Anna Maciver_Ek, Axel Chevroulet & Fynn Mengel, Maciver Ek Chevroulet
https://maciverekchevroulet.ch
Sept 9-11, 2026
N 202, Leis
An orange-and-red butterfly wrestles herself
out of the dust. I am not sure whether she
was buried there or had dug herself in. The
fine particles fill every crevice, scratch, and
movement—carried by insects, mice and
hands.
Hands upon hands dug, stacked and hewed
—their work now visible in resistant, heavy
planks of larch and fir. How does it feel to
breathe—to inhale and exhale dirt, manure,
stone, straw and seed?
To slough off the caked remains of animals
and storage. Do you stand taller now, feet
wide and arms outstretched, taking
everything in? You are younger than we
thought, and yet you carry the marks of an
older being—from horns and picks and birds.
We sit in the large open space, there is a
single neon lamp suspended from its former
life line. The hay divider is standing upon the
trunk beam and stretches out its hand with thin
fingers cut from rough boards. Ladders
connect the levels, the large entrance door
opens the view to the peak of the range of Piz
Aul and Breitengrat.
The space feels empty and full at the same
time. Outside light is filtered through the small
slits and interstices in the building envelope
into vague green and blue slices of the
mountain around. The abrupt silence feels
disruptive, we had been entangled in a
productive soundscape, ora et labora, like
monks in work meditation. Without the clanks,
screeches and buzzing the barn volume
seems in an instance able to breathe, a slight
and subtle rhythm to which we synchronise
our breath, we are in awe.
The remains of the past are dancing around us,
unsettled, shaken up. Switching roles, the
space is now in vivid motion as we sit
motionless, admiring the ever-changing
firmament of particles illuminated by the sun
seeping in, iridescent against the dark wooden
claddings of the troughs. How long have they
not been touched by a ray of sun we wonder.
Generations must have passed.
Our careful hands have over the last days
unearthed a logic under stratified dirt and
debris, the key for us to open a window to
another age. A time of limitations, a time where
construction would occur in a temporal frame
imposed by pronounced seasonality and
survival in a fragile and unforgiving
environment. By using minimal tools beside
our hands, we are able to fathom the hardship
and inherent frugality in each detail of the barn,
yet we observe a wealth of thought and
evolution in every decision: in the structure’s
simplicity there lays an archaic strength, an
enduring wisdom.
The same way the village would birth a barn as
a collective process, changing it means
inevitably engaging the community. There are
encounters of all sorts as we are doing our
work in the barn, a flock of intrigued students
passing by, various neighbours peeking in,
consulting and debating structural questions.
The parallels to the origins of the barns,
erected as a collaborative effort by members
of the Vals community based on passed-down
knowledge and experience – we feel touched
by this spirit. The barn’s architecture functions
as a vehicle and product of knowledge
exchange, an ongoing evolution and constant
reiteration of how alpine space is produced.
As we sit in its lofty lap, we start to realise the
barn’s potential as our laboratory – a space in
which we can test and experiment, live in and
feel out, act in and exhibit. What does it mean
to inhabit the Alps, how do we encounter each
other there, in which way are processes
interrelated and disciplines entangled?