7 Historical Architectural Movements That Influenced Design Approach

If I had to point to one architectural movement that still influences how I design today, it would be Modernism. Not the cold, stripped-down version people sometimes think of, but the idea behind it. The focus on purpose, clarity, and creating spaces that actually support how people live.

What I love most is how it challenged excess. It asked us to be intentional. And in today's world, where life already feels full and sometimes overwhelming, that mindset matters more than ever. People don't just want a beautiful home. They want a space that helps them breathe, think clearly, and feel at ease when they walk through the door.

I carry that into my work by being very thoughtful about layout, flow, and what truly belongs in a space. Natural light, clean lines, and functionality still lead the way, but I always layer in warmth, texture, and personality so it feels inviting and lived in.

At the end of the day, I want every space I design to feel like somewhere you actually want to be. Not just something that looks good, but something that feels good too.

More than movements themselves I'd lean toward outliers of movements. There are two architects that mostly explain my approach to design.
Alva Aalto never let modernism become an excuse for coldness. The world at the time needed efficiency, and he delivered it, but there's something almost stubborn about the way he kept insisting that a building has to feel right. The light, the materials, the way a detail meets your hand, the insatiable need for texture... and a natural one at that. I work in Yucatan, where the climate is never subtle, and that stubbornness about human experience isn't an aesthetic choice for me, it's the actual starting point. Materials generate sensations, and although variety sometimes is a difficult selling point, because it means more cost, it is also something that we strive to innovate in bringing that variety normally reserved for the higher end of architecture... to the masses.
Candela is a different kind of reference. What I keep coming back to isn't the shells themselves, it's what they say about how he worked. Those structures only exist because the architect and the engineer were in the same conversation from the beginning. Not handing drawings back and forth, actually solving the same problem together. And it really brings into perspective how multidisciplinary teams can land on radically different solutions.
That's what I've tried to build into FORMM. When design, construction and materials knowledge sit inside the same firm, ideas that would normally die in a feasibility meeting get a longer runway. Sometimes you find a compromise, but it's a more honest one, and sometimes you find something nobody was looking for. A surprise of sorts. What that model also does, and this matters a lot to me, is bring that level of ambition within reach of developers who aren't working with exceptional budgets. State of the art architecture shouldn't only happen for exceptional clients; it should be for the masses... only then will it actually positively influence our surroundings.
It also means you're not designing backwards from what the market currently accepts. You can actually ask what's possible, and then simultaneously test what the market is willing to accept. This allows a level of out of the box thinking that I think really pays homage into how these architects respectively changed the paradigms of their respective ages.

Gothic builders pushed height to express faith and structure. Pointed arches and ribs let walls grow thin and tall, showing how forces move. Light through large windows turned space into a guide for mood and path.

Exposed frames and buttresses made support part of the art. This approach favors designs where shape, light, and load speak as one. Use tall lines and honest structure to create uplifting, clear space in your next project.

Renaissance designers sought order through simple math and clear geometry. Ratios set by the human body shaped room sizes, wall rhythms, and openings. Symmetry and a calm central line helped users find their way with ease.

Materials and details were chosen to support balance rather than show off. The result was harmony that feels steady and kind to the senses. Define a clean set of ratios and test it on a small plan today.

Baroque spaces used motion, light, and curve to guide people through a story. Oval forms and broken lines pulled the eye from one moment to the next. Hidden light and layered walls set up surprise and depth at each turn.

Sound, shadow, and scale worked together to stir strong feeling. This method shows how design can act like theater while still working well. Map a simple path and plan a sequence of reveals in your next layout.

Art Nouveau joined structure and ornament with smooth lines from nature. Stems, waves, and shells shaped rails, frames, and screens into one flowing skin. New iron and glass allowed fine patterns that still did real work.

Craft was valued, yet parts repeated to keep cost and build time in check. The goal was warmth and unity that feels alive to the touch and the eye. Sketch one nature inspired line and carry it through a door, a light, and a stair today.

Deconstructivism broke the box to expose conflict, layers, and hidden rules. Tilted planes, cuts, and splits made new paths and views that do not align. This break up created choice and tension, which can spark new use.

Digital tools and models helped test risk while keeping safety and code. The key is control, so disorder serves a clear aim and not random noise. Try a controlled shift in angle or grid and see how it unlocks fresh links in your scheme.