Architecture of Time: an Interview with Marlena Wolnik

In contemporary architectural competitions, there is an increasingly clear shift away from rewarding spectacular buildings erected on lofty ideas. Instead, juries are increasingly paying attention to architecture of empathy: bent over people, society, and the real context of place. This shift in emphasis means that attitudes based on mindfulness, responsibility, and long-term thinking are growing stronger, and with them, the voices of women in architecture are becoming increasingly heard. One of them is the voice of a Polish architect, twice nominated for the European Union Prize for Contemporary Architecture – Mies van der Rohe Award. Architect Marlena Wolnik does not speak about architecture in terms of spectacle or ambition. Her language is calm, precise, deeply rooted in experience. The projects she creates have for years been featured on international architectural competition lists in Europe. However, she herself emphasizes that architecture has never been a path to awards for her. It is a long-term process of responsibility toward place, people, and time, which verifies everything.

To start, I'd like to congratulate you on your nomination for the European Union Prize for Contemporary Architecture – Mies van der Rohe Award for the project of the Zagłębie Chamber of Commerce Headquarters in Dąbrowa Górnicza. However, this is not your first nomination. In 2022, the Local Activity Center in Rybnik, designed by you, was on the so-called shortlist of forty best projects nominated for the same award. From the outside, such successive distinctions could be read as a very consistent path to success. How do you yourself, from the perspective of years of work and diverse experiences, define success in architecture today? What determines whether a project, regardless of scale, truly has value for you and deserves attention?

For me, success begins very simply – with whether the project works in real life. Whether it meets the expectations of the investor, regardless of whether it's a private individual or a public institution. Architecture does not exist in a vacuum, it's not a picture hanging on a wall. It functions in time and in everyday life. Secondly, an equally important measure is timelessness. If after a year, after five or ten years, I can look at a completed project and think that I would do it the same way again, it means the main premise was right. Of course, there's always the thought that something could have been improved, but if the main premise holds up, if the project doesn't lose its expression and still fits well into the context of the place, it means there was something lasting in it. Architecture is an art particularly strongly connected with time, and only time truly verifies it. That's why this test of time is so important to me. Only when I received my first nomination for the EU Mies Award and found myself in that distinguished "forty" did I begin to look more carefully at what is truly recognized in this competition. I very clearly saw then that the key is architecture's impact on people's lives, regardless of scale. A small building in a small town can have a proportionally equal impact as a large project in a big city. It turned out then that projects based on relationships and community simply work. Awards or nominations themselves have never been my goal. They are a great distinction and something very nice, but they always remain an addition to the work. The most important thing is for a project to make sense, to function, and to be able to defend itself over time.

You run your own practice and complex projects that require not only vision but also difficult decisions. What competencies have proven crucial for you beyond design itself?

From the perspective of time, self-determination has enormous value for me. There were very difficult moments in my professional journey that cost me a lot of health and energy. This taught me that sometimes it's better to cut something off and not return to it than to persist in a situation that exhausts you. Today I know that health and inner peace are more important than being right, ambitions, or proving anything to anyone. That's why I value so much the comfort of making decisions and taking responsibility for them. What I've built independently has special value for me because it's one hundred percent mine. This state of self-determination gives me peace that no external recognition or distinction can replace.

In your statements, the theme of working with existing substance often returns: adaptation, transformation, giving new life to what already exists. Where does this need come from?

Working with existing buildings has always fascinated me. It's much more difficult than designing from scratch. It's a bit like an equation with many unknowns, because you have to solve it in such a way that the final function truly meets the investor's needs, while simultaneously respecting what already exists. Today there's a lot of talk about not building new structures, about adaptations, about environmental responsibility. For me, this has always been intuitive. Similarly with sensitivity to landscape, trees, and nature. Now the world names this explicitly and systematizes it, but I've long had the feeling that this is simply right.

Today there's increasingly frequent talk about a crisis of relationships and erosion of values, also in the context of responsibility and trust. At the same time, this is precisely what we increasingly seek from business partners and service providers. In architecture, this relationship additionally extends over time, often many years after a project's completion. What does your relationship with your own completed projects look like after years? Do you return to them, observe how they function today?

Yes, I really like returning to my projects. I have good relationships with investors and often see how these places function without my involvement. One of the biggest compliments for me was when the owner of one of the houses I designed, when asked after years what she would change in it, answered: "nothing." Private architecture over time ceases to be under the architect's control. It changes owners, is sometimes transformed. All the more important is that the original premise be strong enough to withstand the test of time. In the case of the Local Activity Center, I have the comfort of being there sometimes and being able to observe how this place functions in everyday life. And then it becomes very clear that even a small project can have enormous significance for the local community.

In your statements, you very clearly avoid dividing architecture into feminine and masculine. At the same time, today there's increasingly more discussion about changes in the profession and about who is speaking up. How do you, from your own experience, view what is truly changing in architecture?

I've always believed that architecture should be divided into good and bad, not feminine and masculine. On a construction site, I never think of myself in terms of gender. I arrive to solve a specific problem and do my work. From the perspective of time, however, I see very clearly that many behaviors that were once normalized were simply unacceptable. The fact that today they are called by their proper names didn't happen by itself. This is the result of the courage of women who began to speak about their experiences. This change is necessary, but it's also important that it doesn't overshadow what's most essential in architecture. Ultimately, what counts is quality, responsibility, and the sense of design. These determine the value of architecture, not the gender of the person who creates it.

Finally: what would be most important for you if you had something to say to young female and male architects at the beginning of their journey?

I don't really like to give advice, because everyone has their own path and their own experiences. But if I were to say something that turned out to be important for me personally, it would be doing things in harmony with yourself. If you feel you have a good, honest idea, it's worth persisting with it and defending it. Architecture requires courage, but also honesty with yourself. If that's missing, even a correct project loses its meaning. For me, this is absolutely fundamental.