Indonesian architect Andra Matin and the art of noticing things

At home, Andra was allowed by his parents to mix cement to build little roads and rivers, and arrange toy cars. “Other children might have been told off for making such a mess,” he laughs, “but I was simply allowed.” At home, he had the freedom to play and roam within his imagination.

His creative roots also began at home. His father, Idik Sulaeman Nataatmadja, a graphic design graduate from the Bandung Institute of Technology (ITB), was highly skilled at drawing. It was his father who designed the country’s school uniforms, from primary through senior high school, as well as the student council emblem stitched onto their pockets. He was also the mind behind the name and look of Indonesia’s national flag-raising troops (Paskibraka).

“I still remember clearly how he taught me to hold a pencil.” A quiet man, Idik nonetheless  left a deep impression through his way of teaching. “And another thing—watching Star Wars with him. It felt incredibly special because he was always so busy.”

When it was time for university, Andra wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He applied to Fine Arts and Urban Planning at ITB, but was unsuccessful at both. The programmes that accepted him were Medicine at Padjadjaran University (Unpad) and Architecture at Parahyangan Catholic University (Unpar). During a psychological assessment in high school, he had indeed been deemed suitable for either medicine or architecture. “I told my mother that I was afraid of blood, so I preferred architecture,” he says. And so, he enrolled in Architecture at Unpar.

While studying, he met Purnama Salura, then a teaching assistant who ran a small studio, who gave him the opportunity to experience professional work as a drafter. “I was so happy because I earned pocket money for every drawing I completed. We came from a modest family, without much financial excess,” he says. “From him, I learned how to be a practising architect—because on campus, it was mostly theory. He introduced me to many books and taught me the importance of going to the site.” Today, Salura continues to teach at Unpar as a professor of Architectural History, Theory and Philosophy, and also serves as Head of the postgraduate programme.

After graduation, Andra spent nearly a decade at Jakarta-based firm Grahacipta Hadiprana before founding his own architectural practice, Andramatin, in 1998.

Two decades into his professional career, Andra finally designed his own home. This was done neither with detailed blueprints nor elaborate renderings, but intuitively—without drawings at all. “I simply spoke with the builders, used raffia string and a tape measure. Everything was imagined directly on site,” he explains. “The drawings were only made after the house was completed.”

The house became a space for experimentation: how heat moves, how wind enters, how rain sounds when it falls. He tested a concrete roof slab topped with grass, and observed a significant drop in temperature. “My house is a laboratory,” he says. “When designing for others, I already know the right measure.” Many of the projects he has undertaken have taught him lessons, but none more so than this one, his own home.

That experience gave him the confidence to design Banyuwangi International Airport in Blimbingsari, East Java. Known for its eco-friendly design inspired by vernacular culture, with a large green roof and natural ventilation that create a sustainable, low-energy building, the airport went on to win the prestigious 2022 Aga Khan Award for Architecture—a triennial honour with a total prize fund of US$1 million, shared among the winning projects—which cemented Andra as one of Southeast Asia’s leading architects.

“An architect is, in many ways, like a psychologist,” he reflects. Andra acknowledges that architecture demands extensive social interaction. The questionnaire or interviews he gives his clients before starting a project, especially private residences, are not about preferred styles, but simple questions about how they live: what time they wake up, their eating or drinking habits, whether they enjoy cooking, or what hobbies make them feel, truly, “at home”.

From there, he identifies their most essential spatial needs. If someone enjoys travelling, he designs more generous luggage storage. If they love cooking, he pays special attention to the pantry and kitchen. To Andra, architecture is essentially about reading people before reading form.

So, how does he see the development of Indonesian architecture? “We have many great architects, but if their work is only accessible to those who can afford it, society never truly feels its impact,” he declares.

 He hopes Indonesian architects will be more involved in public spaces. He imagines more thoughtfully designed libraries, comfortable public squares, places of worship that invite people in, or humane public toilets—spaces created by caring hands.

He also notes that younger generations are now more conscious of climate and culture. “They are far more alert,” he says, which gives him optimism for the future of sustainable spaces. Indonesia’s richness lies not only in materials or forms, but in how spaces coexist with nature.

If there is a single thread that weaves together Andra’s life and work, it is his ability to see small things as meaningful. He shares that one of his greatest pleasures is sitting in a space he designed and interacting with people who have no idea he was the architect, which indeed happened some time ago at the Tubaba Mosque in Lampung.

To Andra, sincere comments from people who may not understand architecture, yet can feel what a space offers, are a form  of happiness beyond measure.

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