Cool Classmates!

For the last month or so, PBS stations have been broadcasting a new show which examines noteworthy new architecture. You may not always agree with host Stephen Chung's appraisals (I sure don't), but the analysis is intelligent and very well considered. Check it out.

But also, check this out. In just four weeks, two of the featured architects are college classmates. Isaac Franco of Safdie Associates and Paul Zajfen of CO Architects were with me back then - in what was a very small group. We graduated only 30 souls, and not all of us went into architecture. Heck - one went straight to seminary to become an Anglican priest.  My guess is that the show now has selected about 10% of those who became traditional design architects for praise.

I'm jealous perhaps. But, more to the point - I'm proud. Isaac & Paul, you have reaffirmed that we were a special group. As if I didn't know already.

On the Waterfront

If you read my blog posting about Visceral Connections back in January, you know that I am affected by my environment. I also tried to justify how this relates to a refined notion of what constitutes a valuable and legitimate "sense of place".

It's happening again.

This weekend, my wife and I are staying with friends in Cohoes, New York. Now, sitting on their second floor deck barely 30 feet from the banks of the Hudson River, I'm at peace. Calm waters, chirping birds, swimming turtles, gentle nearby wind chimes, walking dogs, and other sights and sounds of nature flood my senses. Alone on the deck, I am sipping a wonderful wine, and enjoying the moment. It was just too good to keep to myself.

If you're lucky (as I am today), you will have similar moments. If you're especially lucky, and maybe a little skilled, you might figure out how to make this possible for others. You'll have my eternal admiration if you can.

The world seems like a better place right at the moment.  Thank you Ellice and Fred.

I'm a Tipster!

I couldn't be more proud.

A few years ago, I was asked by a client to help with preparation for an important interview. I wasn't the only person asked to help. Alongside me I was Joanne Linowes. This was my introduction to a person with great insight on what it takes to make people and their companies stand out in presentation and interview settings.

I learned a great deal from the experience; and so too did our client, I believe.

Subsequent to that encounter, Joanne started a weekly newsletter she calls "Tip on the Tenth". I suggest you get yourself on the mail list right away. Head to http://goo.gl/RKEXqi.

But, why am I proud? Each month, she asks a question about presentation techniques to test your insight. If you're right, she lauds you in the the ensuing month. This month, I won. What a thrill.

You should see how lucky you could be. In any event, it's certain you'll learn some good stuff.

The Future - Maybe

Many social scientists, proud parents, and other hangers-on have commented on the tech-savviness of our younger generation. It's gotten to the point, it seems, that this is an axiom - more than an opinion.

If ever you wanted evidence, I think I have an example. Look above. Two iPhones and an iPad in the hands of three unsupervised children were being skillfully manipulated. Heck - one of the kids was so small, she had to stretch the tether below the counter. No banging, no whining, no complaints. It was a fascinating display.

One neat thing that had nothing to do with their aptitude though... When mom and dad were done with their business and were ready to leave, the kids calmly put back the toys and moved out. One can only hope that too might be a sign of future life. Not likely, I suspect.

Visceral Connections

As a youngster, I was fortunate to be the favorite grandchild of my Scottish grandparents. Perhaps somewhat unfairly to my younger siblings, I alone was picked to spend my summers with them in what they called the 'River House', overlooking the Manasquan River in New Jersey.

The days were idyllic - swimming in the river, making tents with sheets and blankets under the bamboo-framed table in the summer dining room, learning how to be a 'handyman' alongside my McGiver-like grandpa, mowing the large front lawn, and making model planes when the weather was inclement. On the weekends, my aunt would visit; and she let me tag along, as she and her boyfriend would spend their days on the nearby beach with their friends.

The house was situated on a knoll above the river, in what was probably part of the natural forest many years ago. This circumstance was instrumental to a particularly strong memory. When rain was falling at my bedtime, I would occasionally be given a special treat. Bedclothes would be brought out, for me to spend the night sleeping on the screened porch. Grandma would tuck me in on one of the padded loungers, and kiss me good night.

By the time it was completely dark, I was engulfed by all sorts of sensory treats. At various times through the night and into the morning, owls would hoot, whippoorwills would call, and crickets would chirp. The rain would make that unforgettable sound, as is hit the timber roof over my head and fluttered through the foliage just a few feet away. When the temperature fell, I could feel the chill of the mist condensing on the surfaces of my makeshift bed. The pleasant combination of being exposed to all the sound and effects of nature, while being totally protected against any discomfort was quite special.

What does all this have to do with the typical themes of this blog? In my mind, it has to do with what makes for good architecture. Yes, really.

To this day, those childhood experiences are benchmarks about how to configure and use the buildings and spaces we create. When we do our job well, we absolutely feel with all our senses what we have done. It should be both stimulating and calming. A trite, overused, and typically meaningless phase about the built environment is that it has a 'sense of place'. If such a thing can be true, I would suggest my grandparents' porch might have it. For me, the memory triggers a feeling - so vivid and notable that I could sketch the plan of the house, and its setting.

Now that's visceral.