House for Five Women: Architecture as a Force for Good in Post-War Bosnia.

Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

I wasn’t prepared for the flood of emotions that hit me when I first came across the House for Five Women in the rolling countryside near Gradačac, Bosnia and Herzegovina. There I was, scrolling through project photos in my Sydney office, and suddenly I was twelve years old again, watching my grandmother stretch paper-thin kore for burek, the familiar ritual of her weathered hands working magic with flour and love.

I, too, was born in Bosnia, and my family and I escaped soon after the civil war broke out, leaving everything behind. Those early memories are seared into my soul—the scent of black coffee brewing in a copper džezva, my baka’s marama and kecelja, vibrant traditional textiles draped over furniture, afternoon light filtering through hand-crocheted curtains in my tetka’s kitchen.

This exceptional project by Zurich and Belgrade-based practice TEN feels like my simple childhood and my design-immersed adulthood colliding in the most beautiful, heart-wrenching way possible. A social housing project presenting architecture as an agent of healing, bringing the extraordinary value of good design to the most vulnerable. It’s magnificent!

Home for a Craftsman: Avala House in Belgrade by TEN Studio.

Taking cues from Yugoslav modernism, TEN Studio has utilised local material and construction knowledge to design an ideal contemporary home formed personally by the hands of local makers.

Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

The Project Born from Profound Need

The House for Five Women provides sanctuary for women who’ve survived war, violence, and social injustice—women whose stories echo across decades of Bosnian history. It’s not just the social mission that makes this 278-square-metre residence extraordinary—it’s how the architecture becomes a statement about dignity, visibility, and joy in the face of unimaginable hardship.

This project speaks to something I’ve been thinking about constantly as we witness global wars and profound injustices unfolding in real time on our screens. How do we rebuild not just buildings but hope itself? Bosnia has been free of war for three decades, yet the effects linger like shadows. To me, this building feels like pure sunlight breaking through.

It all began with Hazima Smajlović, whose personal experiences sparked a seven-year labour of love involving TEN, NGO Engineers Without Borders, NGO Vive Žene, the municipality of Gradačac, and countless individual contributors. This wasn’t some paternalistic architectural intervention imposed from above, but genuine collaboration with local metalworkers, carpenters, car painters, and carpet repairers, becoming integral to both the building’s creation and its cultural authenticity.

“To fully understand the project’s requirements and resources at hand was the first step of a design process,” the architects explain. “Design inherently involves making preferable choices, and these actions that shape reality are also shaped by the evolving dynamic and context.”

Photography: Miloš Martinović.

Big time nostalgia! Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

The Facade That Sings

The facade is giving me all the feels. It’s reminiscent of a patchwork quilt made manifest in architecture—vibrant panels of pink, blue, green, and red metal that dance across the building’s exterior like pure joy made visible. Not decoration for decoration’s sake but architecture that refuses to whisper when it can sing.

Working with TEN, artist Shirana Shahbazi transformed what could have been yet another beige box into “a dynamic visual display, a tapestry that continuously changes in appearance.” The panels were coloured on-site and in a nearby car painter’s workshop, where they literally transformed an everyday automotive service into an art studio. Brilliant!

The facade features twenty doors that open towards the road, creating a 25-metre-long threshold that brings the landscape directly inside. When those doors are flung wide, you get what the architects describe as “improbable juxtapositions, advocating for the visibility of the new home for its inhabitants.”

Spaces That Understand Human Complexity

Inside, the spaces respond to human instinct that balances the need for privacy and the craving for community. The ground floor houses five private rooms, each generous, equal, and equipped with cabinetry and self-contained kitchenettes. Because dignity means choice, and choice means having your own kettle when you need a cuppa.

The ten double doors along the south-facing wall transform typical corridor access into what the architects call “an interior street”, fostering connection while respecting boundaries. The common area sprawls across approximately 90 square metres, deliberately larger than what any individual could afford alone. This generous space requires shared participation, gently nudging residents towards community without forcing it.

Above sits a 26-metre-long multifunctional room inspired by traditional pastoral storage buildings. Clad with metal panels outside and warm timber within, this space transforms seasonally—food storage in winter, or additional accommodation when needed. It’s architecture that breathes and adapts.

People at the NGO. Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

This, in many ways, has nothing to do with this project, but I adore these images from the Bosnia road trip that capture the broader context of the building—a beloved part of the world and the people who have been through so much. Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

Bosno moja! Photography: Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne.

Architecture as Active Healing

This project also excites me because it obliterates every preconception about “affordable housing.” The architects describe the surfaces as “robust, straightforward, and welcoming, reflecting the resilience and potential of the women who live there.” This represents what they call “radically rethinking comfort.”

By creating unconventional dimensions in shared areas, the architecture requires mutual agreement among residents—it’s designed to encourage communication and collaboration. This architecture declares: “You deserve beauty, dignity, choice, and joy!”

Moreover, House for Five Women challenges every convention about architectural “completion”. Rather than delivering a finished product, it provides what the architects call “raw space as a platform for growth, adaptation, and reconfiguration.”

The women determine their own length of stay entirely. They’re encouraged to cultivate the adjacent agricultural plot, transforming land into productive space and reinforcing independence.

The building’s completion marks not the end, but a new beginning, with the project team remaining involved through NGO Naš Izvor while allowing spaces to adapt to residents’ evolving needs.

Why This Matters Right Now

In our current moment, as we watch wars unfold across our screens and witness the vulnerability of architecture (and humanity!) to destruction, the House for Five Women offers a different narrative about the building’s potential. It demonstrates how design can serve as a healing force and how contemporary architecture can honour cultural heritage while embracing innovation.

As someone who carries Bosnia and former Yugoslavia in her bones, who understands both the depth of wounds that war inflicts and the incredible resilience of people who survive it, I declare with utmost certainty this building represents a love letter to possibility. Seeing traditional textiles against contemporary concrete, women preparing coffee in spaces flooded with natural light, survivors unimaginable hardship finding dignity in thoughtfully designed spaces—it fills me with profound hope.

This project embodies TEN’s vision of “a new kind of design institute,” where creative partnerships bridge isolated domains of knowledge and bring people together around shared values. It proves that when architecture engages deeply with human needs, cultural memory, and collaborative processes, it creates spaces that not only shelter bodies but also nurture souls.

That’s the kind of design that changes the world.

With love, always —Mama Yellowtrace xx

"Spomenik—The End of History” by Jan Kempenaers.

You might see these as bizarre architectural sculptures, but for myself and many others, spomeniks serve as a painful reminder of the Balkan tragedy.

[Images courtesy of TEN Studio. Photography by Maxime Delvaux & Adrien de Hemptinne and Miloš Martinović.]