Development

I've recently heard some different architects talk about some relatively large projects they've worked on. Mostly they talked about the projects, how they designed them, the problem solving, program, what they look like, etc. Not very many of them talk about the money though. Some do, but most don't. One presentation even had the two major developers there with their staff in the room during the presentation, but almost no discussion of funding, margins, politics, etc. 

I mean, I get it. The presentations, ostensibly, are about the architect's design, and there are plenty of reasons that they, and the developers don't want to talk about profits and the like. But can we do that just a little bit more? Can we talk about the how's and why' of what drives development, design decisions, and the numbers behind them? This is part of architecture, no? I'm probably sounding like a young architect here, right? Of course, it's part of the business of architecture... But do we learn it in school (apart from maybe a cursory intro class)? Do we discuss it in our presentations so that the general public has an idea of the complexity of financing/funding? Do we even make sure that the design and production teams in our firms know what's actually happening, or do only the principals get to know? One of the presentations mentioned that they weren't able to include restaurants and retail (in a project where it seemed that could have been an extremely important and possibly game-changing element) because of the types and layers of funding used for the project. I thought that was fascinating. I often want to know how things work on the larger scale. What systems are in place and how do they work, and how can we influence them? I know there are lots of designers out there thinking about these things and solving problems in this way. I hope I can keep learning from them. 

Every house the same

I was perusing a sample of the book Architecture is Participation, that is coming out and I would like to get, and it spawned some thoughts and I'm gonna dump 'em here. Cuz it's my blog you know.

How do we appropriately design things, specifically housing, that is custom for our client, but general enough for the next resident? We seem to always be at either end of the spectrum, apartment floor plans that repeat indefinitely and can't be changed but at great expense - or custom housing that fits the specific needs (and whimsies) of a singular client.

We design for impermanence.

Are we all really so similar that we don't need to change our environments when our circumstances/family/economics/desires/eras change? It seems like such an obvious question, but I wonder how much we really think about it when designing. Even less when building. If you've ever seen someone putting a hundred nails into something to make it stay, you know they're not thinking about the person who's going to have to remove them (and it certainly hasn't crossed their mind that it might be themselves doing a renovation 5 years later). I think some work has been done around modular design but to no great avail. I think some folks have experimented with things like moveable walls with similar outcome. I guess we address this a bit better with some commercial work, core and shell construction with interior remodels all the time. Of course, we still don't seem to design/source materials/build/demo with the thought that this is likely to all happen again in 10 years (or 2) when a new tenant moves in.

It somehow seems more relevant to me at the residential scale. I guess the importance of design in our everyday life is why I gravitate to the residential. We still rarely design things thinking about the next generation, let alone the one after that. Yet, how many of us live in newly built construction? Not many.

Where does this lead? I don't know. We design for impermanence. But not consciously, not purposefully. Rather, accidentally because that's how contractors work, because studs and drywall are the industry standard, because labor is expensive nowadays, because that's how the economy works. We're designers. Can't we break the mold?

Jaime Lerner - Urban Acupuncture

This Wednesday I went to a lecture, Urban Acupuncture, by Jaime Lerner - the architect and former mayor of Curitiba, Brazil (hosted by some cool peeps).

The lecture was actually a little slow, but there were a few really good points he made, some of which I think are real challenges in US culture.

Someone asked - How do you win people over to your ideas? The first thing he said in response... "Listening." Second was good demonstrations of the ideas.

Someone asked - What about community participation? He said you have to start with a proposal, start with an idea. It can change, it can get better with feedback, but you can't wait to start until you have all the answers. You have to start.

We don't have a culture of listening (perhaps not even as much as we could in the design professions and certainly not in government) nor do we have a culture that allows for mistakes. These two things, however, seem essential for positive growth. Without listening, it's often not possible to find out the perceived problem, the actual problem or solutions to the problem not known to us. Perhaps more importantly, without listening it's not possible to have real communication and develop real relationships. This is what community and progress depend on. Sometimes projects or ideas may fail, but if you have communication and relationship you are in the position to try again. And this is why people are afraid to start, why we don't have community participation and why people are afraid to fail. We don't listen, don't arrive at real relationship and thus have no room for error. If we fail, there is no structure of communication to fall back on, nor ability to learn from the mistake and try again better.

So I'm going to try and listen more, and just start with an idea when I'm stuck at the starting gates.

An unexpected bonus at the lecture was a free (and then signed) copy of his book!

Beauty

“Endeavoring to purchase something we think beautiful may in fact be the most unimaginative way of dealing with the longing it excites in us, just as trying to sleep with someone may be the bluntest response to a feeling of love.
What we seek, at the deepest level, is inwardly to resemble, rather than physically to possess, the objects and places that touch us through their beauty.”

— Alain de Botton in The Architecture of Happiness

Getting started...

It's interesting, this architecture stuff. Sometimes it seems so unimportant. Other times it seems to define our very existence.

I don't have a very big apartment, but the space I have is mine. It is bright and airy and light-filled, and it has my own sweat and labor in it's making. It is mine and I am glad for it.

“But, finally, on our own, looking out of the hall window onto the garden and the gathering darkness, we can slowly resume contact with a more authentic self, who was there waiting in the wings for us to end our performance. Our submerged playful sides will derive encouragement from the painted flowers on either side of the door. The value of gentleness will be confirmed by the delicate folds of the curtains. Our interest in a modest, tender-hearted kind of happiness will be fostered by the unpretentious raw wooden floorboards. The materials around us will speak to us of the highest hopes we have for ourselves. In this setting, we can come close to a state of mind marked by integrity and vitality. We can feel inwardly liberated. We can, in a profound sense, return home.”

— Alain de Botton in The Architecture of Happiness