Yes, it was a medical practice. The rooms were laid out enfilade, one room per window. When we visited – we definitely didn’t want a Haussmann-style flat, more a post-1950s building with an open-plan feel – I saw a different view every time I entered a room! I thought it was far too beautiful to stay compartmentalised.

Yes, completely. There were no load-bearing walls, so we knocked everything down to clear the façade and make the most of the 12 metres of windows. We wanted a large open-plan space, no small rooms, a single, very open area, because we spend a lot of time together. Back then, there were just three of us, and we thought our son, at that age, wouldn’t need to retreat to his room. Aside from the wet areas, his room is the only one that actually closes off, with a large sliding, soundproof door. In the end, he spends a lot of time there, but because it’s almost part of the living room and family life. Now, as a family of four, our habits have evolved — we sometimes dream of having a corridor! — but the original idea remains the same: living together in an open space.

Yes, it’s incredibly functional for the way we live. We never close the doors, we’re always together, always wanting to see each other. Everything is designed so the eye can travel freely—even the splashback is transparent, to keep that visual connection.

Yes, but it wasn’t entirely deliberate. In the end, it really resonates with the building’s era. Dating from the late ’60s, it’s beautifully designed, even in the communal areas, with stunning wood mosaics and touches of stainless steel.

Originally, it was a technical constraint: the plumbing runs through that spot, so there would have been a step anyway. We decided to extend it and turn it into a real living element. It becomes a seat, a little tiered platform. When we have people over, everyone sits there, on the floor, around the coffee table. We spend a lot of time on the floor! That wasn’t planned — I had designed the kitchen table very functionally, with a bench and plenty of rolling storage underneath — but we end up dining here, in the living area, all together. It’s very family-oriented, very simple. On weekends, friends come over in socks, with their children, and stay all day. It’s not a show apartment.

The bedroom is slightly raised and closes off with a curtain. Fully clad in wood, it has a completely different ‘outfit.’ Inside, it really feels like a small, separate space, almost like a little boat, open to the sky and rooftops.

It really feels like one of the apartment’s inhabitants. Every morning, with the children, we look at the sky and comment on its colour — pink, orange, violet — it’s always amazing. Even on grey days, there’s always a little patch of light. That’s why we chose this deep, enveloping blue.

Yes, we wanted to bring the sky inside. The walls, the carpet, even the ceilings are blue. When the sun is out, it almost merges with the outdoors. We used to say we were stepping into our little vessel. Even without being outside, there’s a real sense of inside-outside living.

I like to work with a relay of materials. In the technical areas, there’s tiling; in the living spaces, carpet. The floor mosaic echoes the original small format, but in white to reflect the light. Everything here is designed to let it circulate and shine: stainless steel, glossy tiles…

It’s tiny, so we embraced a bold approach. It’s a nod to Alberto Pinto. I love this daring, almost decorative side. In Paris, I usually work with oak, as it feels traditional, but here in the bathroom—and elsewhere in the apartment—I chose okoumé. It’s a less noble wood, perhaps, but with beautiful grain patterns that I adore. I like keeping lines very minimal and functional, then adding a touch of colour or a material that brings structure.

Yes, absolutely. My parents lived in a very Haussmannian apartment with a classic layout. Then, at one point, they completely transformed it: they removed the mouldings, knocked down the load-bearing walls, and installed steel beams everywhere. We were away for a few months, and when we came back, it was the same place, but entirely transformed. I was at a pivotal age, between childhood and adolescence, and it left a huge mark on me. It’s funny to think that it eventually became my profession.

I’ve always been surrounded by it. My father worked in cinemas, renovating auditoriums with architects, and he often took me to the sites. My mother, a journalist and writer, has an incredible eye and shared many of her references and projects with me. Her home is overflowing with books, and she gave me many of her architecture volumes, especially from the 1990s and 2000s, because back then, when she wrote about an architect, she would buy every book she could find. My father also often gave me lamps when I was younger, particularly Italian designs. All of this shaped my eye quite naturally.

My partner Nicolas reads a lot – Tanguy Viel or Laurent Mauvignier, Histoires de la Nuit, at the moment. Being surrounded by books is essential for us, which is why we created a headboard that doubles as a bookshelf. Here too, our way of living shaped the design.