How Long Does It Take to Renovate a Farmhouse? (And Why I'm in No Hurry to Tell You)
When someone asks me how long it takes to renovate a farmhouse, they are often expecting a precise answer.
Six months? A year? Eighteen months?
The question is perfectly legitimate. When you decide to buy or restore a farmhouse, knowing how long the work will take means being able to plan an investment, understand when you might be able to move into your new home, coordinate a hospitality business, or simply know when the project will finally become a reality.
The problem is that, especially when dealing with the renovation and restoration of a farmhouse, a serious answer cannot simply be a number.
Before deciding how long construction will take, you first need to understand how much time is required to study, understand and design the project.
And this is where my approach to architecture comes in.
I consider myself an architectural craftsman
I like to describe myself as an architectural craftsman.
Not because I believe architects should work without technology, or that the past was necessarily better than the present. I use software, digital tools, advanced visualization systems and, when they are genuinely useful, artificial intelligence tools as well.
But I still believe there is something that no technology can replace: the time needed to truly understand a project.
That is why I have made a very deliberate professional choice.
I do not want to work on twenty projects at the same time.
Could I do it? Probably.
But it is not how I want to work.
I would rather have fewer projects underway at any given time and be able to fully engage with each one. To understand it, study it, revisit it, discuss it with the client and, when necessary, change my mind.
For me, being an architectural craftsman means precisely this: not treating every project as a product to be delivered, but as something to be carefully developed.
A farmhouse is not a new-build house
When talking about renovating a farmhouse, this distinction becomes particularly important.
An existing farmhouse is not a blank sheet of paper.
It has a history, a structure, materials and layers of change accumulated over time. It may contain additions from different periods, walls built in different eras, roofs that need to be properly assessed, and openings that tell us something about how the building was once used.
Then there is its relationship with the landscape.
A farmhouse in the Marche region is not simply a building placed on a piece of land. It is part of a territory, a hillside, an agricultural landscape and, in many cases, a building tradition that deserves to be understood before deciding how to intervene.
So when I stand in front of a farmhouse that is to be restored, the first question I ask myself is not:
“How long will it take?”
The first question is:
“What exactly are we dealing with?”
First you observe, then you design
It may sound obvious, but in practice it is not.
Before drawing, you need to observe.
You need to understand the building, the site, the access points, the orientation, the natural light, its relationship with the landscape and, of course, the needs of the people who will eventually live there.
You need to establish what is possible from a planning and regulatory standpoint.
You need to determine which parts of the building can be preserved, which require structural work and which can be transformed.
And you also need to accept that not every answer comes immediately.
Sometimes a project seems resolved and, a few days later, you realize that something could work better.
A layout can be improved.
A window can be repositioned.
A connection between two spaces can be reconsidered.
A detail that initially seemed secondary can turn out to be fundamental.
These are precisely the kinds of reflections that often do not appear in the final result.
But they are part of the design process.
So, how long does it really take to renovate a farmhouse?
This brings me back to the original question.
How long does it take?
The answer depends on the building and on the scope of the work.
A limited interior renovation is one thing.
A complete farmhouse restoration involving changes to the layout, structural work, new building services, energy upgrades, and improvements to the outdoor spaces is something entirely different.
And a project involving demolition and reconstruction, extensions or more substantial transformations is different again.
That is why I do not like giving standard timeframes without first understanding the project.
There is the time required for surveys and preliminary assessments, the design process, the planning and building approval procedures and, finally, the construction itself.
Each of these stages can depend on circumstances that are not entirely under the architect's control.
There is one thing I can say with certainty, though: rushing the design stage in order to save a few weeks can be a false economy.
A decision made too quickly can affect a project for years.
A poor layout can become expensive to change once construction has begun.
A detail that was not properly considered can turn into a problem on site.
That is why I would rather take the necessary time at the beginning than spend the construction phase chasing problems that could have been prevented.
A project is more than what you see
When you look at a finished project, you see the result.
A beautiful photograph.
A rendering.
A clean floor plan.
A restored façade.
But there is much more behind that final image.
There are site visits, surveys, checks, phone calls, discussions, alternative design solutions, problems solved and decisions made.
There are also many ideas that never make it into the final project.
That is normal.
Design also means eliminating.
Trying a solution, realizing it does not work and starting again.
Sometimes it means changing something that already seemed to work because you believe it can be improved.
This is one of the reasons why I do not believe an architect's work can be measured simply by counting the number of drawings produced.
The hours the client does not see
There is a part of an architect's work that inevitably remains invisible.
The client sees the finished project, but does not necessarily see all the hours behind it.
They do not see the time spent comparing two possible solutions.
They do not see the checks carried out before an answer is given.
They do not see a phone call with another professional or with the contractor.
They do not see a detail redrawn three times because the first solution was not convincing enough.
They may not see a potential problem identified before it becomes a problem on site.
Yet all of this is part of the work.
That is why I believe a professional's fee should reflect not only the final, tangible result, but also the expertise, time, responsibility and complexity of the service provided.
It is not simply a matter of “charging for hours”.
The value of an architect is not just an hourly rate.
It is the combination of experience, knowledge, design ability and professional responsibility brought to the project.
But without sufficient time, even expertise cannot always be used to its full potential.
I don't only work on farmhouses
The title of this article focuses on farmhouses because these buildings have always interested me, and because their restoration makes the relationship between time, knowledge and design particularly clear.
But my work is not limited to farmhouses.
I work on architectural design, renovations, restoration and adaptive reuse, interior design, residential buildings and projects involving the transformation of existing sites and buildings.
I also work in urban planning.
These may seem like completely different scales.
On one hand, there is the detail of an interior; on the other, the scale of an entire territory.
On one hand, you may need to decide how a kitchen should be organized or how a door should relate to a wall.
On the other, you may need to consider roads, public spaces, relationships between buildings, the landscape and the transformation of an entire area.
But for me, the principle remains the same.
First you need to understand. Then you can design.
That is probably the common thread connecting projects that may otherwise appear very different.
From the scale of a door handle to that of an entire landscape
This is one of the things I like most about being an architect.
Being able to move from the scale of a door handle to that of an entire territory without losing the same attention to the project.
A different scale does not necessarily mean a different way of thinking.
It means changing your point of view.
In restoration, you have to listen to what the building is telling you.
In architectural design, you need to understand the needs of the people who will use it.
In urban planning, you need to understand the relationships between the elements that shape a territory.
In every case, however, you need observation.
You need research.
You need discussion.
And you need time.
Why I don't work on twenty projects at the same time
So here is my answer to the original question, at least as far as my way of working is concerned.
I do not work on twenty projects at the same time because I do not want my professional life to become a succession of deadlines to meet.
I do not want a client to feel that they are simply “Tuesday afternoon's project”.
I want to know the project I am working on.
I want to understand why a particular decision was made.
I want to remember what we discussed with the client.
I want to be able to return to a solution if I think it can be improved.
I want to be able to stop and focus on a problem without immediately having to rush on to the next one.
This does not mean working without organization.
Quite the opposite.
It means organizing my work so that every project receives the attention it deserves.
It is a professional choice.
And, like every professional choice, it has consequences.
Perhaps it means taking on fewer projects at the same time.
But it also means being able to give the projects I do accept a greater level of personal involvement.
I'm in no hurry to tell you how long it will take
So when a client asks me how long it will take to renovate their farmhouse, I prefer not to make up an answer.
I would rather see the farmhouse first.
Understand the project.
Find out what they want to achieve.
Identify the constraints.
Establish what transformations are actually possible.
Only then can I start talking about timescales.
It is not an evasive answer.
It is a matter of professional responsibility.
Because I believe an architect should be efficient when necessary, but should not be afraid to say that some things take time.
Especially when that time is what allows the work to be done properly.
Architecture needs time
Perhaps, in the end, this is what I mean when I describe myself as an architectural craftsman.
It does not mean being against technology.
It does not mean working slowly.
It does not mean doing less.
It means not confusing speed with quality.
It means understanding that a project needs to be observed, discussed, checked and, sometimes, reconsidered.
Whether it is the restoration of a farmhouse in the Marche region, the renovation of a home, the restoration of a historic building, an interior design project or an urban planning scheme, the principle remains the same for me.
A project deserves attention.
And attention takes time.
That is why, when someone asks me how long it takes to renovate a farmhouse, I am in no hurry to give them an answer.
First, I want to understand what we are actually trying to create.
Then we can talk about how long it will take to make it happen.
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