A Conversation with FRANCESC RIFÉ

Photography by Javier Marquez, Enric Badrinas

In the work of Francesc Rifé, simplicity is not a stylistic gesture—it is a philosophy of presence. Rooted in early memories of wood shavings and workshop dust, Rifé’s approach to design is quietly rigorous, shaped by a reverence for material honesty, emotional subtlety, and spatial clarity. His architecture does not demand attention; it invites contemplation. Each line, each volume, each surface is a study in restraint—where silence holds weight, detail becomes language, and light is treated as an essential material.

What emerges is not just a style, but a way of thinking. Influenced by the quiet radicalism of figures like John Pawson and Kengo Kuma, and profoundly shaped by the poetics of Japanese aesthetics, Rifé pursues a design language that aims not to impress but to accompany. In the following conversation, we explore the roots of that language—through memory, material, emotion, and environment—and how it manifests across some of his most considered works, including the Caro Hotel, MAR House, and S29 House.

This conversationt is an invitation into a worldview where less is more, and meaning lies in the spaces between.

Can you talk about your roots in design and how you would describe your fundamentals?

My father was a carpenter, and I grew up surrounded by the smell of wood. Even before studying design, I learned to respect materials and to work with them. That experience shaped the way I understand space, not as something to be decorated, but as something to be built. If I had to define the foundations of my practice, I'd say we are precise, rational, and focused on order and functionality; but I also believe our spaces are deeply sensorial, telling stories through light and materiality.

You’ve spoken about the belief that simplicity can solve complex problems. Can you expand on this idea, and share a project where this principle guided the outcome?

I don’t just believe that simplicity solves problems, I also think that any underlying complexity must remain a secret. Simplicity doesn’t always mean doing less; it’s about achieving clarity without exposing the effort behind it.One of the projects where these two ideas became especially meaningful was the Caro Hotel in Valencia. Located just a few meters from the cathedral, the building holds a layering of historical fragments—an eleventh-century Arab wall, a second-century Roman mosaic—each carrying immense emotional and cultural weight. The challenge was to create a dialogue between these elements and our architecture without imposing ourselves on them. Our response was one of rigorous neutrality, allowing the space to breathe and the history to speak. It’s a paradox: to create something special, you often have to subtract more than you add.

You also speak of the search for emotion as a pivotal part of your process. What does that emotional search look like in practice, and how do you ensure it is embedded from project to project?

I've always been drawn to the work of certain artists who evoke emotion through reduction. Monochrome art, for instance, teaches you that emotion lives in subtle shifts of shadow, in texture, in silence. A precise alignment of materials, an opening that channels light in a particular way, good acoustics... It’s about creating the conditions to go beyond the merely visual.

How important is the relationship between people, spaces, and objects in your work? How do you balance this triad to create meaningful environments?

For me, spaces don’t exist unless they’re meant to be inhabited, so the relationship you mention is inseparable. The goal isn’t to impose an aesthetic, but to design in a way that allows each person to make the space their own and feel comfortable in it. What interests me most is the idea of organisation: furniture should be functional, materials should feel connected, and light should be intentional.

Your projects are situated across diverse landscapes. How does the natural context shape your architectural perspective, and how do you respond to it through form and material?

Architecture is a material art, and many materials carry a deep connection to their place of origin. I’m currently working on a personal project in Cadaqués, where we’re building a house using llicorella stone, sourced directly from the excavation on site. I’ve always believed this kind of approach is the most meaningful way to capture the spirit of a place, it gives authenticity to what we build.

In three words, how would you describe the characteristics of your work? Could you elaborate on how these qualities come into play within your designs?

I’d say: order, silence, and detail. Order as a way to bring clarity to spaces. Silence as a backdrop that allows forms and materials to resonate. And detail not only as a practical tool, but as a creative language capable of elevating the whole.

How important is it to design something that responds to its surroundings, and what impact does the environmental landscape have on the final form?

I believe every architecture project inevitably leaves a trace, it shapes the landscape as much as it responds to it. While it’s important to respect and dialogue with the natural or built environment, I don’t think the answer is to blend in entirely or mimic the past. Architecture should reflect its own time. Even when we try to be discreet, we’re still speaking from the present. In my case, my work is very much focused on interiors, and I always try to create a fluid relationship with the outside world. I don’t like to build rigid boundaries between interior and exterior; instead, I prefer to frame the surrounding nature, to draw it in as part of the experience, almost like composing a landscape painting.

What current trends or innovations in architecture excite you most right now? Are there directions you’re eager to explore in future work?

One material I’ve always been obsessed with is wood. It’s not just a matter of aesthetics or tradition, it’s a material that embodies responsibility when used correctly. Designing with wood means trusting in something that has been with us forever, but also betting on a future that is more respectful of the planet. If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that I will focus more and more on this material.

For emerging architects who look up to your work, what advice would you offer about honing their craft and establishing a distinct architectural voice?

Don’t be in a hurry to stand out. I believe a strong voice comes from patience, observation, and doing the work consistently. There’s a popular story about Japanese bamboo that I often think about. After being planted, it spends years developing a deep root system before anything appears above ground. But once it does, it grows rapidly and becomes one of the strongest species. Whether entirely accurate or not, the message resonates: true growth takes time. Invest in your roots first.

The MAR House has a dynamic interplay of volumes. How did the complexity of the plot influence this sculptural form, and what were the key considerations in orienting the home to the landscape?

The irregularity of the plot was a challenge. Each volume was carefully positioned to preserve privacy and direct the gaze toward the only part of the landscape where no buildings interrupt the view of nature.

The large timber slatted shutters are certainly a visual highlight. Beyond their aesthetic appeal, how do they function in terms of privacy, light control, and the home’s interaction with nature?

The timber slatted shutters play a key role in how the house interacts with the landscape. Once again, I sought to frame the outdoors, almost like paintings. At the same time, when closed, the shutters provide both privacy and a sense of security.

Materiality plays a central role, white concrete and Canadian cedar on the exterior, contrasted with dark oak within. What emotional or spatial experience were you aiming to create through this material dialogue?

The choice of Canadian cedar was practical. it’s a material I often use because of its resistance to outdoor conditions and I love the way its tone evolves over time. In contrast, the dark oak inside was chosen to create a sense of intimacy and calm; I believe there’s more emotion and nuance in darker tones than in lighter ones. The dialogue between these materials allows the house to transition naturally from exterior to interior, light to dark, openness to protection.

The U-shaped bedroom configuration on the upper level promotes intimacy. How did you arrive at this arrangement in terms of both spatial efficiency and lived experience?

The U-shaped layout stems from a rational approach to spatial planning. It’s a family home, designed for a couple and their three children, and the goal was for each member to have a private space with its own orientation toward the outdoors. The configuration balances function, privacy, and light, creating an upper level where everyone can retreat into their own space.

The design of S29 House revolves around two strategically placed courtyards. How were these voids conceived, and what role do they play in shaping the emotional rhythm of the home?

This project was developed with great care alongside the team at Exitprojectes. The courtyards at S29 House were conceived to bring natural light into every room, but also to create a continuous dialogue of openness. Especially from the open kitchen–dining–living area—where the family spends most of their time, the voids frame very different light conditions throughout the day, establishing a soft rhythm of light and shade.

Light feels almost like a material in this project, how did you choreograph its relationship to space, and how does it evolve throughout the day?

Natural light was treated as an essential element. We wanted to capture its emotional quality through its relationship with the materials. The walls were treated with texture because we wanted them to work almost like a canvas—one where light would gradually draw its own compositions throughout the day.

Despite its minimalism, S29 feels deeply tactile. What role do sensory elements, like texture, shadow, and temperature, play in your broader architectural philosophy?

For me, minimalism has never been about absence. It’s exactly the opposite: it’s about texture, shadow, and the use of materiality to heighten the tactile experience. Everything is there for a reason, and its presence is what gives the space atmosphere.

To speak with Francesc Rifé is to be reminded that architecture is not simply built form—it is feeling made physical. Beneath the clean lines and measured plans lies a deeper pursuit: to create environments that restore clarity, that welcome stillness, that allow life to unfold subtly within. In his practice, emotion is not added through decoration, it is embedded through proportion, touch, sound, and shadow.

Across projects and contexts, what remains constant is Rifé’s refusal to overstate. His work resists noise, yet it lingers in the memory. It invites us to slow down, to notice the way a space can thrive when everything unnecessary falls away.

In an era that often celebrates the spectacular, Rifé reminds us of the enduring strength of simplicity, of architecture that doesn’t seek to impress, but to endure.