the Value of Beauty

Still Life by William Nicholson c. 1900

So what is beauty?  Every civilization has a different standard or ideal of what beauty is.  It is based on our history and our collective cultural experience.  Moreover, within each culture, our tastes, likes and dislikes are unique to who we are.  What I find beautiful, my wife or son may not.

As a designer, I find that one of the greatest challenges is to create beautiful objects, be they buildings, furnishings or graphic patterns that have a broad appeal and aesthetic longevity.   After all, isn't one of the greenest approaches to design and manufacturing to create things of enduring relevance?

I think it's important that we all pause to take stock of what we find beautiful.  Look around your home.  What objects have you cherished for more than a few years?  Is there a consistency to those things.  What about your community?  What are the structures that are preserved, restored or well maintained?

Detail of the Sistine Chapel Ceiling
by Michelangelo c. 1510

While beautiful things do not guarantee happiness, they add a texture of palpable vitality to our lives.  And yet as Alain de Botton notes in his book, The Architecture of Happiness, “To care deeply about a field that achieves so little, and yet consumes so many of our resources, forces us to admit to a disturbing, even degrading lack of aspiration.”  Yet given the seemingly folly character of aesthetics, we are driven to continuously appreciate, and even rival the beauty that nature surrounds us with. 

I’m not sure what constantly drives me to want to make beautiful things.  All I know is that I am driven.  I hope that the work I create is met with eyes that appreciate my personal interpretation of beauty, and derive pleasure in doing so..

Closure: The final chapter of a series on the design process

A couple of weeks ago, I took a trip to New Jersey to photograph a project about which I've been writing occasionally.  Unlike previous visits to the site, this was purely for my own benefit.  The house is complete, furnishings placed, and the owners have moved in for their beach-side holidays.  I packed my bags and camera and booked into my home-away-from-home inn.


It has been a long process.  But the builder, Gary Hedrick, along with his incredible crew, made the journey as painless and pleasant as possible. This was my time to see where we've arrived.  However, in order to understand the impact, I think it's important to see a little of where we've come from.

The Original Home

An Early Character Sketch

The Finished Home

Whenever I have the opportunity to return to a project, it is like visiting a child whom you've watched grow and mature.  There is a connection to the built form that is hard to explain.  While I work hard to capture the essence of who my clients are, a part of me gets knitted into the project's fabric.

Entry Hall

Given the scope of the project, combined with the restraints of the prescriptive building envelope, I am very pleased with the spaces we were able to create.  There is a true variety of scale, mood and texture in the house.  However, each of these spaces is held together by a common thread of detail and proportion much like contrasting yet coordinated beads on a string.  

The Library

I am greatly indebted to the craftsmen who took as much pride in the project as I.  Only through a team with a consistent commitment to quality can such a project come together smoothly.  From precise framing to artisan woodworking and finishing, each layer of workmanship relies on the foundation of the one set before it.  Not only is this a beautiful home to look at, but one can also feel the integrity of the workmanship that is systemically incorporated throughout.

The Great Room

Designed as a gathering place for extended family, this is the kind of home that one can easily see passing on through many generations and serving as the backdrop for some of life's greatest memories.

Portrait of a Client

 I’m often asked “Do you have a design style?”  I find that a tough question to answer, as my work is project specific and stylistically varied.  As an architect, illustrator and designer, my goal is to convey a message, evoke a feeling, and most often, paint a portrait of my client.  Few people hire a custom designer to create a project that looks just like their neighbor’s.

Whether designing a home, a room or a restaurant, my first objective is to get to know my client and understand his or her vision.  I send clients off from initial meetings with a homework assignment.  Our programming worksheets ask the clients a number of questions about the project in question.  Digital or tactile clippings files of inspirational images are requested so that clients can graphically communicate their tastes and preferences.

On the designer side of the equation, I like to take research field trips.  I will often schedule to visit my clients’ homes or explore similar program type precedents.  (I recently visited a couple in New Jersey to better understand their personal tastes as I prepared to design their Vermont home.  And a tour of New York brasseries armed me with a vocabulary to pursue a recent restaurant project.)

 

In the end, every project I design should be a clear reflection of the owner.  Infused in its fiber, needs to be a DNA as unique as a fingerprint.  That core thesis in turn, informs every decision about the project, such that each detail supports the whole, creating an end product that is about its built, temporal and personal context.

Architectural Salvation

 For old houses, salvation comes not in the form of a Messiah, but rather, the hands of a talented crew of dedicated builders.  I am fortunate to have a large portion of my practice focused on the restoration of wonderful buildings that have fallen prey to the hands of time.  It takes a special team of clients, designers and builders who see the value in preserving and restoring these historic gems.

Often with old buildings, there is a palpable sense of history that has little to do with the remaining sticks and bricks that stand before you.  Our job is to capture that spirit, by thoroughly documenting the character-defining attributes and developing strategies for bringing the structure up to modern performance standards while preserving the essence  of the building.

Our current extensive rehabilitation project is one that has caught the attention of the community.  Sited on Main Street, in Manchester, Vermont,  it is a contributing building to the Village Historic District.  In its heyday, it was a delightful summer home, with wrap-around porches and gracious lawns.  When the current owners bought it, the porches were falling off, trees were growing out of the roof and wild animals had taken up residence within.

The Independent - Thursday, April 7, 1870

Before we could start developing a plan, we spent a great deal of time documenting the existing structure, and trying to establish the chronology of changes that had occurred over the life of the building.  Photographs and drawings were made to chronicle the building details that would require re-fabrication.  Builder, Paul Mackson, peeled back layers of finishes, and tore out non-load-bearing walls that had been superficially erected to create a warren of rooms.  Organic insulation believed to be seaweed and old newspapers were removed from wall cavities.  A Wall Street Journal from 1875 and an 1870 issue of The Independent firmly positioned the house in the late 19th century.

Ready for jacking!

A good foundation is paramount to any structures longevity.  Once the primary demolition was complete, Connor House Movers came in to jack up the structure off of its assemblage of stone walls that had shifted over the past century and had gaping holes and waterways running through them.  Excavators are in the process of digging out the basement.  Soon the house will be lowered back onto a clean, dry and insulated basement.

Positioned for its new foundation.

When complete, this village gem will once again be a positive contributor to the charming character of Manchester, Vermont.  Its lucky inhabitants will reap the benefits of a tight and energy-efficient home that boasts the conveniences of modern living while maintaining the nostalgic grace of a bygone era.

Going the Distance

At Ramsay Gourd Architects, we have a policy that we want to be your architect for life.  And while not on the same level as the covenant of marriage, we do take our relationship with our clients very seriously.  Not always will we see things eye to eye, but through open and candid discussion, we can usually gain an insight into each other's paradigm and learn to appreciate our differences.

 Park Avenue Residence

I believe this is why so much of our our work is with repeat clients.  From our little practice in Vermont, we have had opportunities to work, not only in New England, but also in New York, New Jersey, and most recently, Southern California.

While I am a big advocate of regional contextualism, I believe that through careful study, good visual communication and an understanding of site conditions and indigenous construction practices, a thoughtful designer can do responsible work.  Sometimes, this requires tapping into local talent to achieve our goals.  In Manhattan, I have employed an excellent expediting consultant to help navigate through the bureaucratic labyrinth of New York permitting.  On the New Jersey coast, I worked with engineers who understand the nuance of appeasing the Zoning and Building Administrators.  In Monecitto, CA, my role is that of the designer, working with an architect of record who will be doing the heavy lifting by generating the working drawings and permitting packages.

Montecito, CA Residence

While this may seem like a laborious and potentially costly way to approach the design process, it does have some built-in efficiencies.  Primarily, we know each other.  As a designer, I understand my clients' tastes and idiosyncrasies.  They know how to communicate with me, and hopefully have established a level of trust in our work.

Food for Thought

Computer Model View of Dining Room and Open Kitchen

 For over a year, I have had the pleasure of working with a passionate couple who are following their dreams to Vermont.  Michel Boyer and Beth Whitaker packed up their stable urban life to move to the country and open a Provence-inspired Brasserie.  Michel has spent his life in the hospitality industry, most recently as manager of Brasserie 8 1/2 in New York.  Trained as a graphic artist, Beth has developed her hand as a fine oil-painter.  This husband and wife duo combines their creative energy with experience in the business of hospitality.

Michel labored over the restaurant's name.  He wanted something clearly French, pronouncable by the great American un-washed, and reflects the sense of place he envisioned. Brasserie L'Oustau de Provence sums that up for him.  For those of you, like me, who have no idea what that means, the following definition should shed a little light.

Oustau  (oo – sto’), -noun  1. an ancient Roman agricultural homestead structure found in the South of France, often occupied by landowner, farm workers, and their extended families, serving as the heart of community. 

Working with Steven and Lauren Bryant, who helped to locate and evaluate potential properties, we seriously studied two other sites before selecting the building at 1716 Depot Street in Manchester.  The property was a going concern, but had little to do with the concept or menu of what was to become Brasserie L'Oustau.  What it did have were high ceilings, an open kitchen and an antique bar that oddly enough was perfect for our vision.

I took a field trip to New York and attended the annual hotel and restaurant show there.  While in the city, I met with Michel, and he took me on a whirlwind tour of the best brasserie spaces that Manhattan has to offer.    Balthazar, with its cool vibe and great sense of place has the recipe well worked out.  The architecture and details at Brasserie Ruhlmann are exceptional.  But what would would you expect from a restaurant named after the great Art Deco designer Emile-Jaques Ruhlmann?  Artisinal Bistro on 32nd and Park combines the brasserie dining experience with an exceptional fromagerie that purveys some of the finest hand-crafted cheeses available in the city.

Massive Columns,  brass-capped banquettes and
carefully selected lighting combine with a custom mosaic
floor to create a true brasserie environment.

Armed with this vision and sense of experience, we attacked the plans with enthusiasm.  (I had also just read Danny Meyer's book, Setting the Table, which re-lit my hospitality sense from my years as an innkeeper.)  The thesis was clear.  The concept concrete.  And the scope of worked pre-defined.  We set out taking down walls to create the open feel and dynamic flow.  I designed a custom mosaic tile to paint the floors with, and detailed massive columns that are iconic elements of our brasserie precedents.


We are not yet two months into the project, and as the tile is laid, the space is really coming together.  Lighting will be installed next week and furniture arrives as staff training takes place the following week.  A soft opening will launch three weeks from now, and I can hardly wait.  I'm sure that L'Oustau will prove to be a comfortable and envigorating hub for our community.

Designing for Designers

This morning I had the pleasure of working with photographer, Lisa Cueman, and client and designer, Daphne Markcrow on a scouting session at Daphne’s barn conversion.  What a treat it was to have all of that talent coming together from different disciplines.

Craig & Daphne Markcrow were amazing clients.  Craig’s business, Vermont Structural Slate, provided the resources for the beautiful stone slabs and tile we used on the job.  Daphne is the founder and lead designer of the equine –inspired handbag and luggage company, Oughton Limited.  Her understanding of detail and construction paired with a disciplined editorial eye meant that she could clearly articulate her vision. 

The resultant project is so simple and elegant.  It is a reflection of both confidence and sensitivity.  If my job is to provide a portrait of my client through the built environment, the success of this project lies in the simple sophistication that this talented couple exhibits.

Today we hung some of Lisa’s amazing photographs in the space.  Her equine portraits and abstractions were such a natural fit in the space, they looked as though the project had been designed around them.  Check out her work at her website.  

Additional snap-shots that I took at our session can be seen at Ramsay Gourd Architects.

Getting Coordinated, Part IV in a series on the design process

It has been quite some time since I updated my blog.  I wanted to bring my readers up to speed on the progress being made on our case study.

Through the photos attached, you can see how the prescriptive bylaws of this seaside community shaped the final building massing.  We were not able to add the shed dormer to the left of the primary gable, as that area falls outside of the building envelop.  The primary roof ridge is pre-existing, but taller than is currently permitted.  This is why I had to step the building down where we extended it to the right.  As architects, our job is to work within the confines of zoning restrictions, client needs, engineering limitations and site context.  We produce our best work when we meet these challenges head-on. 

My last trip to the site was a time for systems coordination.  I have been meeting  with the HVAC contractor, plumber and electrician to coordinate trades and make certain that things like ventilation grilles don’t end up in either unsightly locations or in configurations that are at conflict with how the house will be furnished and used.

By looking at our point of construction, it may seem early.  But all plumbing, lighting and appliance selections should be made by now.  We have assembled comprehensive fixture schedules that are keyed into the drawings.  Once fixtures and finishes  have been selected, we draw them into the interior elevations, indicating tile layouts, lighting and plumbing fixture locations and any other specific product installations that will need to be accommodated.   It is this early coordination that limits the number of costly mistakes that can be made along the way.

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.

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.