- Should I take that to mean that disparate elements refusing to match up is inherent to architecture? "Yes, things that don't go together easily are often brought together in architecture. I am thinking here not only of the technical conflicts but also of the human, social and cultural aspects of a building project. Moreover, we have to take into account the expectations of clients, budgetary constraints, the potentials of a building and the impact it has on ecology. All in all, there is an incredible diversity of parameters that have to be orchestrated in one way or another. Everything comes together in the detail; the detail is the sublimation of the problems of how to join everything up neatly. It was an epiphany to me when I finally realized that we shouldn't keep striving to match things up perfectly, but that we should study how to develop 'in-betweens' that join one thing to another. In other words, it's wrong to say that the quality of Mies's architecture lies in its perfection. I appreciate Mies precisely because he dared to create beauty by letting go of perfect detailing."

- So in your view the potential of architecture actually lies in imperfection? "You could put it that way, yes. If you bring different things together, you can first of all observe the resulting impasse, and then exploit it in order to make an interesting addition to the design, or to take a different attitude towards what presented itself as insoluble, so that a problem turns into a quality. I have never been too fond of fudging things or blurring them over. Even less do I like presenting fudging as purity, such as a perfect-looking façade that veils all kinds of things from view. Generally speaking, I prefer to make the materiality of things explicit. That even applies to the mirrors that we often use in our architecture. We use mirrors to demonstrate the incapacity to resolve a problem. Instead of solving the problem we give it a new twist, so that it effectively disappears. The problem can't be resolved by bringing two elements closer together, no, that piece of mirror covers up some insulating material or some other infill. Fudging isn't quite the right word for this situation, it's more a game of hide-and-seek. The art of hide-and-seek doesn't mean that you simply hide somewhere, but that you give the impression of being somewhere else; it's a matter of distracting attention. That's what we do when we use a piece of mirror."

- Are games like hide-and-seek something you play just for the fun of it? "Certainly. I love it when people notice details of that kind and it brings a smile to their face. There's little that's visionary or profound about it, I'll admit, but I'm satisfied if our buildings make people happy. I also consider it important not to give everything away at once, but to let it dawn on people on a second or third reading — as when someone is enjoying breakfast at home and suddenly wonders 'what's up with those beams? Where do they begin and end, what supports what?'"

- In that situation, you explicitly confront the user with the constructive details of the building. You could instead opt for an architecture in which the user's attention isn't drawn so much to the elements from which it is built. What don't you like about that alternative approach? "Something which I've always had but which has played up all the more strongly in recent times, is that I prefer to avoid speaking about architecture. I have always kept a certain mental distance with regard to architecture. What I care about much more is the human capacity for making things: houses, schools, other buildings. Not that I'm some kind of 'craftsmanship freak' but I love the clarity of making, just as I love clear thinking and plain speaking."