Revisiting 9/11

I wrote this years ago, but as we remember the events of today, 11 years ago, I thought I'd re-post my thoughts.

Monday, September 11, 2006

The Power of a Symbol

Five years ago, today, I sat in class, structures class if I remember correctly, trying to stay awake. After all, it was an 8:30 lecture. The moment class ended, a student stood up and said, simply, “The World Trade Center was just attacked.” It was 9:25 am.

The student walked out without saying another word, and for a moment, I thought it was some weird practical joke. I would find out, five minutes later, eyes riveted to a television set in the department office, that it was not. It’s been said over and over again, the world changed that day. It’s not an exaggeration.

I watched, on television, as the World Trade Center crumbled down, floor by floor, until it was lost in the cloud of its own dust. I remember our academic advisor bursting out into tears, as we stared on in disbelief. I remember walking home, after school officially closed, thinking, how could the weather be so perfect, the day so unbelievably beautiful, when, elsewhere, chaos was erupting.

As we would learn, the targets were specific. The buildings were chosen for the special meanings they embodied. They were symbols, markers. It was meant to be as significant a psychological blow as it was a physical catastrophe.

As we look on, five years later, so much has yet to be done. The wound is still open, the healing not really begun. In the wake of 9/11, a call went out, a challenge made, one which some considered the opportunity for architects to reassert the value of their work. Rebuild on suddenly sacred ground, and create something that respected the past while inspiring the future. It was a wish for remembrance. It was a cry for defiance.

I fear for the success. I feel deflated by the solution. And perhaps, more than anything else, I am disappointed by the process. Politics, egos, personal interests – they dominate the rebuilding process. They are the stories to arise from the rubble of that day.

Three years ago, during a scholarship interview, I was asked the question on everyone’s mind, “What do you think should be done at the World Trade Center site?” A loaded question. I faced four strangers who looked on expectantly.

I told them that what I hoped for. I hoped for a place that would remember the significance of the event while engendering new life, new activity, a new spirit. I hoped that, in the process of reconstruction, disparate parties might unite under a common goal, a vision that could encapsulate the hopes, memories, desires of the expectant millions watching. I told them that the challenge, above anything else, would be reconciling the desires of those who saw the site as a massive graveyard and those who saw the site as an opportunity for massive redevelopment. I told them that any solution would have to successfully address both. That life and death, happiness and sadness, would need to exist, side by side. I told them that I believed architecture had the power to reach such greatness.

I still believe in that greatness. I still believe that architecture can take on such weight, such responsibility. It is the power of a symbol – this ability for concrete objects to illicit abstract emotions. I just don’t know, given the process so far, if the results will ever meet the heavy expectations. Some might say nothing would. And perhaps they are right. But, perhaps, if the process hadn’t been derailed the way it has, there might have been a better chance for success.

Dating an Architect

A, sadly accurate, summary of the trials and tribulations of dating an Architect. It's probably why I am single. Thanks to www.howaboutwe.com for the list below:

“Architects make a lot of money.”

This is not true. (But people assume it is.)

Architects are used to late nights.

In theory, it shouldn’t be a problem to stay up all night for sexytime. But in reality, they probably pulled an all-nighter last night and are ready to crash at 8 tonight.

There is no such thing as a fat architect.

For some reason. I have no idea.

Things you never even knew existed are now the most important. thing. ever.

“That is the ugliest fucking radiator ever”, “How did they not align the light switch with the outlet?” “What’s your favorite kind of hinge?” “What’s your favorite CAD command?”

They’re probably anal.

They probably have one of three “systems” for organizing their bookshelves: by color, by size (largest to smallest), by publisher. None of these make any sense and ironically provide the very opposite of “order”, but it doesn’t matter, because it looks better. In fact, they will have a “system” for everything, including organizing the fridge and how to put their clothes away. You might think it’s cute at first, an endearing quirk – until you realize how much of their precious little free time is consumed by obsessing over things that a) no one cares about and b) does not enhance their lives in any way.

After a while, you will only hang out with architects.

This happens. Hope you don’t just love your architect, but that you love ALL architects.

Architects handle relationship/life stress well.

Because anything is less stressful than a deadline.

You won’t get studio.

Prepare yourself for constant references to this mysterious place called “studio” that they spent every waking moment of their college lives in, and never being let on on the inside jokes, with explanations like “you had to be there” or “it was a lot funnier at four in the morning.”

They will be coffee snobs.

If it’s not organically grown, economically sustainable and socially consciously harvested, and brewed in a vintage French Press OR a Chemex, chances are, they might politely decline your coffee. Until, four minutes later, they realize they’re caffeine deprived and, ethics be damned, this presentation needs to get to Dubai by 1AM…

Architects are passionate, dedicated people.

They didn’t get through 5 years of architectural school by being lazy, indifferent and stupid. (Need a first date conversation starter? Ask them about how many people dropped out of their program freshman year – they’ll be all too proud to tell you that “they were one of the few” who made it out unscathed.”) They know just enough about every culturally relevant artist, philosopher, composer etc to make them seem exceptionally worldly and cultured – your parents should love them. Keep in mind that it’s all a facade (no pun intended!) and that if you were to press them on any one of those topics, they’ll find a way to skillfully manipulate the conversation into some abstract “concept” and avoid being called out on not knowing shit.

 

More signs of the times

Read this? Yeah, not that encouraging.

The reality of our profession, post-recession, is something we need to seriously consider. What is the value of any degree that leads to unemployment? Should we encourage those in the generations to come to invest their time and money if this is their future?

I was in New York this past weekend for a friend's wedding. Many of my old classmates and colleagues were there, as it was the union of two classmates that we were celebrating. And as I caught up with them, it became more and more obvious that the realities of the article - of architects leaving the profession by choice or not - was becoming the norm. Of my friends, at least half of them were now in "alternative" careers - they were related to design, in some way, but definitely outside Architecture's traditional bounds.

It makes me think, particularly as I teach, if I preach an unobtainable dream. Our profession has increasingly become a commodity,  tied to the whims and instability of fads and economies.We can never be broken from the finances that fund our work; however, without asserting that the value of what we do extends beyond luxury and excess, we will continue to be the first of professions cut when times get tough.

We face uncertain times, that much is clear. This might, however, be the best opportunity for our profession to carefully examine itself, make tough choices, and reinvent itself. If we don't, The statistics of the article will not represent a disconcerting trend, but our profession's future.

Where do we go?

I've pondered it a lot, lately. And, I am not the only one. Head over the Archdaily to check out another perspective on the Future of Architecture.

Missed the Boat?

When the economy tanked and the profession sent into chaos, the question myself and my friends faced was not, "when will we work again", but "where we work again?" I found myself back at home, as my original plans to return to New York evaporated with the imaginary billions of Wall Street. Others I knew waited months, even almost a year, trying to find that elusive new position. And a few more, well, they didn't have a choice. They picked up and found themselves someplace new.

Reading this, today, in the NYTimes, reminded me of that time - when I was faced with options I never imagined or wanted. Our profession has been radically altered; I entered thinking that, after school, I would find a job in a reputable firm, work my way up, and one day find myself a partner, looking back on the years dedicated and the projects accomplished. Anyone reading this knows that wasn't the case. And, as the articles I have recently posted reflect, this hasn't been the case for many now coming into our fold.

I wonder if, now, "where they build" will be far away. If China, or Dubai, or India, will be the land of opportunity, experimentation, innovation. If we will find more and more of our graduates abroad because, while we continue to train plenty, we can't come up with jobs for them once they leave. I wonder if will export our best talent because, well, there isn't anything keeping them here.

I wonder, also, if I missed the boat. If I am on my current path because it was safe. I ask myself if I could, like those in the article, pick up and move - not just to a new state, but a new country. And I am freaking Chinese. Granted, I can't speak, can't read, and my cultural markers make me whiter than most, but still. It seems like, of anyone, I would be in a prime position to catch the wave of the next frontier.

Granted, it's not as though all my problems would be solved by a trip overseas. I am sure one set of problems would be traded for another. But life is dealing with problems; it just that, some problems you enjoy solving. I am still trying to figure out if the problems I have now are better than those I could have somewhere else.

Making the Rounds

This has been making the rounds amongst architects and their blogs....Something to think about.

You are what you...teach?

I have to admit this: sometimes I can't believe I teach. Particularly about Architecture. After all, if you scan this blog, it is a rare moment for me to speak about the virtues of the profession. Mostly, my stories are filled with the disappointment, the frustration, the harsh realities that our profession has somehow kept secret.

When I started this blog, I thought I could, through my experiences, shed some light upon certain misconceptions. I thought, perhaps, this blog could help others understand what the education asks, the profession asks, of those who enter. Basically, I hoped I could enlighten people of the things I wish I would have been informed of years ago.

But, as the years passed, I found myself on detours that took me farther away from where I thought I should be. My blog reflected this; looking back on my entries, I now realize that the questions concerning me weren't about what type of professional I might be, but whether or not I should be a part of this profession. And then, I just fell off the face of the earth.

Perhaps, from this short history, you can understand why I find myself rather dumbfounded concerning my current circumstances. I find myself in front of students, encouraging them, challenging them, to imagine the possibilities of not only their work, but their future lives as architecture professionals. And while I am forthright about my own experiences, I never discourage these fresh faces from pursuing their dreams. I find myself, surprisingly, an enabler.

I am both Jekyll and Hyde. I can be incensed about our continually changing certification requirements one second, excited about detailing a stair railing the next. I ponder whether or not I have the stamina to continue on in the profession, but undoubtedly have an opinion on any design you ask me about. I am a dissenter and an advocate.

But, as Jekyll was forced to wonder, which is my true self? Am I one who will, five years from now, be set upon some other task, some other work, which finds me looking at Architecture from afar? Or will I be, as I am now, hard at work, hoping to make something someone will love. Am I the person I see in this blog, or the person I hear speaking to my students? Right now, both seem equally likely. I wonder which will win out.

So you want to be an architect?

You may want to read this. Or maybe this.

Just mull it over for a second or two.

Overrated

I hate to say it, but sometimes -well, really, many times - I have agreed with this. Particularly in the past three years or so, as I've existed on the fringes of the professional world. So far, I've eeked by, freelancing, working for a firm on and off, and renovating. I've supplemented this all with some teaching, which at times fuels my idealistic dreams, and at other times, makes me want to warn anyone wishing to follow through that this life, this profession, isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I want to believe that what architects do has value; even on something small, like renovating a house, I believe that we, as architects, can provide insights into space planning and organization that can make something old new again. That is in large part why I tackled the renovation I did. I wanted to show people how a 1950s home could, with thought, have a floor plan that could meet with today's lifestyle. The hope was that, after the blood, sweat and tears, when the house was done, people would come through, appreciate the work, and, well, fall in love.

So far, there has been some love, but not enough. Well, enough for a sale, which is ultimately what I need to move onwards and upwards, as they say. I took a gamble, hoping that people might appreciate attention to detail, unique features and finding a home that meets today's standards within an establish, well-sought after neighborhood. The complaints have left me discouraged. For all the talk of "right-sizing", the negative comments have mostly dealt with a small master bedroom. Granted, it isn't some grand palace like you see on Cribs, with separate sitting areas and room for a trapeze, but the suite we created has a large walk-in closet, room for a queen bed, night stands and a credenza, and a master bath with dual vanities, separate shower and tub and its own toilet room. I mean, couldn't you live with this:

So, despite my hopes, I find an unreceptive audience. And it makes me wonder, as I still see developer homes selling, and the good old McMansions filling the pictures of local home magazines and TV shows. Do Architects provide value? I hope so. Do people value what Architects do? I am not so sure.

Bureaucracy, perhaps?

This article, just posted over at Good Design posits an interesting question: what is keeping so many "architects" out of architecture. I have to say, more and more, I feel apart of those who may be potentially "lost". While I have busted my but for years now, I am still quite far from being able to call myself an "architect". I have seen projects from design to construction, managed contractors, consultants, clients, detailed numerous drawings, slaved over permit sets and redlines. But, without my IDP complete, and my exams finished, the most I can ever consider myself is a designer.

I am working hard to get there. But, sometimes, things get in the way. My job gets in my way. Where as Lawyers take months off to study for the Bar, Doctors have residencies that support their studies for the Boards, we are supposed to work full time, studying whenever possible for our professional exams. And, I'll admit, it's been hard to squeeze it in. Especially when 18 hour days became my norm.

I like that someone is asking about the structure of our profession; we need to take a hard look at the status quo. Hopefully people will start to listen. If you don't click the link, you can read the article, by John Cary, below:

Perhaps it was the Legos, or watching Mike Brady belly up to his drafting board on TV. In recent months and years, the likes of President Obama, Brad Pitt, Lenny Kravitz, and numerous other public figures have divulged a love of architecture, going so far as to say they once—or still—wanted to be architects. They, like so many of us, have a romantic view of the architecture world.

It makes sense when you stop to think about it: there are few more creative, more transformative, more direct ways to literally make the world a better place. Almost nothing influences the quality of our lives more than the design of our homes, our schools, our workplaces, and our public spaces.

Architecture can enliven and inspire. Three decades ago this year, at the tender age of 21, Maya Lin, then a Yale student, captivated the nation with her minimalist design for the Vietnam Memorial. Her subsequent work has won acclaim the world over.

We need more architects like Maya Lin to lift us up. But there’s a problem: Lin is not considered an architect by the architecture profession itself. You’d think those within her chosen field would at least embrace Lin as an architect—if not as a luminary, an innovator, or even a genius. Instead, the architecture establishment does something astounding, demeaning, and perplexing: they relegate her to the title of “intern” because she focused on making architecture, rather rites of passage.

Earning a diploma from architecture school isn't enough to be awarded the title of "architect." Graduates must also complete a multi-year internship and pass a costly seven-part exam, steps Lin skipped because she was spending her time designing. It’s a long, arduous road that many in the field are either unable or simply unwilling to travel. Shaun Donovan, the U.S. Secretary of Housing & Urban Development, who earned his architecture degree from the Harvard Graduate School of Design, isn’t an architect, nor TED Prize winner and showman Cameron Sinclair of Architecture for Humanity. Architecture school deans, firm owners, and countless others aren’t “real” architects either. These people are doing amazing, world-changing work, exactly what we want and need more architects to be doing.

In fact, more than half of architecture school graduates don’t enter the profession. Fewer still get licensed, which means that the majority of the best and brightest are held in professional limbo or exit the profession entirely. This has been the status quo for decades, and it’s time for a change. We, the public, need architecture and dignifying spaces now more than ever.

Lest you think this title stuff is just semantics, think again. The profession and the public are measurably worse off because of this issue. While diversity in architecture schools is comparable to law and other fields, architecture remains one of the most elite and homogenous professions, clinging to institutional barriers that have thwarted gender parity and diversity efforts. Massive resources are spent on bureaucracy instead of nurturing a more representative profession to serve our diverse society, and supporting architects to create better, more vibrant public spaces.

Rather than spending their energy protecting their territory and titles, what if architects and their associations focused on resolving our nation’s housing crisis, improving our schools, or generally creating more inspiring environments for people to live their best lives? With buildings now accounting for almost half of greenhouse gas emissions, we need an army of architects to go back to drawing board and create more environmentally-friendly buildings, rather than an aging few tending to the drawbridge.

I’m not arguing against professional standards, especially not for a profession charged with making sure buildings don’t fall down. Clearly, there must be ways to demonstrate one’s qualifications in architecture or any other field, and an exam is widely regarded as the most reliable way to do so.

The difference is that medical school graduates are universally recognized among their peers and by the public as doctors even before their residencies and subsequent board exams. Graduates of law schools are considered lawyers even before passing the bar. But graduates of architecture school, who have at least five to seven years of schooling, are recognized with the lowly title of “intern.” They are forced into under-compensated internships as well as warned, policed, and even fined by architect-led state licensing boards for infringing on the word “architect” in any way. Is there any wonder why architecture graduates are defecting in droves?

These inequities, when combined with the economic downturn, are pushing greater numbers of graduates out of architecture, and the profession is weaker for it. More importantly, the public is also losing out, as the creative skills of architecture graduates are channeled into an overly bureaucratic process, rather than into solving very real societal challenges.

For years, even the leaders of the high and mighty American Institute of Architects have recommended reforming and broadening the rules of becoming an architect—starting with what we call graduates. Yet year in and year out, nothing changes due to institutional resistance, protectionism, and self-preservation.

It is high time that architecture focus less on enforcement of titles and fortifying its barriers to entry, and more on creating an inclusive profession truly dedicated to the health, the safety, and the welfare of the public.

9-11 Ten Years Later

It seems surreal. 10 Years ago, today, the world changed as we know it. How we live changed, irreversibly. 10 years later, I, like everyone, can remember that morning with such finite detail. In honor of the memories of those who gave everything, I thought I'd bring back the entry I wrote 5 years ago, today.

Monday, September 11, 2006

The Power of a Symbol

Five years ago, today, I sat in class, structures class if I remember correctly, trying to stay awake. After all, it was an 8:30 lecture. The moment class ended, a student stood up and said, simply, “The World Trade Center was just attacked.” It was 9:25 am.

The student walked out without saying another word, and for a moment, I thought it was some weird practical joke. I would find out, five minutes later, eyes riveted to a television set in the department office, that it was not. It’s been said over and over again, the world changed that day. It’s not an exaggeration.

I watched, on television, as the World Trade Center crumbled down, floor by floor, until it was lost in the cloud of its own dust. I remember our academic advisor bursting out into tears, as we stared on in disbelief. I remember walking home, after school officially closed, thinking, how could the weather be so perfect, the day so unbelievably beautiful, when, elsewhere, chaos was erupting.

As we would learn, the targets were specific. The buildings were chosen for the special meanings they embodied. They were symbols, markers. It was meant to be as significant a psychological blow as it was a physical catastrophe.

As we look on, five years later, so much has yet to be done. The wound is still open, the healing not really begun. In the wake of 9/11, a call went out, a challenge made, one which some considered the opportunity for architects to reassert the value of their work. Rebuild on suddenly sacred ground, and create something that respected the past while inspiring the future. It was a wish for remembrance. It was a cry for defiance.

I fear for the success. I feel deflated by the solution. And perhaps, more than anything else, I am disappointed by the process. Politics, egos, personal interests – they dominate the rebuilding process. They are the stories to arise from the rubble of that day.

Three years ago, during a scholarship interview, I was asked the question on everyone’s mind, “What do you think should be done at the World Trade Center site?” A loaded question. I faced four strangers who looked on expectantly.

I told them that what I hoped for. I hoped for a place that would remember the significance of the event while engendering new life, new activity, a new spirit. I hoped that, in the process of reconstruction, disparate parties might unite under a common goal, a vision that could encapsulate the hopes, memories, desires of the expectant millions watching. I told them that the challenge, above anything else, would be reconciling the desires of those who saw the site as a massive graveyard and those who saw the site as an opportunity for massive redevelopment. I told them that any solution would have to successfully address both. That life and death, happiness and sadness, would need to exist, side by side. I told them that I believed architecture had the power to reach such greatness.

I still believe in that greatness. I still believe that architecture can take on such weight, such responsibility. It is the power of a symbol – this ability for concrete objects to illicit abstract emotions. I just don’t know, given the process so far, if the results will ever meet the heavy expectations. Some might say nothing would. And perhaps they are right. But, perhaps, if the process hadn’t been derailed the way it has, there might have been a better chance for success.

Miss Me?

I fell off the face of the earth. A black hole that seemingly took every last speck of the light that made up my days. Renovating this house has been a herculean task. Up at sunrise, working until dusk. All in the vain hope of completing this craziness.

Add to it teaching. Rewarding, yes. And an additional time suck. Nights preparing assignments and slideshows. Desk crits and reviews that interrupt the work day. Suddenly torn between two jobs, two lives, unsure if I have been able to dedicated myself to each with true conviction. That's what's been on my mind.

I am actually living the dream. One foot in academia, one foot in practice. On a good day, I tell myself, this is what I want. I like going back and forth. I like working on site and in the classroom.

But on rough day days, which seem to be a majority of them lately, I wonder if one might have to give for the other. If I commit to something, I give everything I have. But when you have two things vying for that attention, can you do each justice? Or does something give? I worry that, if I find out the answer to this, it may be because of an incident that I am unable to recover from.

I know, I come back after months with something depressing. Not necessarily how I'd like to do things, but its all I got right now. I only hope that, on the horizon, is a light that provides new inspiration.

Make it work.

During my third year of architecture school, we took several field trips to learn about materials and construction; a pre-cast concrete company, a masonry manufacturer, a steel mill, and carpentry school. We were to learn about the way things go together, get our hands dirty if at all possible. And while laying bricks are still a mystery to me, carpentry school was something of a revelation.

It was a 6 am bus ride, 45 minutes from school to, if you could believe it, and island in the middle of the Ohio river. And, in a giant warehouse, we learned to frame. Basic skills first - hammer a nail, without hitting your hand, saw a 2x4 without an electrical assistant, identify a jack vs. king stud. The several guys brought in to show us the ropes were admirably patient, given our range of aptitude. There were those who had been building sheds with their fathers as kids. And there were those that were not quite sure how hard you really needed to swing a hammer.

I was somewhere in between; I had begrudgingly followed my dad as he did minor repairs to some rental homes, mostly resenting the time it took me away from Saturday morning cartoons. I'd gotten dirty and pretty much hated it. But I knew my basic tools, and, surprising to most of my classmates, could lift heavy objects with more ease than they expected. So, sure, I was out of place; my grungiest clothes were a pair of Abercombie jeans and an Abercrombie jersey shirt. And sure, my friends had a good hearty laugh at my expense - at seeing me getting dirty and dusty. But, as we moved from basic skills towards our task of the day - in groups, frame up 4 walls, with a window or door in each and a basic vaulted roof - I found myself lost in the constant motion, activity and noise.

Maybe it was the material - wood, which I seemed to have an affinity for. Maybe it was the process - that, as a group, we were doing something together, rather than competing with one another. Maybe I just liked the idea that, despite what people thought of me, I could actually do this. Whatever, it was, I knew I liked it. I could see it - someday, I'd take time off from my amazingly successful practice to build myself a home. Be apart of it, day in and day out, so I could do it they way I wanted.

Fast forward to today. For the past three weeks I've dug in on a renovation. It's design-build, and I am putting in a lot of sweat equity. I figured, if work ain't coming to me, I'm gonna make it for myself. Given the course of my professional life, it should be no surprise that this has now come before a successful practice. But, well, we can only take the cards we get and play the best hand we can. I'll make it work.

So, after some finagling, and with the help of many, I now sit at the point of no return, with permits pulled, walls demolished, and large areas of concrete cut. In two weeks, we cleared two 30-yard dumpsters, and for everyday of those two weeks, I've been sore. What can I say? When I renovate, I go all the way.

One track mind

Hi there. It's been a long time (long time). How have you been?

I feel like I need to re-introduce myself, seeing as I've gone MIA. Remember me? I used to post regularly, occasionally making an, I'd like to hope, insightful observation. I may have even been funny from time to time. But, for quite a while, it seems, I've lost my mojo. Maybe that's life. At least, it seems, that has been mine.

My life, however, is beside the point. At least for today. I'm trying to get my groove back, you might say, and finally get down something that has been nagging me for a while.

As I mentioned here, I had the opportunity to find myself back in Studio. Observing the dramatic change in process, particularly the design tools being used, from my collegiate days was...shocking? Unnerving? Inspiring? I'm not sure, exactly. Conflicted. Yeah...maybe that's it.

As the studio progressed, thoughts about this evolution in education stayed at the back of my mind. It gnawed at me more after I read this, which, while interesting, failed to explore what I thought was the most provocative statement of the entire interview:

Prince-Ramus: It’s an architectural education issue. It’s not that I’m not hiring architects. But as someone who teaches and has a practice and has real projects, I see the skill set of people with architectural education as increasingly irrelevant, if not detrimental.

I've tried to understand this statement, reflecting on my students and my approach towards the studio. But I am still not sure what is Mr. Prince-Ramus's ultimate point. Given the context, where his comment follows a contractor who has mentioned hiring more architects for his company, I first took it to mean that architects skills have now made them increasingly production oriented. Thus, rather than leading, we have a generation adept at executing.

When I first began teaching, what struck me most was the time students now spend on a computer. Unless asked to specifically produced something by hand, everything I saw was on a screen, or a printout of something digital. It was jarring, not only because I had been a model guy, but because I found it very difficult to have discussions with the students about their process.

If anything, iterative design was the one thing drilled into me during my own studies. Try one version, then another, compare, contrast, and repeat. But, crucial to all of this, was that you could view versions simultaneously, which allowed you to make decisions based upon the relative strengths and weaknesses that you observed in the comparison.

While the students may have been doing this, it was unclear, as I spoke with them, if it was really happening. I would often have them go back to materials they showed during previous sessions, asking them for sketches or printout that seemed to be already tucked away - out of sight and out of mind. For many of the students, the design process seemed so linear - decisions made considering only direct cause and effect. Address one problem, then move on. Checklist done.

If this is what Mr. Prince-Ramus is referring to in his comments, then I heartily agree. The technological tools my students relied upon seemed to have fostered a certain simplistic attitude towards their design process. If it works on screen, it looks okay in the model, it's fine. Move on. Move down the list of things to address, and once the list is done, the project is good to go. Forget about considering the implications of decisions to things previously decided, or potential pitfalls down the line. At that moment, the decision made sense, and so the decision is made.

But, I have to say, I can't be sure if that is really Mr. Prince-Ramus's take. He has made a certain distinction between what architects are now learning and what he thinks they should be. He condemns this new architectural model that technology, like BIM, has seemed to usher, as well as what traditional model that others often deride architects for having - the "someone will make it work" attitude that many think architects have when designing. So I guess I'd like to know, what is the right way to educate future architects? Because, from where I now stand, it seems like we better figure it out soon.

Preach

Well, I guess this would be one way to expose a person to the truths about architecture.....

Moments in Hell #4

Moments in Hell #4:

I had just spent the entire day surfing the internet, since no one in the office had work I could assist with. I was getting ready to leave when I heard the ominous words you never want to hear: 'Do you think you can come as assist us with a presentation.' The wonderful people in charge of marketing wanted programming diagrams for a proposal, which of course, were due the next day. Funny how they couldn't get around to it until 6 pm. Let's just say I made up those 8 hours.

Silent Observer, (when I was in New York City)

You've got 6 months...

So, in two days, NCARB begins its vaunted 6 month rule. The short of it, every six months you should file IDP hours. Anything falling outside that 6 month block? It gets left behind.

In principle, I get it. NCARB is trying to prevent what many interns have done...wait. Wait until the last possible moment to file their experience, which, done in a rush, is probably inaccurate. After all, can you really tell me everything you've done over the course of one year? And what category it falls under, and how many hours really apply?

But, to he honest, I'm frustrated, annoyed, verging on angry that NCARB has decided to pursue IDP in this manner. Why? Well, though it is great that you want us to get in our hours in a timely and more accurate manner, the 6 month rule does not, in any substantial way, ensure that I complete IDP in a timely manner.

If NCARB can require us, as interns, to show competency in specific knowledge areas, they it should also provide a more substantial method for ensuring that we can, in fact, get that experience. For instance, I have approximately 5 times the amount of hours needed for Schematic Design. But, because of where I worked, and how they executed projects, I am far from completing Construction Document hours, though much of what I was counting for Schematic design would, if our firm was structured differently, fall under Construction Document hours. So what choice did I have? I had to leave a job that I quite good at, since I wanted to get licensed sometime within the next decade.

Effectively, the onus is on us interns to get through it. If our offices do not have the projects that can provide us the range of experience we need, then we must wait or move on. If we have been sidelined, we are supposed to demand change. Otherwise, languish, despite the 3-year limit on your NCARB number.

Look, I am not saying interns should be able to lie back and have the experience handed to them. But, if NCARB sees this as a crucial step towards educating responsible practitioners, then there should be a more rigorous framework that provide those experiences in a timely manner. To have a governing body say "you must" while simultaneously saying "figure it out" is, in my opinion, ridiculous and irresponsible.

Look, I agree with NCARB. The current education that architects receive does not prepare them for professional practice. But, if that is the assessment, then overhaul the system. Move towards the model of other professions, such as medicine. Extend the educational requirements and time frame, provide co-ops or standardized work experiences similar to medical residencies. Schedule the exams in stages after certain experiences have been complete, symbolizing competency and skill in that area. And then, after our education, if we specialize, we head to firms which do that work. But, if we wish to practice generally, we will have had the experience and exposure to graduate as Architects, not as interns.

Instead, we have those who have practiced for years, even decades, who are not licensed, but certainly skilled. And we have those who have completed their licensing exams, but are not truly prepared to operate on their own. We have a mess. Let's recognize that fact. And let's fix it.

Back to Reality

On Monday I begin working at an architecture office again. It's hourly, with hopes of something more permanent. I should be excited. Somehow, though, I feel melancholy. Not because I don't want to work at this firm. In fact, on paper, it is perfect. But, damn it, I just tasted a life that I'd love to have. It just came at wrong time.

Here's to reality.

Paid what you're worth...(cont.)

I promised I'd follow up on my previous post. So I'll begin with a story.

Since completing the renovation projects that brought me home, I've been hunting for work. Any work. Cause, well, I gotta pay some bills. I've been up for anything. I've done some writing and editing, some graphic design, a competition, and even some consulting. Small things to get me by while I received letter after letter telling me what I already knew - no one is hiring.

So, you can imagine my excitement after getting a referral from my parents. A restaurant: it was small enough that I could do the work by myself, and seemed like a pretty clean slate, design-wise. Sure, it'd be a tight budget, but these projects always are. Besides, aren't these also the projects that launch people's careers. Small, quirky...get it out there, get some press, and I could be well on my way.

I should have seen it coming, from the second they thanked me for agreeing to do the project. Why? Well, because, this was the first thing they said to me, despite me having never met them, nor actually agreeing to do anything besides meet with them. Let's just say, somewhere along the line, there was a miscommunication. I'd learn quickly what that was.

In their initial conversation with my parents, they had discussed their dire budget. They hoped they might find a designer that might help them in light of their financial situation. You know what that means? They wanted someone who might do their work for free. Or at least, do it all up front with promise of payment at some later date. They got the impression from my parents that I'd be amenable to that.

That initial meeting was extremely awkward. They approached it as though I had fully committed to designing their project. Not knowing anything, I got drawn into the discussion, noticing that any discussion of fee was being carefully, but consciously, avoided. Only when I mentioned the need for consultants, especially for the mechanical, electrical and plumbing, did they go on about their need to "save", and perhaps I'd know people who'd understand their position and be able to help them like I was.

I left torn. The designer in me wanted to dive in - say, what the hell. I've got nothing better to do. The business man in me, the one thinking about my upcoming bills, wanted to go home, write a service proposal, and send it back to them immediately.

I spoke with some mentors, some colleagues, to get ideas. You see, my professional practice course drilled into me one mantra - never work for free. And, in principle, I agree. Doing work for free, as an intern, or as a professional, is a disservice to you and the profession. It devalues the work that we do, leaving people the impression that what we do doesn't really have any worth.

Working for a free as an intern bothers me because the firm utilizing your efforts rarely, if ever, passes those savings on to their clients. Your free labor is used to help that firm stay afloat, because they undercharged to get the job or are trying for a high profile gig, in which they through everything they have at it, even if it means exceeding the hours budgeted. Either way, it perpetuates the undervalued perception of the work we do.

Working for free as a professional - well, it becomes a more personal dilemma. After all, you as the professional, are responsible for saying yes or no. As one of my mentors reminded me, sometimes, you take on a job, pro-bono, in the hopes of achieving another outcome - publicity, portfolio building, experience in a new field. And for many of us trying to break out on our own, without the connections or backing that allows for paid commissions, doing free work might be an avenue towards recognition.

And, to be honest, there are times when I can see free design services are justified - doing work for non-profits, which use your expertise to achieve something that benefits the underserved, or a community in need. By all means, take some time to help out. But, in my particular case, I felt unmoved, despite my excitement for the project itself.

I went back and forth for a couple of weeks. I did end up doing some work for them - options for their logo, as well as four floor plan options on organizing the space. But I stopped there. And then I wrote a service contract for the services I provided, as well as a service proposal for the work they would need from me take the project forward.

At the second meeting, I showed them the work I had done. They were excited, they asked questions, they wanted to know more. And I gave them options - ideas how to move forward, the things they needed to complete before they could continue, how to finalize their budget. And then I gave them my service contract and my service proposal. They stopped being excited. They stopped asking questions. I explained to them that, if money was that tight, there were a number of things they could do themselves. The consultants they would need to find, the drawings they would need to get, the concrete items they would need to price so they could determine how much they might actually have for their interior fit out. The client only focused on "this is how much I owe you?" I told her that the rates were negotiable, and to review them and get back to me. It's been two weeks. Do you think they've called?

In the end, my gut tells me I was right to do what I did. If it had been a close friend, or family, I might have been more open to doing work upfront, without worrying about the compensation. But, if close friends or family had asked me, they'd have also been willing, hell, they'd have been adamant, to discuss the nature of my compensation, whatever that might have been. I would have done the work because, ultimately, I'd trust them to carryout their promises to me. I didn't have that feeling in this case, and so far, I've been proven correct.

Everyone has to figure out what works for them, what they ultimately decide is right for them. So I'm not going to judge, or definitely say you should or should not do work for free. I admit, I wanted that project. And for a moment, I seriously considered moving forward. I had a number of ideas floating in my head from the second I met with them. In the end, I ended up doing some work for free, as I doubt I'll ever get money for what I completed. But, though they might have a floorplan, they didn't get anything else. Those ideas, for everything from their material palette to the design of feature elements, is still locked in my head. And, even if these ideas don't get built, they are ideas that I imagined and these clients could not. So I'll save them for another time, when I think they'll be given a value equal to their worth.

Paid what you're worth...

This NYTimes article hits on something that our profession often utilizes - unpaid internships. It happens, more than we'd like to acknowledge. Pros and cons abound, and I have some thoughts about it too, which I need to get down soon. But, until then, take a read and leave your own thoughts...