BY COLLEEN KERN

When Lindsey Wikstrom thinks about sustainability, she doesn’t start with certifications or checklists. The founding principal and architect at Mattaforma in New York begins with a more fundamental question.

She says, “I stopped asking whether a material is ‘sustainable’ and started asking ‘Who, exactly, is being sustained by this design?’”

It’s this shift from label to responsibility that defines Wikstrom’s approach to architecture — one rooted in her Arizona upbringing and sharpened through years of practice in New York. For Wikstrom, sustainability isn’t an add-on or a marketing term. It’s a framework for making decisions that account for real people, real places, and real consequences.

A HIERARCHY OF INTENTION

In her firm’s daily work, Wikstrom and her team follow a clear material hierarchy. First, they leverage what’s already on site. Then they prioritize biogenic materials — those derived from living organisms — that fit the project’s typology and budget. Next, come reclaimed components. Only after exhausting these options do they turn to high-performing mineral and metal materials, and only where their strength-to-weight ratio genuinely earns its place.

This isn’t a rigid formula. It requires constant research into building codes, fabricators, and supply chains — work that Wikstrom considers part of the design service itself, not an afterthought. She shares this research transparently with clients and refines it in collaboration with consultants and builders.

REDESIGNING THE RULES

Wikstrom’s commitment to sustainable design intensifies when someone tells her something is impossible. “Any time someone says ‘that’s impossible,’ it motivates us to redesign the rules, not just the building,” she explains.

This philosophy shows up powerfully in her work on economically aligned multifamily housing, where the stakes are both urgent and ethical. Here, geometry itself becomes a sustainability tool. Rather than accepting the monotony of identical units repeated floor after floor, Wikstrom’s firm works at two scales simultaneously: part to whole. They create kits of repeatable elements — most often mass timber — and arrange them in ways that feel aperiodic and surprising.

The result? Homes that residents can identify with, rather than anonymous boxes, all created with limited resources. It’s an approach inspired by French architect Jean Renaudie and his book A Right to Difference, which championed the idea that housing could offer variety and dignity instead of sameness.

INTEGRATION FROM DAY ONE

One of the biggest misconceptions about sustainable architecture, according to Wikstrom, is that you can simply flip a switch late in the design process — swap in a more efficient mechanical system or substitute one material for another — and call the project green.

“It’s never that easy,” she says.

Structural materials shape everything from spatial experiences to span capabilities to assembly logic. Energy systems must be baked in early, when passive climatic responses can still influence building massing, orientation, and program. Sustainable architecture works holistically across scales, from the smallest fastener to the largest landscape element. It only succeeds when the strategy is integrated early enough for the building to become coherent rather than patched together.

To manage the inevitable tensions between sustainability goals and real-world constraints like budgets and timelines, Wikstrom’s team aligns early on what defines the project’s soul. This shared compass helps everyone stay flexible when cost estimates shift with tariffs, when value engineering enters the conversation, or when surprises emerge in the field.

“That clarity helps all of us stay flexible and adaptable,” she notes.

THE CASE FOR WOOD

Looking ahead to the next decade, Wikstrom sees one material offering architects the greatest opportunity for environmental impact. “Wood, wood, wood,” she says. “Twenty-three percent of global greenhouse gases are emitted during the manufacturing of steel, aluminum, and concrete.”

Even replacing a single concrete column with a wooden one in a tower makes a measurable difference. And for those concerned about deforestation, Wikstrom offers a counterintuitive insight: American forests are growing robustly, and they actually need stronger wood markets to remain healthy. Without economic value, forests risk being cleared for agriculture or urban sprawl — true deforestation. Strong wood markets incentivize regeneration and support healthy, multi-generational forests.

These forests do more than produce timber. They become carefully managed habitats that prevent megafires, control the spread of pests and disease, and mitigate drought — environmental benefits that extend far beyond any single building.

For Wikstrom, sustainable architecture isn’t about perfection or purity. It’s about asking better questions, making informed tradeoffs, and recognizing that every design decision sustains someone or something. The responsibility lies in being intentional about whom — and what — that sustains.