Paul Henry

We started Paul Henry Architects in November 1999 because we thought it would give us more freedom to specialise in our area of interest—theatres and auditoria.

We started our business in our flat. You don't need lots of equipment immediately, but paying for the overheads means making a painful personal sacrifice. The number of things you have to do to run a business at the beginning is a challenge. The business of architecture and the art of it are two different things—I'm still learning new skills, believe you me.

We made an inward investment when we doubled our turnover, became a limited company and then doubled turnover again before trade levelled out. We moved offices, employed more staff and bought state-of-the-art IT equipment. But there was a point when it wasn't looking so good. We had a dry period where I thought I'd have to work for someone else, or shelve the business. We kept going because we wanted to make a difference—we're not just about designing buildings.

Rowena and I share a common foundation that has served us well. We understand each other on a personal level. We have different skill sets-she looks after the operations side, and how the business works. I have the creative flair. I had to learn to appreciate the value of operations and admin-it's about understanding the bigger picture.

Rowena does the hiring and firing; I'm client facing. She's very jovial and has a light touch-I'm probably more fiery than her. And I admire her honesty and objectivity. In the design field, people will always give you accolades, but Rowena tells me when I can do better. She challenges me.
We try to be as professional as possible around staff. Sometimes it gets a bit personal-the key is to communicate well. We're always looking to improve-we're bringing in another architectural director to free me up a bit more. We're getting a book-keeper to take the burden off Rowena, so that she can focus on marketing.

My motivation has probably changed over time. In 1999, I wanted a practice of 100 people, mega-schemes all over the world,
a fast car, my name in every magazine. I've grown up a little bit since then-now I want to make the business work, to make life work.

I define success differently—it's about meeting people's needs. Design can influence what happens in the world-there's great value in it. I realise I have a responsibility as an architect in an industry that's full of megalomaniacs. I'd like to build upon who we are—a smaller company with a great reputation.

Rowena Henry

Architecture is such a personal business-we thought we could make a difference by going it alone and following our own agenda. We wanted to work on conference centres and community buildings; we were in a different space to other firms.

My father had his own construction firm so I had experience of the operations side. We funded the business with our own cash: it was our aim to grow organically.

We're very ambitious but also people-oriented. Architecture is about helping people to achieve their dreams. Our faith is our foundation and our strength. We're happy and share a zest for life.

Paul is a very gentle man—he's extremely considerate. He's passionate about architecture—he can see a brick wall and know what type of building it is. He designs with his heart, which shows in his work. He's very comfortable in what he does-sometimes I wonder whether it's passion or madness.

I'm not an architect but Paul respects my opinion. I come into the equation almost as a layman, someone off the street. We invite critiques from all our staff, from the receptionist to the cleaner. There's a lot of interaction.

We brought a non-executive director in to add stability to the business. He's the third leg of the stool—another brain to bounce ideas off. It's helped because he's not as emotionally attached as we are.

We're not just about making a profit. We do a lot of charity work and we support orphanages in Ghana—we've helped to build a children's home there.

If we ever lost that sense of purpose then we shouldn't be in this. We're based in a relatively deprived area [Walthamstow, east London] so we spend time with students, in particular black kids, so they can see they can make it, too.