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BEHIND TCA DESIGN The Path of Memory – An Essay

BEHIND TCA DESIGN
The Path of Memory – An Essay on the German Historical Museum by TCA

Berlin is a city where history does not rest quietly in vitrines, but breathes through every joint in the pavement. To build a museum here is not merely to raise walls for objects – it is to construct spaces for collective memory, for doubt, for interpretation. In a city that has been capital, backdrop, trauma, and hope all at once, the creation of a German Historical Museum is not a museological gesture. It is an act of political semiotics.
TCA’s architectural proposal for this museum is not a neutral container of content. It is itself a participant, a text. A building that does not present itself as an object in space, but as a narrative embedded in the urban discourse.
As Eco might say: the architecture enters into dialogue with the landscape – a palimpsest of meanings that must be constantly reread. The path through the museum is not only spatial – it is a hermeneutic act.
The building itself becomes a medium. It does not merely house history – it expresses it architecturally. Its tectonic language resists monumentality, yet is no less powerful in its precision. The structure is not authoritarian, but argumentative.
A museum is a place – but this place must first be defined as such. TCA’s design manages to capture the paradox: a space of memory that is neither nostalgic nor didactic. An architecture that does not proclaim “this is how it was,” but rather asks, “how do we tell what has been?”
The city no longer needs more objects in its public space. It needs spaces that generate meaning. TCA’s design for the German Historical Museum is one such space: a path of thought.
#museum #design #historical #3d #model #architect #germany #berlin

A Sign in the Landscape An Essay about a House Tha

A Sign in the Landscape
An Essay about a House That Wishes to Be More Than a House

There are places where things do not merely exists, but instead carry meaning—as though part of an alphabet that only the patient can read. The mountains above Lugano are such a place. The air is thinner here, yes—but not only in a physical sense. The gaze, the thought, even history itself seem clarified here, stripped bare, almost archaic.
The landscape—let us call it semantically complete—is made up of fragments of memory: dry-stone walls, weathered timber beams, roofs crouching like animals in hibernation. The architecture that has survived here for centuries is not mere shelter, but a manifestation of topography, an echo of slope and sun, of alpine silence.
The client—wise, daring, or perhaps both—did not desire a bland volume, a typological cliché. He envisioned a sign, a built form that would exist not only in physical space, but in cultural space as well. Something to inhabit, observe, and question. A holiday house, yes—but also a semantic event.
The result: an oval volume, somewhere between nautilus shell and spacecraft, between primordial egg and American football. This form—curved, gliding, soft—resists Cartesian logic, defies the right angle. It is an architectural “perhaps.”
And yet it is precise: prefabricated in a workshop, crafted from sustainable wood, accurate like a Swiss timepiece, delivered by helicopter—an act of logistical choreography. One might say: a modern myth.
Each apartment is an autonomous narrative. Spaces that unfold not by norm, but by intention. Interiors that not only function, but signify.

And so it stands, this building. Not a foreign object—but not a chameleon either. It does not crouch, but it does not shout.
For architecture is not only what is built. Architecture is what is told—about place, about people, about time. This house in the heights of Lugano is such a telling. Perhaps not an easy text. But a necessary one.
#architecture #wood #woodworking #shingle #lugano #switzerland

BEHIND TCA DESIGN The Silent Alphabet of Order In

BEHIND TCA DESIGN
The Silent Alphabet of Order

In a waiting room where thousands of faces briefly meet each year, where identities are verified, travel documents issued, and diplomatic formalities performed, one might assume that the furniture is nothing more than functional scenery: pragmatic, invisible, utilitarian. Yet in the design of the bench-garderobe by TCA for the Swiss General Consulate, the opposite reveals itself. Here, the furniture becomes a manifesto—not loud, not pompous, but through a quiet yet structurally meaningful whisper upon the wall.
This linear wooden structure, which stretches along the wall like a graphic sign—a lemniscate, a Möbius strip, or even a canon—does not immediately reveal its meaning. Like every good semiotic object, it refuses the viewer mere surface and invites interpretation. For this bench is not just a bench. It is simultaneously a bench, a coat rack, a sculpture, and an ordering system—a spatial sign that does not oppose the room but seems to shape it.
It begins low at the floor, where it functions as seating. But rather than ending anywhere, it rises toward the entrance. Its steps become shelves; its elevation turns into a coat rack. It evokes a Gregorian chant rising slowly from a low tone, gaining volume yet following the same rhythm throughout.
Thus, the piece becomes a semiotic interface between body, space, and institution. It offers not just support for the body, but a frame for waiting—a state that in consulates is never merely functional, but deeply symbolic. To wait means: to desire, to hope, to fulfill. And here exactly, TCA’s bench is a subtle sign of state hospitality. It says: “Here is a place for you—not just anywhere, but right here. You are part of an ordered structure.”
It is a design that reveals architecture’s discreet power: it guides without forcing. It offers without imposing. It is there even when no one is there. A bench where even absence sits.
And perhaps, if one listens very quietly, the bench speaks—not in sentences, but in lines. Not in words, but in wood.
#design #wood #urbandesign #consulate #architect #architecture #archdaily #reel

The Semantic Weight of the Threshold: Doors as Ope

The Semantic Weight of the Threshold: Doors as Operators of Space
To imagine the door as merely a hole in the wall, a trivial device to overcome masonry, is not just a simplification but an impoverishment of thought. The door is not a negligible detail but the first semantic act of architecture. It separates by establishing distinction: a Here from a There, an Inside from an Outside, the Profane from the Sacred.
For those who read architecture as text, the door is not punctuation but the beginning of the sentence. It is the paragraph that structures the narrative of space. The salon is not defined by its furniture but by the fact that a door marks it as such. Without the threshold, without this mark, space remains faceless, an amorphous container.
Yet true power lies not in the door but in the threshold. This modest line, once crossed, becomes a ritual. One knocks, one waits, one enters—and in that act the body, the voice, the inner posture are transformed. The threshold is less a place than a time: the suspended moment in which identity shifts, from guest to entrant, from outsider to participant.
In this semantics unfolds the philosophy of TCA. Against industrial indifference, which treats the door as a standardized spare part, they insist that each door has its own language. It becomes a vertical canvas, a scene upon which the dialogue between interior and exterior begins. The door to a library is not simply wood and hinge—its weight, texture, and handle articulate silence and contemplation. A communal door, by contrast, speaks in transparency and lightness.
Thus every act of opening becomes a conscious performance: a hand on the handle, a moment of anticipation, and the space behind reveals itself not as function but as experience. The door is not the limit but the prologue, the prelude to a poem of space, light, and silence.
Genius lies in transforming the most universal architectural element into a unique event of encounter—a discreet gesture that contains the very key to understanding the built world.
#door #thedoor #design #wood #architecture #semantics #space #line

The Paradox of Structures One could say that a sp

The Paradox of Structures

One could say that a sports hall is not simply a space where bodies move, but a space where forces take shape. What we are dealing with here is not merely a building, but a dialogue between two structures that must never intersect and yet are bound to carry a common load. A paradoxical alliance, almost like two languages that do not overlap, yet compose a single poem.

The first structure—the backbone of the hall—carries, as tradition dictates, the vertical load. It behaves like a serious scholastic, quoting gravity in his treatises to bind it into calm order. But suspended above this solemn system hangs a second order: the network of sporting equipment. This network is not stable in the classical sense.

Architecture is compelled to embrace both logics: the static calm of the hall and the dynamic unrest of the equipment. It is as if two opposing philosophies must be reconciled—Aristotle, who orders being, and Heraclitus, who acknowledges the flux of things. And yet, the hall insists that both be true at once.

Detailing—where iron bends, where a bolt tightens, where a suspension absorbs shock—is no mere technical gesture. It becomes the hermeneutics of forces. Every joint is a footnote in the grand commentary of statics. Every connection point is a metaphor, reminding us that architecture is not only walls and roofs, but the translation of invisible energies into a legible form.

Thus, the sports hall becomes a palimpsest of forces: the hall’s structure writes the great, calm narrative of gravity; the structure of the equipment adds the lively, trembling marginalia. Between the two arises that tension which constitutes the essence of architecture: the union of the irreconcilable, the balance of opposites, the design that emerges from the load itself.

And when the visitor, unknowingly, enters the space, he feels harmony, not conflict. He sees lines, planes, heights. Yet behind this vision lies a silent dialectic: an architecture that gives space not only to bodies, but elevates forces themselves into form.
#design #structure #architecture #vision

Between Two Altars: Ecumenism as an Architecture o

Between Two Altars: Ecumenism as an Architecture of Hope

Throughout the long history of humankind, religion has been both: the invisible thread that binds millions—and the sword that cuts them apart. That faith in the same God has led to war is no longer a paradox, but a historical pattern.
The split between Catholics and Protestants—two faces of the same Christian origin—was never merely a doctrinal disagreement over justification, the Eucharist, or indulgences. It was, like every schism, a psychological act. A quiet mistrust that found its way into physical form: separate churches, separate rituals, separate families.
The apple of discord thrown by Luther into the Roman window did not only lodge itself in the Vatican; it rolled into the living rooms of ordinary believers. And when a Catholic daughter fell in love with a Protestant boy, not only the heart trembled, but the foundation of family peace. A wedding—the moment of unity—became a stage for difference. Two denominations, one promise—but which altar?
The Ecumenical Church in Karlsruhe-Oberreut is not just a building. It is a thought cast in stone, a semantic bridge between theological languages. It carries within it a paradoxical idea: separation that enables unity. Two prayer rooms—back to back—like twins who cannot see each other, but share the same heartbeat. And in between: the third space.
A space that is more than a passage. It is the place of encounter, of library, of entrance, of dialogue. It is the room where a Catholic-Protestant wedding becomes possible without betrayal—of faith or of family. The walls open. The chairs turn.
The architecture itself preaches here—without words, but not without effect. Materials have been chosen as if diplomacy were being built. Everything carries meaning, because everything carries hope.
To say it with a semiotic smile: this house of God is a text. And this text does not say “Either – Or,” but “Both – And.” It is not a palace of tolerance—it is a space of recognition. Of difference, yes—but a difference rooted in togetherness.
Sometimes, new dogmas aren’t needed. Just a door. Or better yet: a wall that can be opened. Prof.Paul Schütz &TCA
#church #brutalism

“The Arena of Possibilities: An Allegory of the

“The Arena of Possibilities: An Allegory of the Desert”  In the heart of the Arabian Peninsula, where the sun shows no mercy and the horizon blurs between sand and sky, lies Riyadh — not merely a city, but an idea, a stage for profound transformation. It is here, amidst the climatic austerity, that a wish emerged: a stadium that would be more than a place of sports — an arena where the present meets the future. The design by TCA is not merely a response, but a proposition — a thesis of the possible.  Saudi Arabia, long a land of cultural stillness, now opens its doors. Sport and entertainment are becoming a new secular liturgy for a young society seeking expression without losing its identity. But how does one translate such an opening into architecture — without falling into the trap of imported, Western stereotypes?  TCA did not simply design — they interpreted. The arena for more than 75,000 spectators and the separate basketball and volleyball halls are only the framework for a deeper intention: leisure as a space for social unfolding. This design answers a need that transcends mere functionality — it is a poetic gesture to a society in transition.  The desert, once the silent witness of centuries, becomes a dialogue partner. Its infinite expanse, its silence, its clarity — it demands architecture that is not loud, but meaningful. Not monumental, but memorable. TCA responds with an ensemble that is permeable to meaning: a continuous bazaar wraps around the sports facilities, a social topography where families can gather and linger. It is not an isolated event machine, but a vibrant urban organism. The arena is not abandoned — it is inhabited.  The integration of an F1 circuit may seem spectacular at first glance. But within the semiological lens of Eco, it becomes a sign: speed as a metaphor for change, for the momentum of transformation. The motion of the cars stands as an allegory of a society that no longer fears the future, but accelerates toward it.

#stadium #sport #arena #riyadh #saudi #saudiarabia

BEHIND TCA DESIGN “A Song of the Sea, Speaking O

BEHIND TCA DESIGN
“A Song of the Sea, Speaking Once Again”

Kartal, my friend, was once a song.
A song of salt in the air, of children running barefoot over the stones.
The Princes’ Islands stood on the horizon like silent poems,
and the people — simple, honest —
let their worries float in the water
while the sun turned the day to gold.
Then came the great dream of the city —
visions hard as concrete,
coastal roads like scars across the heart of the shore,
and the song fell silent.
The people now stood behind fences of asphalt,
and the sea,
once their mirror,
was now just a picture from old memories.
But now,
now the human hand holds a different tool —
not the jackhammer,
but the idea.
Not just a plan, but hope.
TCA didn’t merely draw.
No — they listened to the place,
spoke with the earth,
with the wind,
with the old shadows of the pines.
The levels shift,
like verses in a poem.
Open squares like exclamation points,
protected spaces like parentheses of silence.
The trees don’t just stand —
they sing,
they shield,
they whisper to people:
Here you are safe.
Here you may breathe.
And behold —
the Princes’ Islands wave once again.
Not just from afar,
but from within the hearts of those who sit, walk, and dream here.
The sea was never gone.
It was just buried under noise for a while.
Now the land rises,
the view opens,
and with it, the soul.
A city park — yes.
But more than that:
A promise.
A place where life begins to hear itself again.
Where landscape is not a backdrop,
but an answer.
To the call for calm.
For belonging.
For a simple, honest day in the light.
This is Kartal.
The new song of the sea.
Not invented —
rediscovered.
#design #ferryboat #istanbul #türkiye#princeislands #landscaper

When one understands the city as a text — a prem

When one understands the city as a text — a premise not unfamiliar to semiology — then landscape design, too, must be read as a kind of palimpsestic annotation: a new layer of meaning inscribed upon old signs without erasing them.
The disused railway line stretching 8,500 meters from Sirkeci to Yedikule is not merely a corridor of tracks and sleepers; it is a resonant space of history. Once, this line cut through the city’s urban fabric, connecting the waters of the Marmara shore with the inner organs of the metropolis, carrying goods, people, rumors, and ideas. Today, this linear space is being rewritten by TCA as an Art Line: a landscape park that touches the old Byzantine city walls and brings them into dialogue with contemporary urban life.
What emerges here is more than a green belt; it is a poetic infrastructure for collective nourishment — not only in the literal sense, but also as artistic sustenance for the city’s inhabitants. Just as the agora or the medieval marketplace once functioned as sites of exchange, this park is envisioned as a porosity within the city, an open stage where nature, art, and urban memory weave a new narrative.
TCA’s working method follows a principle: to uncover the essential, to interpret the hidden layers. The large-scale models are not merely aids for form-finding but three-dimensional commentaries — plastic essays that open up spaces of meaning. They make it possible to design the landscape not as a mere ornament but as the syntax of a new urban legibility.
By connecting the railway line with the shore of the Sea of Marmara, a threshold space emerges: a transition between water and city wall, past and present, nature and artifice. The Byzantine walls — once a bulwark against intruders — are not cordoned off as museum relics but interwoven into the landscape as narrative fragments. Thus, the past is not conserved like a dead exhibit but breathes on within the new urban fabric.

#türkiye #art #artline #model #3d #architechture #architect #design

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Galıp Dede Caddesi Yörük Çıkmazı 8 | 34420 Beyoğlu Istanbul Tel. +90 (212) 249 21 64 | Fax +90 (212) 249 22 95 | info@cakmakli.com