“We all come from houses,” claims renowned Swiss architect Peter Zumthor, and architect Ioli Tripodakis renovated her English teacher’s 65m² apartment in Kifisia starting from the memory of this 20-year-old, first—almost primal—house. “Objects collected from all over the world, framed humorous quotes, artworks created by friends or by themselves, books of every kind—all thoughtfully and instinctively layered within a tiny apartment that was anything but boring,” she recalls, and it is precisely from this memory of a home assembled through objects, affection and travels that Lara and Vasilis’ new house takes shape as an unexpected, colourful universe, where vivid blue encounters yellow and different kinds of wood. On this occasion, Archisearch’s Editor-in-Chief, Melina Arvaniti-Pollatou, talked with Ioli about the undeniable power of blue, the meaning of home and of house, and what love can potentially do to an architectural layout.
Melina Arvaniti-Pollatou: From your perspective as an architect, is there a distinction between designing a house and designing a home? Where does one end and the other begin?
Ioli Tripodakis: I believe there is a distinction between a house and a home, even though the two are deeply connected and, most of the time, inevitably intertwined.
A house exists within a broader social and physical context, as it contributes to the genius loci of the place to which it belongs. Its design emerges through the careful consideration of its surroundings: the orientation of the plot, its materiality, the landscape and its most prominent vistas. In my opinion, a house is also the spatial organisation of different uses translated into volumes—the transition between communal and private areas, as well as between indoor, outdoor and semi-outdoor spaces—all of which ultimately define the spatial experience of its inhabitants.
A home, on the other hand, is much more intimately connected to the personality and way of living of its inhabitants. It is a never-ending, evolving process that continues long after the architect’s work is complete. The same space can take on entirely different identities depending on the routines, memories, objects, habits and relationships that unfold within it. As architects, we cannot fully design that, but we can create the conditions for it to happen.
For me, the transition from a house to a home begins when, beyond responding to functionality, an architect is willing to understand, listen to and be inspired by the people who will inhabit it.
Perhaps the most successful residential architecture is not the one that dictates exactly how a space should be lived in, but the one that leaves enough room for its inhabitants to appropriate it, transform it and gradually make it their own.
MAP: The project is characterised by a strong visual expressiveness, almost a pictorial quality, articulated through bold contrasts of blue and yellow. How did this colour palette emerge, and how does it relate to the personality of its inhabitants?
IT: Lara often quoted, “I am having a blue period.” Rather than applying this idea superficially, we embedded it into the architecture itself—through cabinetry, tiles and built-in elements—so that each space carries its own atmosphere while remaining part of a coherent whole.
I believe curiosity is essential to architecture. The whole design process evolved almost like a puzzle, where ideas were constantly discussed, combined and, after careful consideration, gradually implemented.
Of course, we began with a general sense of the desired style and atmosphere, but the final colour palette emerged much later, once the key design of each space had already taken shape.
Meticulous material research, alongside multiple colour samples tested on site, helped us visualise the result and understand what worked best in each room. I believe designing with colour is a particularly demanding task; it can very easily become overwhelming or feel disconnected from the space. For that reason, every colour was selected not only in relation to the room itself, but also to the transition from one space to another and, importantly, to the natural light. The kitchen and bathroom areas, for example, are east-facing, so introducing more vibrant tones became essential in bringing warmth and energy into spaces with more subdued daylight throughout the day.
As I mentioned before, I believe a home inevitably reflects the personalities of its inhabitants. In this case, I was particularly fortunate, as Lara and Vasilis’ personalities were both deeply inspiring and creatively challenging. In a nutshell, I would describe them as an enlightened, book-loving couple with an endless curiosity about the world. They do not simply travel; they immerse themselves in each place they visit. They share a profound respect and admiration for nature, an eagerness to keep learning, and a love for music, creativity and new experiences. This same outlook on life naturally shaped the way they approached the renovation of their apartment: with curiosity, openness and a willingness to challenge conventions rather than simply follow them.
MAP: There is a sense of creativity, playfulness and curiosity throughout the renovation. How did these qualities translate into the architecture? Can play become a way of designing?
IT: This triptych—creativity, playfulness and curiosity—was present throughout the entire project. The fact that there was never a single, one-off design solution allowed us to keep exploring ideas and incorporate elements we discovered along the way, with several “aha” moments in between. This approach could only flourish because there was a genuine alignment with the clients throughout the decision-making process; without that, it would have been almost impossible. So, beyond the more obvious expressions of playfulness—colour, unexpected structures and geometric forms—I would say that what truly translated into the architecture was our ability to maintain the same curiosity, openness and enthusiasm until the very end, from the smallest detail, such as a door handle, to larger decisions, such as the colour of the living room.
Play allows you to question established solutions and discover possibilities that a more rigid design process might overlook.
But playing alone is never quite as interesting; it becomes much more meaningful when you have someone to play with who shares your enthusiasm—in our case, the clients. There needs to be an alignment of values, taste and priorities, but also trust and genuine communication. When these exist, play can become a shared design process through which not only unexpected architecture can emerge, but friendships as well.
Perhaps what makes play so valuable is precisely that, as adults, we tend to suppress it. Picasso famously reflected on the difficulty of retaining the creative freedom of a child as we grow older.
Architecture can offer a space in which some of that instinctive curiosity is recovered—where we allow ourselves to experiment, question what is expected and remain open to the possibility of surprise.
MAP: What changes when you design a home for someone you already know—or perhaps someone you love? Does intimacy allow for a deeper understanding of domestic life, or does it introduce new complexities into the design process?
IT: Well, I have experienced both sides of it, and I think it ultimately comes down to the same prerequisites that define any good collaboration—or relationship: trust, open communication, mutual goals and respect. Intimacy may facilitate communication and provide a deeper understanding of someone’s habits from the outset, but it certainly does not guarantee that everything will evolve smoothly, particularly when budget constraints, construction failures and all sorts of unpredictable issues inevitably arise along the way.
It has been 20 years since our last English lesson with Lara, a teacher who has deeply challenged my way of thinking, living and learning throughout the years. The moment she asked for my help in redesigning her apartment, I knew that the project brief was about to spark creativity, playfulness and a careful reconsideration of every decision; the renovation process was approached as both an architectural exercise and a quiet act of gratitude.
As architects, we carry a significant responsibility in navigating these situations. Designing a home often means being entrusted with someone’s life dream and, for many people, with a substantial part of their lifetime savings. For that reason, I would place compatibility between architect and client—in terms of communication, values and mutual trust—far above any pre-existing intimacy. We should also remember that residential projects can last for years, during which very personal aspects of people’s lives are inevitably discussed and important decisions are made together.
In that sense, intimacy does not necessarily have to precede the design process; it can also emerge through it. Perhaps the most valuable kind of intimacy in architecture is not necessarily the one you begin with, but the one that is gradually built through trust, honesty and the shared experience of creating a home together.
MAP: A home is never simply a designed object; it is continuously shaped by the lives, rituals and relationships that unfold within it. How did you approach the relationship between architecture and the everyday life of its inhabitants in this project?
IT: I would describe a home as an expression of the psyche of its inhabitants. It reflects so many aspects of their personalities that, with the right amount of professional curiosity and observation, one can almost read through it.
In refurbishment projects especially, we often have the opportunity to visit our clients’ existing homes. Looking back at these visits, I am always fascinated by how vividly the personalities of the inhabitants are imprinted on their surroundings: through their choice of materials and decorative objects, but also through the smallest and most intimate details.
In this project, I had the unique opportunity to visit Lara and Vasilis’ apartment not only before beginning the renovation, but also decades earlier, when I was Lara’s student. I remember being intrigued by it on both occasions, though not from an architectural perspective. Objects collected from all over the world, framed humorous quotes, artworks created by friends or by themselves, books of every kind—all thoughtfully and instinctively layered within a tiny apartment that was anything but boring.
From early on, therefore, I understood that the architectural intervention should not attempt to over-curate their everyday life. Instead, it needed to provide a strong yet generous framework within which their objects, rituals, memories and future experiences could continue to accumulate and evolve.
The aim was to create an architecture that would initiate an ongoing dialogue with them—one that would shape their everyday life while allowing their everyday life, in return, to keep reshaping the home.
MAP: What is home to you? And what is domesticity? Where do these two ideas meet architecture?
IT: To me, home is primarily a feeling rather than a place.
Whenever I am close to nature, listening to great music or surrounded by people with whom I share the same energy, I can physically feel my body relax and connect. Of course, these feelings are triggered by entirely different stimuli for each person, but this sense of connection, safety and freedom to be yourself is what I would call home.
Once you feel at home—whether that is within an actual house or not—domesticity begins to emerge. When I am happy or relaxed, for example, I sometimes instinctively start singing. I would not necessarily define singing itself as an act of domesticity, but I find it interesting that this almost reflexive behaviour emerges when I feel completely at ease. Domesticity can be equally intuitive, but it can also be found in the repetitive rituals that gradually become inseparable from our experience of home: where we drink our morning coffee, where we leave our keys, where we take off our shoes after work. These seemingly insignificant habits are, in many ways, how we claim a space and make it our own.
This is where architecture becomes particularly powerful, because it can not only orchestrate our habits but, over time, influence the way we behave and even aspects of who we become.
A very simple example might make this clearer. Imagine two adolescent brothers: one has a bedroom directly next to their parents’ room, while the other has a room a few metres away, accessible without necessarily passing by them. That minor architectural difference creates two very different conditions of privacy, independence and freedom.
Architecture creates the physical conditions, domesticity emerges through the way we inhabit them, and home is the emotional connection in which we feel most free to be ourselves.
MAP: A home continues to change long after the architect has left it. How do you design for this process of appropriation, transformation and becoming?
IT: Well, I think one of every architect’s greatest fears is how their design will evolve over the years—sometimes even before the project is completed, particularly when the architect is bypassed during important stages of construction, which is unfortunately quite common in Greece.
At the same time, I believe a certain degree of humility is required from the architect. You have to accept that your design will continue to evolve precisely because it needs to become a home for its inhabitants. A beautifully designed sofa may look perfect in the published photographs, but if it is uncomfortable for the people who sit on it every day, then ultimately it has failed in one of its most fundamental purposes.
Architecture cannot be designed solely for the image of a particular moment; it has to accommodate the reality of everyday life.
That being said, designing for change does not mean leaving everything to chance. There is a great deal that can be anticipated through a thorough and collaborative design process. In our practice, we complete each design stage only after several rounds of feedback and revisions, allowing us to develop a deeper understanding of the clients’ needs, habits and priorities.
The more carefully these decisions are considered together, the less likely the architecture is to require corrective changes later on. What remains open to transformation can then be something much more meaningful: not the correction of what the architect failed to anticipate, but the natural appropriation of the space by its inhabitants. At that point, its evolution no longer compromises the architectural design; it becomes part of the process through which the architecture turns into a home.
Facts & Credits
Project title My English Teacher’s Home
Typology Interiors, Interviews, Residential, Apartment Renovation
Location Kifisia, Athens, Greece
Area 65 m²
Status Completed, 2026
Architecture Ioli Tripodakis Architecture | Lighting
Construction Lampros Vogiatzis
Photography Giorgos Sfakianakis