Frankie Pappas is a name that belongs to everyone and no one. It is the pseudonym of the architecture firm co-founded by Ant, a firm known for their bold forms and incredible synergy with the natural world. Frankie Pappas is a maverick in the architecture industry: by allowing multiple thinkers to act under one identity — preventing the idolism of a singular name — they re-write the practice of architecture as we know it. We spoke to Ant about all things local, human, and anti-ego.

In a TedX talk from 2013, you spoke about the ‘tyranny of faith’ and how faithlessness breeds much-needed critical questions around the legacies of apartheid. I know that the talk was a few years ago — what is your assessment of faith and democracy in South Africa today?

When we speak of faith, we mean it in all its forms, but most of all as the uncritical belief in systems, stories, and slogans. For us, faith is dogma. And in South Africa, as in much of the world, dogma has a long and cruel legacy. We have placed our faith in the constitution. In reconciliation. In democracy. In politics. In big businesses. And we have been hoodwinked.

We have been told, ‘Have faith.
We’re working to make things better.’
But the cavalry is not coming.
Faith does not build good houses or great cities.
It does not fix trains or mend broken buses.
It does not teach us to think better or act bolder.
It certainly does not challenge power. Our belief is that democracy
without critical doubt becomes oligarchic fascism.

But here’s the thing: we do see change coming. We know our new
generations have not had their turn to shape the world they dream of.
So we do not preach apathy or cynicism.
We call for radical, uncomfortable, courageous doubt.

The kind of doubt that asks: who benefits from this version of
democracy?
Who gets to call this freedom?
Who decides which cities we build and who gets to live in them?

We do not need more faith in the rainbow.
We need a clear-eyed confrontation with the storm.
A hard rain is going to fall.

How do you see indigeneity and localised practices fitting into this conversation? Vernacular architecture is, of course, a key topic in the context of cultural sustainability in South Africa.

If we are to take the topic seriously, then indigeneity can never be a style. It can never be an aesthetic. It can only be a way of thinking, understanding, and responding to place, to climate, to culture, to materials, and to community. It is not about replicating thatch or weaving or some other handiwork. It is about building with the intelligence of people who care about making their little portion of the world better, generation after generation.

So yes, indigeneity and localised practices are absolutely central to all forms of sustainability. But only if we stop treating them as an aesthetic or a branding strategy or a feel-good vibe. They must be treated as living knowledge.

Architecture is still being imposed on the world. This is wrong. It should emerge. It should come from the landscape. It should come from the climate. It should come from accessible materials. It should come from the ways people cook and gather and rest and listen to music.

Often the word ‘sustainability’, in its generic interpretation, is limited to the environment, hereby neglecting ‘human’ systemic issues. But your project, House of the Pink Spot, raises awareness of gender and sustainability (the idea that there is ‘no sustainability without women’).

The role of the architect is to look after the health of the city. Not to create community. But it is the role of the architect to create cities that are conducive to community.

So yes, we do think that the word ‘sustainability’ has become dangerous in its vacuousness. It has been flattened into a checklist of solar panels and carbon offsets. And emptied of meaning. We wrote that there can be ‘no sustainability without women’ as a provocation. A kind of angry joke. It was a response to this checklist of sustainability criteria. We were saying exactly what your question is getting at.

We wanted to build a space that was small and strange and useful. A place for rest. A place to gather. A place where women could feel safe. A place that does not pretend to solve everything, but that refuses to look away. If we want to design sustainable futures, then we have to stop pretending that environmental issues can be separated from human ones. Our communities are not only dying. They are being killed and raped. And it is not radical to say that the people doing the killing are not the ones building little pink structures on the edges of forgotten towns.

That is what House of the Pink Spot tries to say out loud.

“We call for radical, uncomfortable, courageous doubt. The kind of doubt that asks: who gets to call this freedom?”

Frankie Pappas is not your standard design firm. It changes the practice of architecture by allowing architects to work, collectively, under a pseudonym. Is there a sense that ‘undoing ego’ is also critical for the future of (sustainable) architectural practices? 

The name Frankie Pappas makes a joke at the tradition of firms being named after the founders. A joke at ego, I suppose. But more than that, it is a deliberate decision to try and create a small space where the work matters more than the person. Where ego has to sit in the back seat. Where ideas are tested on their strength, not their origin.

Architecture, as a discipline, has been shaped by some pretty toxic dynamics. The worship of ego. The celebration of the individual. The erasure of the collective. This has not helped the profession, and it certainly has not helped the world. To me, at least, the Western world has seemed obsessed with idolising individuals — and anointing them as ‘geniuses’. What I want to see is more energy given to the creative opportunities within this co-operative intelligence. I love the idea of genius. But there has never lived a single one. So yes, undoing ego is critical. Not just as a cultural gesture, but as a structural one.

Your other projects, like House of Cape Robin and House of the Tall Chimneys, display an exceptional grasp of materiality, both aesthetically and functionally. What are your methods to tick both boxes so beautifully?

We do not have a method, really. Just an obsession with paying attention. We believe that beauty is not something added. It is not a finish. It is the result of care. Of intense work. Of patience. Of generosity with your time and your life.We are not trying to invent new forms. We are only trying to discover something that may already belong to the place. When you treat materials with respect, they tend to reward you.

Do you predict that off-grid buildings and movement to towns outlying cities will eventually become the new normal?

My belief is that smaller societies are far more sustainable than larger ones.Your decisions and actions are concentrated, local, immediate, and measurable. And you feel them.This is why I believe in smaller, decentralised communities.Where energy, food, water, and justice are locally managed.Where accountability is intensely personal.Where poverty is impossible to ignore or outsource.And where sustainability is not a policy goal or a set of checkboxes, but a shared and daily necessity.