Architecture has long been framed as the work of singular visionaries, yet Beatriz Colomina, a leading theorist, historian, and curator, challenges this notion, arguing that architecture is inherently a collaborative endeavor. She critically examines how the myth of the lone genius—almost always depicted as male—has erased the contributions of countless women and entire teams involved in the design process. For Colomina, rethinking architecture means recognizing the complexities of collective work and dismantling the historical biases that have shaped the discipline's narratives.
As the founding director of the Program in Media and Modernity at Princeton University, Colomina also explores the profound ways in which technology and media reshape our built environment. In a world where remote work has blurred the boundaries between private and public space, she questions how architecture must adapt to new ways of living and working—particularly as the bed increasingly replaces the office as a primary workspace.
In your research, you've explored both gender and collaboration in architecture. How do these two themes intersect, and why is it important to rethink the way we recognize contributions in the field?
That's a very important subject. In the beginning, I was more interested in how gender is constructed in architecture. But the question of collaboration quickly became just as significant. For example, Charlotte Perriand's work with Le Corbusier and Lilly Reich's collaboration with Mies van der Rohe — those contributions were essential, and their work is unthinkable without them.
If you look at Mies' architecture before the exhibition about women's fashion, where he and Reich introduced those suspended curtains, that will announce the "floating walls" that later became the paradigm of Mies' architecture. However, his earlier works, especially in Berlin, were very conservative — perfectly fine, but much more traditional. His practice only really evolved after working with Reich.
It's even more striking in the case of Margaret MacDonald, who collaborated with Charles Rennie Mackintosh. Today, no one remembers her, but Mackintosh spent his life saying, "I'm just a regular guy, the real genius is Margaret." And apparently, people believed him at the time! I recently read something published in Vienna around the turn of the century about their work. Still, somehow, history managed to erase her. Today, if you ask someone about Mackintosh, they will likely have no idea who Margaret MacDonald was.
This is a strange phenomenon in architecture. We credit one person, and the rest — especially women — are written out of the story. And it's not just women; sometimes men who contributed also disappear from the picture. We eliminate all the people that are part of the process. It wasn't until mid-century that collaborations started to get more recognition, with names like Charles and Ray Eames, or Alison and Peter Smithson, but even then, the secondary partners often faded into the background.
So, my position is this: we need to move beyond just adding women to the history of architecture. Instead, we should understand architecture as a collaborative practice, which it is, involving many people — from designers to construction workers. It's much closer to film production in that sense than to visual arts. The idea of a single, lone genius is outdated and doesn't reflect how architecture actually works.
In your recent work, you've explored the connection between architecture and disease. How has illness, particularly tuberculosis, influenced the development of modern architecture, and how do medical advancements continue to shape architectural thinking today?
For the work I just finished, X-Ray Architecture, I explored the impact of tuberculosis on modern architecture and how medical technology — like the development of the X-ray — changed the way we think about space. This also connects to the later development of MRI technology and its impact on the digital generation of the 1990's. But when I went back historically, I discovered something fascinating: from the very beginning of architectural theory, Vitruvius said that every architect should study medicine, because healthiness is our main objective.
I think we sometimes overlook this connection, but it's crucial. During the Renaissance, this link between architecture and medicine became formalized. In Florence, around the 1500s, design students were required to study anatomy alongside their architectural training. They would go to hospitals to draw the human body, even from decomposing corpses. The experience was so intense that there are reports of students and professors falling ill or even vomiting, yet they were required to document the dissection process. This shows that the relationship between architecture and medicine has been there from the very beginning.
Today, contemporary design ideas are also deeply influenced by medical thinking. Take tuberculosis, for example. At the turn of the 20th century, this disease had a massive impact on architecture. It's not that modern architects designed sanatoriums; sanatoriums were already modern. Sanatoriums became the focus, and the ideas about open windows, white walls, ventilation, sunlight, and terraces — all aimed at promoting health — became key elements of modern architecture. Many architects designed their first modern buildings as sanatoriums.
Take Alvar Aalto, for instance — he was a purely neoclassical architect until he entered a competition for a sanatorium. His first modern project came from this, and it completely transformed his style. He himself had tuberculosis at the time, which may have influenced his thinking. It's fascinating to consider how the body of the architect can be as significant as their design approach.
You've explored the changing nature of public and private spaces in the digital age. How have the internet and social media transformed the spaces, and what implications does this have for architecture?
What interests me most is how the internet and social media have completely transformed the spaces we live in. I've been focusing on this issue for some time now, particularly the idea of "the bed." It all started when I came across a newspaper article that said 85% of young professionals in New York were working from bed. That statistic really caught my attention.
At the same time, reports indicated that office buildings in Manhattan were nearly empty, becoming almost like museums of the professions. So I thought, we are living in outdated cities. We used to see cities as organized around factories and offices, with people working typical 9-to-5 jobs. But fewer and fewer people are working that way now, and many of our existing office spaces are becoming obsolete. New types of workspaces, like co-working environments such as WeWork, are redefining the relationship between the spaces we work and the spaces we live in.
And then, there's the bed. Almost everyone has a bed, and it has now become more of a public space than ever before. People are working from their beds, often collaborating across time zones — someone in China working in the middle of the night, someone else in Europe during the day. It's no longer just about working in the city where you live; technology allows you to work globally from anywhere, including your bed.
Even when you think you're not working — lying in bed scrolling through your phone, booking a vacation, or shopping — you are still working. Because you are generating data, which is then monetized. It's a very different kind of world now. So, what is the nature of work today? What defines private space versus public space?
This reminds me of the early 20th century, when the introduction of photography, film, and magazines radically changed how architecture and public spaces were understood. What I studied earlier in my career — privacy and publicity in modern architecture — now becomes the question of privacy and publicity in the age of social media. The question of what is private and what is public still interests me.
With the rise of technology and automation, there are growing concerns about a dystopian future where human labor is diminished. How do you see these changes affecting the way we live and work, and what role can architecture play in adapting to this new reality?
The predictions can indeed feel dystopian, and I agree — it presents a difficult reality for many people. We're seeing new kinds of disorders, like burnout syndrome, among others. We now work continuously. I feel like I'm working much harder than I did 20 years ago. I'm constantly working, and it seems like everyone else is too. We don't even think about weekends, summers, or vacations anymore; we just keep working. It's as if we've all become machines.
Of course, this transition is happening against the backdrop of labor regulations, like the eight-hour workday, workers' rights, vacations, unions, and so on. But we're still in the very early stages of this new economy, and nothing is really in place yet. Something will have to change.
There are many predictions about the end of human labor as we know it. Some things, like education, will continue to require human input, but many jobs will be replaced by machines, robots, and artificial intelligence. This is a reality we have to face. Governments and economies are taking this seriously. There are experiments happening around the world, from Finland to California, where entire communities are being given money to see how they function without needing to work for it. We have no idea what will happen. Universal basic income is being explored as a potential solution — it was even voted on in Switzerland a few years ago, though it didn't pass at the time. But the fact that it was even considered shows that this is becoming a real possibility.
All of this has huge consequences for architects. We're not all working 9 to 5 in a particular place, and the way we design spaces reflects that. Architects need to take this seriously instead of ignoring the changes that are happening. The idea of the office building as we know is evolving. While we may still need office spaces, they won't function the same way they did in the past.
Some architects are already exploring this shift, thinking about new kinds of workspaces. Schools are also starting to address these questions. How do we design for a world where work and life are more intertwined, where people are constantly connected? The challenge is to make this future less dystopian and more manageable, to engage with the needs of this new reality, and to make life better.
This interview was conducted by Romullo Baratto and Victor Delaqua in São Paulo, Brazil, during the 12th São Paulo International Architecture Biennial.
