Take an Exclusive Look Into the Studio—and Life—of Architect Santiago Calatrava

“Each morning, my journey begins exactly at six,” the affable Calatrava says. “I pour coffee, feed our family dog, Stella, then let her roam the yard.” It’s these early morning obligations, the architect explains, that keep him grounded and focused in routine. “Then, I ride my bicycle 20 minutes to a local tennis club near Lake Zurich.” After playing for an hour, he cycles home. With a shower and breakfast out of the way, Calatrava begins his first salvo into creative rigor. “On the third floor of my house, I have an atelier that I use to paint from nine to noon.” The Spanish architect is as deft at wielding a paintbrush on canvas as he is at taking a pencil to drafting paper. (In his hometown of Valencia, Calatrava was first enrolled in an art school at a young age.) 

To walk through his atelier is to roam his mind. Paintings can be seen of a charging bull, a skeletal hand, bodies suspended mid-dance, and a dove mid-flight. “I find much beauty and inspiration in the natural world,” Calatrava admits. This inspiration is apparent to anyone who has looked at one of his completed structures, making Calatrava more of an alchemist than architect. He has a way of manipulating steel, glass, and concrete into something soft, even ephemeral. Examples abound: a tower that reads as a torso (Malmö, Sweden), a communications building that recalls a flame (Barcelona), a museum reminiscent of a flying bird (Milwaukee), a pedestrian bridge more like a pair of tango dancers than a mere structure (Buenos Aires).

After the paintbrushes are left to dry, Calatrava eats lunch downstairs. Then, it’s less than a 10-minute drive from home to the studio, where he arrives around 1 p.m. The work space is located in an early 20th-century residence near the northern tip of Lake Zurich. Once owned by a prominent local brewing family, this space is where the architect has worked since 2002. Today, the house turned studio is a blend of old-world charm and no-nonsense Swiss organization. 

It’s in this office of 30 employees that Calatrava embarks on what he declares the everyday job of an architect. “Since I am an engineer by education, the material parts of the architecture are very clear to me. But there’s so much more to consider. A successful architect needs to be like the director of an orchestra. It’s in the finding of a good contractor. It’s in working with the unions, working with the finances, working with the limitations of the land, the limitations of the local zoning laws. These tasks can be viewed as mundane, but the importance of them cannot be exaggerated.”

Though Calatrava understands the banal necessities required to finish a project, he certainly doesn’t allow them to stymie his creativity. For him, it’s not just the architecture that’s important, but the meaning for those who enter it. Case in point: Calatrava’s Oculus. The structure is part transportation hub, mall, and monument. There is beauty outside and within the building. There’s a metaphorical connection to the unthinkable that happened above the hallowed ground it’s built on. There’s room for each person—be they New Yorker or tourist—to meditate on their own thoughts. To interpret or define the space. To consider the private loss for so many in such a public place can be humbling. It’s, therefore, in this structure that Calatrava’s greatness can be seen and be felt. For, if his designs have one thematic thread in common, it’s that they unlock the perfect balance between openness and enclosure, between serenity and security. 

“No painting, no sculpture, no musical ballad allows you to physically step inside the work of art, except for architecture,” Calatrava says. “This, for me, makes it exceptional.”

Back at the office, the architect works with his team to address the various demands and requests coming in from around the globe. (Helpfully, Calatrava speaks eight languages.) The architect and his colleagues busy themselves with upcoming design competition entries, or the final steps in soon-to-be-completed projects, such as New York’s St. Nicholas Church (fall 2022) and a train station in Mons, Belgium (end of 2023 or early 2024). It’s when speaking of train stations that Calatrava perhaps becomes his most philosophical self: “I think, if done right, a train station can be very powerful in the identity of a place. Look at the Gothic stone gates in my hometown [of Valencia]. These were built over 500 years ago as a way to impress other European cities, so when they arrived, they knew Valencia was important.” Calatrava argues that it’s the same with New York’s Grand Central Station. “The first time I visited this station, I couldn’t believe it. I just stood there, absorbing everything for 20 minutes, maybe more. I thought to myself, every person who walks through this station has immense pride. And that is because they know this gift was designed specifically for them to use, but in a way that will always be memorable.”  

By early evening, Calatrava leaves the office for his home, where he dines with his wife. After spending quality time with his partner of five decades, the architect will turn back to work from the comforts of home. In the winter, he prefers to sit in front of a fire, quietly exploring the contours of his mind as it maps the contours of a new building. “I end my day by sketching or painting designs,” he explains. “I may create 100 sketches of a building before we begin mapping it out in the studio. And I do this because it’s crucial for me to continually revisit these sketches. Each time I do, I come back with an even greater understanding of the design, for I have found no better instrument for introspection than sketching or painting. You see, if we are to design buildings simply to perform functions, they are likely to become obsolete. With my hundreds of sketches and paintings, I try and break through that fate.”