With its cool, crisp aesthetic of blue-grey veining on a gentle white background, Carrara marble's elegance defies its inherent density and weight. Its presence in high-end hospitality and residential settings makes it synonymous with timeless style while also creating a sizeable price tag. As such, moving it around at scale is not a process to be sniffed at.

At the Luni facility of Italian stone processor ST Segagione e Trasporti, near Carrara, marble handling is taking a step towards greater automation with the introduction of a new electric automated guided vehicle (AGV).

Developed by OMG Industry, the 330 BE AGV is designed to transport marble slabs weighing up to 19 tonnes between the different stages of production. The project combines automated material handling with digital production management and safety systems.

ST Segagione operates from a 12,500 m² facility where processing runs from raw blocks through to finished slabs. The company works with Carrara marbles including Bianco, Statuario and Calacatta, alongside stone sourced from other parts of the world. Slabs are not only heavy and bulky but also valuable and potentially vulnerable to damage. Until now, movements around the facility were mainly carried out using overhead, gantry and mobile cranes.

As Jacopo Dei, Technical Engineer at ST Segagione explains, “Marble is a heavy and bulky material, but at the same time it is extremely delicate and valuable. Our primary objective was to find partners capable of supplying robust, reliable and customized vehicles able to ensure maximum control when transporting materials.”

The company had already worked with OMG, introducing two radio-controlled vehicles that allowed operators to manoeuvre loads from a greater distance. The new AGV takes that assisted approach a stage further by removing the operator from the movement itself. The vehicle receives instructions from the production management system, travels to the slab-carrying trestle, positions itself underneath the load, lifts it and follows its designated route before depositing the slab at its destination.

“Our main requirement was to automate handling operations within the facility, minimizing waiting times and the risks associated with moving slabs from one processing stage to another,” says Dei. “Automation also allows us to further develop our internal production system, managing customer orders comprehensively and obtaining more reliable delivery date forecasts.”

The 330 BE has been engineered specifically for the demands of the application. Its reinforced frame and hydraulic system are designed for loads of up to 19,000kg, with a 120mm hydraulic lift. It uses a 6kW electric motor and lithium-compatible power electronics, with its maximum speed limited to 0.5m/s and reduced to 0.3m/s where required by safety conditions.  The navigation system uses magnetic markers installed in the floor, providing positioning accuracy of up to ±50mm. Safety detection systems create protective areas that vary according to the vehicle’s speed.

For ST Segagione, the importance extends beyond the introduction of an automated vehicle. “The most significant aspect is having demonstrated that advanced AGV automation can also be successfully applied to a ‘heavy-duty’ sector characterized by unique loads such as natural marble.”

The system is currently undergoing testing, with plans for the technology to extend into other operating areas of the facility, indoors and outdoors.

A six-foot-high stone burial mound is taking shape in the Nottinghamshire countryside, introducing a form of funerary architecture that has not been built in the Midlands for thousands of years. The contemporary barrow is the first of three planned for Nottinghamshire Memorial Park in Calverton, a 27-acre site being developed by family-owned funeral director A.W. Lymn.

The barrows have been designed and constructed by Sacred Stones, a specialist company formed in 2015 to design, build and administer contemporary barrows. Its co-founder Martin Fields has been responsible for constructing the UK's first four barrows to be built in thousands of years, establishing a contemporary interpretation of an ancient architectural form.

At Calverton, the traditional burial mound is being reinterpreted as a place for the interment of cremated remains using limestone blocks. Once complete, the three structures will provide more than 800 niches, offering an alternative to keeping ashes at home or scattering them elsewhere, with the first barrow is expected to open to the public in April 2027.

The design draws on the long history of barrows as places of burial and remembrance. Across Britain, prehistoric communities constructed mounds from earth and stone to mark burial sites, often positioning them prominently within the landscape. Rather than reproducing those monuments as archaeological replicas, Sacred Stones' contemporary barrows adapt the underlying idea of the mound as both architecture and landscape.

That relationship with the surrounding countryside is central to the Nottinghamshire scheme. The structures emerge from the ground rather than sitting apart from it, giving the memorial spaces a physical connection to the landscape. Within the mounds, the niches provide a more permanent setting for cremated remains, while the scale and form create spaces intended for reflection and remembrance.

The project also reflects a changing approach to funeral architecture. A.W. Lymn, which was established in Nottingham in 1907 and is now in its fifth generation, operates 36 funeral homes across the Midlands and offers funeral services spanning traditional and contemporary approaches. Nottinghamshire Memorial Park is its first family-owned cemetery and barrows site in the region.

“We know being bold and re-creating something from ancient times will be a popular choice for many who are looking for a special way to commemorate their loved ones,” says managing director Matthew Lymn Rose. “It is important to look ahead, but also reflect on traditions of the past.”

The first public preview of the Nottinghamshire Memorial Park is planned for 10 October 2026, when visitors will be able to explore the barrow and its interior for the first time.

Over the past year of our Surface Perspectives series, one of the clearest themes to emerge from the conversations is stone’s relationship with time. Natural stone is often described as a long-lasting material, but that description only tells part of the story. Longevity is not simply about whether a piece of stone survives. It is about whether it can continue to function, whether it can be maintained and repaired, and whether its changing appearance is accepted as part of its value.

For Emma Fairhurst of Collective Architecture, working with existing buildings makes that relationship particularly tangible. “The main benefits of stone are its longevity,” she says, pointing to projects where stone facades have been in place for more than 350 years.

That longevity, however, cannot be separated from the way a building is designed and looked after. Fairhurst stresses the importance of appropriate detailing and planning for maintenance from the outset. At Collective Architecture, she says, “material longevity and maintainability are always fundamental considerations.” The distinction is important: durable material does not make an entire building durable by itself. The details, interfaces, exposure and maintenance regime all influence how it performs over decades.

As you may expect, the same principle is evident in restoration, and for Tom Flemons of Cliveden Conservation, intervention begins with understanding what is already there. Identifying the stone, its geology and the way it was originally worked can determine whether a repair should be made and, where necessary, what replacement material is appropriate. Like-for-like repair is therefore not simply an exercise in matching colour or appearance. It is about maintaining the material logic of a building.

For Artur Kowalczyk of AK Surface Solutions, that understanding informs the practical business of restoration. “Almost every job needs a slightly different approach, especially with stone,” he says. Type, condition, finish, age and previous treatments can all affect the appropriate method. A worn or marked surface is not necessarily a failed one.

His work on historic surfaces demonstrates the value of that distinction. At Ipswich Museum, an original quarry tile floor dating from 1881 was restored rather than replaced, with the surface ground and sealed while retaining its character. As Kowalczyk puts it: “Instead of removing stone and sending it to waste, we can extend its life and make it beautiful again.”

The argument is equally relevant in contemporary interiors, where wear is often treated as a reason for replacement. While her company is intent on supporting clients in maintaining stone as best as possible, Becca Cranfield of Athena Stonecare offers an alternative perspective. “It doesn’t need to be perfect to be beautiful,” she says. “In fact, the more wear a surface has it creates a patina that tells the story of that stone in your home.”

That idea of patina challenges a relatively recent expectation that materials should remain visually unchanged throughout their useful life. Stone can alter through use without losing its usefulness or character. In some cases, those changes are precisely what make an interior feel established rather than newly installed.

For stonemason Blair Woodland, longevity also has a physical and cultural dimension. He describes stonework as “creative, physical, and permanent”, and his experience rebuilding a listed threshing barn using original stone, lime putty and traditional construction methods gave him a direct connection with techniques developed for buildings intended to endure. The permanence of the finished work is inseparable from the knowledge of how to construct it.

That knowledge is increasingly important, as fellow stonemason Rachael Wragg of Lincoln Cathedral points out in highlighting the vulnerability of traditional craft skills. As she observes, “it sadly only takes 2 generations for a craft skill to die out.” If there are fewer people able to carve, build, conserve and repair stone, the ability to maintain the existing built environment diminishes with them. Longevity therefore depends on a human infrastructure as well as a material one.

That rings true with artist Zoë Wilson, who makes sculpture from British stone that allows the characteristics of individual pieces to influence the finished work. Her ambition is explicitly long-term: “Perhaps most importantly, I hope to make work that lasts,” she says. “Stone has survived for thousands of years, and I like the idea that the sculptures I make today may still be appreciated by future generations.”

Across these different practices, longevity emerges as something as important, and perhaps even more active than durability. It involves designing buildings that can be maintained, repairing rather than replacing where appropriate, accepting the marks of use and retaining the knowledge needed to work with the material.

Stone’s ability to last is therefore only the beginning, and its greater value may lie in the fact that it can remain useful while buildings, interiors and objects around it change. A material that can be repaired, renewed and understood by successive generations has a different relationship with time from one designed to be replaced when its original appearance begins to fade.

Longevity, in this sense, is not simply the length of a material’s life, but the ability to keep it in use.

Training the next generation of cathedral craftspeople is only part of the challenge facing the conservation of England’s historic buildings, according to new national research from the Cathedrals’ Workshop Fellowship (CWF).

The 2026 Training Needs Analysis began as an investigation into training requirements but developed into a broader examination of what is needed to sustain the specialist workforce responsible for maintaining cathedral fabric. Its central question is how cathedral craft capacity can be maintained nationally, with the findings pointing to the importance of the infrastructure and experience surrounding apprentices as much as recruitment itself.

Stonemasonry is a significant part of the CWF network, alongside other specialist trades involved in cathedral conservation. The research highlights the practical difficulty of maintaining skilled workshop teams, particularly as experienced craftspeople approach retirement and opportunities to pass on knowledge become more limited.

At least seven member cathedrals identified succession challenges affecting their teams, while every surveyed member cathedral identified funding as a barrier to apprenticeships and training, with historic stained glass conservation identified as the craft skill most at risk.

The research suggests that a sustainable workforce requires a career-long approach rather than a single entry point into the industry. Recommendations include clearer progression routes, improver opportunities and continuing professional development, alongside greater support for tutors, mentors and supervisors. Investment in workshops, tools and facilities is also highlighted, as are exchanges and secondments that could allow knowledge and skills to move between cathedrals.

For a craft such as stonemasonry, where practical knowledge is often developed through prolonged experience with materials, tools and existing fabric, the workshop remains an important part of that process. The research consequently considers succession planning and the retention of experienced craftspeople alongside apprenticeship provision.

Michael Sheppard, Executive Director of the CWF, says: “The future of cathedral craft is not simply about recruiting more apprentices. We have to support the whole system around them - experienced craftspeople, supervisors, workshops, progression and the partnerships that allow knowledge to move between places.”

The findings are based on research by Social Research Builders, including 102 participants in interviews and focus groups, 72 of whom were craft and trade practitioners and 25 senior leaders. Researchers visited 13 participating member cathedrals and also spoke to people working elsewhere in the conservation sector. Surveys generated 39 responses across organisational, alumni and contractor groups. And there are encouraging signs too. Since 2009, 87 heritage craftspeople have trained through CWF, while 92% of surveyed alumni said the Fellowship had positively influenced their career development. Some 85% rated the quality of teaching as good or fantastic.

The research makes clear, however, that responsibility for maintaining these skills cannot sit with one organisation. It calls for greater collaboration between cathedrals, the Association of English Cathedrals, national church bodies, heritage organisations, education providers, funders and commercial conservation partners.

The recommendations are not yet a list of agreed CWF commitments, but instead set out the wider conditions needed to keep specialist cathedral craft knowledge in active use.

The full Training Needs Analysis and accompanying publications are available from Cathedrals’ Workshop Fellowship.

Copenhagen-based gruppe-aja is a material-led architectural practice inspired by the principles of bricolage. The studio works directly with manufacturers, stonemasons, scrap dealers, cemeteries and private individuals to source materials that might otherwise be discarded. In their hands, reclaimed materials, waste streams and whatever resources can be found close to a project are treated as an active part of the design process, challenging the conventional sequence of designing architecture before selecting its finishes. 

Drawing with materials from the outset and allowing their physical qualities, availability and histories to shape the work are at the core of their practice, with gravestones, drill cores and granite offcuts used in a series of recent hardscape projects.

For this Surface Perspectives, the team discusses its material-first approach, the value of working directly with reclaimed stone and the need to extend the life of existing materials rather than downcycle them.

What does a typical day look like for you?

A typical day can take us anywhere—from our office in Copenhagen to a building site, or out searching for materials at industries and businesses close to the site. We work primarily with reclaimed materials and scraps, so we spend a lot of time finding the right materials for each project. We source or purchase materials from brick manufacturers, stonemasons, scrap dealers, private individuals, cemeteries, and many other places. Materials are everywhere in abundance—you just have to know where to look.

How integral are materials/surfaces to your day-to-day? 

Materials are at the core of our studio. We are a material-based architectural practice, working almost like bricoleurs—using whatever materials are at hand. Rather than designing the architecture first and applying materials at the end, we draw with materials from the very beginning. The material itself becomes part of the design process.

What are the biggest lessons you have taken forward from your original training? 

We are all trained as architects at the Royal Danish Academy in Copenhagen. Our education taught us to think as spatial designers, often designing remotely from the site. Our practice is somewhat unconventional in that we spend a great deal of time designing directly with materials and on site. Working this way has changed how we approach architecture and has made the physical material an active part of our design process.

Which project/s are you most proud of being involved with and why?

We are proud of all our projects, but we would especially like to highlight our latest landscape project at Lila. The project was made entirely from scraps sourced from a local stonemason. We used gravestones, drill cores, and old granite offcuts to create the hardscape. It is a good example of how discarded materials can become valuable architectural resources when you look at them differently.

What do you feel are the main challenges facing the stone and surfaces industry today?

Stone has the huge advantage of having an exceptionally long lifespan, which is one of the reasons we love working with reclaimed stone. We need to become better at extending the life of natural stone rather than treating it as waste. When we no longer know how to use a piece of stone, it too often ends up as road fill. There is so much potential in finding new uses for existing stone before it is downcycled.

In your opinion, what are the positives of using stone in the built environment? 

Stone is beautiful, robust, and extremely durable. Its longevity also makes it particularly valuable from a reuse perspective.

How does sustainability shape your thinking and decision-making, and how do materials fit into this?

Sustainability is one of the guiding principles of our practice, and it informs almost every decision we make. Working with reclaimed materials is not only a way of reducing waste—it is also an exciting and creative way of working. There is something genuinely fun about discovering what is already available and allowing those materials to shape the architecture.

The refurbishment of a modest bungalow in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, has given nimtim architects an opportunity to consider how accessibility, longevity and material character can be embedded into a home without making any of them feel like additions. Evermore retains and extends the existing structure to create a 151-square-metre house designed around changing needs, everyday rituals and a long-term relationship with its occupants.

South London-based nimtim works across architecture, landscape and interiors, with projects shaped closely around the people who use them. Here, that collaborative approach was particularly important. Julia and Simon had been living in a basement flat in North London that could not accommodate Julia’s changing mobility needs. After discovering Aldeburgh and buying the bungalow in 2021, they asked the practice to turn it into a home they could remain in for decades.

The existing plan was stripped back, replacing its small, enclosed rooms with a continuous ground floor. Wide circulation routes, pocket doors and a gently sloping ramp integrated into the front garden allow movement through the house without thresholds. Rather than producing a clinical accessible environment, nimtim has used material, colour and built-in elements to give the spaces a domestic identity.

Along with practicality, longevity was a key part of the brief, as the clients wanted a house that could last for around 30 years without constant repair or redecoration, and material choices were consequently made for their durability, maintenance requirements and ability to age.

The exterior is wrapped in deep red Viroc, a cement-bonded board selected for its resilience in Aldeburgh’s exposed coastal environment. Its rusty tone gives the otherwise simple bungalow a distinctive presence, while aluminium windows and doors are colour-matched to create a continuous surface treatment. Inside, the same family of colour appears in the bathrooms, where burnt-orange microcrete provides a robust, seamless finish suited to the threshold-free wet rooms.

The main living spaces take a quieter approach, where clay plaster from Clayworks gives the walls a soft, matt texture, with White-08 Smooth and Mica Smooth used through the double-height space and Nude-02 Smooth elsewhere. The subtle variation avoids making the open-plan arrangement feel uniform, while allowing daylight to register across the walls. Timber flooring brings warmth underfoot, while microcement continues the deliberately low-maintenance approach into the wet areas. Pale duck-egg-blue cabinetry adds another layer of colour to the kitchen and pantry.

The kitchen forms the social centre of the plan, reflecting Simon’s interest in cooking and preserving. Lowered worktops and storage make the space accessible, while a double-height void and skylight draw daylight into the middle of the house. The ground-floor bedroom opens directly onto this shared area through sliding pocket doors, allowing it to remain connected to daily life or become private when required.

That flexibility continues upstairs, where a mezzanine accommodates Simon’s workspace and has been planned to allow for a future live-in carer. Elsewhere, a guest room can be separated from the main living space with a sliding door and includes its own shower.

Art and collected objects are treated as part of the architecture rather than decoration added afterwards. A continuous recessed picture rail allows Julia and Simon to rearrange their collection over time, while bespoke shelving incorporates ceramics and objects gathered through years of travel.

The environmental strategy follows the same principle of doing more with what already exists. Retaining and extending the bungalow reduced embodied carbon, while high levels of insulation, triple glazing and an air-source heat pump support operational performance. Rainwater is collected beneath the garden for irrigation, with provision for future photovoltaic panels.

Evermore demonstrates how adaptation can be the starting point for a more durable kind of domestic architecture: one where accessibility, personal identity and material longevity are considered together rather than solved separately.

All images © Jim Stephenson

As we continue to mark the one-year anniversary of our Surface Perspectives series, we’re bringing together some of the themes that have emerged across the conversations to look more closely at the specification and use of stone.

The first article considered what informed specification means in practice, and why understanding performance, application and long-term value matters as much as appearance. But that raises another question: what happens when we stop thinking about stone primarily as a surface?

Across the interviews, there is a recurring sense that stone’s potential is much broader. It can be structural, sculptural, engineered, repaired, carved and integrated into architecture in ways that challenge the familiar distinction between structure and finish.

For Alex Bertrand of The Stonemasonry Company, that distinction is fundamental. His training with the Compagnons du Devoir du Tour de France gave him a grounding in stereotomy, geometry and the structural behaviour of stone. “The key lesson was that stone must be understood as a structural material first, not just a finish,” he says.

That perspective has helped inform the company’s development of post-tensioned, load-bearing stone systems, allowing extremely slender stone structures while maintaining safety and durability. It is an approach that challenges the assumption that stone belongs primarily to historic buildings, traditional construction or as a surface finish alone, which was underlined by the team's involvement with the Stone Demonstrator.

Another collaborative project that the company has been involved in is the pioneering 317 Finchley Road, which Ben Ayling of Lundhs points to as an example of what becomes possible when that assumption is challenged. The residential project is a rare UK example of load-bearing stone, and for Ayling it demonstrates what can happen “when stone is treated as a structural material rather than just a surface.”

The distinction is important because the conventional use of stone can involve separating the material from the building’s structure. Thin stone is fixed to steel or concrete, with the stone effectively becoming a finish applied to another construction system. Tamsin Pickeral of Szerelmey questions whether this is always the most productive way to think about the material.

“Stone lasts pretty much forever,” she says, pointing to the historic record of buildings and monuments that have survived for centuries. But she also notes that modern construction often involves slimmed-down stone fixed to steel or concrete, whereas traditionally “the stone was the structure”.

She does not suggest that traditional construction can simply be reinstated across the board. Instead, seeing opportunities for structural and post-tensioned stone in appropriate projects, potentially reducing the amount of steel and concrete required.

For Marcus Paine of Hutton Stone, this broader understanding of stone also requires greater knowledge of the material itself. As a fifth-generation quarrier and supplier, he is conscious of both “the potential and the limitations” of different stone types. That knowledge affects what can be extracted, how it can be worked and how it should ultimately be specified.

Stonemason Blair Woodland arrives at a similar conclusion through the much more tactile experience of laying stone. “Stone is never just a material, it defines the finished work,” he says. His experience working with slate in Cornwall has shown him how much variation can exist even between quarries situated only a few miles apart. As a result, colour, size and character all become part of the decision-making.

Perhaps unsurprisingly for sculptor and historic stone carver, Zoë Wilson, that individuality can also be a design asset. She works almost exclusively with British stone, allowing its geology to influence the finished work. “The geology, colour, fossil content and texture all influence the finished piece,” she says. Rather than attempting to remove those characteristics, her work allows them to remain visible.

Kitchen designer Faye Newman highlights that the same principle can apply to interior design. She sees stone as an opportunity to move beyond the conventional worktop, using full slabs to create splashbacks, shelves, islands and waterfall ends, while translucent stone can be backlit, while changes in thickness can become part of the design itself. For architects House of EM, materials similarly influence more than the appearance of a room. Emma Bodie and Matthew Sanders describe handling samples to assess tone, texture and finish, but also how materials will age and perform. “Materials aren’t just decorative; they shape the mood, character, and identity of a home.”

Even as an artist, that idea of material as an active part of architecture also emerges in Livia Spinolo’s work. Her practice brings together stone, clay, metals and found materials, with physical properties informing the development of each project. “The artwork usually develops from the material’s inherent characteristics rather than from an imposed artificial aesthetic,” she says.

Her Portland stone installation Ab Initio takes that principle into the landscape, using the physical properties of the stone to create a sculptural habitat. Here, stone is neither simply structure nor finish, but an element with an ecological function.

The conversations therefore suggest that the most interesting question is not whether stone should be regarded as structure or surface. It is whether the distinction is useful at all. When its strength, weight, geology, texture, variability and capacity for repair are understood, stone becomes a much more active design material. It can determine form as well as finish, influence construction as well as appearance, and contribute to the identity of a building rather than simply dressing it.

For an industry accustomed to treating stone as one material choice among many surface options, that represents a significant shift. The opportunity is not necessarily to use more stone, but to understand more fully what the stone already being specified can do.

London-based Nebbia Works was founded in 2018 by architects Madhav Kidao and Brando Posocco, who met while working at Heatherwick Studio. The practice is both making and material-centred, working across various scales and 3D disciplines, with architecture at its core. Notable projects to date range from cultural and public spaces to collaborations with brands including the V&A, Royal Academy of Arts, Coachella and Bulgari.

Fabrication and the physical qualities of materials inform projects from their earliest stages, which is particularly evident in Interlude, a monumental stone installation in Queenstown, New Zealand, where large raw boulders were digitally surveyed and fabricated before being shaped and assembled by local stonemasons.

Here, Madhav Kidao and Brando Posocco discuss their material-led approach, the challenges and opportunities of working with stone at an architectural scale, and why ageing, weathering and longevity are integral to the way they think about materials.

SS: Across Nebbia Works' projects, material seems to be an active part of the design process rather than something applied at the end. How does materiality shape your thinking from the earliest stages of a project, and what are you looking for in a material before you decide to work with it?

NW: Material exploration and experimentation has always been central to our design practice, and it's often among the earliest choices we make when starting a project. We're fascinated by the process of making, but also by the storytelling and sensory qualities that different materials bring to a project.

Material choice varies from project to project. We don't see ourselves as specialists in any one material or process. Sometimes a brief naturally points us towards a particular material; other times there's something we've been experimenting with in-house that we're looking for an excuse to use. We want our work to be honest about its construction and materiality, so the final outcome is most often a result of those early material choices and the fabrication process we select.

SS: Your work spans architecture, landscape, sculpture and objects, often sitting somewhere between art and the built environment. How does working across these different scales and disciplines influence the way you think about materials, and what keeps drawing you back to stone?

NW: Different scales ask different questions of a material. It's exciting to take everything we've learned about a material at one scale and see how much still holds true once you scale it up or down: which approaches still work, and what becomes possible instead. That's tied to the material's physical properties, such as its strength, malleability and brittleness, as well as to the qualities of its finish, where we might actively bring out a patina or try to mask it, and even to logistics and economics, where the practicalities of transport and installation can dictate our choice of material even when it satisfies every other requirement.

Stone speaks to all of these qualities at once, and there's a sweet spot where it makes the most sense. We'd been keen to use stone in its rawest, most monumental form for some time. There's a visceral power to it that we love, but it never quite came together until the opportunity for Interlude came up.

SS: You have described Interlude as a place to inhabit, converse, rest and reflect rather than simply a monument to look at. How does designing with stone change when the material is intended to be physically encountered and used?

NW: There are practical implications: making sure walkable surfaces are finished or treated to be non-slip (in this case, flamed steps with an additional anti-slip coating), as well as implications for the structural assembly, such as reinforced foundations and connection joints (earthquake mitigation was a factor here too).

But it was just as important to us to retain as much of the stone's original character as possible, to give as deep a tactile and symbolic connection to nature and geological time as we could. So we tried to do as little as possible to the source boulders. The main design driver was often simply the logistics of transporting such large, heavy pieces.

SS: The project combines photogrammetry and digital fabrication with significant hand shaping by local stonemasons. How do you see the relationship between digital technology and traditional stoneworking, and what can each bring to the other?

NW: We often work between digital and physical tools, trying to bring out the best of both. On this project, being based on the literal opposite side of the world from the site and fabricators (London to Queenstown, New Zealand) meant we had to lean on multiple forms of technology to design, adjust and communicate with the local fabricators, to bridge both the distance and the time difference. Ideally we'd have been at the quarry to talk through stone selection, cuts and shaping in person with the stonemasons, but beyond an initial visit that wasn't possible.

Having the team send us 360° videos of each stone let us build accurate 3D mesh models using photogrammetry software. From those, we could assemble the stones digitally and relay cutting instructions, or even CNC milling files. These were primarily a guide to the stonemasons, conveying the creative intent, but we were ultimately reliant on their years of hands-on expertise and knowledge of the material to decide how best to realise it.

We had a conceptual ambition and a visual outcome in mind, but stayed fully open to that being shaped by the realities of the stones we were working with. It was up to the stonemasons' eyes to orient and cut the rocks to match our vision as closely as possible, and their ingenuity often showed us how to make it work better, or find more beautiful outcomes, both in the stone selection itself, in terms of geometry and geological composition, and in how to use the stones most efficiently. One especially memorable moment was their insight into how to orient a single large stone so that both flights of steps could be cut from it.

The project also brought together two stone yards: one specialising in CNC machining, who made the major cuts and the stairs, and another who handled assembly, minor hand-shaping and final finishing. Stones travelled back and forth between the two. Ultimately, our hope was for the work to feel timeless, as if it had already been there for a thousand years, not reliant on, or a showcase for, the technology that made it possible, but using that technology simply to help realise it.

SS: The project deliberately leaves raw, split and finished surfaces visible, while anticipating that weathering and use will gradually alter the stone. How important is change and ageing to the way you think about materiality?

NW: This matters enormously to us, especially with a brief like Interlude's: to create a place of reflection meant to last a thousand years. Ageing, erosion and decay aren't an afterthought here, they're built into the design from the start.

We're drawn to stone partly for its beauty and variety, but just as much for how its connection to deep time humbles us and inspires a kind of awe. We wanted Interlude to feel man-made, but from some indeterminate moment, neither ancient nor new. The tool marks and cut surfaces sit deliberately alongside the raw, millennia-old faces of the boulders, a visible conversation between the two. And we know that conversation will keep changing: the freshness of every cut will soften with time, weather into the stone, and eventually feel as though it had always been there.

SS: More broadly, what do you think architects and designers can learn from working directly with stone, its geology, weight, limitations and longevity, at a time when material choice is increasingly discussed in terms of carbon and performance?

NW: There's a reason humanity keeps returning to stone. We understand its strength and longevity instinctively, just from its presence. It underlies some of our earliest and longest-lasting forms of shelter and architecture, a material that has already proven itself over millennia before we ever touch it.

Stone also carries a kind of romance, a beauty that can't be replicated. You feel its weight and its quality simply by looking at it, by watching how it performs and ages. That said, it's undeniably harder to work with right now than many synthetic alternatives; it asks more of you.

But there's real value in that difficulty. Working with something that already exists, and adapting your design to it rather than manufacturing a material to fit your intentions, changes how you think about the whole process. It's a more honest, more patient way of designing, and perhaps a necessary one as we reckon more seriously with carbon and performance.

What if the cost of stone depends on how we choose to use it?

One of the perceptions that continues to limit the wider adoption of indigenous stone in contemporary construction is that it is simply too expensive. But what if the cost of stone depends, in part, on how we choose to use it?

The economics of stone are more complicated than the price of a finished product. Processing, yield, specification, waste, transport and scale can all influence cost, while the structural and long-term value of stone can be overlooked when it is compared with other materials on a product-by-product basis.

In this final insight, Giulliana Giorgi looks at the true cost of stone, and asks whether changing the way we specify, produce and use indigenous stone could make it a more viable material for contemporary construction.

“One of the perceptions that continues to limit the wider adoption of indigenous stone in contemporary construction is that it is simply too expensive. Concrete, steel and other ubiquitous materials have established markets, standardised products and decades of cost data behind them. Stone, by comparison, can appear unfamiliar and therefore risky.

Yet contemporary projects suggest that the assumption is not so straightforward. In Mallorca, the Balearic Islands Housing Institute (IBAVI) has used locally sourced marès sandstone in social housing, testing the economic and constructive feasibility of local materials. In France, Gilles Perraudin has developed structural stone projects around large blocks and simple construction systems. In the UK, Groupwork’s Clerkenwell Close demonstrated that a load-bearing stone exoskeleton could be more economical than a conventional structure with stone cladding. These projects differ in context, material and procurement, but they raise a common question: is stone inherently expensive or have we developed an expensive way of using it?

During our research, we repeatedly encountered uncertainty around costing stone projects. Contemporary structural stone remains unusual enough that there are relatively few comparable projects from which cost consultants, contractors and clients can build reliable benchmarks. The absence of familiarity can itself become a risk, and risk has an economic value.

There is also a problem with how we compare costs. A stone brick facade cannot simply be measured against a clay fired brick facade by swapping the price of one product for another. Stone can potentially act as both structure and finish, reducing the number of materials, components and trades. Its structural capacity can reduce the need for some secondary elements, while thermal mass may contribute to operational performance depending on the properties of the stone. At the end of a building's life, stone can also retain value through reuse. These factors disappear when we compare individual products rather than the building systems they form part of.

Looking further upstream moreover, revealed that the cost of stone is highly dependent on what we ask the quarry to produce. A large quarry block can be considerably cheaper than a thin, highly finished slab. The difference is not simply the amount of stone, but the processing required. A block may require relatively little intervention before becoming part of a building, whereas a slab can involve repeated cutting, handling, finishing and strict selection. Every cut removes material through the thickness of the blade, while tighter tolerances and demanding visual specifications can result in further rejection. The stone that leaves the quarry is therefore not necessarily the stone that gets used in the building. 

Our fieldwork revealed how significant this relationship between specification and yield can be. The characteristics of each quarry determine what it can efficiently produce, while requirements for colour, dimensions, finish and appearance determine how much of that material is ultimately accepted. Perhaps we need to learn again how to celebrate stone’s natural variability rather than treating it as a defect.

A workshop in Edinburgh with Carles Oliver Barceló offered one possible approach. Working with imperfect ashlar - accepting chipped blocks, iron spotting, variations in colour and dimension, and allowing wider mortar joints - allows more of the material to be used directly, with less selection and processing. The result need not be a compromise. Over time, many so-called imperfections become part of a wall’s character, allowing it to weather and change rather than making every mark appear as a fault.

Perhaps making stone more economical means accepting more of its natural characteristics, rather than pushing a natural material to look and behave like a manufactured one. But changing specification is only part of the equation. Scale matters too.

During our research, we developed a simple costing scenario to ask what might happen if stone production were connected to a much larger and more predictable market. Taking a typical home and assuming approximately 20m³ of stone - around 12,000 bricks - a programme of 300,000 homes, a fifth of the Government's 1.5 million-home target, would generate demand for approximately 3.6 billion bricks. Under existing production arrangements, meeting this demand would be difficult. But if several quarries could dedicate capacity to producing a repeatable component, supported by guaranteed supply contracts, the economics begin to change. Under such a dedicated production model, our scenario suggests that a stone brick could potentially be produced for around £1 per unit. 

The £1 figure is, rather than a market price, a thought experiment developed with UK quarry producers, exploring what might become possible when design, production and procurement are considered together. And more importantly it suggests that scale could provide something the stone industry currently lacks: the certainty of demand needed to invest in production capacity, machinery and skills.

This is already beginning to happen in different ways. From IBAVI's use of local marès in social housing, to Barrault Pressacco's Parisian housing, to Archiplein and Perraudin's large-scale stone housing in Geneva, architects and clients are demonstrating that stone can be structural, economical and contemporary. Archiplein's work in Hermance goes further, experimenting with limited local quarry resources and developing construction methods around the material that is actually available.

Perhaps this is where the real opportunity lies. We do not need to wait for stone to become a mainstream construction material before we begin designing differently with it. The leading projects are already here. What is needed now is to connect them: the quarries with the architects, the projects with the demand, and the material with the places from which it comes.

The future of stone is not simply about making it cheaper. It is about making better use of what we already have and recognising that the next generation of architecture can be built not against the particularities of its natural materials, but precisely because of them we might be able to create a more humane and integrated build environment.”

As we previously explored, Mosley Thorold’s approach to craftsmanship is rooted in an understanding of how materials are made and how they perform in use. At De Beauvoir Townhouse in London, that thinking is applied across the renovation of a Victorian home, where reclaimed materials, bespoke fabrication and carefully controlled interventions establish a stronger relationship between the existing building and contemporary living.

The 2,900 sq ft house had previously developed into a series of disconnected spaces, with a poorly positioned staircase particularly disrupting circulation at the entrance. Working with the client from before the property was acquired, Mosley Thorold first addressed the plan, opening up the ground floor by removing an obstructive study and repositioning the stair within its footprint. The resulting void brings daylight into one of the darker parts of the house, while the new staircase establishes a visual route from the entrance hall towards the garden.

The intervention continues below ground, where the kitchen, dining area, and reading nook were lowered by 600mm, increasing ceiling height and improving the relationship between the spaces and the garden. Wide glazed doors connect the lowered patio to the interior, while the kitchen has become the social centre of the house. A bespoke dining table, designed by Mosley Thorold with the client, was conceived as an object that would ‘offer an embrace’ to guests.

Material selection reinforces the project’s balance of old and new. Reclaimed 17th-century Italian shutters have been reworked as kitchen doors, alongside 19th-century reclaimed cement tiles and hand-selected reclaimed bricks. Reclaimed timber is also used for the principal bedroom’s bespoke vanity. Rather than treating these elements as decorative references to the building’s age, the practice uses them to introduce texture, variation and evidence of previous use.

Stone forms part of this material palette through the work of specialist suppliers and fabricators, including Marble Collective and Livra, with an expert stonemason among the craftspeople involved. The same attention to making is evident in the boardmarked concrete used on the external kitchen facades. Timber boards were selected and sandblasted to expose their grain before being used as formwork, transferring the texture and relief into the concrete surface. The concrete was cast in a single pour without junctions, requiring bespoke formwork and a steel column system capable of resisting the pressure without relying on the existing party wall.

This technical approach reflects the wider philosophy discussed by Nathaniel Mosley and Henry Thorold in our recent Insights feature: material character is considered alongside the practical processes required to realise it. At De Beauvoir, the result is not a historicist treatment of the Victorian fabric but a contemporary interior in which making, reuse and technical precision are closely connected.

Light is another material in the composition, with a double-height sash window, top-lit corridor and skylights creating a sequence of changing conditions through the house, while the triple-height hallway links the floors visually. The garden extends this sense of retreat, with landscape designer Sophie Gordon introducing an English garden and natural swimming pool, complemented by a sauna and outdoor changing room clad in rough quarried stone.

For Nathaniel Mosley, the connection between Victorian craftsmanship and contemporary practice is direct: “Victorian buildings were crafted by hand and celebrated what materials could do. And it is the same with contemporary design. It’s about emulating the craft-led approach of that era using the tools we have at our disposal.”

De Beauvoir Townhouse demonstrates that principle through its combination of reclaimed fabric, specialist workmanship and technically demanding new interventions, producing a home where material character is integral to both its atmosphere and its construction.

 Images: Ollie Tomlinson