Architecture of the 1990s carries a certain stigma—whether it is so-called entrepreneurial baroque, bank palaces or catalogue houses. Why do you think that is?

Matěj Beránek: I think that every period of architecture needs a certain amount of distance—some say twenty years, some say forty. Even Baroque and Functionalism were not welcomed with open arms. Today, 1990s architecture is in the same position in our country as post-war architecture was ten or fifteen years ago. Negative excesses tend to drown out the good things that don’t need to be shouted about. But now it’s time to look at the architecture of the 1990s with a cool head and critically evaluate what it gave us and what it took away. To approach it critically in the best sense of the word. That’s what we’re trying to do in our book—we do not want to either glorify any building or condemn it in a superficial way.

Adéla Vaculíková: I would add that a lot of good buildings were constructed in the 1990s, and even then they were talked about in this way. But they are not so distinctive or widely known.

Jan Bureš: For me, the 1990s are above all fantastically contradictory, full of contrasts. People may remember the excesses, as Matěj mentions, but there were also some very unique and high-quality buildings.

Radek Šrettr Úlehla: In my opinion, this is also due to the fact that these buildings were constructed on exceptionally exposed and interesting plots, such as the Myslbek Palace or the Hoffmeister Hotel. Such locations practically no longer exist today because they are not available. That is precisely why these buildings were so visible. When photographing them, I found it very interesting to work with houses in such locations, because something similar simply cannot be built in Prague today.

You yourselves were children in the 1990s. Do you think that’s why you perceive these buildings differently?

Matěj: That generational distance is crucial to our project. We didn’t actively experience the 1990s; at most, we sat in front of the TV and watched the music chart show Eso. We have no personal nostalgia for these buildings, or only very little. Thanks to this, we can approach them without sentimentality or prejudice.

How did the idea for the book come about?

Matěj: We all met while working at the editorial office of EARCH.cz. Gradually, we became interested in the wave of so-called “neo-postmodernism”—perhaps also because we had grown a little tired of the rationality and restraint that have characterised architecture in recent years. We realised that architecture of the 1990s in the Czech context has never really been mapped in a comprehensive way. There is very little information available online; you often have to go directly to archives. At the same time, we had a lesson in mind from post-war architecture: if we fail to recognise quality in time, we may lose many great buildings forever.

We submitted the project to the open call for publishing proposals by IPR Prague and were successful. Since then, two years of work have passed, which I think is a very decent pace—almost 1990s-like, when buildings that today take ten years to prepare could be completed in just one or two. (laughs) We didn’t want to write the usual boring “architexts” about what a building looks like and what it is used for. We were interested in stories, context, social changes, and the personal level. We tried to write in such a way that the book would be understandable to as wide a group of people as possible. No lengthy descriptions of materials, but text that even our mom could read. Our goal was for people to learn to look critically at buildings and the environment around them in general and perhaps learn to read it.

The subtitle of the book is Prague's Architecture Amidst Austerity and Disco. Could you explain it in more detail?

Adéla: The 1990s were full of tension between two poles: strict rationality and playful postmodernism. On the one hand, there is what we call “disco,” i.e., buildings that are formally striking, varied in shape, and sometimes even excessive. On the other hand, there is “austerity,” a term coined by architectural historian Rostislav Švácha in his book Czech Architecture and Its Austerity. We understand it mainly in formal terms—strict proportions, windows in standard formats, common materials such as stone, concrete, and wood. Švácha also attributed a moral subtext to it; according to him, austerity cultivates the environment and helps the community. For a long time, experts mainly emphasized the “strict” line, while the more postmodern “disco” style was largely ignored. We try to overcome this prejudice and look at this type of architecture with an open mind.

The book consists of 30 portraits of buildings. How did you select them?

Jan: The backbone of the book is formed by thirty Prague buildings from the period 1989–2004. This is not a hit parade of the “best” buildings, but rather a selection of projects that best embody the themes and ideals of the 1990s and help us tell the story of their contradictory nature. Our texts are not mere descriptions; they take the form of critical essays in which we sought to take into account the context of the time, the story of their creation, and how we perceive these buildings today. Our aim was for readers to come away with a clear understanding that the 1990s were not only about “crazy” postmodernism, but also about a rather strict approach to architecture.

Adéla: We spent hours in libraries, reading magazines from the 1990s and compiling a long list of buildings that had something to say about that period. It was important for us that the individual buildings also illustrated broader social phenomena. In the case of apartment buildings, for example, the emerging housing crisis, and in the case of Nebušice, the development of satellite housing and gated residential areas.

Matěj: Right from the start, we agreed that we would not devote our portraits of buildings to the most famous structures, such as the Dancing House, the Golden Angel, or, on the other hand, the Don Giovanni Hotel. You will find them in the book, but separately. The original list contained dozens of buildings—more than twice the number that made it into the final selection. We gradually eliminated buildings based on their diverse typology, location, architect, and the story of their creation.

Was there any building that didn’t make it into the selection because it no longer exists or has been demolished?

Matěj: We debated the Vaníček Hotel for a long time. In the end, it wasn’t included because it’s basically just a squat now, and we thought it would be better to focus on buildings where positive change is still possible.

Which building in the book is your favourite?

Radek: I am most fond of Stanislav Fiala’s buildings. I consider the villa in Nebušice, the MUZO center, and the Sipral factory to be exceptionally powerful and timeless. If they were built today, they would stand up just as well. On the contrary, the least appealing to me is the PVT building—Podnik výpočetní techniky (Computer Technology Enterprise).

Jan: I feel the same way as Radek about Stanislav Fiala’s buildings. They are exceptionally high-quality projects, and I am glad that the book allowed me to visit them and have several conversations with the author. Unlike Radek, however, I also found my way to Jan Hančl’s PVT building, which, after a joint tour, I perceive as architecture with a clear vision, not just an exaggerated excess, as it might seem at first glance.

Adéla: Personally, I was most impressed by the archive complex in Chodovec, the Hoffmeister Hotel, and the Malá Šárka residential complex in Nebušice. Experts might not rank them among the “best” of the 1990s, but for me they are valuable because of how strongly they reflect the phenomena and social context of the time.

Matěj: As an editor, I saw it a little differently. I sometimes had to rein in the authors so that they didn’t approach the buildings too conciliatorily. The texts sometimes slipped into praise, so it was necessary to return to a critical perspective and remind ourselves that some aspects are problematic, that buildings are not always just good. Otherwise, I personally enjoy the Exhibition Grounds the most and, because of its story, also the U Kříže residential complex, where Karel Prager also acted as an investor. That could only have happened in the 1990s.

In addition to the critical portraits of 30 buildings, the book is interwoven with essays by other authors, including Peter Bednár, Marie Kordovská, Radomíra Sedláková, Jana Tichá, David Vávra and Karolína Vránková. What topics do they address, and how did you select them?

Jan: From the beginning, we knew that critical portraits of buildings alone would not suffice, because some topics need to be addressed more generally or from a different perspective. We therefore approached other experts. Jana Tichá and Irena Fialová wrote a text about Prague Castle and its gradual opening in the 1990s, Marie Kordovská dealt with the entry of foreign architects into the Czech Republic through the story of Jean Nouvel’s Golden Angel in Smíchov and Frank Gehry and Vlado Milunić’s Dancing House. Peter Bednár focused on the planning of Prague in the 1990s, Karolína Vránková examined, among other things, the Don Giovanni Hotel, and Radomíra Sedláková dealt with the transformation of the architectural profession in the 1990s. The book also includes an interview with architectural historian Rostislav Švácha, in which he explains his concept of “austerity”. The introduction was written by architect David Vávra.

The publication is complemented by a strong visual component. Contemporary, unretouched photographs by Radek Úlehla are combined with archival images and period advertisements for building materials taken from ERA21 and Moderní dům magazines. The graphic design was created by Zuzana Lednická and Andrea Vacovská from Studio Najbrt. The cover wraps the book in soft purple leatherette, pastel-toned in the spirit of the 1990s.

Your authorial team consists of an architect, a photographer, an architectural historian and a journalist. Is this diversity reflected in the texts? How did your approaches differ?

Adéla: As an architectural historian, I probably focused most on the context of the time. I examined how the buildings were written about and discussed when they were first created, and I tried to place architectural motivations within a broader social and professional framework. When conducting interviews with the architects, I usually came in with a clearly formed opinion, which I then tended to confront them with.

Jan: As an architect, I emphasized the “narrative” and understanding the motivations of the creators. Through my texts, I tried to convey to the reader what the architect was experiencing and how they arrived at a given form. In the case of the PVT building, for example, it was an accumulated desire for richness of form after years of designing prefabricated buildings. Unlike Adéla, I gave more space in the text to direct quotations and the voices of the architects themselves.

Matěj: We each have our own approach, and it’s fine. While preparing the book, we met with the original architects, which of course influences you. At the same time, it was important to remain critical. I tried to ensure that the buildings were perceived as part of the environment, not as isolated solitaires.

How were the photographs created?

Radek: I approached photography with the same critical attitude that the others applied to the texts. It wasn’t just about “taking a nice picture of a building”. I was interested in how the buildings function today, the context in which they stand, and what has changed around them. I went through archives and planned the lighting and shots using a 3D model of Prague from IPR Prague. That really helped me. I knew exactly when and where the light would be. And then I returned to the locations. Repeatedly and many times. In different seasons, too. It is one thing for a building to be lush and functioning well in summer, but how does it look in grey winter, when nothing is hidden? Those were the questions that interested me.

Another big issue was visual noise, such as traffic signs, cars, and parking lots. The buildings would have a much stronger impact without them, but I didn’t want to distort reality. It was about finding a balance between beauty and reality.

And that’s the main difference from my usual work. I usually photograph buildings for architects so that the house looks its best. Here, I was finally able to show what doesn’t work. Absolutely no staging or retouching. Everything you see in the book actually happened at that moment. Sometimes that meant waiting a long time for a small detail. The biggest challenge and the most fun was getting interesting angles, often unusual views or access to roofs. In the vast majority of cases, the owners and managers were very accommodating, which is why the book contains views that you don’t normally see.

The book will be launched together with an exhibition at CAMP. What will it look like?

Adéla: The exhibition will feature a projection of period television reports, artistically reworked by Pierre Urban; a timeline of Prague’s architecture in the 1990s connected to broader historical and disciplinary milestones; and period advertisements for building materials. The exhibition includes Bořek Šípek’s opulent Olga chairs, which he originally designed for the Office of the President of the Republic at Prague Castle as a representative stackable chair for the Spanish Hall. The Dynamický Blok collective then ironizes the aesthetics of the 1990s and, through memes, i.e., satirical images, comments on events in the architecture of this contradictory era.

Matěj: I would just like to add that we take the theme and the exhibition very seriously and responsibly. We don’t want to make fun of the 1990s, but to present the whole theme in a way that will appeal to the widest possible audience. What often bothers me about architectural books is that they are only good for the bookshelves of professors or influencers' reels. Both the book and the exhibition work with expectations. At first glance, it seems that they are just bizarre, but on closer inspection, they show a broader and more complex picture of the era, which was our goal from the beginning.