Prescritpion for Disaster, part III in a series on the design process

Why is it that in order to preserve the scenic beauty of our towns and villages, bureaucrats feel that regulatory bylaws prescribing anything from building form to landscape detailing will provide the outcome they hope to achieve? I have seen over and again how these restrictive and absolute codes have in fact propagated bad design.

The problem with most of these codes is two-fold. Every building site is different and calls for a different approach to best meet the design goals. And many people will do everything in their power to maximize their personal gain within the framework of the code.

The project I am currently working on in a Mid-Atlantic seaside community has remarkably restrictive and often contradictory zoning bylaws. This tiny town has some of the best seaside Colonial Revival architecture from the early 20th century being torn down to accommodate some of the worst Pseudo-Colonial construction of the 21st century.

Design is a qualitative, and often personal, subject. To attempt to control it formulaically, and not through thoughtful and educated analysis, will only lead to a homogenization of product, defined by its lowest common denominator.

Building Character, part II in a series on the design process

With the interview process behind us, and presumably a contract in place, it is now time move on to the next leg of the design journey. While at Ramsay Gourd Architects, we supply each of our clients with a programming worksheet to get their project aspirations documented, that is not nearly enough. In order to truly capture who they are, and what their aesthetic paradigm is, it is very helpful for me to pay a visit to their home. This house-call typically opens up a huge window into who they are and how they live.

Most clients are proud of their homes, and willingly give me the grand tour. While this is a great tool, equally telling are all of the notable items that they don’t mention. The pile of mail on the counter, the laundry stuffed into the closet because company is coming, and the “land of misfit toys” loaded with exercise equipment, computers, toys and other un-categorized items, are all emblematic of dysfunctional aspects of the home.

With the first few "dates" behind us, and a good understanding of my clients' objectives, I dive quickly into one of my favorite parts of the process. This is when I take out all of the project notes and images that I have amassed on the job, and make a first pass at a solution. I call these initial drawings Character Sketches, and their role is to elicit response. They are quick, and loose and not especially accurate. I like to share these right away to make sure we’re all on the same page before proceeding too far. These sketches become the working title around which we will build our clients’ home specifically for them.

First Date, part I in a series on the design process

“Hi! My name is Celine Johnson. My friend, Emily Dresdan, told me I should call you.” announces the voice on the far end of the phone.

Emily Dresdan? I try to recall.

“I’ve seen what you do on the internet. I think you’re very talented, and I was hoping you could help me out. My husband and I have tried on our own, but we’re just not getting anywhere.”

No amount of Viagra can help Celine and her husband’s woes. What they’re looking for cannot be addressed by Dr Ruth. She needs a design therapist!

“When would you like to get together?” I inquire. And the date is set.

The interview process is perhaps the most important step in developing a healthy client / architect relationship. It is where first impressions are made and expectations are set. It is also the time to determine if it is the right match.

While we have no Match.com perhaps a service like “A-Harmony” that finds common values among architects and clients, wouldn’t be a bad idea. The right partnership will make all the difference. I don’t care how talented a designer you are. If there is not a level of comfort and candor between client and architect, the entire project is doomed to become the designer’s idea of what the client should want.

My advice to prospective clients?

Be prepared: Have a list of your goals, a list of known road-blocks, and most importantly a good clipping file. Images that you have collected and marked up with notes, are perhaps the best way to communicate your ideas.

Be natural: Don’t try to impress. I recall one interview wherein the prospective client showed up so over-detailed in her self-conscious attire, that I had no idea what her natural style was. (However, I couldn’t imagine her shoveling snow in leopard-print gilt-leather jacket and matching boots.)

Be inquisitive: Architects are so comfortable in the design world, they often don’t realize how alienating their archi-speak can be. Don’t be intimidated to ask for explanation.

At the end of the first date, it should be clear to both parties whether there is a future for this couple. It’s important to listen to your gut too. I have gotten involved in projects that I have taken for the wrong reasons, thinking “I didn’t really click with them, but this could lead to something bigger” or “I know we didn’t really connect, but they’re friends with a previous client, whom I like”.

Once you’ve established a good base for your relationship, staying in communication should be easy, and that will make all the difference in the journey to producing a project that truly meets your needs.

The Architecture of Portrait Making

Recently, a friend who read my blog, and is clearly NOT an architect, suggested that I write about the residential design process. How do I develop a unique project for each client? What is the client / architect relationship about?

Through a series of blogs, I plan on shedding some light on how we do that at Ramsay Gourd Architects.
I have had literally hundreds of residential clients, from Habitat starter homes to New York City coops and lofts, each with their own sets of requirements, values and personal tastes. It is important to keep in mind that my role is not to create something that reflects who I am, but rather a true portrait of who my client is. Their new home should bring out the best of their personal characteristics. It should accommodate their eccentricities. And it should be a flattering reflection of who they are and how they live. This is how I judge my success in a project.

In our office, we have a motto “Provide the client with exactly what they want. –Better than they thought they could have it.” That’s a tall order. And admittedly, sometimes we do fall short. But it is a great aspiration.

By writing this series, I aim to articulate our process for designing a successful architectural portrait. I also hope that this collection of blogs is a useful tool for people considering working with a designer. If I can train them to be good clients, think what a great service I am doing for my industry!

I hope you enjoy it, and would love your feedback.

Planning and Planting

I recently finished 15 illustrations for the book The Complete Kitchen Garden, written by garden and food writer and consultant, Ellen Ogden. It was great to collaborate with Ellen, as we developed her concepts for individually conceived culinary compositions.

You go through the same process whether you are composing a building, a painting, or a garden. Aside from the practical aspect of program (in this case the cultivation of specific crops) issues of scale, proportion, color and texture all combine to provide a controlled experience. Added to the mix was the sense of aroma, something I rarely consider in my usual work.

While the illustrations stand alone as artistic elements, they are part of something larger. These renderings are like seeds intended to inspire the readers’ imagination, as they apply these compositional concepts to their own built gardens.

I only hope to have the opportunity to see one of these plans executed.

Favorite Colors

As a father of young children, I have often heard the question posed “What is your favorite color?” I would undoubtedly respond in an inclusive nature “I like ALL colors. Each for a different reason.” Well, if that doesn’t sound like the good Lord commenting on His children, I don’t know what does!

The truth is, that’s not far off the mark. Yesterday I was in a meeting reviewing a material pallet for the interiors of a commercial project in Burlington, VT. When the client pulled out a paint fan deck and said “This is sort of the direction I was headed.” I paused and gathered my thoughts before responding. The colors he proposed were lively and invigorating, and worked well with the carpet sample he brought. This was a good idea, as the space is quasi-basement, and lacks natural light. When compared with the colors I had selected in the space, they made my recommendations look drab and un-interesting.

Later that day, I went to the space again, armed with paint chips and carpet samples. While I found that my scheme had a soothing effect and could use a little more visual enthusiasm, my client’s scheme became jarring and unsettling in the actual space in question. Here’s why.

We were looking at color schemes in our studio, which has 12-foot ceilings and large windows of indirect daylight, supplemented with halogen lighting. When I brought the samples downstairs, not only did we have short ceilings with hot spots of fluorescent lighting, but the space was punctuated with fabulous accents of centuries-old brick. The existing brick and the given light source were our starting point. The color scheme had to use them as the one known constant to the color equation that would best work to meet their needs.

Color is not a constant. The way our brains register the reflection of light off of a surface has as much to do with the colors and surfaces that are adjacent as they do with the color and quality of the light that is being reflected. To learn more about this, I highly recommend Joseph Albers’ book The Interaction of Color. Having a favorite color is like having a favorite ingredient. I love chocolate, but it looses its appeal when combined with garlic and cod-liver oil!

Undercover Agent

As many of my readers know, I am one of a handful of partners involved with a nine-home development called Battenkill Meadows, in Manchester, Vermont. As such, I often take time hosting open houses and promoting our project. What I have learned has been fascinating.

Usually, I have the chance up front to explain that I am not a real estate agent. And as I explain my involvement with the project, I watch as they let out a slow, long breath, their shoulders drop, and they relax into what I presume is the person they were before they got out of the car.

The truth is, many of the people who stop by are not planning on buying a house any time soon, and so have formulated their story about why they are there. They are afraid of getting caught in the possessive and territorial cross-fire of the real estate sales world. With housing sales at record lows, it is completely understandable that real estate professionals are working harder to procure and protect their potential sources of income.

One thing I've learned is that many people are looking for ideas about how to work with what they've got. They're also trying to see what trends there are in the new-construction marketplace. People are re-thinking the role that houses play. They are moving away from the status symbol back to a more grounded notion of home.

What I’ve also learned is that people are becoming really interested in their environments. Most folks actually know very little about the structure they inhabit. As I explain what a high performance building envelope is and why it is important to both their wallets and the environment, I can see them pensively trying to recall what their home is made of. “I know we have fluffy stuff in the walls. It comes out when I drill into it to try to hang a shelf. But I don’t think there’s anything in our basement. And I have no idea what’s under our basement floor.”

With the shifting values from frivolous to responsible financial and environmental decision making, I think we will see homeowners sifting through the “green noise” in the marketplace and trying to get a handle on what really matters to them: comfort, value, and integrity. (And it doesn’t hurt if it looks good too!)

What is Contextualism?

Recently, I was asked by a field editor to comment on the style of one of my commercial designs. This is an area I always have difficulty articulating.

"Style" is a word I associate with the ever-changing trends of fashion. Good design transcends style. As with people, I am more interested in the character of a building than what clothes it is wearing. However, no matter what we design, it will ultimately emit an outward style. So rather than having a style of my own, I look to the context of my work to inform its form and detailing.

In response to the editor, I described the new building as "contextually pertinent, taking massing and scale cues from its neighbors while articulated in a vocabulary that is inspired by the 21st century."

What does that mean? Sounds like more archi-speak mumbo-jumbo to me! Essentially it means this: There is a rich history in this New England town of wood framed structures of a certain size, with gabled roofs and eave overhangs. These shapes have evolved and survived over the past two hundred years for a reason. They work! Sloped roofs of a certain pitch are effective at shedding snow and ice. Extending the roof beyond the face of the building helps to protect the building's walls and windows from the destructive elements that Mother Nature hurls at it every year. (That's the historic part. Now let's look at building in the 21st century.)

The building in question has a retail function programmed for the ground floor. Contemporary retailers require display windows to act as palpable advertisements for their products. While a hundred years ago, large plains of glass were not practical, modern float-glass has replaced the need for tiny pains connected by a network grid of muntins that obscure the view.

Victorians often expressed a building's structure on its exterior by articulating the facade with a rhythm of pilasters of columns. Today these same elements takes on a form expressive of the technology used in modern construction practices.

When talking about contextual design, it is important not to reflect only the historic fabric around you. That reflection must be tempered and informed by the influences of history, technology, and culture in which it is being built if it is to have any true relevance.

To see more of my work, check out our web site at RamsayGourdArchitects.com or RGAvt.com.