creating loneliness. This is despite the fact that meeting colleagues is still one of the main reasons for coming to the office.
Every decision is a value judgment. And anyone who pretends that architecture is merely the sum of wishes and square metres is refusing responsibility for what is being created.
The responsibility gap
This is the dilemma of our discipline: we build instruments, but we don't teach people how to play them.
A company moves into a new office. Activity-based working, thoughtfully planned. Perfect on paper. In reality: everyone stays in their old seats, or works from home if in doubt. And after three months, the verdict is: "The new office doesn't work."
But why is that? Is it the space? Or is it because no one explained what the new rooms are for – and why it’s worth questioning old habits?
Spaces only have an impact when people understand what they are meant to enable. And when they have been involved in the design process. If you don't ask employees how they work and what they need, you are planning without them. And if you plan without people, you are building stage sets instead of working environments.
From Draughtsperson to Change Agent
Our professional profile is changing fundamentally. Anyone planning today must be able to read processes, not just floor plans. Anyone building today must understand how work functions – not just how it looks.
This means we have to ask questions. Not superficially, but radically. Not: "How many meeting rooms do you need?" But: "Why do you meet at all – and could half of those be handled differently?" Not: "Where should the executive floor be located?" But: "Which hierarchy do you want to display – and which do you want to overcome?"
Such questions are uncomfortable. They reveal contradictions. But that is exactly why they are necessary. And it means:
We must stay. Not just until the handover, but until the adoption.
This is demanding. It is time-consuming. It goes beyond standard fee structures. But it is the only way to understand architecture not as a product, but as a process.
The New Honesty
Perhaps it is time for us to be honest with ourselves.
We are not building for clients. We are building organisations. We are not shaping spaces; we are shaping behaviour. We are not just executors of floor plans, but co-creators of corporate culture.
That is a form of power. And power demands responsibility.
Anyone who plans a meeting room in the furthest corner makes meetings unimportant. Anyone who spatially isolates leadership makes hierarchy visible. Anyone who cuts back on meeting zones is cutting back on collaboration. Anyone who rations daylight is rationing well-being. These are not technical decisions. They are cultural ones.
And that is why we can no longer pretend we are just executors. Because sometimes what is requested is not what is needed. And sometimes what is needed is not yet even conceivable – because the spaces for it are still missing. Because no one has realised the full scope of their decisions.
Architecture is leadership. It shapes behaviour, defines culture, and creates reality. Anyone who is not aware of this is squandering the greatest potential of our discipline.
But those who understand that spaces are alive – they no longer just build buildings.
They build the future.