In an era defined by speed, liquidity and architectural spectacle, permanence has become a radical proposition. Across Europe and North America, a familiar question has quietly re-entered the architectural debate: what makes a building truly belong to its city? Not temporarily. Not as a visual statement. But as part of its long-term urban memory.  Over the past decades, development has often prioritized efficiency, branding and rapid turnover. Streets have gained square meters, yet frequently lost character. Buildings are completed, marketed and traded—sometimes before they have fully entered the civic life around them. In such an environment, responsibility is often fragmented.  Against this backdrop, the work of the German developer Ralf Schmitz presents a markedly different model. Founded in 1864 and building under the family’s own name, the company operates with a time horizon that extends well beyond the typical project cycle. For Ralf Schmitz, reputation is not a marketing tool but a multi-generational asset. Risk is not externalized. Accountability is personal.  This principled approach to building is amplified through Ralf Schmitz’s recurring collaborations with Sebastian Treese Architekten and other acclaimed practices such as Petra and Paul Kahlfeldt Architekten. Their shared body of work is characterized by a refusal to treat buildings as isolated objects. Instead, their projects serve as empirical evidence of a logic of permanence.  In Berlin, projects such as Eisenzahn 1 (Sebastian Treese Architekten, completed 2017) deploy a classical vocabulary with tactile precision, restoring a sense of dignity to the historic district of Wilmersdorf. The façade articulation—with its rhythmic fenestration and carefully resolved tectonic transitions—demonstrates how new construction can integrate seamlessly into established residential quarters of the German capital.  The villas at Wernerstrasse / Menzelstrasse (Petra and Paul Kahlfeldt Architekten, 2018) in Berlin-Grunewald comprise a pair of elegant brick residences set within generous gardens, where classical proportion meets contemporary craftsmanship.  Another example of this synthesis can be found in The Alexander (Sebastian Treese Architekten, 2019) on Emser Strasse in Berlin, near Kurfürstendamm, as well as in Achenbachstrasse (Sebastian Treese Architekten, 2021) in Düsseldorf-Zoo. These buildings are distinguished by their striking brick façades, employing textured masonry that allows them to mature gracefully within their urban context.  In a similar vein, the project on Kissinger Strasse (Sebastian Treese Architekten) in Berlin, due for completion in 2027, serves as a study in proportion and scale. Through rhythmic intervals in its façade articulation, the building achieves a human scale that avoids the anonymity typical of much contemporary development. Taken together, these projects—and the careful integration of new structures into established neighborhoods—confirm that Ralf Schmitz’s built work is the direct result of the intellectual leadership of its current management.

The Logic of Permanence: A Conversation with Dr. Axel M. Schmitz

The strategic relevance of a developer’s name is a vital, yet often overlooked, component of architectural quality. In an industry dominated by single-purpose development vehicles—frequently designed to limit long-term liability—the Schmitz family’s decision to build under their own name for five generations entails a fundamentally different risk profile.  Dr. Axel M. Schmitz, the current head of the family business, sees this not as a marketing exercise but as a matter of principle. Building under a family name creates a responsibility that looks in two directions: back to the forebears of 1864 and forward to the residents who may inhabit these buildings a century from now. This long-term perspective treats the family name as the company’s most valuable asset, ensuring that quality is upheld as a safeguard against reputational erosion. To explore these ideas in depth, we spoke with Dr. Axel M. Schmitz, representing the fifth generation of family leadership.  Your company has roots going back to 1864. How have tradition and family legacy shaped your personal philosophy as a developer?  Our long tradition defines the way we act in a very particular way. Each generation carries responsibility in two directions. On the one hand, we feel accountable to future generations—with the ambition to hand over a respected, stable company. On the other, we also feel a deep responsibility toward those who came before us. We owe it to them to continue and develop what they built, not to dilute it. In that sense, there is a real sense of obligation toward the work that has already been done.  This mindset has a direct impact on how we make decisions: how much risk we are willing to take, the level of quality we deliver, and the time horizons we work with. Unlike many developers, we do not create a new brand for every project. We always build under our own name. As a family and as a company, we stand fully behind every project we develop.  We are not risk-averse in a conventional sense—that would be unrealistic in our industry—but we are very deliberate. We avoid unnecessary risk, and we do not gamble on success. Quality is therefore essential to us, not only because it is economically sound, but because our name itself is one of our most valuable assets. It distinguishes us from competitors and reflects on every person in the company who gives their best every day.  This approach often means that we take more time. We think things through carefully. But once we commit to a project, we pursue it with great consistency and determination. For us, a healthy company must, of course, be profitable. But long-term success has always mattered far more than short-term gains.  What does 'classical architecture' mean to you in the 21st century, and why is it important in the contemporary urban context?  We do not build in a classical or traditional language because we reject modern architecture, or because we believe contemporary design is inherently wrong. That is not the case.  What guides us is a much more fundamental question: where do people genuinely feel at ease, and what kind of architecture proves sustainable over time? And by sustainable, I do not primarily mean technical performance, but buildings that are perceived positively in the streetscape for decades—or even centuries—while offering people a true sense of home inside.  Humanity has been building houses for thousands of years. Some of them have survived the passage of time and still inspire people today. Others are demolished after thirty years, sometimes even sooner. That cannot be sustainable.  Whenever something develops over a long period, two things emerge: well-established principles that have proven to work, and experiments that attempt something new. Experimentation is necessary, and occasionally it leads to valuable discoveries. But we do not see ourselves as experimenters.  Our responsibility is to build homes in which people feel comfortable today—and which future generations will still value a hundred years from now. That is why we consciously draw on the rules of architecture that have proven themselves over decades, centuries, even millennia.  We do not judge those who choose a different path. But repeating the same mistakes over and over again is not progress.It is also important to distinguish clearly between the external architectural language and the way a building functions on the inside.  While we often choose a more classical, traditional expression for the building envelope, the apartments themselves are designed entirely for contemporary life. Floor plans, room proportions, circulation, and technical infrastructure have changed fundamentally over time—simply because the way people live today is very different from how they lived a century ago.  In this respect, it would be wrong to assume that what worked well in the past can be transferred unchanged to the present. Modern living requires different spatial concepts, different levels of comfort, and entirely different building systems and environmental technologies. This is where adaptation is not only reasonable, but necessary.  In our work, classical architecture is therefore not about reproducing historical lifestyles. It is about combining a timeless external form with interiors that respond intelligently to today’s needs and expectations.  Why do you think the public consistently prefers traditional streetscapes, while professionals so often dismiss them?  I believe this difference stems largely from the way architecture is evaluated.  Many architects and planners are educated in a highly theoretical, often ideological environment. I know excellent academic institutions led by professors who have never designed a building that was actually built—let alone spent time engaging with its future residents or buyers over the long term.  The general public approaches architecture very differently. People judge buildings by how they feel, how they age, and how they accompany everyday life. One of the most rewarding moments for me is when the scaffolding comes down and I can simply stand nearby and hear passersby say, “That actually turned out beautifully.” That kind of response cannot be theorized—it is immediate and genuine.  Within professional circles, novelty is often valued above all else: what is new, what deviates, what experiments. The public, on the other hand, lives with the consequences for decades. Over time, this creates a very clear sense of what endures and what does not.  If you could change one common misconception about classical architecture in real estate, what would it be?  One of the most common misconceptions is that classical architecture is backward-looking or nostalgic. But it is not about recreating the past. At its core, it is about timeless principles—about proportion, scale, and order—rather than imitation.  Our architecture is thoroughly contemporary and highly functional. The buildings respond to modern lifestyles, and in many cases the floor plans, technical systems, and level of comfort are more advanced and more closely aligned with today’s needs than in many buildings that present themselves as “contemporary” on the outside.  Classical architecture is also often misunderstood as a form of luxury for its own sake. While it can indeed be more demanding and therefore more costly to build, it is economically sound in the long term. These buildings tend to be more durable, retain their value better, and are ultimately more sustainable because they are made to last.  Another misconception is that working within a classical language limits creativity. In reality, it requires a high degree of discipline, a deep understanding of proportion, and great design precision. In many ways, it is more challenging to work within these proven principles than to simply discard them. Translating this accumulated knowledge into a contemporary context demands sensitivity, experience, and a great deal of effort.  Finally, classical architecture does not appeal only to a small, conservative audience. Our experience shows quite the opposite: people from very different backgrounds respond positively to harmonious, well-proportioned urban spaces.  Like many European developers, your company experimented after the war with functionalist, modernist housing typologies that today are often seen as disposable or anonymous. What did that period teach you—and when did you realize something essential had been lost?  My grandfather built hundreds—sometimes more than a thousand—apartments per year in the post-war period. These were entirely different circumstances. Germany was devastated, and the shortage of housing was dramatic. When new projects were announced, people queued simply for the chance to apply for an apartment. The overriding goal was clear: to create as much housing as possible, as quickly as possible.  We have learned a great deal from that period—lessons that cut both ways.  On the one hand, there are buildings from the 1950s in my hometown that still stand today. They are simple, but in a quiet way they are beautiful. They fit naturally into the urban fabric, are highly functional, and are still inhabited by people who tell me—even now—how comfortable they feel living there. These buildings were created with remarkable efficiency and speed, reduced to what was truly necessary.  At the same time, that reduction sometimes went too far. While the buildings were not lacking in technical quality, something less tangible was occasionally lost. In some cases, architecture became faceless—buildings were created without a clear identity and without sufficient consideration for their surroundings or the urban context they were meant to belong to.  Also, in the drive for efficiency and speed, attention to proportion and human scale was not always maintained. As a result, many buildings from that era have not endured—not because they could not stand physically, but because they failed to age well in human terms.  When scale is lost, architecture becomes placeless. People feel interchangeable rather than rooted. That, for us, is perhaps the most important lesson of that time: efficiency is essential, but it must never come at the expense of proportion, identity, and the human experience of a place.  Have you ever walked away from a financially attractive project because it conflicted with your architectural values?  For me, a project is only truly an opportunity if we are able to take full responsibility for it—and if it allows us to build in a way that genuinely reflects what we stand for.  In that sense, the closest example is our conscious decision, over recent years, to step back from participating in many architectural competitions in Germany, particularly those related to large urban sites. Experience has shown that under certain jury compositions, which are quite common today, our approach often has little realistic chance of being carried through to realization.  This is not meant as a criticism of individual decisions, but rather as an observation about the system. Many of these competitions concern large-scale projects in highly prominent urban locations. In such cases, I believe it would be valuable if the perspectives of the people who will live with these buildings every day played a much stronger role in the decision-making process.  I can think of several instances where I am convinced that, had there been a broader, more civic-oriented form of jury, different designs might well have been selected than those ultimately built.  For us, choosing not to participate in such processes is therefore not about avoiding risk or opportunity, but about focusing our energy on projects where architectural responsibility and long-term conviction can truly be aligned.  It can be plausibly argued that today’s planning systems actively discourage beauty—how can a developer resist that pressure?  I would not say that planning systems deliberately discourage beauty. But it is true that today’s processes are strongly focused on what can be measured and regulated. Thermal performance, fire safety codes, accessibility, and acoustic insulation, these are all essential requirements. The challenge is that qualities such as proportion, human scale, and harmony are not easily quantifiable. As a result, they can become secondary if no one consciously defends them. Resisting that pressure requires persistence. It means not stopping at minimum compliance. It means refining details, arguing for proportion, and insisting that a building must contribute positively to its surroundings—not only technically, but spatially and emotionally.  For me, that is part of the responsibility of a developer: to ensure that regulatory complexity never pushes aside the human dimension of architecture.  What are the biggest challenges facing luxury residential developers committed to enduring architecture?  The central challenge is straightforward: enduring architecture costs more.  We invest more time in design, more care in detailing, and rely on highly skilled craftsmanship that has become increasingly rare. This inevitably results in higher construction costs—and therefore higher sales prices. We depend on clients who recognize and value that difference.  At the same time, traditional building expertise is becoming scarce. Fewer craftspeople master the techniques required for long-lasting, well-proportioned architecture, which further increases complexity and cost.  There is also a question of consistency. When a building presents a strong architectural identity, it rightly raises expectations. The quality visible on the exterior must continue throughout the interior, down to the smallest detail. For us, there is no separation between appearance and substance. That coherence requires discipline, time, and financial commitment.  Our projects also tend to take longer. Careful planning and execution extend construction periods and increase financing costs. In a market often driven by speed and short-term returns, this can appear demanding.  Yet the logic of durability differs fundamentally from the logic of speculation. Our clients have not merely preserved the value of their homes—many have seen them appreciate significantly over time. That long-term performance is not accidental; it is the result of building with conviction and restraint. Enduring architecture requires patience, but it consistently proves its economic strength.  What trends in urban living and architecture concern you most right now?  In Germany, the trend that concerns me most is that building has become extraordinarily expensive.  We operate within an extremely dense framework of regulations—tens of thousands of requirements. Most of them were introduced with good intentions: safety, energy efficiency, accessibility, environmental protection. Yet their cumulative effect is that housing is becoming increasingly unaffordable for ordinary people. And housing should never become a privilege for only a few.  When costs rise to that level, the instinctive reaction is predictable: everything that is not strictly required is eliminated. Projects are reduced to what is legally necessary in order to make them financially viable. The difficulty is that there is no regulation that mandates architectural quality, proportion, or a meaningful contribution to the public realm. These qualities are harder to measure—and therefore easier to sacrifice.  We can already see the results in many new developments: buildings optimized solely for regulatory compliance and that fulfill every requirement, yet often feel anonymous, interchangeable, and lacking in urban character.  For me, this raises a broader question about how we define sustainability. Sustainability should not be limited to technical performance. It must also include the long-term cultural and spatial quality of our cities—the experience of the street, the sense of identity, the way buildings age and contribute positively to their surroundings. If we take sustainability seriously in this wider sense, then we must be willing to question which requirements are truly essential and which may be well-intended but ultimately counterproductive.  My concern is therefore not only affordability—although that is urgent—but the cultural consequence of rising complexity and cost: a gradual erosion of architectural ambition. Building is not just about compliance. It is also about responsibility toward the city and the people who inhabit it every day.  When people walk past your buildings in 100 years, what do you hope they will say about them?  I hope people will not question them at all.  I hope they will simply feel as though the buildings belong there—as if they have always been part of the place. The greatest compliment would not be admiration, but acceptance. If, in a hundred years, someone walks past and thinks, “Of course this is here,” then we have done something right.  I also hope that there will still be people living in them who care enough to maintain them well. Buildings endure not only because of how they are constructed, but because someone values them. To see that they are still inhabited, looked after, and respected would mean a great deal to me.  And I believe they will still stand—as lasting parts of the city. If that is the case, then they will have fulfilled their purpose.