One of the talents now emerged on the international scene, born and trained in Beirut, grown up between Paris and London, a world citizen obsessed with the archaeology of the present.
Luca Molinari: Hey, thank you for being here, Milan, Tokyo, in conversation. I still remember years ago the first time somebody told me about you, it was Bernard Khoury who said that’s a very good emerging woman architect was working in France, coming from Beirut, and that she was fantastic. Then we discover your work and now we can say you’re fully emerged.
Lina Ghotmeh: Thank you.
LM: I’m happy I have seen your journey grow in the best possible way, and I am very happy that you are getting the recognition you deserve. To tell your story, let’s start from the beginning. Could you introduce yourself through the elements, experiences, and encounters that have influenced your work?
LG: As you know, all starts with Beirut. I was born and raised in that city. My father is from a small village, so I had this dual relationship between the city of Beirut and nature, both together with the contradictions inherent to an urbanized city and a beautiful mountain side. I studied architecture at the American University of Beirut. In a city that has been living constant destruction, one grows up thinking about how to contribute into making things better, healing the city, or bringing people together. For me, architecture became a way to react and act to the environment I grew up in.
At the same time, studying at the American University of Beirut was great because it involved looking at architecture through other disciplines, such as biology, medicine, political sciences, sociology, and anthropology, understanding that architecture is often the quintessence of various disciplines coming together. It’s enriched by opening our eyes to those different disciplines.
During my studies, I had the chance to do an internship at Jean Nouvel’s office in Paris. It was my first time travelling to Europe, so it was fascinating to discover Paris, a city very different from Beirut. The internship went very well. I finished my diploma in Beirut, and they [Jean Nouvel] called me to work on a project that they had in Beirut, but through the Paris office. The idea was to come to Paris, work on this project in the city centre for a few months, and then return to Beirut to open a practice and work on the project there.
So, I packed my bags, and within a week, I found myself in Paris working at Jean Nouvel’s office, interacting with Jean and working on this interesting project. But the project stopped, and I moved to London to work on a project Jean had with Norman Foster. This experience was another great one, combining very different sorts of architecture. After two and a half, almost three years with them, I found a competition for the Estonian National Museum.
LM: I remember your first work we published in Platform and which was awarded at the Archmarathon!
LG: That was an open competition, and I was always very interested in looking at competitions. I was very young, 25 years old, exploring opportunities, and then I found this amazing National Museum, 40,000 square meters, in Estonia. I didn’t know much about the country, but it had lived through war and Soviet occupation, a tumultuous history that I was familiar with. They described the museum as a place to constantly manufacture their identity, with a very ethnographic and open approach to a national museum, which was very interesting.
I wondered how to approach this project and proposed it to some friends. I met my ex-partners at that time, colleagues working at Jean Nouvel’s office and another company in London. I suggested we do this competition, and we won. At 26, I signed the contract and arrived in Estonia. They looked at us and thought, my God, they are even younger than the guys who won the Pompidou.
It was a great experience because it involved structuring a project that is very important for a nation. We worked with the government and put together a team that could lead the project both in Estonia and France. Given the project’s national significance and substantial budget, it took 10 years to complete, which is normal for these kinds of projects. While working on this building, the Quai Branly was being finished, and the Louvre Abu Dhabi was also underway. This shows how significant architectural projects can sometimes take a lifetime. After delivering this project, I re-established and transformed the old partnership, and then, in 2016, I established my practice.
LM: And then a new story started. It’s very interesting because now, every time I listen to your story, I understand why you use the word archaeology so often. Is it a post-war archaeology and an archaeology of the future. It’s very interesting to see why you are so obsessed by this word. And I’ll tell you that for this issue, we decided to keep the word memory as a key title, which is perfect because in a way today a new generation of architects is working with a changing idea of memory of the contemporary and a redefinition of the term archaeology, looking at the ruins of the past century. In Beirut, the first building you built was in an area which is stratified and contradictory. In Estonia, you designed a museum starting from an existing building of the post-war period, and we are all dealing with ruins, contemporary ruins. What do you think about that?
LG: Yeah, the notion of archaeology came up with my growing up in Beirut. Every time you build something new in Beirut, you discover the archaeologies of the past, which made me think about how architecture is linked to Earth. It weathers away and becomes Earth again. When I talk about archaeology, I refer to a thought process where architecture isn’t just an object sitting in its place but emerges from its place, tracing what has happened and creating a common thread, weaving the building into its environment. This approach allows us to consider the environment in a broader sense—as a resource, a social construct, and a political dynamic—making architecture the formal quintessence of these elements.
This complexity in thinking is essential today as it helps us embody and embrace the complexities of our lives and integrate them into our practices. It’s about diversity and opening up to the world. The question of memory is also very important, especially in Beirut, where we’re always in search of identity, both as people and in the broader context of our world today. Memory involves the physical memory in built spaces and the memory of our ancestors, showing how we are the continuity of the environment, nature, and our DNA.
This perspective gives depth to our perception of space and brings the capacity for dialogue into architecture. When we think of architecture as an incubator of memories, we can share more with people. For example, the Stone Garden project in Beirut emerged from the lived moments of war, the bullet-scarred city, and the idea of re-embodying the city’s memory through architecture. By doing so, we fight against amnesia and the possibility of forgetting the war, which could lead to its recurrence. Architecture can transform that memory into something more positive, not just on the surface but by integrating life in its essence—bringing nature into it, changing how you view the outside from your apartment, and transforming relationships through the architectural envelope.
LM: It’s not anymore a matter of memory as nostalgia, but memory as a political tool.
LG: It is a political tool, and it’s also a sensitive tool. It brings emotions and senses back into our environment, making them central to the way we do things. In the way we often repeat our errors, looking at current events around the world, it’s more necessary than ever to revive our memories, revive our histories, and gain more in-depth knowledge. I think architecture as a tool for disseminating knowledge and embodying history, it can talk about events and what happened in a place, or foster new social relationships, referencing other spatial relationships in the way it’s built. For example, many people who experienced the building in Beirut said it felt familiar to them. This sense of anchorage is about the deep memory of a place, like Estonia’s relationship to the airfield. It is about the history of the place—a Soviet ex-military air base—and how a building could embody the past of those planes landing on that ground. The entrance of the museum, with the cantilever becomes the wing of the plane, formally embodying that history in a way.
LM: If I consider some of your works, the tower in Beirut, the wooden tower in Paris, your Serpentine pavilion, the new project for the contemporary art museum in Saudi and other works I saw recently, it gives me the idea that you are also working on reshaping the idea of contemporary monuments, which is a difficult word I know, but in the meantime, we still need them to reflect on that because a monument is a place which in a way embodies a generation, a community, and gives a hierarchy, a sense, a physical hierarchy, a symbolic hierarchy, an urban hierarchy, and all your works have been dealing with that. Shaping the idea of what it means to design a new institution for a community, but also in the meantime to design something which is rooted in the soil, in the story, in history, but at the same time, looking forward, looking in front of you. So how can you reflect on the idea of a monument today? What does it mean for an architect to deal with such a difficult but necessary word?
LG: Yeah, I mean, I don’t know. In my mind, when I think about a monument, it embodies something very stagnant. I’m always thinking about how to rethink and create memorials and monuments that are active, echoing monuments in a more contemporary way. I see architecture as a set of reference points, moments that create silence and openings within timelines. Architecture can make you stop and think. That’s what monuments should do—they make you pause, reflect, and become reference points for gathering and re-establishing relationships, shaping them differently, and allowing focus points.
But I’m also interested in the fact that architecture has a presence, an aura, yet withthe capacity to dissolve, to disappear, to be there and have been there. For instance, the last project I created for the leather manufacture Hermès was an industrial building. Typically, those buildings are very functional and mundane, often built in metal. I questioned what an industrial building could be and how to give it dignity. It became a reflection of whether we can build industrial architecture differently and bring beauty back to the landscapes where these buildings are situated.
This duality of presence and absence in architecture is what interests me. Can we create industrial buildings that enhance the beauty of their surroundings and embody both presence and absence? This is the essence of what I’m exploring in architecture.
LM: I like the idea that for your architecture is an open question about reality which is always a way of rethinking what apparently is not questionable. Every typology is a form of cultural evidence. So when you change the cultural dimension, then you change the perspective in the way you design architecture, which is very important for the time in which we are living, a time with the open question, which is very urgent, very important. And in a way, I fully agree that architecture is a political tool, but in the meantime, is it a way of giving a different answer to a change in time?
LG: Yes, it gives us a different answer. It also allows us, as architects, to constantly be at the crossroads, anticipating new ways of doing things while dealing with urgencies. Today, we face problems like climate change, wars and migration, and we often wonder how we can acquire more tools to be more active in our society and less seen as elitist makers. This is a crucial question: how can we act and enable new ways of doing things?
For example, consider the question of resources today. What kinds of materials can we use? How can we incorporate more bio-sourced and geo-sourced materials? We must also encourage industries to move towards more sustainable materials. This approach not only addresses current challenges but also promotes a shift towards more sustainable practices in architecture and industries.
LM: Yeah, which is the point on another urgent argument. What does thinking sustainable mean today? After 30 years, it’s not a technical matter anymore, it’s a cultural approach, it’s a different way of using resources and also defining the lifespan of a building, which is different. It’s nothing eternal, but something which is in a way following what we need in a very generous and changing way. Recently, I’ve been working a lot, more and more, I would say, on this idea of sustainability as a way of working on materials. So it’s questioning materials in a different way.
LG: I think sustainability is more than just ecology. Building must be worthwhile. I’m always thinking about the energy put into designing and constructing a building and the impact it has on its environment. When you decide to build, it must be worthwhile. That effort must be worth something in the end, and the construction’s impact must be positive. It has the responsibility to positively impact its environment, including in terms of its energy consumption, carbon footprint, and material use, as well as its capacity to build on knowledge through the construction processes.
It’s about holistic thinking. It’s not just about building with wood to be sustainable; it’s about social sustainability as well. I realized this further when we built the brick building for Hermès. The project became about reviving a forgotten brick-making technique in the area, working with artisans to build with brick again, and sourcing materials locally. The entire construction became interactive, combining the artisans’ building knowledge with our current technologies. It created a beautiful architectural experience, allowing people to work in comfort and enjoy their workplace.
This balance teaches us that one can create architecture with a positive impact—low carbon, energy positive, distributing energy to the environment, and emerging from the earth. it does not necessarily have to look high-tech or alien but should be grounded in sustainable and socially responsible practices.
LM: I’m very interested in the idea of social sustainability, which is fundamental, because you design different project buildings for communities. I remember your Serpentine Pavilion, and I’m thinking that probably the new Osaka Pavilion you are designing for Bahrain will be another community building, and the museum is another example of your work. So don’t you think that today it’s very important to imagine generous buildings? I mean, building where generosity is, let’s say… if in the 20th century the idea was ’form follows function’, today I would say form follows generosity, which means a different capability of offering possibilities without knowing them precisely.
LG: Yes, and generosity is not about excess. Generosity is essentially for me about care—building with care and embracing people in a place, bringing warmth , intimacy, and bringing people together. It’s not about the ego of the architect or signature architecture; it’s about allowing a deep wellbeing for people in a place. The Serpentine Pavilion, for me, exemplifies this. It’s a serene environment that almost is a measure of nature around it, changing mood with the outside and allowing people to dwell around the same table. People used it as an everyday place, coming, going, writing, playing, working …
In Osaka, I realized this even more. The project emerged from researching what Japanese construction know hows intersecting with Bahraini cultire . It was essential for this temporary pavilion that wecould reuse all the materials used for construction, making them part of the economy again. Both Japanese and Bahraini cultures have a shared history with woodworking, boats, and the sea. When I met the contractors, despite the tense construction environment in the expo in general, they were joyful and happy to build this project. This is very important for me. They told me they liked it and identified with it. The builders, the makers, and the community must identify with the architecture made for them.
In this project, nothing is laminated; it’s just wood elements put together. For expos where a lot of waste is typically created, here nothing will be wasted. The foundation of the pavilion is very light. This community feeling is not only about how you use the building but also about the process of making and constructing architecture. This dialogue often becomes invisible in our building-scapes.
LM: I like the fact that you are always using “joyfulness” because I think we are living in such a tense world in this moment. I mean, we feel tension. We are entering a phase of history where tension is daily and also worries. And so to talk about architecture combined with joy, I think it’s very important because probably it’s the best way we as architects have to be political, to generate happiness, to generate something to give hope to the community.
LG: Yes, and Luca, I think happiness, joy, and beauty are ways to bring people together, bridge gaps, and promote non-violence. When you’re in a place where you feel respect and dignity, you feel more serene as a human. It’s about opening dialogues on our scale—doing what little we can. If we can achieve that, it would be great.
LM: And looking forward to seeing you in Europe when you will be back. And good luck for Osaka. When is it going to open, the Expo?
LG: That will be next year.
Text by Luca Molinari
Captions and Photo credit (from top to bottom)
– Cover, Lina Ghotmeh Portrait – photo by Hannah Assouline
– Lina Ghotmeh Portrait – photo by Harry Richards
– Estonian National Museum, Tartu, Estonia, Ethnographic Museum – Ph. © Takuji Shimmura, courtesy to DGT 2006-2016
– “Precise Acts”, Atelier Hermès, France, © Lina Ghotmeh – Architecture – Ph. © Iwan Baan, © Hermès, 2019-2023
– “A table”, Serpentine Pavilion, London, United Kingdom, © Lina Ghotmeh – Architecture – Ph. © Iwan Baan, Courtesy: Serpentine 2022-2023
– “Stone Garden”, Beirut, Lebanon, Housing and Mina Art Foundation, © Lina Ghotmeh – Architecture – Ph. © Laurian Ghinitoiu, 2011-2020
– Bahrain Pavilion, Osaka Expo, Osaka, Japan, © Lina Ghotmeh – Architecture, 2023-2025
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