The Architecture Of Psychological Infrastructure
by
Edward Sashkov
An independent research pursuit in Architectural Cognition and Human Systems.
November 2025
© Edward Sashkov. All Rights Reserved.
The Architecture Of Psychological Infrastructure
by
Edward Sashkov
Abstract
This thesis examines the work of SAGA Space Architects, a Copenhagen-based practice pioneering habitat design for extraterrestrial environments. Through analysis of their major projects (LUNARK, Mars Lab, and FlexHab) and field missions in Arctic analog environments, I argue that SAGA has developed a distinct architectural approach that extends classical design principles into extreme conditions while introducing a framework as the term "psychological infrastructure."
The research situates SAGA's work within architectural lineage from Vitruvius through Pallasmaa to Zumthor, demonstrating how their projects reinterpret strength as resilience, utility as adaptability, and beauty as tenderness under duress. Drawing on frameworks from aerospace engineering, I show how SAGA's methodology mirrors systems thinking inherent in spacecraft design: closed-loop resource management, anticipatory control systems, and iterative testing protocols.
My central contribution is the concept of psychological infrastructure, which positions mental health as a primary design requirement equal to structural integrity and life support capacity. This framework challenges conventional hierarchies in space mission planning by treating architecture not as a protective shell but as active intervention maintaining cognitive function, emotional stability, and social cohesion over extended durations. Through biometric data collection, circadian lighting systems, and integration of biological elements, SAGA demonstrates that psychological performance can be designed, measured, and optimized.
The thesis distills five design principles from SAGA's practice: adaptability, rhythm, resilience, tenderness, and psychological infrastructure. These principles apply not only to space habitats but to any extreme environment where humans must endure extended stress, including submarines, Antarctic stations, and dense urban contexts. The research concludes with speculative projections exploring how these principles might evolve as space architecture transitions from prototype to operational reality, from outpost to settlement, from survival to thriving.
Acknowledgments
This research would not have been possible without the generosity of Sebastian Aristotelis and the SAGA Space Architects team, who shared their time, documentation, and insights throughout this study. Their willingness to open their practice to academic scrutiny reflects their commitment to advancing space architecture as a legitimate discipline.
Thanks to my colleagues in the Architecture program who endured countless presentations on origami geometry and algae reactors, and whose feedback sharpened my thinking about psychological infrastructure as a theoretical contribution.
Finally, I acknowledge the broader community of space architecture researchers and practitioners whose work is building the foundation for permanent human presence beyond Earth. SAGA stands on many shoulders, as does this thesis. This work is dedicated to those who will inhabit the habitats we design today.
Chapter 1: Introduction
1.1 Research Context and Motivation
SAGA Space Architects is a Copenhagen-based practice with a mission that goes beyond conventional design. Their philosophy is rooted in the belief that architecture must enable humans to thrive, not just survive. At its core, the studio operates at the intersection of space and Earth, taking lessons from extreme environments and applying them to the challenges of building resilient, human-centered habitats both on this planet and beyond (Aristotelis and Sørensen, 2020). Their work is not driven by a fixed aesthetic or style but by a deep respect for the natural world and a commitment to human well-being. They are building a body of work that treats architecture as both science and culture, an approach that feels essential for shaping the future of life in space.
Vitruvius wrote that architecture must balance firmitas, utilitas, venustas: strength, utility, and beauty (Vitruvius, 1999). Pallasmaa emphasized the role of the senses in cultivating human well-being (Pallasmaa, 2012). Zumthor described architecture as atmosphere, shaping how spaces are felt rather than merely built (Zumthor, 2006). SAGA extends this lineage into the most extreme conditions imaginable, designing habitats for the Moon, Mars, and beyond. Strength becomes resilience against radiation and Arctic winds. Utility becomes adaptability across planets. Beauty becomes tenderness, rhythm, and psychological comfort in places of confinement.
My studies in the MIT Aerospace Engineering program show how these architectural questions converge with engineering principles. Engineers adapt discoveries, convert forces of nature into systems, create devices for society, develop processes that move us forward, and communicate knowledge so it enters culture (Crawley et al., 2015). SAGA's projects embody each principle: algae reactors translating biology into life support, origami geometries unfolding into shelter, circadian light systems sustaining human rhythm. Their architecture is as much system as structure, a framework for endurance, meaning, and culture where survival alone is never enough.
1.2 Research Questions
The question that drives this research is not whether humans can survive in space. That question has been answered by decades of orbital stations and surface missions (NASA, 2023). The question is whether we can thrive there. Whether architecture can evolve from protective shell into psychological infrastructure. Whether design can anticipate the breakdown of human rhythm before it occurs, and whether habitats can become ecosystems rather than containers.
SAGA's work suggests that the answer is yes, but only if architecture changes its definition of performance. Performance can no longer be measured solely in structural capacity or thermal resistance. It must account for what happens inside the human mind after sixty days of confinement. It must measure the quality of light against circadian disruption. It must assess spatial volume not in cubic meters but in psychological relief. This expansion of performance criteria is not a luxury. It is a necessity for long-duration missions, and it is the foundation upon which SAGA builds every project.
What makes their approach distinct is the refusal to separate engineering from culture. Where conventional space architecture prioritizes functionality and defers aesthetics to later stages, SAGA treats them as inseparable from the beginning. The origami geometry of LUNARK is not decoration applied to structure. It is a structure derived from the need for deployment, transportation efficiency, and spatial expansion. The algae bioreactor in Mars Lab is not a technical add-on. It is architecture: a living system that filters air, absorbs radiation, produces oxygen, and provides inhabitants with a connection to growth and life in an otherwise sterile environment.
This integration reflects a broader shift in how extreme environment design must be approached. Aerospace engineering has long understood that systems must be closed loop to sustain life beyond Earth (Jones, 2018). Water must be recovered from urine and humidity. Air must be scrubbed of contaminants and regenerated through chemical or biological processes. Waste must be converted into resources. SAGA applies this same closed-loop thinking to architecture itself, treating habitats not as static objects but as dynamic systems that breathe, adapt, and respond to their inhabitants over time.
1.3 Methodology and Structure
The projects I analyze in this study span competitions, Arctic field missions, and conceptual proposals for Martian colonies. Each one reveals a different dimension of SAGA's ethos. LUNARK demonstrates how architecture can fold and unfold, contracting for transport and expanding for living. Mars Lab demonstrates how biometric data and environmental sensors can turn a habitat into a research instrument. FlexHab demonstrates how modularity can scale from a single prototype to a network of interconnected structures, forming the basis for a self-sustaining settlement. Together, these projects form a trajectory that moves from proof of concept toward operational reality.
But this research is not simply a chronicle of what SAGA has built. It is an attempt to understand why their approach matters, how it connects to broader architectural and engineering traditions, and where it might lead in the years ahead. I frame their work through three lenses: architectural lineage, aerospace engineering principles, and psychological infrastructure. The first lens situates SAGA within a history of thought that stretches from Vitruvius to Pallasmaa to Zumthor. The second lens reveals how their projects mirror the systems thinking inherent in spacecraft design, life support, and orbital mechanics. The third lens is my own contribution: the argument that architecture in extreme environments must be understood as infrastructure for the mind, not just the body.
This study is structured to move sequentially through these ideas. Chapter 2 examines the founders, Sebastian Aristotelis and Karl-Johan Sorensen, tracing how their early competitions and education at the International Space University shaped the studio's direction. Chapter 3 places SAGA within architectural discourse, showing how their work extends classical principles into extraterrestrial contexts. Chapter 4 analyzes their major projects in detail, treating each one as both design and experiment. Chapter 5 distills their approach into a set of design principles: adaptability, rhythm, resilience, tenderness, and psychological infrastructure. Chapter 6 applies a critical lens, identifying challenges and proposing how their ethos might evolve. Chapter 7 projects their work into the near future, imagining what comes after FlexHab and how SAGA's principles could shape the first permanent colonies beyond Earth. Chapter 8 synthesizes findings and articulates implications for both space architecture and terrestrial practice.
1.4 Contribution to the Field
The purpose of this research is not to celebrate SAGA uncritically. It is to understand what they have built, why it matters, and how it can inform the next generation of habitat design. Their work suggests that the future of architecture lies not in grandiose forms or technological spectacle but in quiet, deliberate systems that allow humans to create meaning, rhythm, and culture in places where existence itself is fragile. This is architecture that begins from zero, from Tabula Rasa, and builds toward something more durable than survival. It builds toward thriving.
My central contribution is the conceptual framework of psychological infrastructure, which I develop throughout this thesis. While SAGA's projects implicitly address mental health and human factors, the concept remains unnamed and untheorized in their public work. By articulating this framework explicitly, I provide vocabulary and analytical tools that clarify what makes their approach significant and how it can be systematically applied to future projects. This is how fields advance: practitioners create examples, theorists extract principles, and subsequent practitioners apply those principles more rigorously. SAGA creates the examples. This thesis extracts the principle.
Chapter 2: Founder and Studio Ethos
2.1 Formation and Early Competition Success
Sebastian Aristotelis and Karl-Johan Sorensen met at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts with a shared fascination that had no clear home within traditional architecture. They were drawn to space exploration, but the discipline offered no obvious path forward. Architecture schools taught them about context, materiality, and urban systems, but not about the vacuum of space or the psychology of confinement on Mars. The gap between their interest and their education became the opening through which SAGA would eventually emerge (Aristotelis, 2021).
Competitions became their entry point. Without institutional backing or industry connections, competitions offered a way to test ideas and gain credibility in a field that barely existed. Their first major recognition came with the Dandelion Shelter, designed for the Marstopia competition. The project proposed a deployable habitat that could land on the Martian surface and expand into a livable structure. It was speculative, but it was grounded. The geometry was deliberate. Life-support systems were considered. The project demonstrated that space architecture could be more than science fiction illustration. It could be a legitimate design discipline with rigorous constraints and measurable outcomes.
This early success led to further recognition in the NewSpace 2060 International Moon Pitch, where their ideas continued to prove that architecture had a role to play in the emerging commercial space industry. These competition wins were not just accolades. They were validation that two architects without aerospace engineering degrees could contribute meaningfully to the conversation about habitats beyond Earth. More importantly, they revealed a gap in the field: engineers were designing life-support systems and structural shells, but no one was thinking deeply about spatial quality, psychological comfort, or the human experience of living inside those shells for months or years at a time.
2.2 International Space University and Systems Integration
Recognizing this gap, both founders attended the International Space University (ISU). ISU is not a traditional graduate program. It is an interdisciplinary immersion into space systems, bringing together engineers, scientists, architects, policy experts, and entrepreneurs (International Space University, 2020). For Aristotelis and Sørensen, it was transformative. They learned how spacecraft are designed as integrated systems where every component affects every other component. They learned about Environmental Control and Life Support Systems (ECLSS), radiation shielding, thermal management, and mission architecture. They learned that space missions are not built by individual disciplines working in isolation, but by teams that speak across boundaries.
What they brought back from ISU was not just technical knowledge. It was a framework for thinking about architecture as a system rather than an object. A habitat in space cannot be designed the way a house on Earth is designed. It cannot rely on the atmosphere to dilute contaminants or gravity to settle dust. It cannot assume that resupply missions will arrive on schedule or that inhabitants can step outside when they feel confined. Every decision has cascading consequences. The choice of interior finishes affects air quality. The layout of sleeping quarters affects circadian rhythm. The presence or absence of windows affects mental health. Architecture in space is not about form-making. It is about choreographing systems that keep humans alive and sane.
This realization became the foundation of SAGA's ethos. When they officially founded the studio, they carried forward the belief that architecture must address both the physiological and psychological needs of inhabitants. Survival is the baseline. Thriving is the goal. This distinction is not semantic. It represents a fundamental shift in how performance is measured. A habitat that keeps you alive but leaves you mentally exhausted, isolated, or disoriented has failed, even if all its technical systems function perfectly.
2.3 Studio Philosophy: Thriving versus Surviving
Sebastian Aristotelis has since become the public voice of SAGA, leading keynote presentations and field missions that demonstrate their ideas in practice. His emphasis in talks consistently returns to human well-being, comfort, and mental resilience. He speaks about spatial monotony as a threat equal to radiation exposure. He speaks about circadian disruption as a design problem, not just a medical one. He speaks about architecture as the interface between human biology and hostile environments (Aristotelis, 2022). This framing is deliberate. It positions SAGA not as futurists designing fantasy concepts, but as pragmatists solving real problems that will determine whether long-duration space missions succeed or fail.
Beyond SAGA, Aristotelis co-founded the 3DCP Group, a company pioneering three-dimensional printed construction with the aim of reducing labor strain and improving efficiency in building processes. This venture is not a departure from space architecture. It is an extension of the same ethos applied to Earth. The goal is to use technology to make construction more resilient, more sustainable, and more humane. The connection is clear: whether building on Mars or building in Copenhagen, the principles remain the same. Architecture must reduce unnecessary strain on both workers and inhabitants. It must adapt to context. It must prioritize human experience alongside structural performance.
Karl-Johan Sørensen brought a different but complementary expertise to SAGA. His background in computation, parametric design, and deployable structures shaped the studio's early formal language. He understood origami geometry not as an aesthetic choice but as structural logic. Folding patterns allow a structure to contract for transport and expand for habitation, maximizing volume while minimizing launch mass (Sørensen, 2020). This principle became the defining feature of LUNARK, the habitat that would establish SAGA's credibility in the field.
Sørensen's interest in deployable structures came from a fascination with how forms can transform under constraint. Origami is not arbitrary. Every fold is dictated by geometry and material behavior. When applied to architecture, this logic produces forms that are both efficient and expressive. The LUNARK habitat folds into a compact cylinder for transport, then unfolds into a rigid shell capable of withstanding Arctic winds and thermal extremes. The transformation is not mechanical. It is choreographed. Each panel moves in sequence, locking into place to form a stable enclosure. The result is a structure that feels alive, as if it were growing rather than being assembled.
After co-founding SAGA, Sørensen left the studio in 2021 to pursue research at MIT in civil engineering. His departure did not diminish SAGA's trajectory. Instead, it demonstrated that the studio's ethos was robust enough to persist beyond its original partnership. The principles they had established together continued to guide the work. The emphasis on deployability, human well-being, and systems integration remained central. Sørensen's move to MIT also reinforced the idea that space architecture is not a niche specialty. It is a testing ground for ideas that apply across disciplines, from structural engineering to materials research to human factors design.
2.4 Terra-Tech and Analog Testing Methodology
The concept of Terra-Tech further clarifies SAGA's philosophy. Terra-Tech refers to the practice of testing space architecture on Earth, in analog environments that simulate the conditions of extraterrestrial habitats. The Arctic, the desert, underwater stations, and high-altitude research facilities all serve as proving grounds. These environments are not perfect analogs, but they are close enough to reveal what works and what fails. They expose weaknesses in design, materials, and systems before those weaknesses become catastrophic in space (SAGA Space Architects, 2021).
SAGA's commitment to Terra-Tech is not just practical. It is ideological. They believe that architecture for space cannot be purely theoretical. It must be tested, inhabited, and refined through lived experience. The LUNARK mission in Arctic Greenland exemplified this commitment. For sixty days, Aristotelis and Sørensen lived inside the habitat, collecting biometric data, monitoring environmental conditions, and experiencing firsthand the psychological effects of isolation and confinement. The mission was not a performance. It was research. The data collected informed future projects. The lessons learned shaped how SAGA thinks about spatial layout, lighting, acoustics, and material finishes.
This iterative, evidence-based approach aligns SAGA more closely with engineering than with traditional architecture. Engineers do not design in a vacuum. They prototype, test, analyze, and iterate. They measure performance against criteria. They accept failure as part of the process. SAGA operates the same way. Their projects are not finished when the drawings are complete. They are finished when the habitat has been built, tested, and proven to support human thriving under real conditions.
2.5 Collaborative Structure and Interdisciplinary Practice
The broader SAGA team reflects this multidisciplinary spirit. The studio does not operate as a traditional architecture practice with a single principal and a staff of designers. It functions more like a research collective, drawing from engineering, design, biology, and psychology to form a collaborative environment. This structure is necessary because the problems they are solving cannot be addressed by architects alone. Life-support systems require biological expertise. Structural deployability requires engineering analysis. Psychological comfort requires input from human factors research. SAGA's projects succeed because they integrate these disciplines from the beginning, not as consultants brought in after the concept is fixed, but as co-authors of the design itself.
This collaborative model also reflects a deeper philosophical stance: that architecture in extreme environments cannot afford to be authored by a singular vision. The stakes are too high. A mistake in form-making on Earth might result in an uncomfortable space or an inefficient layout. A mistake in space architecture can result in system failure, psychological breakdown, or loss of life. The work demands humility. It demands a willingness to listen to expertise outside the discipline. It demands an understanding that architecture is not the hero of the project. The inhabitants are.
SAGA's motto captures this mindset: we must thrive, not just survive. The phrase appears repeatedly in their presentations, publications, and project descriptions. It is not a marketing slogan. It is a design brief. Every decision is evaluated against this standard. Does this layout support psychological well-being over sixty days of confinement? Does this lighting system sustain circadian rhythm? Does this material choice reduce or increase stress? If the answer is unclear, the design is not finished.
This emphasis on thriving also connects to another recurring theme in SAGA's work: Tabula Rasa. The phrase means blank slate, and for SAGA, it represents the idea that inspiration and innovation begin from zero. They do not start with preconceived forms or stylistic preferences. They start with the constraints of the environment, the needs of the inhabitants, and the systems required to keep both in balance. The form emerges from these conditions. It is discovered, not imposed.
This approach stands in contrast to much of contemporary architecture, where form often precedes function and where signature styles become more important than contextual response. SAGA rejects this model. Their work is not recognizable by a consistent formal language. LUNARK looks different from Mars Lab, which looks different from FlexHab. What ties them together is not aesthetic continuity but methodological consistency. Each project begins from first principles. Each project treats architecture as a system. Each project prioritizes human experience as the ultimate measure of success.
The founders' journey from competition entries to Arctic field missions to international recognition reflects a deliberate strategy: prove the concept, test it rigorously, refine it based on evidence, and scale it toward operational deployment. This is not the trajectory of speculative designers. It is the trajectory of innovators building the foundation for a new discipline. SAGA is not waiting for the space industry to define what habitats should be. They are defining it themselves, one prototype at a time.
Chapter 3: Architectural Lineage and Theoretical Context
3.1 Vitruvian Principles in Extreme Environments
Architecture has always been concerned with the relationship between shelter and human flourishing, but the terms of that relationship have shifted across centuries. Vitruvius, writing in the first century BCE, established a framework that still resonates: firmitas, utilitas, venustas. Strength, utility, beauty. These three principles were not meant to be separate concerns but interdependent qualities that define successful architecture (Vitruvius, 1999). A building must stand. It must serve its purpose. It must elevate the human spirit. Vitruvius understood that architecture failing in any one of these dimensions fails entirely.
For SAGA, this framework translates directly into the conditions of space. Firmitas becomes resilience against environments that are actively hostile. A habitat on Mars must withstand radiation, temperature swings of 100 degrees Celsius between day and night, dust storms that last weeks, and the structural stress of maintaining internal pressure against a near-vacuum. Strength is not about mass or monumentality. It is about durability under duress. It is about materials that do not degrade under ultraviolet bombardment. It is about joints that do not fail after thousands of thermal cycles. It is about systems that continue functioning when resupply is months or years away.
Utilitas becomes adaptability across planetary contexts. A habitat designed for the Moon cannot simply be transferred to Mars. Lunar regolith has different properties than Martian soil. Lunar gravity is one-sixth of Earth's, while Mars is three-eighths. The Moon has no atmosphere to slow incoming meteorites, while Mars has enough atmosphere to create wind and dust but not enough to breathe. Each environment demands different structural approaches, different thermal strategies, different life-support configurations. Utility in this context means designing systems flexible enough to adapt while maintaining core functionality. It means modularity that allows components to be reconfigured for different missions without requiring entirely new designs.
Venustas becomes something more subtle and more urgent than beauty in the conventional sense. It becomes tenderness. It becomes rhythm. It becomes psychological comfort in places of confinement. When humans are isolated inside a sealed container for months, the quality of light matters more than aesthetic preference. The presence of living systems matters more than decoration. The ability to perceive time through environmental cues matters more than style. Beauty in space is not about form as spectacle. It is about a form of care. It is about designing environments that acknowledge the fragility of the human mind under extreme conditions and respond with gentleness rather than indifference.
This reinterpretation of Vitruvian principles situates SAGA within a lineage that values architecture as something more than technical problem-solving. They are not building machines for living. They are building atmospheres for thriving. This distinction matters because it changes what gets prioritized in the design process. If architecture is only about solving technical problems, then the solution to confinement is a smaller, more efficient capsule. If architecture is about human flourishing, then the solution is a space that allows inhabitants to maintain their humanity despite confinement.
3.2 Pallasmaa and the Sensory Dimension
Juhani Pallasmaa expanded architectural thinking in a different but related direction. His work emphasizes the role of the senses in cultivating human well-being. Architecture, he argues, is not primarily visual. It is haptic, acoustic, olfactory, thermal. We experience buildings through our entire bodies, not just our eyes (Pallasmaa, 2012). A space can look beautiful in photographs but feel oppressive to inhabit. Conversely, a space with minimal visual drama can feel profoundly comforting because of how sound moves through it, how light touches surfaces, how materials feel under the hand.
For space architecture, this sensory dimension becomes critical. Astronauts on the International Space Station report that one of the most disorienting aspects of long-duration missions is the absence of sensory variation. Every surface is hard, smooth, and sterile. Every sound is mechanical. There is no wind, no rustling leaves, no distant traffic (Kanas and Manzey, 2008). The environment is sensorially impoverished, and this impoverishment contributes to psychological fatigue. Pallasmaa's insight is that humans need sensory richness to feel grounded. We need textures that vary under touch. We need acoustic environments that absorb and reflect sound in natural ways. We need thermal gradients that signal different zones within a space.
SAGA's projects respond to this need. The interior of LUNARK includes wood finishes that provide warmth and acoustic softness. The circadian light panels do not simply turn on and off. They shift in color temperature and intensity throughout the day, simulating the progression from dawn to midday to dusk to night. This variation is not cosmetic. It is functional. The human body relies on light cues to regulate sleep, hormone production, and cognitive performance. Disrupting those cues leads to insomnia, mood disorders, and impaired decision-making (Czeisler et al., 2016). The circadian panels are architecture as sensory infrastructure, maintaining the body's internal rhythm when external cues are absent.
The algae bioreactor in Mars Lab extends this principle into the biological realm. The reactor is not hidden behind panels. It is visible, integrated into the living space. Inhabitants can see the algae growing, changing color as it photosynthesizes, responding to light and CO2 levels. This visibility serves multiple functions. Practically, it provides oxygen and absorbs contaminants. Symbolically, it connects inhabitants to living systems in an otherwise lifeless environment. Psychologically, it offers something to observe, to care for, to interact with. The algae becomes a companion, a marker of time, a reminder that life persists even in places designed to extinguish it.
Pallasmaa also writes about embodiment, the idea that architecture shapes not just what we see but how we move, how we inhabit our own bodies. In cramped, low-ceilinged spaces, we hunch. In expansive, well-lit spaces, we stand taller. The environment influences posture, gesture, and physical comfort (Pallasmaa, 2012). For astronauts living in microgravity, embodiment becomes even more complex. The body loses its sense of up and down. Muscles atrophy. Bones demineralize. The environment must compensate for these losses, not just through exercise equipment but through spatial design that encourages movement, that provides handholds and foot restraints in intuitive locations, that allows inhabitants to orient themselves without constant cognitive effort.
SAGA's approach to deployable structures addresses this concern. LUNARK, despite its compact footprint, unfolds to create vertical space. The ceiling is high enough to stand without hunching. The interior is divided into zones that encourage different postures and activities: sleeping, working, eating, exercising. This zoning is not just functional. It is phenomenological. It allows inhabitants to experience spatial variety even within a limited volume. The act of moving from one zone to another becomes a ritual, a way of marking time and maintaining a sense of structure in an otherwise monotonous routine.
3.3 Zumthor and Atmospheric Architecture
Peter Zumthor extends this thinking into the realm of atmosphere. Architecture, he argues, is not about objects. It is about the experience of being inside those objects. Atmosphere is the felt quality of a space, the combination of light, material, sound, scale, and detail that creates a particular emotional tone (Zumthor, 2006). The atmosphere cannot be designed directly. It emerges from thousands of small decisions: the thickness of a wall, the texture of a surface, the way light enters a room, the acoustics of footsteps on a floor.
Zumthor's architecture is characterized by restraint, precision, and an almost obsessive attention to detail. His buildings are not loud. They do not demand attention through formal gymnastics. Instead, they invite quiet observation. They reveal themselves slowly. This approach aligns closely with SAGA's ethos. Their habitats are not sculptural statements. They are carefully calibrated environments where every element serves a purpose and nothing is extraneous. The form of LUNARK emerges from its folding geometry. The materials are chosen for performance, not symbolism. The lighting is designed to support circadian rhythm, not to create dramatic effects.
But the atmosphere in space architecture carries an additional layer of meaning. The word atmosphere refers not just to mood but to the physical envelope of breathable air that sustains life. On Earth, the atmosphere is a given. We move through it without thinking. In space, the atmosphere is an artifact, something that must be manufactured, filtered, pressurized, and maintained. The quality of that atmosphere directly affects human health. Contaminants accumulate. Humidity fluctuates. Temperature must be regulated. The atmosphere is not just a backdrop. It is a system that requires constant attention.
SAGA's integration of life-support systems into architectural form acknowledges this dual meaning. The algae reactor in Mars Lab is both atmospheric in the Zumthorian sense and atmospheric in the technical sense. It contributes to the mood of the space by providing color, movement, and a connection to living processes. Simultaneously, it contributes to the composition of the air by absorbing CO2 and releasing oxygen. The architecture and the atmosphere are inseparable. One cannot be designed without the other.
3.4 Convergence: Life Support as Atmosphere
This convergence of atmospheric design and life-support engineering represents a fundamental shift in how space architecture must be approached. Traditional architecture treats environmental systems as separate from design. HVAC systems are hidden in ceilings and mechanical rooms. Plumbing is concealed behind walls. The architecture is the visible shell, and the systems are invisible infrastructure. This separation works on Earth because the systems are reliable and do not require constant monitoring. But in space, reliability cannot be assumed. Systems fail. Filters clog. Sensors drift. Inhabitants must be able to access, inspect, and repair every component.
SAGA's work suggests that this accessibility should not be treated as a compromise. It should be integrated into the spatial experience. The systems should be visible, legible, and beautiful in their own right. The algae reactor is not hidden because it is ugly. It is celebrated because it is essential. The circadian panels are not disguised as conventional lighting. They are expressed as what they are: devices that regulate human biology. This honesty in expression reflects a broader architectural principle: that form should reveal function, not obscure it.
The lineage from Vitruvius to Pallasmaa to Zumthor traces an evolving understanding of what architecture is meant to do. Vitruvius established that architecture must balance strength, utility, and beauty. Pallasmaa added that architecture must engage the senses and acknowledge embodiment. Zumthor refined this into the concept of atmosphere, the felt quality that emerges from careful attention to detail. SAGA extends all three thinkers into the most extreme conditions imaginable, where strength becomes resilience, utility becomes adaptability, beauty becomes tenderness, the senses must be sustained through artificial means, and atmosphere becomes both mood and life-support.
3.5 Architecture as Psychological Infrastructure
But SAGA also introduces something new into this lineage: the concept of architecture as psychological infrastructure. This is not just about comfort or aesthetics. It is about recognizing that the mind is as vulnerable as the body in extreme environments, and that architecture has a responsibility to protect both. Psychological infrastructure means designing spaces that anticipate mental fatigue, spatial monotony, circadian disruption, and social tension. It means treating these threats as seriously as radiation or thermal extremes. It means measuring success not just in structural performance or energy efficiency, but in the sustained mental health of inhabitants over weeks, months, or years.
This concept does not appear in Vitruvius, Pallasmaa, or Zumthor because none of them were designing for environments where psychological breakdown is a predictable outcome of poor design. On Earth, if a building is oppressive, you leave. If a space feels claustrophobic, you step outside. If the lighting is harsh, you adjust it or move to another room. In space, these options do not exist. The habitat is everything. It is a shelter, workplace, social space, and psychological refuge. If it fails in any of these roles, there is no alternative.
SAGA's recognition of this reality is what distinguishes them from both traditional architecture and conventional aerospace engineering. Traditional architecture assumes that inhabitants have agency, that they can modify their environment or leave if necessary. Aerospace engineering assumes that inhabitants are trained professionals who can tolerate discomfort in service of the mission. SAGA rejects both assumptions. They design for long-duration habitation where discomfort compounds over time and where even trained astronauts experience psychological strain. They design for a future where space habitats are not short-term missions but permanent settlements, where children are born and raised, where culture develops, where life unfolds over generations.
This long-term perspective requires a different kind of architecture. It requires spaces that support not just survival but meaning-making. It requires environments that allow for privacy, social interaction, creative expression, and physical movement. It requires systems that adapt to changing needs rather than imposing fixed routines. It requires an architecture that treats inhabitants as whole human beings, not as components in a mission profile.
The theoretical context for SAGA's work, then, is not just architectural. It is interdisciplinary. It draws from architecture, engineering, psychology, biology, and systems theory. It synthesizes insights from fields that rarely speak to each other and applies them to problems that do not yet have established solutions. This synthesis is what makes their work significant. They are not just designing buildings. They are defining the principles that will guide habitat design for the next century.
The lineage they extend is not linear. It does not move neatly from Vitruvius to Pallasmaa to Zumthor to SAGA. Instead, it branches and converges, pulling ideas from multiple traditions and recombining them into something new. SAGA's architecture is Vitruvian in its insistence on balancing strength, utility, and beauty. It is Pallasmaan in its attention to sensory experience and embodiment. It is Zumthorian in its pursuit of atmosphere as the defining quality of space. But it is also something else, something that emerges from the unique demands of designing for environments where every detail matters and where failure is not an option.
This theoretical grounding gives SAGA's work depth that goes beyond technical competence. It positions their projects within a larger conversation about what architecture is for, who it serves, and how it shapes human experience. It demonstrates that space architecture is not a niche specialty disconnected from the discipline's core concerns. It is an extension of those concerns into new territory, where the stakes are higher and the constraints are tighter, but where the fundamental questions remain the same: How do we create environments that allow humans to thrive?
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