Nikita Abanin is a Belarusian architect and partner at ZROBIM Architects, a Minsk-based architectural practice known for its restrained, human-centered approach to contemporary architecture. Trained within a context shaped by limited resources and strong construction realities, Abanin’s work emphasizes clarity, material honesty, and the role of craftsmanship in shaping meaningful spaces. At ZROBIM, he works across residential and small-scale architectural projects, where careful attention to site, construction logic, and lived experience guides each design decision. His architecture resists formal excess, focusing instead on calm spatial environments rooted in everyday life—spaces shaped as much by the hands that build them as by the ideas that define them.
What inspires you?
What inspires me most is life itself and how it changes. Over the past few years, the context has shifted dramatically: a new country, a new scale of life, the birth of my daughter. You start to feel time, responsibility, and the space around you differently. Architecture stops being just a profession—it becomes a way of making sense of life.
I’m inspired by people who do their work honestly and with pleasure, regardless of scale. I’m inspired by travel, especially when you can just go without a goal, observing landscapes, cities, and rhythms of life. Sometimes it’s a road, an ordinary house by the highway—and at some point you catch this feeling that everything is in its place. And probably what inspires me most right now is the idea that architecture is not about form for the sake of form, but about creating a calm, human environment—one where you want to live, grow, and come back.
What inspired you to become an architect?
I have a video from my early school years where all the kids were asked what they wanted to become in the future. Everyone had ambitious dreams back then—astronauts, presidents. I said I wanted to be a builder. I loved creating things, working with different materials, seeing how something material with a new function and purpose emerges literally from the ground. This ability to create is what inspires me.
How would you describe your design philosophy?
Despite the desire to create something material, the human being is always at the center. Both as the user and as the main instrument. The user should feel comfortable, safe, and surrounded by beauty. And to achieve this, the human as the instrument—with their approach and craftsmanship—matters. When entering a space, the focus shouldn’t be on the expensive stone, but on the hands that shaped it and the idea that brought it there.
What is your favorite project?
It’s hard to choose just one, considering the full range of architecture. But I can highlight something that impressed me the most recently. In 2024, my friends and I traveled in Georgia, taking the popular route from Tbilisi to Kazbegi, and then to Kakheti. In Kakheti, we stayed in a hotel that, at the time, didn’t fully reveal the potential of the place. As we were leaving the property, we noticed a construction site and a very interesting silhouette. My friend and I pointed it out, saying that something cool was definitely coming. We left—and a few weeks later, my friend sent me that pavilion. It turned out to be a reception pavilion for the entire complex, the first thing visitors interact with.
Do you have a favorite material?
Wood—for obvious reasons. That said, I’m not an advocate of wooden houses. But the material itself, with its natural feel, warmth, and versatility, is something I always try to incorporate into projects.
How do you start a new project?
Naturally, by analyzing everything that can be analyzed to reduce the number of possible directions: the site, the surroundings, the region where the object is located, the client. After that, I prefer working through different options. Everything starts with a hypothesis, of course, but you never know if it works until you try it.
How do you fuel your creativity?
Practice, communication with colleagues, and people from related fields. Lately, I especially enjoy talking with great contractors—true professionals who are passionate about what they do. They often know more about architecture than many architects.
What inspired NEMO?
The inspiration was accumulating; the idea didn’t come instantly, and evidently, this accumulation was happening throughout the process as well. At some point, our ideas aligned perfectly with the client’s identity, and any doubts regarding any aspect of the project—from layout to façade materials—simply disappeared.
What advice would you give to young architects?
I still feel a bit awkward giving advice—I’m still learning myself. But if I had to try, the main thing would be not to rush into comparing yourself with others. Everyone has their own pace, their own context, their own path. A career is not a sprint; it’s a long-distance run.
It’s important to learn as early as possible how to work with reality: with clients, contractors, constraints, and mistakes. That’s where real architecture appears—not just beautiful images. And one more thing—stay curious. Keep asking questions: how things are actually built, what they’re made of, who makes them, and how.
