Flow and Tranquility

On Hudayriyat Island in Abu Dhabi, between the desert and the sea, the Ilios Beach Club and the Nalu Surf Club redefine the experience of surf culture and hospitality. The two luxury venues are located at the heart of Surf Abu Dhabi, the largest and most advanced artificial wave facility in the world.

 

Design Philosophy

The conceptual starting point was the dynamic moment when the surfer meets the wave – immersion, resistance, flow and the eventual return to calm. This sequence of intensity and release is translated into an architectural narrative, where rhythm, pause and movement organize the transition between the two venues and guide the visitor’s spatial experience.

 

 

Spatial Organization

Ilios Beach Club expresses the harmony and elegance of surf culture. The ground floor opens visually towards the surrounding landscape, while the first-floor lounge functions as a point of pause, offering panoramic views of the setting. Throughout the day, lighting and atmosphere gradually shift, creating a transition from daylight conditions to a more theatrical nighttime environment.

In contrast, the Nalu Surf Club embodies the vibrant and unpretentious energy of the surf lifestyle. Warm tones and textures reminiscent of sand, salt and weathered wood create a more grounded atmosphere. The ground floor remains active throughout the day, while the first-floor VIP lounge provides a more private and inward-looking experience.

At the center of the complex lies the striking wave pool, measuring 65m in length and 14m in width, which defines the scale, rhythm and intensity of the architectural composition. The curves of the waves are translated into undulating ceilings, fluid lines, multiple levels and axial pathways that shape movement throughout the complex.

 

 

Materials & Lighting

The material palette reinforces this sense of flow and continuity. Travertine, oak timber, teak and iroko, ribbed glass, sculptural details and finishes made from natural fibers create a warm and tactile environment.

Natural lighting and cross ventilation are maximized, strengthening the connection between the space and the elements of wind and sun – essential aspects of the surfing experience. At the same time, a multilayered artificial lighting scheme highlights the curves and geometries of the architecture, emphasizing the spatial composition during nighttime hours.

Through Ilios and Nalu, a unified architectural ensemble emerges, balancing flow and stillness. The result is a multisensory hospitality experience rooted in rhythm, equilibrium and the authenticity of surf culture.

 

Dialogue of place & structure

The building design reflects Nikos Ktenàs’ belief that architecture emerges from a profound dialogue between place, structure, and human presence. Situated within one of Athens’ urban suburbs, the project explores the relationship between private living and the expansive cityscape.

 

Design Philosophy

The making of the building is regarded as an investigative process, where the design draws from the immediate site, eventually “returning” to the landscape a new scale and form. The composition is minimal and clear, celebrating the honesty of materials avoiding shallow, imitative gestures. Specifically, concrete – a rather popular, albeit misunderstood, material in Athens – becomes a medium of authenticity used for both structural stability and material texture.

 

Functional Layout

The project unfolds vertically, creating a sequence of shifting interior and exterior spaces. A transparent core, placed at the edge of the concrete façade, contains the central staircase that becomes the primary circulation route throughout the residence, allowing in parallel ample natural light to enter the space. Each level establishes a different visual connection with the city, reinforcing the relationship with urban space. The concrete blocks retreat at times, forming terraces, intermediate balconies and deep windows, crafting a residence that is both private and public, introspective and outward-looking.

 

 

Material Palette

Concrete is the material protagonist of the design, where its tactile presence is intentionally left visible. In contrast, the glass-clad staircase introduces lightness and a transparent quality that break up the building’s solidity. In the interior, metallic elements, shutters and railings add a layer of precision throughout the space, reinforcing the building’s modernist character.

 

Sculpted Skin

The building, through its structural logic, addresses the reinvention of the apartment-building typology, positioning the uncovered courtyard (akalyptos) as the central entrance space and as a transitional zone between the city and the private living areas.

 

Design Philosophy

The akalyptos becomes a spatial pause, a moment of shift from horizontal to vertical movement, from public domain to private realm. This reinterpretation restores to the akalyptos the spatial significance of a contemporary atrium: a central void through which visitors access the surrounding living areas, and which, in turn, projects outward to complete the urban façade.

 

 

 

Structural System & Façade

The load-bearing structure, composed of exposed reinforced concrete, frames only the central atrium, supporting the floor slabs as cantilevers. This arrangement provides maximum freedom in configuring both the apartment layouts and the exterior façades.

These façades are conceived as a self-supporting “sculpted skin,” incorporating essential functions of the residences through voids, projections, bay windows, and fully operable glazing. The result is a volume that appears monolithic yet permeable – transparent in selected fragments that frame views of the immediate urban context.

 

 

Urban Integration

The top floor is designed as a “hanging garden.” Toward the interior of the block, it is enclosed by a solid continuous wall of exposed concrete; toward the city, it is defined by the upper edge of the self-supporting façade. At this elevated level, the interplay between these two structural elements enables visitors to reorient themselves and reconsider the building’s relationship to the broader urban fabric.

 

 

Nikos Ktenas became widely known through his project “Inside-Out” -one of the most iconic apartment buildings in Athens. The building not only transformed the urban landscape of Neo Psychiko, standing out as a radically contemporary proposal, but was also honored with the 2013-2017 Architecture Award of the Hellenic Institute of Architecture. As an architectural gesture, “Inside-Out” established itself as a landmark, offering a creative and timely reinterpretation of the apartment-building typology, with a distinct impact on both the building’s internal organization and its external form.

 

Maria Kokkinou and Andreas Kourkoulas established their architectural practice in 1987. Both having studied in Athens and London, they have since worked on a diverse range of public and private buildings, tackling projects of varying scales. Their work is regularly featured in publications both in Greece and internationally. Over the past three decades, together with their practice partners, they have continually sought new typologies, innovative construction methods, and original materials, shaping a distinctive and forward-thinking approach to architecture.

 

S.M: You have closely observed the rapid transformation of Greek society from the post-independence era, spanning the 1980s to the decade of economic crisis in the 2010s, all while producing architectural work. What changes have you witnessed in the perception of architecture in Greece, in its design and construction processes, and how have these shifts influenced your own approach to design?

KK: The fall of the dictatorship marked the end of Greece’s period of introversion and ushered in a new era of creative exploration for Greek architecture. Gradually, though not without challenges, Greek architects became involved in international architectural discussions and produced work that addressed both individual buildings and broader urban issues. However, the economic crisis had a devastating impact, halting this momentum and driving many of the most talented young architects abroad. Construction activity plummeted by 90%. Recently, there has been a modest recovery, primarily in tourism and, to a lesser extent, in the repurposing of existing buildings. The future of Greek architecture will depend on the country’s ability to bring this generation of architects back home and integrate them into the recovery process.

 

S.M: Early in his career, after establishing himself as an architect, Rem Koolhaas declared that architectural competitions are pointless. What has been your experience with architectural competitions, and how do you view his statement?

KK: Competitions are valuable, particularly because they provide an opportunity for young talents to emerge from obscurity. The OMA team, with whom we had the privilege of working in London during the 1980s, is a prime example of how competitions can offer such opportunities. However, like any competitive process, the outcome is largely determined by the quality of the judges and their ability to assess submissions from a comprehensive perspective. This is an issue we must seriously consider, particularly when evaluating the results of such processes in our country. In Greek football, for instance, we have adopted the solution of using foreign referees.

 

S.M: Building production does not rely solely on architects. Who do you believe architecture is truly for, and what examples from your own experience can you provide to elaborate on this?

KK: Architecture is for everyone. Throughout each phase of civilization, this “everyone” takes on a specific form. In our country, it has evolved through countless phases, where civil engineers and technicians played the dominant role. Gradually, from the post-independence period onward, the profession’s prestige began to rise. However, we must also acknowledge our responsibilities and recognize the tragic mistakes, particularly in urban planning during the 20th century, which significantly undermined the reputation of architecture.

 

Read the full interview at the  241 | October 2019 ek issue.

Erieta Attali, photographer and university professor, has been exploring the relationship between architecture and landscape at the edges of the world for two decades. Her photographic work investigates how extreme conditions lead humanity to reorient itself and rediscover its center, through architectural responses. She taught architectural photography for 15 years at Columbia University’s architecture department in New York, and as Visiting Professor at the architecture departments of the Catholic University of Santiago in Chile, the Technion in Haifa, Israel, the University of Tokyo, and many others. Since January 2020 she has been Assistant Professor in the architecture department of Cooper Union in New York, and since January 2021 she has been Visiting Professor at the National University of Singapore, while simultaneously photographing and publishing photography and architecture books with renowned publishers in Germany.

 

S.M.: You are among the few architectural photographers who work on large-scale constructions, bridges being a characteristic example. Where does this particular interest come from? As a woman photographer, have you faced difficulties due to the special demands of such photo shoots?

EA: I was born in Tel Aviv where I lived until I was four years old, before moving to Istanbul. Among the many advantages of living in such a place, I was able to witness up close the construction of the Bosporus Bridge, which was a very significant moment in the city’s history, as it united East and West. From a construction perspective, in such a dramatic landscape as the Bosporus, I was deeply impressed as a little girl. Among my fantasies of traveling and crossing the entire world was also the dream of filming the experience of a new landscape through the creation of a megastructure.

On July 14, 2016, I was fortunate to attend a conference at the V&A Museum in London, titled “Beyond the Bridge.”On the list of speakers, I saw the biography of Marc Mimram. I didn’t know who he was, but I was curious to hear him talk about his work. I was astonished by his award-winning bridges in Morocco, China, and Kehl—just to name a few. I had just discovered someone whose mission was to connect geographies, the seas with the land. I saw curves sinking into the water, windows opening to the sky, reflecting, floating, and creating new crossroads. Looking at Mimram’s bridges was like immersing myself in Max Ernst’s painting Humboldt Current (1951–52). By that time, I had already photographed across the world and had just completed my PhD studies in Australia, with important photographic monographs ready for publication. I had also been a long-distance runner since I was very young. My first routes were through the lush Princes’ Islands. Running was a reflective experience, I felt attuned to the rhythm of the tree trunks.

When you run, you gain a physical experience of the landscape. You are neither a spectator nor a theoretical commentator. The process is not necessarily comfortable, but it offers a unique perspective, which I have carried into my profession and my research. The runner is exposed to nature, to vegetation, dust, and weather conditions. Choosing the right route takes on an existential dimension. The physical dimension of photography, which is often overlooked, is a very important element in my work. The constant attraction I feel for extremes is, above all, an existential condition related to the exploration of the physical and psychological limits of humanity. I express this by choosing inaccessible landscapes, with heavy loads of equipment, and through a general perspective shaped by the years I spent as a long-distance runner.

 

 

S.M.: What is it that makes architectural photography a distinct category, in your experience?

EA: Looking back at my student years as a photography student and later as an archaeological photographer—while landscape remained my main focus—I always aimed to identify structures and, through composition, integrate them into a new, composite landscape. I use the word “structures” in the broadest sense, since for many years these were either natural formations, such as stones or plants, or—especially at the beginning of my career—ancient ruins. The search for structures stemmed from the need to identify and investigate relationships among these solitary elements—almost imaginary characters—and the landscape. The intensity of the transition from one to the other provoked my curiosity, through their dialogue.

Through my experience as a photographer of archaeology, landscape, and—for the past twenty-five years—architecture, I worked to create a visual language where the separation between content (human-made structures) and environment (natural or urban) is dissolved and their relationship is inverted. Architecture is regarded as one of the elements of its environment. At the same time, the environment penetrates architecture and is filtered through it. This interpretation recalls the architect Bruno Taut, who considered architecture as an act of “designing relationships” rather than the organization of “forms within light” or the simple geometrization of architectural space.

Architectural photography (not necessarily “architectural photography” as a genre) can reveal and intensify the interaction between artifacts and their respective environments, transcending the utilitarian, documentary dimension of the medium, so that it functions as a tool of interpretation and understanding. Human-made structures are always situated within an environment: natural, urban, or even an abstract landscape that is constantly evolving. Awareness of this environment provides not only information and better understanding of the subject of photography, but also a glimpse into the natural forces that affect it and, perhaps, shaped its initial conception.

 

 

S.M.: Your photographic work is based on systematic research, seeking a unique narrative. How do you approach your subject each time? What do you prepare, and what do you leave “open”?

EA: I use narrative as a counter-mechanism to the use of images that function emblematically. Exploring ways to further develop the narrative character of architectural photography and aiming to move away from an iconic image, toward a cinematic expression, I discover and capture transitions: circadian, seasonal, climatic—as they appear in architectural materials, crystalline formations, and plants. While working, I realized the importance of wandering, both as an analytical tool for understanding space and as a narrative tool for communicating it.

Although there is an astonishing range of freely available photographs, through print and digital channels, monographs and special editions focusing on specific regions, styles, or materials, the majority are homogeneous in the way they visually communicate architecture. This common language stems both from how architectural photographers have learned to approach the built environment and from the demands of publishers, who dictate a particular method of documentation they want. Even in such a tiring professional environment dominated by sameness, there are still photographers who persist in devoting days to becoming familiar with their subject.

The photographic perspective I had developed coincided with the work of Kengo Kuma, without me having studied either his theoretical stance or his built works. His work happened to express what I was seeking through photography: being in absolute osmosis with the landscape, while in fact being within architecture. As a matter of principle, I never study architects’ texts.

I interpret their architecture myself through a subjective exploration, with the camera and in relation to the landscape. This approach is always enriched by close discussions, but it always begins on-site and through the lens.

Read the full interview in ek issue ek 260 | September 2021.