Young Architect's Forum

The College of Fellows and the Young Architect's Forum recently started a quarterly webinar series. I 'attended' the first session, entitled "Getting Work" on March 17th.

I found the session to be... not at all what I expected. It was, however, very interesting and fulfilling. I look forward to 'attending' the remaining three in the series.

The premise of the series, that our development as professionals is equally as important as our development as designers and theorists, was very compelling. I have always held a deep interest in the workings of a profitable, successful firm. I got into architecture strictly because of my passion for it, but I never want to be so incapable of turning a profit that I have to make the platitude "well, I didn't get into architecture for the money" work.

At I.S:A, I'm fortunate to have a very strong advocate for my personal and professional growth. And of course, being in a small firm, you have much more access to the consequences of your daily actions.

I think the thing I took away most from this webinar was that I should pursue my extracurricular interests, such as Toastmasters, Literacy Volunteers and Rochester Young Professionals. I had been writing them down on my to-do list but never getting to them, because they weren't as 'architectural' as studying for the ARE's (all passed! saying that will never get old!) or the LEED exam. But the point that was made in this webinar is that they are not only indirectly architectural, it is their non-standardization that is valuable. You'll develop skills you wouldn't in a firm setting, and have access to non-architects. Who, while inspiring and eye-opening in their own right, might eventually become clients. The point was, these non-architectural extra-curriculars are win-win-win for the intern, their community, and their firm.

Now, I just have to get out there more!

a four day Lunch N Learn

Last week, I went on a four day tour with Marvin Windows. Ten of us met at the Rochester airport and headed to Minneapolis. We then drove over the border to Wisconsin, where we went on a tour of the Cardinal Glass Factory 

(click here for additional photos)

took a walking tour of Minneapolis architecture, 

(click here for additional photos)

and then headed up to Warroad Minnesota to spend a few days touring the Marvin Factory, 

(click here for additional photos)

learning more about their company and products. 

I really enjoyed meeting others from my profession, who live and work in the same region. This was very different from my usual AIA-type activities, where I do meet plenty of people, but they're largely already acquaintances, and they're almost entirely associates or very young professionals. On this trip, I had access to firm leaders and principals with 20+ years of experience, and the difference in perspective, conversational focus and project knowledge was exhilerating.

We had a local AIA volunteer take us on the Architectural Tour of Minneapolis, and that was just a really great time. I enjoyed the variety of architectural styles, scales, materials... we saw humble buildings and ones I'd studied in school or for the AREs. My friends and family definitely humor me when I'm turning our trip into an architectural adventure, but it was a whole different experience to be surrounded by others who took at least as much interest in the details, shadows and material terminations as I did.

Overall, the trip was surprisingly exhausting, but very fulfilling. I was able to reflect on the people I have access to and on personal goals about where to go in my career, all while being very generously hosted.

reading frenzy

February was the month of books. Or atleast, the month of stories.

I gobbled up everything I could get my hands on, from Jack Kerouac's On the Road and Peter Heller's Kook, and the Zappos book, Delivering Happiness; all read in book format, to an audio version of Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild and Woodshed Films' 180 degrees South.

Kerouac:
This is the kind of book I will need to read many more times, but for now I'll share something I wrote while reading: [We're all looking for a tool... something we can use to interpret the uninterpretable world, to imbue meaningless life with meaning. I've called it my lens onto the world, but it's also the means by which I interact with - and exist within - the world. Which is gratifying, because sometimes I worry that the reason I became an architect is that I am forever designing my own "dream house" - constructing the spaces in my head which would 'allow' for the narrative I'm trying to construct.]

Kook:
This was a beautifully written story, imbued with a sense of peacefulness, reflection or patience. Some of my favorite tidbits included: "There is nothing you can say about a surfboard that you cannot say about a sailboat, an airplane, a ski. The artistry follows the function and the beauty is in the marriage." and "...everything doubled itself, had two uses at least... what is so appealing about this kind of efficiency? I think people spaz out and buy RV's and yachts just because they see all the cabinetry, the ingenious tucking away of every day life, the whole thing fitting together like a puzzle, compact and hidden."

Delivering Happiness:
The most valuable thing I took away from this book was the notion of having an articulated set of 'core values.' I'm currently working to develop a list of my own core values.

I didn't notice the theme at first, but in retrospective, these were all stories of the epic journey. Namely, the epic journey and its role in an individual's development. It seems only men take epic journeys, but I can look into that more later. The Epic Journey is supposed to leave you forever changed for the better, more in tune with - aware of - yourself. You are supposed to realize your role in life or your place in the world, and come to peace with it.

As a designer, the questions are:
- Do Architectural Spaces play an integral role in anyone's epic journey? (Beyond the fact that we all must have shelter... )
- Can Architectural Spaces provide the opportunity for an internal reflection of similar quality?

A Passion for Nature

One of my Christmas gifts this year was Daniel Worster’s biography of John Muir, A Passion for Nature. It was amazing to read about the life of one of my idols, and how original and pioneering he was. It was also interesting to see yet again how connected to my architectural viewpoint my naturalist / outdoor adventurist leanings are. As always, I filled my sketchbook with journal entries about my responses, and would like to share two here, as they relate to my ever-evolving architect’s mindset. 

1.) There was a quote early in the book about how Muir struggled to reconcile his ‘career’ with his nature – his ‘religion;’ it was interesting to me, because of course, my ideal architecture is that which is respectful of people and planet, which creates a container in which & upon which to reflect, that offers you someplace compelling and positive to return ‘home’ to… a container for and advancement of your reflections on nature. But this goes back to the W.G. Clark concern – if I so love nature, how do I reconcile abusing it and using it for my own gains? That’s an oversimplification, but it does sit heavily on my mind.

One way to look at it, Daniel Worster wrote of Muir’s viewpoint: “People needed the orchard apple to feed their bodies, but they needed the wild apple to feed their spirits.” This simple acceptance of both sides of the coin is beautiful, and I would love to cleave to it, but I have been interested the whole book over by the notion that we’ve been grappling with the same problems for 200 or 300 years, at least. And I can’t help but wonder, then, if a supposed beautiful harmony and acceptance is far too simplistic to truly help us better balance our relations with one another, with industry, with the planet?

2.) One of the things about reading that has always resonated for me… the way authors describe a place. It starts a chain reaction in my head. First I’m picturing it based specifically on their words. Then I’m filling it with the characters. And before I know it, I’m there instead, and the next thing you see, I’m whipping out my sketchbook to better develop some of the details and really make the place amazing! This definitely happened for me with John Muir’s ‘scribble den.’

A place to think. To just be. Somewhere like going into the woods, only its accessible to you on a daily basis. Would this be better than the woods? Would it still call to you in the same way? Or is it a farce? Can you not truly bottle that up and bring it home? Does the place become one of those unused rooms cluttering up the plans of homes around the world?

Whether or not I truly believe you need this room in order to be able to create and reflect, I’d certainly like to have one myself!

ARCH405 Final Exhibit

http://picasaweb.google.com/NMartin426/OurStudentsFinalExhibit#

So the big event this month was our students' final exhibit for their Portfolio Design Studio. Teaching this course was a pleasure, from my co-instructor Gabriella D'Angelo - a longtime classmate & colleague - to the content students brought from their past courses.

A portfolio must be more than simply a 'who's who' of one's work. It must be a reinterpretation, even an expansion of the work. It must explain not only that one designs, but how and why.

webfolio launched!

This month, I had every intention of expressing my enthusiasm after having attended the AIA NYS Convention held in Buffalo.

But, since I got swallowed whole by the process of launching my webfolio, I hope you'll take a look. It was definitely a labor of love, and I believe that it conveys my enthusiasm - and experience - in design. Please enjoy!

(constructive criticism much appreciated, and more on the AIA convention later?) 

Life Would be Perfect if I Lived in that House

Life Would be Perfect if I Lived in that House

A novel / memoir by Meghan Daum

The fact that I read this book at all is a sign of one of my favorite phenomena of the library. I would never have stumbled upon this title in a book store, but because my local library understands how to tempt me, it was grouped in the very small section of ‘new releases’ right next to the register.

This section is like the candy bars in the checkout aisle at a grocery store for me. If you took me to the candy aisle, I’d default to my old favorites because there are too many choices, and because I don’t really need a candy bar anyway. But if I stand in the checkout aisle for too long, I can understand why so many people buy candy bars they ‘otherwise would not have.’ The selection is limited, and delightful, and yet your favorite candy bar isn’t there, so you try something new on a day when you weren’t going to try anything at all.

The other part of my quirky personality that my local library loves to cater to is this notion I picked up… somewhere… middle school? That everything is connected, all topics intertwine, and ‘researching’ any one of them will immediately give me a broader understanding of myself and of how to be in the world. I still believe this notion is true. So I picked up the painfully yellow book with the enticing title, and I really enjoyed it. Daum is ridiculous at times, but in a ‘who knew I wasn’t the only person on the planet having these mental writhings,’ kind of way. Or in a laugh-out-loud at her absurdity kind of way.

I have always been interested in residential architecture in so far as the way that buildings become such an enormous part of our identity. I think one of the largest aspects of this connection between place and self is that we naturally associate life events with the locations where they occurred. Therefore, the places we have lived our lives become containers for all the memories of our very development as people.

Another reason why we so identify ourselves with our dwellings is that they are indicative of many of our personal choices – where are they located, what do they say about us? Daum encapsulates this sense of identity in place – and discomfort or confusion about that – here:

“And that is how I came to be the president of my own personal academy of domestic desire, the overseer of a pantheon of architectural structures and corresponding price tags that led to the most adolescent form of existential inquiry: Where should I live? Why can’t I afford to live where I want to live? How come where I live is so tied up in why I live?” (page 72)

Another idea that I am still exploring in my own design approach is that of the narrative, of the story, of trying to place oneself in the imagined space and experience it. I wonder to what extent my love of literature and my over active imagination is one of my strongest assets in terms of designing compelling spaces. I could concede to a devil’s advocate who would explain that I’d never be able to get it truly correct, and that each person has a very individual experience of a place. However, I still strongly believe that the imagination of an architect – and their ability to place themselves in the dream-worlds they’re developing – is likely one of our best tools for creating compelling places that actually work.

Daum’s eloquent waxing on wanderlust:

“When you’re as predisposed as I am to wanderlust, any activity that occurs outside your own home (walking to the corner store, for instance) is an exercise in looking around and determining whether you’d rather live there than where you’re currently living. All foreign and domestic travel, all excursions around the city, all books, movies and television shows depicting particular locations become fodder for relocation fantasies. It goes without saying that the real estate section of the newspaper is a form of pornography. So, with a few exceptions (Carbondale, Illinois; San Francisco), I think it’s fair to say that I’ve never visited a place without imagining myself permanently or at least semipermanently installed there.” (page 87)

made me consider the role in my designs, not only of the literature I seem prone to, but the travel. Many architects feel compelled to ‘see the world.’ And when we come home, we have our very romanticized, very personal maps of the places we’ve been, with our sketches and photographs beautifully compounding that. We then incorporate our memories of all the things that worked wonderfully – or that inspired us to conceive of something that could – into our design lexicon.

The most compelling narrative of all, however, was the rapture Daum lifted into regarding the stair landing in one of her homes:

“So, having come to terms with the property’s exterior limitations, I tried to focus on its inner beauty. There was, for instance, something incredibly gorgeous and satisfying about the way the upstairs landing was almost a room unto itself. To reach the top of the stairs, which made a graceful, lanky turn at a leaded-glass window, was to come upon the kind of space that seemed to encapsulate everything I loved about farms, about the Midwest, about life itself. No fewer than two hundred square feet, the landing had walls that were painted a shade of pink so pale it was almost as if early morning light were perpetually casting itself on the thick plaster and thicker woodwork. A built-in linen closet with heavy drawers, tarnished brass handles, and a cabinet latch that clicked shut with that perfect alto timbre known almost exclusively to early-twentieth-century-era door hardware took up most of one wall. The floors, of course, were the same glassy wood that covered the rest of the house.

What excited me most about the landing, though, was the marrow of all that it meant to be – and to have – a landing. The fact that a space large enough to be a room was actually not a room but a portal to other rooms, the fact that not two or three but four other rooms jutted out from this mother ship to form magical worlds filled with the promise of nighttime reading and snug, windy nights under patchwork quilts – that was nothing short of delectable. Why was I so stirred? To this day, I can’t quite say. Maybe it was all those years in New York City apartments with their entrails-shaped hallways and sorry excuses for ‘rooms’; maybe it was the collective claustrophobia of the prairie shack and then the apartment in Topanga and then Dani’s hamster cage of a cottage. Maybe my small living spaces had induced a sort of psychological cramping; maybe my acquisition of this farm was not a deliberate act but an involuntary reflex, a yawn and stretch writ large.” (page 118)

In my mind, this was a continuation of Daum’s lengthy differentiations between a house and a HOME. And my question as an architect is, have I – and how will I continue – to design these kinds of moments? How can a place or space be better designed to capture a person’s imagination, and become a container, a placeholder, an extension of their being?