All modesty aside, his description does more justice to the house. Whether I’m in the yard or walking home from work, I often stop and gaze at the structure and its setting. And my colleague’s opinion seems unanimous. Guests, delivery people, the mailman, even kids asking for contributions for a school band trip always say how much they like the house. The form of the house is clearly a success, and achieving it was one of the reasons my wife and I hired an architect.
But form wasn’t the most important reason: function was. We wanted certain rooms strategically placed to fit our lifestyle.We requested energy efficiency, maintenance-free siding, in-floor heat and evena laundry chute. Who better than an architect, we thought, to bring all this together-and make it look nice? So we chose a firm that advertised that by hiring them, you wouldn’t get a house, you would get your house.
In hindsight, that turned out to be a little too much to offer and a little naive of us to expect. Function just didn’t have the same priority with the architects. The added window and door-sill heights needed for in-floor heat were left out of the plan. Stucco siding was changed to wood without our knowledge. We had to ask the contractor to fit in a laundry chute.
Our architects, as I believe with most, placed an undue emphasis on appearance. Some features seem to have been incorporated for their design value without consideration for their function. Once constructed, these additions do not allow for easy adaptation in the future. Fascia boards at roof eaves are usually vertical, but ours angle inward. I have yet to find a secure method of attaching a rain gutter over the entry and garage apron. It’s one thing for guests to walk through a waterfall coming off our roof. It will be quite another thing if they slip on the ice that sometimes forms down along the drip line from the eaves.
When our house was being designed, we mentioned we wanted to minimize heat loss by limiting the window sizes. After the framing was complete, we noticed that some window openings were larger than expected. The large glass area would contribute to greater heat loss (especially in winters like the one we’ve just had). When we expressed our surprise, the project designer said that large windows were part of the design “statement.”
I’ve often heard architects use this word. I’ve also heard them use other abstract, esoteric labels such as “bold,” or “inspiring.” Frank Lloyd Wright even described his designs as “organic.”
This description convinced me that architects need some practical influences. Unfortunately, I suspect they are influenced too much by Frank Lloyd Wright, who said that “Every great architect is-necessarily-a great poet.” This could be why architects want their structures to make a “statement.”
It’s not that achieving architectural statements is a bad thing. But there is a need for some assessment as to when it’s reasonable. An architect of a freeway rest area wanted a project engineer in my office to approve a contract overrun for repainting the light poles from black to dark brown. When the engineer asked why this was necessary, the answer was that the black poles “just don’t say what we want them to say.” I don’t think weary travelers speeding into a rest area are going to care about the paint color of the light poles.Minor changes may seem innocuous, but an architect’s whims can add up.
The state agency where I work outgrew its office building long ago, and for many years had to rent additional office space. A few years ago, an architect designed an expansion so that the building would accommodate all employees. The completed construction has a cavernous, two-story hallway. Many of us wonder why the second story wasn’t used to provide an additional 1,000 square feet of work space. We believe the architect wanted to create an esthetic effect, allowing the warm morning sun to flood through the high, east-facing windows. That morning light doesn’t mean much to me working in my tight quarters. I hit the computer table each time I open my desk drawer.
Client needs are sometimes completely ignored. My uncle, a plant pathologist at a university, told me about when his department hired an architect to design a greenhouse. The greenhouse needed a functional roof, but the design proposals either had a flat roof that would have collected snow or a steep roof, which created a larger interior that would have needed heat. When the designs were rejected, the architect became angry and insulting. He eventually produced what was needed.
I wonder how architects get away with it? Compared with the bashing lawyers get, architects have it made. But lawyers do at least subscribe to the principle of protecting their clients’ interests. Maybe architects don’t want to see their profession for what it is: a service. I don’t mean to suggest that architects should sacrifice their creative individuality. But it would be in everyone’s best interest if they’d work within the framework of their clients’ needs.
Design awards perpetuate the pressure on architects to seek subjective approval,. By de-emphasizing awards, the American Institute of Architects could promote a professionwide focus on clients’ needs. I suspect the young architect who designed our house felt that peer recognition was critical. But past design awards were never a consideration for my wife and me when we chose the firm.
I often wonder if my colleague still would have thought our house was awesome if it had maintenance-free siding. If my wood siding needs restaining within 10 years, I’ll resolve to find out.
