Commonsense Architecture

SELCO Community Credit Union’s North Redmond branch, by Robertson/Sherwood/Architects pc (image by Steve Smith Photography)

One of the more visually striking buildings in Vancouver, B.C. is Vancouver House, designed by Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG). I previously commented on the project back in 2018 as the tower was first making its mark on the downtown skyline. I am revisiting the subject of its design again, prompted by my recent opportunity to see it in person once more, but also because it serves as a textbook case for why lauding such a jaw-dropping, challenging structure is suspect absent more careful consideration.

Problems have plagued Vancouver House since its completion. Condominium owners complain of poor workmanship, fit, and finishes, inconsistent with the premium quality promised by the developer’s marketing materials. A catastrophic failure of the building’s “water systems” caused a deluge of water to pour out of pipes, onto many floors, rendering both individual units uninhabitable and some of the elevators nonoperational. Is the complex form by BIG to blame? The quick answer is no. Such problems could have arisen in a condominium tower of similar scope and cost featuring a far less adventuresome design. On the other hand, Vancouver House’s geometry exacerbated the water damage issues, and will exponentially inflate the costs of remediation (estimated to be many millions of dollars).
 

Vancouver House (photo by Haatu, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

 
Writing for TreeHugger, former architect and developer and now sustainable writer and design instructor Lloyd Alter cited Vancouver House in his article Why Do We Make Everything So Complicated? We Need Radical Simplicity Right Now. Alter noted the following:
 
. . . In Vancouver, Bjarke has designed a building where every single balcony is the roof of another unit. Every jog and every corner is an opportunity for failure. Every living room there has four surfaces exposed to weather; at least it is temperate Vancouver, but he did the same thing in Calgary. And don’t even get me started on the upfront carbon emissions produced by designing a façade with twice the surface area that you actually need to enclose the building.
 
As Alter goes on to state, he learned as an architect that you should not reinvent the wheel for every project, but rather use tried-and-true, tested methods of building. I came to the same conclusion early in my career. An overabundance of creative imagination is not always a good thing if it flies in the face of commonsense, practical, and time-tested strategies for keeping water out, controlling how daylight comes in, holding the building up, or minimizing our carbon footprint. Complicated geometries may be visually striking but if working out how to realize them proves puzzling during the design process, I interpret that as a sign that we should pursue a simpler, more practical solution.
 
I will use a recently completed project by my firm, Robertson/Sherwood/Architects, as an example. Our design for SELCO Community Credit Union’s new North Redmond branch is simple. An artless brick and stone veneer-clad box married to a heavy-timber gabled entry, its conventional forms, legible geometry, and exaggerated scale belie the building’s small size. We purposefully minimized the number and complexity of junctures between different building envelope systems—wall to roof, roof to window systems, and so on—to limit the probability of water and air infiltration problems. This was not an exercise in design bravado. Instead, we opted to focus on doing simple well.
 
For lack of a better word, there is dignity to be found in the process of properly developing and executing details. I find it satisfying to sense the craft of assembly in our projects upon their completion. We saw no reason to not specify and design with proven products and systems, in the very types of applications their manufacturers intended them for.
 
Our duty was to deliver a design for SELCO that met their brief for a new, attractive outpost on the north side of Redmond, Oregon, and we did that—nothing more, nothing less. The design is consistent with SELCO’s refreshed branding standards (developed by King Retail Solutions and highlighted within the branch) but also celebrates its setting on the edge of Central Oregon’s High Desert.
 

SELCO Community Credit Union’s North Redmond branch, by Robertson/Sherwood/Architects pc (image by Steve Smith Photography)

The definition of common sense is the application of sound and prudent judgment in practical matters based on a simple perception of a given situation or facts. The application of common sense should be a default condition, especially for architects. Only if a client purposely requests otherwise should an architect consider abandoning convention in favor of ambitious (and risky) experimentation and exploration. Even then, the architect should evaluate whether the client’s intentions may be imprudent or misguided, in which case they might advise them to reconsider their choices.
 
Favoring commonsense architecture doesn’t mean I’m averse to expanding the boundaries possible in architectural design. Technology advances continually, and our understanding about issues on a wide range of subjects impacting architecture likewise expands every year. We need architects devoted to research on the building sciences and more. Their work may lead to the rise of new building forms that serve as previously unimagined paradigms to follow; however, these forms should not be capricious, impractical, wasteful, or nonsensical.
 
By the way, there is a book entitled Commonsense Architecture: A Cross-Cultural Survey of Practical Design Principles, written by anthropologist John S. Taylor. Published in 1983, it is out of print, though copies remain available online. As one reviewer writes, the book “describes architecture with an anthropologist’s understanding of human motivations to build. It describes problems humans have had across cultures with their environment, and what they have built to solve these problems.” The book sounds like one I might have to pick up and read!

The Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coastal Art

The Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coastal Art (all photos by me)

Once again, I’m visiting family in Vancouver while also reacquainting myself with the city I was born and raised in. For those of you who may not be familiar with Vancouver and its environs, the legacy, culture, and too often tragic history of the First Nations (indigenous) people of the Pacific Northwest are very much woven into British Columbia’s sense of identity. In particular, the Pacific coast people—including the Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian, Coast Salish, Kwakiutl, Nuu-chah-nulth, Nisga’a, and Gitxsan—developed rich artistic traditions whose essential purpose was to tell fundamental stories about their world and its origins.
 
I paid a visit during this trip to the Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest CoastalArt, a small gem of a building tucked between the Cathedral Place and Park Place office towers along Burrard Street. The museum’s namesake, Bill Reid (1920-1998), was one of Canada’s most famous First Nations artists. Born in Victoria, B.C. to a Haida mother and American father of German-Scottish decent, Reid was a celebrated Haida artist, sculptor, author, and journalist.
 

Totem pole

Bill Reid’s major works include Chief of the Undersea World (the fountain sculpture outside the Vancouver Aquarium) and Raven and the First Men (on display at the Museum of Anthropology at UBC). There is also the Spirit of Haida Gwaii: The Black Canoe (the boat sculpture on display at the Canadian Embassy in Washington DC and featured on some Canadian $20 bills).

"Chief of the Underseal World"

"Raven and the First Men"

Haida art is an art of line. Four common characteristics of two-dimensional Haida art are: balance, unity, symmetry, and tension within the design. Flat designs are also compact, highly organized, and have a highly unified structural appearance.

The following are excerpts from the Canadian Museum of History’s descriptions of Haida art:

The Haida fashioned for themselves a world of costumes and adornments, tools and structures, with spiritual dimensions appropriate to each. The decorations on the objects they created were statements of social identity, or reminders of rights and prerogatives bestowed on their ancestors by supernatural beings, or of lessons taught to them through mythic encounters with the animals, birds, fish or other beings whose likenesses were embodied in the crests passed down through generations. . .
 
. . . Many features of what is recognized as the north coast art style are shared by the Haida and their mainland neighbors, the Tsimshian to the east and the Tlingit to the north. This is particularly true of flat designs, which use formlines and ovoids. Primary formlines, which are generally black, outline the parts of each figure. Secondary formlines occur within the primary spaces and are usually red. In rare instances, the two colors are reversed for dramatic effect. There is a formal grammar of formlines, in which rules control the thickness of the line and the changes of direction.
 
A rounded, bulging oval-to-rectangular shape called an ovoid is a feature unique to Northwest Coast art. Ovoids are used to portray a creature's eyes and joints, and sometimes teeth or orifices like nostrils and ears. Small faces are often placed within such ovoids; these refer to the loss of the soul as a prelude to death, for the Haida believe that the soul leaks out of the joints or orifices of the body. . .
 
. . . Haida sculptures range from 20-metre (65-foot) tall totem poles to the equally complex carved handles of horn spoons. This ability to express artistic concepts over a range of sizes and forms has attracted the admiration of art aficionados worldwide over the past two centuries. . .
 
. . . The Haida artistic style has been compared to an ancient language with a visual grammar and vocabulary of animals and mythological creatures. Carved and painted on wood, stone and other materials, these figures tell a story, identify the lineage of a social group, and explore philosophical ideas. In the Haida’s traditional oral society, the visual arts have been a primary means of communication.
 

"Sockeye Salmon"

Nanasimgit Door

The Haida population lost more than 95 percent of its number following its first encounter with colonizing Europeans. Haida art and the Haida language nearly disappeared. Fortunately, a renaissance of Haida culture during the second half of the 20th century included artists guided and inspired by their ancestors. Bill Reid was one of these gifted Haida artists.
 

Bear head door knob

"Kun" (whale)

"Haida Raven"

I like that the art of contemporary Haida artists and artisans extends such a stylish, sophisticated, and highly developed visual syntax laden with meaning and immensely rich tradition. The Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coastal Art not only boasts a small but significant collection of Reid’s work, but also changing exhibits featuring the work of other talented First Nations artists. If you’re ever in Vancouver, a visit to the gallery will be time very well-spent, an opportunity to appreciate a truly significant artistic legacy. 

"Mythic Messengers"

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“Joy is a well-made object, equaled only by the joy of making it.” Bill Reid, 1988

Listening is Not Imitating

 

The tower as shifting boxes trope.

Duo Dickinson, FAIA, is a prolific writer as well as an accomplished architect. He not only writes about architecture but also reflects regularly on his life, his faith, and teaching. He has published several books including The Small House: An Artful Guide to Affordable Residential Design, and A Home Called New England: A Celebration of Hearth and History, cowritten with Steve Culpepper. He has also written for many online and traditional print outlets, including Fine Homebuilding, This Old House Magazine, Arch Daily, Money Magazine, Houzz, Archinect, and more.  
 
His most recent piece for Common Edge—entitled Architecture Has Its Own Cultural Appropriation Problem—is characteristically provocative. In it, Duo describes what he refers to as the “appropriation of the affect of innovation found in the current moment,” which he defines in part as the “process of simulating creativity.” He does not equate this with the broadly accepted meaning of cultural appropriation—that is when a majority group adopts cultural elements of a minority group in an exploitive, disrespectful, or stereotypical way; rather, he uses the term somewhat ironically. In Duo’s view, architects too often succumb to groupthink. Too many yearn for acceptance and conformity within a sanctioned canon of design, without regard for the potential of irrational or dysfunctional outcomes.  
 
The impulse to mimic what is perceived to be creative is powerful, a seductive siren’s call that prioritizes imagery over substance and truly thoughtful work. Yielding to such an impulse is understandable among young architects who may be insecure about their process of design. We should be less forgiving of experienced designers who do the same. Skilled, knowledgeable practitioners should not thoughtlessly copy the work of others or lazily employ cliched tropes. The overuse of some such architectural cliches is worthy of lampooning and an embarrassing indictment of a herd mentality endemic in my profession.   
 
As Duo argues, the architectural profession will only preserve its value if we pay attention to the realities of each design problem we architects engage. We need to listen to what each site, program brief, and idiosyncratic set of users are telling us. When we truly do listen, creativity and originality take care of themselves. We should not thoughtlessly appropriate from the past and/or the contemporary work we admire. That said, appropriation may be warranted if the distinctive geographic, programmatic, cultural, and contextual factors that define a project dictate doing so. Of course, there are constants every building must contend with—a roof must provide shelter, a window should bring in light and frame views, doors are supposed to allow passage between spaces, and so on. We readily recognize artistry (if it is present) when designers meet the challenge of addressing both the constants and the unique circumstances peculiar to a project head on and with aplomb.
 
Duo stirred up a hornet’s nest on Twitter in defending his outing of architectural appropriation on Common Edge. A contentious discourse ensued, especially once the matter of authenticity in architecture was raised. I found the points made of all sides of the debate at once helpful and challenging. I previously addressed authenticity on my blog in 2008, so I reread my post to see whether my thoughts on the topic have evolved much since then. To my surprise, they have not. I continue to believe architecture is a means to defend the authenticity of human experience. To imbue this power, architects must “listen” and directly respond to the design problem posed by their clients while resisting the temptation to (mis)appropriate by means of heedless imitation.     

Labor Day

 
Photo by Evan Wise on Unsplash

 
Tomorrow is Labor Day. I should not have to remind myself or you about what the holiday is meant to celebrate, but I will anyway. Rather than regarding Labor Day as marking the unofficial end of summer, an occasion for steep retail discounts and backyard barbeques, or the kickoff of the college football season, we should primarily acknowledge Labor Day’s importance as a tribute to the contributions and achievements of workers in all industries. We should also take a moment to give thanks to the workers’ rights advocates, enlightened lawmakers, and organized labor, who during the late 19th century acted to guard the common interests of those toiling in the industrial sector. The labor movement fought for better wages, reasonable hours, safer working conditions, health benefits, and more. Because of their efforts, most workers today possess essential protections from exploitative and predatory employment practices.
 
Many who enter the architectural profession do so because it “called” to them. That was certainly the case for me at the start of my working career 40 years ago. I accepted the reality of necessarily long hours in return for creative satisfaction and (at best) modest material compensation. I was fortunate: I enjoyed what my employers asked me to do. I learned from talented, senior coworkers. My work blessed me with the opportunity to make significant contributions toward the success of projects I was proud to be a part of. On the other hand, why did I and the others in my office so often find ourselves there well beyond the limits of a reasonable workday or toiling at our desks weekend after weekend? For my colleagues who were raising young children, the burden was especially pronounced. Work-life balance was not something we talked about then. We simply regarded the long hours as “normal” and unquestionably accepted them. Deadlines were deadlines, and we did what we needed to get our jobs done and done right.
 
Not much has changed on this front since then; if anything, the pressure to complete complex projects within shorter timeframes has only increased. Clients compel architects to deliver projects faster and faster, in return for progressively inadequate compensation. Understandably, financing burdens and market forces weigh on limited budgets, so I do not expect demands to do more in less time abating anytime soon. Architecture remains an undervalued profession highly susceptible to the vagaries of the economy and competitive pressures. Any single firm lacks the means to move the needle by itself. The problem is systemic, and it is exacting a costly toll.
 
A group of employees at the prominent New York-based firm SHoP Architects made headlines last year by announcing their plans to unionize. The group—under the banner of Architectural Workers United—sought to institutionalize norms of fairness and equity, and narrow pay divides along lines of race and gender at SHoP. They believed unionizing would assign them legal rights they lacked as individuals, such as the ability to collectively bargain with their employer over wages, hours, and working conditions. The New York Times, Bloomberg, and other media outlets picked up the news, bringing to light for those unfamiliar with modern architectural practices the realities of work at many firms.  
 
Architectural Workers United withdrew its petition this past February, citing a powerful anti-union campaign that drew upon “fear of the unknown, along with misinformation” to sway SHoP employees toward an alternative means to address the issues that prompted the unionization drive. The group remains committed to changing the underlying structure that has stymied efforts to correct the historically prevalent, unhealthy workplace culture in many firms.
 
If unionization proves an impractical path, what options remain to make architectural practice more just and equitable? We will not find answers to this question in the status quo.
 
One way architects can take control of the costs of project delivery while at the same time ensuring decent compensation and work-life balance for themselves and their employees is by taking matters into their own hands—that is, by becoming their own clients and assuming the roles of developers and builders, as well as designers; however, this presumes access to the necessary capital to underwrite significant projects, the willingness to accept the associated and not insubstantial risks, an understanding of real estate finance, the business structure of development, and a working familiarity with market trends. The promise of lucrative returns has lured some to take this path, but those that do remain a minority among architects.(1) I cannot envision practices along the lines of architect-as-developer occupying other than a limited segment of firms; consequently, they will not serve to address the workplace issues endemic to the rest of the profession.
 
Architectural Workers United noted that improving conditions and the value of architecture from the top down is difficult in this country due to the existence of antitrust laws that preclude the establishment of industry-wide minimum fee schedules. In the absence of such schedules, an office that raises its labor costs to more fairly compensate staff risks losing work to rivals who are willing to undercut its fees. When times are most competitive and fees are tight, a “race to the bottom” ensues, and firms imprudently rely on fewer staff than necessary to complete projects. Architectural Workers United argued raising standards from the bottom-up is necessary to contain these pressures; hence, their call for a union representing architectural employees. While a bottom-up approach may still gain traction, I also believe real, substantive change must come from the top-down.
 
Enacted in 1890, the Sherman Antitrust Act limits monopolies and other restraints on commerce. Its aim was to ensure competition in all forms of business, including the architectural profession. The Act declares any restraint on trade in the United States by means of price-fixing to be illegal. Nevertheless, individual chapters of the American Institute of Architects developed fee schedules for jobs of various types (as well as prohibiting their members from discounting fees), arguing that the “dignity of the profession” rested on its united front of expertise and not the cheapness of its competing members. In response to subsequent complaints, the Department of Justice issued injunctions against the AIA, resulting in the 1990 mutual consent decree stipulating that any individual firm, acting alone, can set its own prices.
 
An effect of the consent decree has too often been that “race to the bottom,” keeping fees constrained. Competition for private commissions based on fees has compromised the profession’s charge to protect the public from harm.(2) It has impaired the ability of the profession to provide the entirety of its workforce with adequate levels of compensation and protections against abusive practices.
 
Because I first entered the profession in Canada, I am familiar with the use of a standard Tariff of Fees for Architectural Services there. The Tariff of Fees is similar to the schedules of fees previously developed by AIA chapters prior to the enactment of the consent decree. The Tariff of Fees does not limit firms to utilizing the prescribed fee amounts for respective project types and sizes. Instead, it serves as a guide for the benefit of clients, helping them understand the magnitude of architectural fees they can expect on their projects, accounting for such factors as size of the job, the type of project delivery method, and so on. The Tariff of Fees explains how architects need to be able to function properly and profitably, why architectural services are not products bought off the shelf, and why adequate allowance for careful study and design are necessary.
 
Would reinstatement of a schedule of fees, one that does not oblige members of the profession to adhere to it, be problematic from the perspective of the Sherman Antitrust Act? Would it violate the spirit of antitrust legislation? If not, such a schedule might serve to educate clients about the value of architectural services, in turn helping to address the labor-related concerns that prompted the unionization effort by Architectural Workers United. It is worth noting that the Sherman Act exempts unions from the pricing of services because “the labor of a human being is not a commodity.” In any event, implicit collusion is legal and permitted by the Sherman Act because a voluntary, universal schedule of fees implies no discussion between agents. A client instead infers from the schedule professional consensus about a range of reasonable pricing for a specific suite of services.
 
Though most architectural firms today do their best to fairly compensate and respect their employees, there are some bad apples who do not. If the profession is to survive and thrive in the future, such bad actors need to change their ways.
 
The grassroots impetus to organize architectural firm employees, whether wholly successful or not, is accelerating the move toward healthier and more equitable work environments. Conversely, a top-down strategy (orchestrated by the AIA, NCARB, and legislative operatives) to raise awareness of and appreciation for the value of architectural services may likewise yield positive results for industry workers. Perhaps those of us who work in architecture will remember this Labor Day years from now because 2022 marked an important change of course for the profession, one which squarely addressed longstanding, difficult issues associated with employee compensation, fairness, equity, and inclusion. I do feel the ground shifting.
 
 
(1)    Jonathan Segal, FAIA, is one architect well-known for designing and developing his own projects, fully reaping the rewards of doing so. He has eliminated the need to cultivate a client base.

      (2)    The Brooks Architect-Engineers Act, enacted in 1972, requires federal agencies to use qualifications-based selection procedures—as opposed to fee-based selection—when procuring design services. Forty-six states, including Oregon, have also implemented QBS laws.