The Agony and the Ecstasy

Thirty two years after my grand tour of Europe I’m finding myself reading The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone for a second time.  I read it between destinations and it proved to be a wonderful tome for touring Italy and experiencing masterpieces from the Renaissance. Reading it again I’m finding it an encouragement as an architect in my fifties.  I totally missed the agony Michelangelo experienced.  It’s not that I didn’t understand the frustration and struggle he went through to create his wonderful works, but in my early twenties I was in college and  dating my future wife.  I had nothing but hope before me.  Before me was the ecstasy of being an architect—producing works of architecture that would move hearts.  Now I understand viscerally the agony of this profession.  Please don’t misunderstand me—this is a good career and very fulfilling, but now I understand the pain and frustration that goes along with it.  Now as I read this historical novel I feel what Michelangelo must have felt when moving from rags to riches and back to rags.  I understand what Michelangelo must have struggled with when he wrestled with taking a commission just to pay the bills.  I know what Michelangelo must have been thinking when he had to deal with unreasonable clients.  If you’ve been in the architecture profession for decades this is a good read.  It will encourage you that you are not alone--even the greatest of artists struggled in their quest to create good works. It will encourage you to press on through the agony and the ecstasy of a completing your work will come in time.

Architectural Kintsugi

When I look back at my thirty-plus years in architecture, perhaps even my entire life, I realize much of my architectural design has been a form of Kintsugi. I have always been attracted to making the most out of existing abandoned buildings.  To be sure there is much more freedom in designing a building from scratch, but I like the idea discovering a building’s (and its former occupant’s) history.  I enjoy the sleuthing that occurs during the many site visits before “selective” demolition begins. We are constantly asking, “What stories will we discover today?”  When demolition does begin there are those exciting moments when the workers stop everything and say, “Look at this! Look what I discovered!”  Once the demolition process is completed and the site is cleared of debris, there is a temptation to stop the project all together and leave the building as nothing more than a neatly ordered archaeological dig site — a cleaned up ruin to allow explorers to imagine the past.

Unfortunately work can’t stop at this point.  The building must be made serviceable for current day service.  Fortunately, for me, this is where things get fun.  I love the idea of keeping the original “good bones” of the previous life of building exposed to be enjoyed again, and bringing in the new architectural elements of the proposed use in such a way that they don’t hide the historical building elements, but rather call attention to them…the new elements become jewel settings for the old.

The hope is always that, like a Japanese Kintsugi tea cup, the original usefulness is restored but in such a way that the final work is even more beautiful than before.

Thankful for beautiful project sites

I am grateful for beautiful construction sites.  One of the perks of my job is working on my client’s beautiful properties.  Ranch properties, river front properties, and lake house properties are the starting point of some incredible design adventures.  My clients love the land they have been blessed with and its an indescribable privilege to come alongside them to create a “picture frame” to experience the land their home sits on.  I’m thankful to be able to work on these sites.  It’s one thing to visit a beautiful place for a few hours, but as my client’s architect I have the double privilege of being able to return to the site several times. And with the M.U.D. (a.k.a. the Mobile Unit for Design) I’m able to work several consecutive days on these wonderful sites.  I may never own one of these beautiful chunks of God’s creation, but designing homes to experience these lovely places is the next best thing.

Working in the M.U.D.

I thank God for the M.U.D. For years I dreamed of a mobile studio that would allow me work on site where our client’s project were to be built.  The idea first arose when working as a Project Architect at Overland Partners.  At the time they had several projects for the National Park Service.  Overland was commissioned to design visitor centers and other buildings on beautiful, but extremely remote sites.  Traveling to the project sites took days leaving only a short time to get to know the land.  In addition, the trips were extremely costly and only allowed a few visits to the project site during the course of the design process.  When I worked at Lake | Flato I observed the same problem on the many ranch houses they designed.  When I came back to my own architecture practice I determined to make this dream a reality and in 2019 our firm purchased it’s first Mobile Unit for Design….a.k.a the M.U.D. It has turned out to be such a blessing.  During COVID it was a remote studio and I located it in the woods like Henry David Thoreau’s cabin in Walden. I’ve parked it for a few days on project sites allowing me to experience my client’s properties from sunrise to sunset. The M.U.D. allows me to observe the path of the sun, the prevailing breezes, and consider the best views to frame with the house’s design.  It has been a place of retreat like Le Corbusier’s Cabanon or Glen Murcutt’s remote studio. Every artist needs their studio to focus.  Most recently it was the job trailer that allowed me to be on site as I managed the renovation of Lazarus House. It’s truly a dream come true.

This is Where the Lie Began

This is where the lie began.  The lie that architects have used to defend their designs in the modern age.  The lie is, “Form follows function”— Louis Sullivan’s 19th century prophecy of 20th century modernist architecture.  The actual quote is “Form ever follows function,” and Sullivan wrote the phrase five years prior to Kindergarten Chats; however, it is in his “Chats” that Sullivan fleshes out what he means by the phrase.  As I understand it, Sullivan is arguing for clarity and truth in a form’s meaning.  Not simply that the function oak tree, cloud, and rose result in the form oak tree, cloud, and rose, but that truth in form is better able to communicate truth in meaning.  

In our modern age the phrase has been used to defend architectural form.  The form is a direct result of the function — it is what it is and can be no other way.  Architects have defended their designs on this foundation that appears to be an objective truth—form is a direct result of its function.  However, those of us in the architecture business know the truth.  Our architectural form making has little to do with actual empirical data. Except in the case of concert halls for orchestras and operas, most architectural form is created from simplistic rules of thumb, precedent spaces, and a hunch that the realized space will have the right spacial feeling when erected.  

So why the lie?

Confident architects have been able to defend their designs on the basis of sheer delight.  I recall Louis Kahn’s quote regarding the porches at the Kimbell Museum.  He loved them because they were so unnecessary.  For less confident architects it’s hard to look a client in the eye and say this $700,000 porch is unnecessary but it looks cool and I believe we should have it in the Contract Documents.  We seem to need something objective, something rational to hang our design decisions on….and so we lie.  We convince our clients (and ourselves) that although the form is visually and spacially stimulating it is the way it is because the function dictates that.  Perhaps a little finesse is allowable, but the gargantuan doodad that brings such visual pleasure is really there for shade, for clarity of entry, for heat stratification, for rain screen requirements.  It’s not just aesthetic.  It’s functional. It’s practical. 

Sullivan’s understanding wasn’t so limited.  It seems he was looking for truth in form founded on function but not boxed in by it.  He was from a previous generation that did not see the split between the physical and the metaphysical, the material and the spiritual.  However, those of us in this modern age struggle with the stratification between analytical and continental philosophy and we find ourselves justifying our designs with the practical.  Until our society and clients are willing to financially put Delight on equal footing with Firmness and Commodity, lesser architects will continue use this lie as a crutch.  

If You’ve Got the Money (I’ve Got the Time)

Working for developers you realize it’s all about the “money shot.” The one photograph that will pull in the most buyers. Whether it’s reeling in customers or seducing the architecture press, I would like to think fantastic photographs are just the amuse-bouche. I would like to think that architecture is best experienced in the flesh rather than in the frame. But it takes time. Time to approach slowly, thoughtfully, calmly. Would Le Corbusier been so awestruck by the Parthenon had he not been quarantined and forbidden from running up the acropolis upon his arrival in Athens. From setting an edifice on a hill to hiding the entrance, the best architects have manipulated their sites to slow down the experience of their work. Fay Jones meanders a path through a scrim of pines. In doing so he extends the experience of Thorncrown Chapel. Wright’s Falling Water is all about delay. It’s world renown image is discovered not guaranteed. And here, as I take the time to experience Gordon Bunshaft’s LBJ Library, my appreciation is heightened by the care taken in setting up the approach. If you got the money (shot), I’ve got the time to time to experience your architecture.

Teaching Evolution vs. Creationism on Campus

A beautiful campus holds together because of rules. Think of any attractive campus, and there is clear sense of the DNA embedded in the college’s buildings. I’m sure we can think of campuses where rigid adherence to the rules suffocates the life out of that place; however, let’s not throw out the baby with the bath water. For a place to thrive it must grow. It must change. It must evolve over time, and like the evolution of all living things, a campus must evolve, not start over. Architects who add new growth to a campus must understand the DNA—the rules— of the place. There are dead places on the UT campus where the architects du jour failed to graft into the living fabric of the University. Fortunately, there are several works of architecture that have successfully rooted into the soil of the campus, while at the same time exhibit details and elements that are unique to our current milieu. Often this approach is quiet, respectful and doesn’t grab headlines in the architecture media, but this is the right thing to do. Don’t play God designing ex nihilo. When it comes to architecture, I believe in evolution not creationism.

AND not OR

When considering a building do we judge it by its form or its function? The engineer would ask, “Will it endure wind load? Will it leak water? How will my crews maintain it year after year?” A favorable response yields a quality building....but not necessarily architecture. The artist will ask, “Does it move me? Does it stimulate my mind, my heart my soul? Does it awaken me?” If the answer is “yes” then we have a good example of sculpture...but we still fall short of having a work of architecture. Function without consideration of form yields a building. Form without a practical function yields sculpture. The rich art of architecture is both function and form. But how much function is enough? Should a residence hall provide stimulating dorm rooms and and a building envelope that doesn’t leak? And what of the form? How much should it yield to the pragmatics of loading docks, shedding water, and exhaust vents? Frustratingly and fortunately there is no simple answer and excellent works of architecture can land at any point on the spectrum between form and function. Quality architecture avoids the tyranny of the OR and embraces the genius of the AND (1).

1 Jim Collins and Scott Porrras

The One Thing Predock Got Right

I think of Antoine Predock’s design for Austin’s City Hall as an example of starchitect detritus; however, there is one thing Predock got absolutely right—it’s a place to be seen. The design is a collection of display cases. Throughout the building are conference rooms surrounded by glass and appropriately nick-named “fishbowls.” The chambers for Council & Commissions are surrounded by glass. At any time, any citizen can walk up and see their government in action. The structure splintering atrium features a grand stair, catwalks and well placed, highly visible waiting areas for well-heeled and handsome courtiers to eddy. These areas allow the politically ambitious to observe competitors and to be observed as they vie for attention. Transparency of government was the design goal, but the opportunity to show off, to be seen, to mill about in a way that says “Look at me, I’m somebody important” is the result. Like the courtiers within it, the building itself attempts to be seen. Framed by static background buildings, Predock’s confused striated pile tries so very hard to be seen as important. Is this architecture or simply form making goofiness? If it gets your attention I suppose it’s doing it’s job.

Foregrounding Background

“Background building” is a term of derision. As architects, we understand and appreciate the necessity of background buildings.  Gehry’s Bilbao wouldn’t have its “effect” if not framed by centuries of dense urban fabric. Unfortunately, architecture has become a zero-sum game.  To stand out we must stand apart.  To be heard we must be loud.  To be new we must destroy, forget, ignore the old.  Like so many aspects of modern culture, architecture is entrapped under the tyranny of the OR instead of enriched by the genius of the AND.  Larry Speck’s Health Learning Building on the Dell Medical School campus is a design that attempts to reject these simplistic false choices.  The design would not be considered “traditional” architecture.  It features the latest trend in staggered window fenestration, sustainability bling, and the ubiquitous community stair found in so many academic buildings.  However, Speck has been careful to assure the building fits in to the urban fabric and natural environment in which it is sited.  In the years to come it will fulfill the role of being a background building, but like the talented architects of the past like Borromini, Bernini and Wagner, it’s unique personality and detailing will bring it to the foreground for those whose tastes have matured beyond magazine cover money shots.