In 2011, Minarc completed a 2,400-square-foot house in Venice, Calif. It looked like a typical modern house, but the principals, Erla Dögg Ingjaldsdóttir and Tryggvi Thorsteinsson, used a high-performance insulated prefab commercial system and adapted it for residential use. The project, the Superb-A House, was lauded for its design, forward-thinking tech and sustainability.
This is the type of forward-thinking design is typical of the Santa Monica, Calif.-based firm. Originally from Iceland, the duo believes in projects that blur the distinction between interior and exterior spaces, large glass openings, natural light, outdoor living rooms and artistically framed views of nature. At the same time, though, the environment and sustainability is top of mind.
The firm is known for its holistic, environmentally aware approach that eschews paint, tiles and carpet artificially forced air systems wherever possible. But it’s not unusual to see reclaimed wood, recycled glass and rubber tires, cement panels in their work.
“Our early material experiments were never just aesthetic,” the couple tells us. “They were provocations. We wanted to show that what we throw away still has value, that ‘waste’ is often just a failure of imagination.”
Design Vibes caught up with the duo for this month’s Q+A. They talked about the early days of the firm, the evolution as well as holding to the sustainable principles that still guide the firm to this day.
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Design Vibes: Minarc was founded in 1999, and we read somewhere that you wanted to “change the world for the better.” Can you tell us what you meant by that? And how is that going?
Erla Dögg Ingjaldsdóttir and Tryggvi Thorsteinsson: When we said we wanted to “change the world for the better,” we meant rethinking how we build at a fundamental level. Today, that mission is very real in our work rebuilding homes after wildfires in California.
For almost 20 years, we’ve worked with steel structures because they do not ignite, do not warp, and offer a level of resilience that traditional wood framing cannot. To us, building correctly means going beyond minimum code to design for longevity, safety, and responsibility. What has become clear is that this is not a technical challenge—it is a regulatory one. In fire-prone areas, noncombustible construction, such as Type II, should be the standard. This is not difficult to implement, it simply requires the will to change building codes.
Insurance must evolve as well. If we build safer homes, that reduced risk should be reflected in lower premiums. Real change requires a collective shift, a kind of “herd immunity” in the built environment, where resilient construction becomes the norm instead of the exception.
DV: We are very familiar with your work from the early days. It always had a combination of modernism mixed with material experimentation and sustainability. Has that changed or has it become an even bigger driver of your work?
Erla and Tryggvi: It has evolved, but the intention remains the same. Our early material experiments were never just aesthetic. They were provocations. We wanted to show that what we throw away still has value, that “waste” is often just a failure of imagination.
At the same time, we’ve become more direct about a difficult truth: recycling, as we practice it today, is largely ineffective. It creates the illusion of sustainability without addressing the core issue of overconsumption. Our work has shifted from symbolic gestures to integrated systems. With ReFlow, for example, we reuse water from handwashing to flush toilets, turning everyday behavior into a more sustainable loop. So yes, it has become a bigger driver—but also a more honest one. Less about appearance, more about impact.
DV: I remember that materiality was a big part of your work. In retrospect, do you look back at some materials and realize it was not viable for long-term sustainability?
Yes, and those experiments were worth doing, even when they didn’t last. We used recycled tires as a sink surface and as kitchen cladding. We upholstered chairs and stools in artificial turf (the kind pulled from football fields). Most people don’t realize that when a small section of that turf degrades, the entire field gets replaced. It is a staggering waste. We wanted to show that what gets discarded can still be beautiful and functional. Some of those ideas held up. Others didn’t. But the question they asked was always the right one.
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DV: Are there any materials that you are excited about today/future for whatever reason?
Erla and Tryggvi: We are less interested in new materials for the sake of novelty and more interested in intelligent use of what already exists. Steel remains one of the most important materials for us—it is precise, resilient, and predictable.
We are also excited about integrated building systems: assemblies that reduce layers, reduce waste, and simplify construction. The future is not about adding more, but about doing more with less, and doing it better.
DV: You are both from Europe (Iceland, to be specific), so is your work rooted in European minimalism or American modernism—if that is even a thing?
Erla and Tryggvi: It’s rooted in Iceland. Growing up there, you learn quickly that nature is not something you decorate, but something you respond to. Light, weather, and landscape shape everything.
That creates a kind of essentialism, nothing unnecessary, everything purposeful. In the U.S., we’ve embraced scale and openness, but the core remains the same. Our work is minimal, but not cold—grounded in nature, not style.
DV: How is the design scene different from California—or even the United States, at large?
Erla and Tryggvi: California leads in vision but lags in action. There is genuine appetite for progressive design here, but the building industry, especially residential, is slow to change. Code, liability, and habit keep pulling construction back toward the familiar.
What the wildfires have made painfully clear is that the familiar is no longer good enough. The gap between what we know how to build and what we are actually building is too wide, and closing it is now urgent, not solely aspirational.
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DV: Is all of your work here in the U.S., or do you still pursue work in Iceland and Europe?
Erla and Tryggvi: Our primary work is in the U.S., but we continue to work internationally, including Iceland and other regions. That connection is important. It keeps our perspective sharp and prevents the work from becoming too localized or predictable.
DV: Many U.S. architects travel to other parts of the world (Italy, Denmark, Japan) for inspiration. Where do you draw inspiration?
Erla and Tryggvi: Nature is our constant; it shows up in every project in some form, whether in how light moves through a space or how a building meets the ground. But we also draw deeply from travel, and perhaps not in the way people expect. When you travel somewhere and don’t speak the language, you have no choice but to be brave. You will say things wrong. People may laugh. You push through anyway. That willingness to be vulnerable, to try and fail and try again—we bring that same courage to our design. The best work happens when you stop playing it safe.
DV: What is the breakdown of your work today—residential vs. commercial or institutional?
Erla and Tryggvi: Our work is primarily residential, but we approach it with the rigor of larger-scale architecture. These are not just houses. They are systems, environments, and long-term investments. We are increasingly interested in expanding into more public and institutional work, where these ideas can have a broader impact.
DV: Are you involved in any design/architectural experiments at the moment?
Erla and Tryggvi: Yes—our current work is deeply focused on fire-resilient construction and rethinking residential building systems. We are exploring how to simplify construction while improving performance, using steel structures, integrated assemblies, and systems that reduce complexity but increase resilience.
DV: Does the firm have a dream commission that you haven’t had a chance to design yet?
Our dream project is always the next one. What drives us is not a specific typology or a trophy commission, but the process of solving a real problem for real people. If the client is happy, if the building performs, if it lasts—that is the dream. We have never stopped chasing that.
