The new building of the Letovo ecosystem is located in the MSU Valley. Its elongated site – approximately 400 by 90 meters – stretches between the southeastern façade of the Lomonosov cluster and “Projected Passage No. 1194”, which already functions as a spacious, contemporary street with relatively light traffic, as the Valley is not yet fully developed.
So while the “senior” Letovo is far away, Moscow State University is close at hand: students can clearly see where they may continue their studies and eventually write their dissertations.
The Letovo Junior building was designed inside and out by architects of the UNK ecosystem, who won two invited competitions: one for the façades, based on the massing developed by the Level company’s project team (the project’s developer), and another for the interiors, in which as many as ten firms took part. The winning team was UNK Design led by Marina Dimova – interestingly, this is their first school project, as their portfolio is dominated by offices, including the interior of the UNK mansion, and commercial spaces. All the more significant, then, was their victory and the realization of the project. The central theme for both façades and interiors, in line with the client’s brief, became that of “home”.
Marina Dimova, UNK design
This project, from the very beginning, was not about “designing a beautiful school”, but about creating an environment that works in tandem with the educational system. Letovo, in general, follows a non-standard approach: it’s not a story of “coming in, sitting at a desk, and waiting out the lesson”. There are many different scenarios – children work in groups, in circles, on the floor, constantly switching between formats – and it was important for us first to understand this, to really absorb it, and only then translate it into interior architecture.
We started from the architecture itself: there were three volumes – the preschool block, the primary school, and the middle school – and each had its own idea. The kindergarten is a kind of “little town”, which is why the interiors feature small houses, pitched roofs, niches, and tactile elements. It’s an environment where a child should feel safe, yet constantly encouraged to explore.
In the primary school, the theme of a “greenhouse” begins to emerge: more glass, more greenery, a more complex environment where the child starts to interact with space in a different way. And in the middle school, it becomes almost a “technology hub” – with metal, more restrained forms, deeper colors, coworking areas, and spaces for teamwork. If you walk through the entire building, you can clearly see how the interior grows up together with the child.
At the same time, it was important for us not simply to replicate the architectural image, but to imbue it with function. In fact, every millimeter of space here was carefully considered: how a child moves, where they rest, where they concentrate. We worked closely with educational consultants and with the school’s principal – they explained in detail how lessons are conducted, where children need to focus, and where, on the contrary, they should be active. And the design had to support this, not get in the way.
A separate major theme was color. We created an entire presentation on how color affects perception, because in a school it is not merely decorative. In classrooms, it should not be distracting, while in recreational areas it can, on the contrary, set the mood. Moreover, for different age groups these are entirely different solutions: younger children respond only to pure colors; in primary school, more nuanced tones appear; and in middle school, the palette becomes deeper and more complex. This was a substantial effort, carried out in parallel with the development of functional solutions.
Another important aspect was that the school set out from the beginning to help reveal children’s talents. As a result, the space includes many things that simply do not exist in a typical school: small stages where a child can perform during breaks, tactile walls, play elements, areas for board games, coworking spaces. Even the cafeteria is not just a cafeteria – there is a glass cube where children learn to cook. In this way, the school becomes not a set of classrooms, but an environment for many different types of activity.
At the same time, we constantly had to balance between idea and reality. This is a school, which means everything must be as durable and safe as possible. For example, what looks like wood is in most cases laminate or metal – simply because natural wood would quickly wear out here. Or take handrails: you can design them to be as elegant as you like, but in reality they have to be vandal-resistant, otherwise none of it would last even a year.
In the end, it was a very complex but very rewarding experience. Because here, design does not exist for its own sake – it functions as a tool: it has to help the educational model work. In essence, we were not so much ‘decorating’ the space as trying to reinforce the processes embedded in this school.
We started from the architecture itself: there were three volumes – the preschool block, the primary school, and the middle school – and each had its own idea. The kindergarten is a kind of “little town”, which is why the interiors feature small houses, pitched roofs, niches, and tactile elements. It’s an environment where a child should feel safe, yet constantly encouraged to explore.
In the primary school, the theme of a “greenhouse” begins to emerge: more glass, more greenery, a more complex environment where the child starts to interact with space in a different way. And in the middle school, it becomes almost a “technology hub” – with metal, more restrained forms, deeper colors, coworking areas, and spaces for teamwork. If you walk through the entire building, you can clearly see how the interior grows up together with the child.
At the same time, it was important for us not simply to replicate the architectural image, but to imbue it with function. In fact, every millimeter of space here was carefully considered: how a child moves, where they rest, where they concentrate. We worked closely with educational consultants and with the school’s principal – they explained in detail how lessons are conducted, where children need to focus, and where, on the contrary, they should be active. And the design had to support this, not get in the way.
A separate major theme was color. We created an entire presentation on how color affects perception, because in a school it is not merely decorative. In classrooms, it should not be distracting, while in recreational areas it can, on the contrary, set the mood. Moreover, for different age groups these are entirely different solutions: younger children respond only to pure colors; in primary school, more nuanced tones appear; and in middle school, the palette becomes deeper and more complex. This was a substantial effort, carried out in parallel with the development of functional solutions.
Another important aspect was that the school set out from the beginning to help reveal children’s talents. As a result, the space includes many things that simply do not exist in a typical school: small stages where a child can perform during breaks, tactile walls, play elements, areas for board games, coworking spaces. Even the cafeteria is not just a cafeteria – there is a glass cube where children learn to cook. In this way, the school becomes not a set of classrooms, but an environment for many different types of activity.
At the same time, we constantly had to balance between idea and reality. This is a school, which means everything must be as durable and safe as possible. For example, what looks like wood is in most cases laminate or metal – simply because natural wood would quickly wear out here. Or take handrails: you can design them to be as elegant as you like, but in reality they have to be vandal-resistant, otherwise none of it would last even a year.
In the end, it was a very complex but very rewarding experience. Because here, design does not exist for its own sake – it functions as a tool: it has to help the educational model work. In essence, we were not so much ‘decorating’ the space as trying to reinforce the processes embedded in this school.
It should be said that this building is perceived as a coherent, unified organism primarily from the inside. Perhaps this is because, on the outside, it is enclosed by an inevitable fence – though here it is made of orange-toned wood and transparent plastic panels, which makes it relatively friendly. Still, the effect remains. At the entrance, there is, again, a small “house” forming the entry pavilion, followed by a sequence of four distinct volumes connected by glass passages, creating recessed, fairly spacious courtyards. It is quite possible that children running around here in warm weather will perceive the school grounds differently – as was intended – as a kind of mini-city with spaces of varying scale, a large playground at the southern end, and a football field at the northern one. However, anyone moving along the adjacent street experiences it more discretely – as a set of separate volumes within a fenced site.
And this, too, is a kind of “townscape”, a solution that fully responds to the brief – just as the considerable length of the site does.
Inside, it is different. The school unfolds as a sequence of fluidly interconnected, gently supervised spaces. Visitors receive badges; every adult or student you meet greets you politely.
The building is organized along a longitudinal axis, and one can walk through its entire length. It is oriented from northeast to southwest and is well lit thanks to stained-glass façades, a “lightweight” connecting passage, and skylights. On a sunny day, light accompanies you everywhere, even though we hardly enter the classrooms – though it is easy to glance into them through transparent doors and walls. In addition to the glazed façades and gabled skylights – also shaped like little “houses” – the walls of the building occasionally contain something like “semi-courtyards”: vertical projections adjoin the public zones, while inside they typically form unified spaces spanning two floors, with something like an internal balcony that allows one to look from one level to another – upwards or downwards – and, of course, outward.
This likely helps develop children’s spatial awareness and reinforces the sense of an “indoor town” – warm, yet filled with light.
The “sunspots” cast by the skylights echo the round and ring-shaped light fixtures on the lower floors. These fixtures, in turn, form part of a system of panels that conceal the ceiling infrastructure – ventilation and other services – but not entirely, instead parting to reveal glimpses of the “inner workings”. This likely sparks the imagination of students, especially younger ones. Semi-exposed ceiling structures are present throughout: they may take the form of “wooden” grilles or white discs – particularly abundant – that evoke the night sky and planets. In the public areas for middle school students, the ceilings are about 80 percent covered by a white surface, but are cut through with openings that reveal the building’s engineering lines.
Sometimes, on the second and third floors, the wide “gallery” corridor with a glass wall facing the Lomonosov cluster recalls the gallery of the Narkomfin Building. The resemblance is reinforced by the wooden frames of the horizontal windows set into white walls.
There is no single dominant atrium here; instead, the space is composed of many smaller “squares”. In the primary school areas, this analogy is particularly vivid, as the tiers of the atrium are surrounded by little “houses”. Inside each one, there is a small retreat space with a window overlooking the multi-level interior.
There are many such niches for retreat, and they are diverse. In the middle school areas, these take the form either of small meeting rooms or narrow wall recesses with a power outlet – honestly, this vertical “box”, with its back turned to everyone, is my personal favorite among all the variations, though one might wonder whether children would enjoy sitting with their backs to passersby. Then again, perhaps this “open back” format reflects a comfortable environment within the school, where no one feels threatened.
In the primary school, these are orange or yellow “capsules” lined with soft materials.
In the kindergarten, they become play spaces.
The kindergarten also features slight level changes – a split-level condition resulting from the site’s slope from northeast to southwest – which proves especially fitting here, forming a mini-amphitheater in front of a small stage.
Here, imitation wood predominates: on walls, on ceiling grilles, on door frames, and, of course, on the trunks of “trees”. The use of natural wood is restricted by regulations, but the goal was to create the most comfortable possible environment for the youngest children.
And yet, on closer inspection, real wood can still be found – in the railings of the passages connecting the kindergarten and the primary school.
The main atrium could arguably be considered not the circular one that greets visitors at the main entrance, but rather the space adjoining the dining area. Shared between the kindergarten and the school, it occupies a single footprint, functioning as a kind of “culinary cluster”. Here – quite appropriately – a broad, double-height space emerges: not a “well”, but something wide, somewhat asymmetrical, and generously open.
The gyms, by contrast, are as pragmatic as possible inside, with a dense weave of ceiling structures.
Stepping from the interior back outside, toward the entrance where we return our passes, let us take one more look at the façades – and give the floor to the architect.
The kindergarten is located closer to Ramensky Boulevard; it is easily recognizable as an accent. There is something of a gingerbread house about it: the thick, curved planes of the white roofs, so well suited to snow; the asymmetrical, wave-like slopes; the patches of wood-toned latticework.
Of course, it is not literally a gingerbread house – there is no direct quotation – but the association is hard to shake. The primary school resembles a series of “barn houses”; here, we should recall, the dominant theme is that of a greenhouse. The middle school building evokes a suburban cottage, clad in light brick and conveying a distinctly mature, “family home” character. Finally, the fourth volume – the sports building – features gray metal blind walls and, most notably, oval “cushions” above the sawtooth skylights. Here, too, an element of play is evident, with a hint of constructor sets.
The connecting passages, meanwhile, are all simple glass volumes. They are recessed, creating small forecourts in front of them.
In summary, while contemporary schools often strive for a unified architectural statement – even when visually diverse – here the approach is the opposite: we encounter a sequence of buildings strung together by passages, each seemingly doing everything it can to differ from its neighbor. Given the long, narrow site, the strategy is well justified. Added to this is the “theme of home”, present from the outset. Thus emerges a “school town”, a collection of different interpretations of the school-as-home, woven together – not quite into a knot, but into something like a braid… a metaphor for the early stages of life’s journey.
And yet, it seems to me that the finest quality of this building is its natural light – sometimes direct, sometimes filtered through layers of transparent walls.
