introducing ARMAAN BANSAL

ept: you mentioned the doorknobs and smaller elements of the building. are those the details you connect to most?

ab: towards the back there's a subtle level difference where people sitting inside become viewers of the street outside. it's technically a basement, but the windows sit at street level, so you experience people from this lower perspective.
the space is deep, so the works almost peek out through the windows. i'm really interested in how viewers behind the building experience the work as well.

ept: your practice is often described as an exploration of contemporary indian and global sensibilities. how do places like this inform your work?

ab: buildings in london operate within strict regulations, but there are still elements architects can control and play with. there's an architectural poster i love called ropes and rules, built around the idea that designing with constraints is actually more interesting. that's something i think about constantly in my own practice.

india and london both come with constraints — commercial viability, materials, transportation, production. we try to work within those frameworks while still finding moments where we can push something slightly further. sometimes it's only a small gesture, but that gesture can reconnect somebody to something cultural or deeply personal.

the first stop complete, we head toward the barbican centre — an architectural centrepiece of london. it could never be described as a hidden gem; more a concrete diamond, its lustre undimmed despite the countless times armaan tells us he's visited.

ept: the barbican is considered one of london's architectural landmarks. what keeps bringing you back here?

ab: what's amazing about the barbican is that its unique. everything from the signage to the larger structures was intentionally designed. nothing feels copied or generic. even the light switches, the retractable barriers and the smaller fixtures feel authored.

what's also special is the openness of the space. in central london, where everything is driven by density and profitability, the barbican creates breathing room. that's incredibly rare.
i'm also really inspired by the brutalism here. every building belongs to the same visual universe but still has its own character. i almost think of each part of the barbican as having its own personality and features.

there's also a softness to it that people overlook — the rounded edges, the filleted corners, the balance of the proportions. it's a very unique environment and a huge inspiration whenever we approach a project.

ept: as we head to the aa school, it feels like we're arriving at a foundational part of your formation as a designer. is that fair to say?

ab: the aa is a very specific school because it's technically only for architecture, but you end up doing far more than architecture there. ironically, a huge number of architecture students don't actually become architects. what makes the school special is that it was founded as a rebellious act. it began with students who didn't want to practise architecture in the conventional way, so they created their own institution. that spirit still exists.

the school still operates almost like an association. the director and a first-year student have the same voting power. everybody gets one vote regardless of status, fame or experience. during covid they even voted a director out. it's a proper democracy.

what the aa really promotes is thinking — how you think, who you think with and how ideas are shared. the school itself is formed from six connected townhouses with a terrace at the centre. that terrace becomes the social and intellectual hub where students from different years and disciplines exchange ideas constantly.

you'll find people researching everything from urban-scale infrastructure to the anatomy of a single wall section. someone might spend years studying how to cut through concrete and rebar, while somebody else is imagining speculative cities. there's an incredible range of thinking happening simultaneously.

that energy keeps pulling me back. i still go to juries and presentations because it's one of the best places to understand how younger generations are thinking.

ept: we've visited places that feel educational, architectural and conceptual. where does space talk fit into your world?

ab: i had a small involvement in space talk itself through a friend — i worked on one component of the speaker system. but what keeps bringing me back is the community around it.

outside of the more academic parts of my life, this is where nightlife and social life intersect for me. it's an easy, natural space. everything revolves around vinyl and high-quality sound, but people also seem genuinely relaxed and warm there.

i've met collaborators there, reconnected with people there and had some of the best conversations there. it's one of those places where people with taste naturally gravitate towards each other.

ept: space talk is known for its audio experience. how important are sonics to you?

ab: music has always been important to me culturally and emotionally. when i miss home, i listen to nusrat fateh ali khan. when i need energy, i'll put on pusha t. music can completely shift your emotional state.

what fascinates me most is sampling and remixing. i talk about kanye west a lot because he's a master of cultural sampling. you discover references through his music — indian melodies from lata mangeshkar, obscure instruments, fragments of older recordings — and suddenly entire worlds open up.

that process feels very connected to design. a lot of my work is also about remixing cultures, references and histories. taking fragments, looping them, isolating them, silencing them and reinterpreting them. in many ways we work similarly to djs. every new sound or reference becomes another discovery, and that excitement is a huge part of why music remains integral to my work.

ab: i'm vegetarian, so i don't actually eat here much, but for me st. john is one of the chicest and simplest pubs in london. there's very little decoration. everything exists exactly as it needs to.

what's interesting is that the founder actually studied at the aa but never completed the course. the restaurant became famous because of its philosophy around using the entirety of an animal. that feels like very architectural thinking to me — approaching food through systems and totality.

the logo itself is essentially a dissected pig. there's a conceptual rigour behind it. it's not just about serving food; it's about examining process and purpose.

what i appreciate most is how authentic the place feels. everything is made in-house, the staff all feel entirely themselves and conversations happen naturally here. you can genuinely sit at the bar and speak to people properly, which feels increasingly rare in london.