Changing the Tagline

I changed the blog’s tagline recently. The old one—Architecture and urban design in Oregon’s southern Willamette Valley—served its purpose for a long time. It described the work I was doing, the place I was doing it, and the lens through which I tended to look at things. It made sense until it didn’t, which happened more or less when I retired (two years ago!), and the writing here began to move beyond that frame.

The posts now range more widely, and the new tagline—Essays on place, perception, and the built environment—reflects that shift. It’s accurate without being too pretentious, and it doesn’t pretend the blog is still tied to a professional brief.

This isn’t a rebrand, and it isn’t an announcement of new directions. It’s more like updating a label on a drawer after you’ve rearranged what’s inside. Most readers won’t notice, which is fine. The point is simply to keep the framing honest, so I can continue writing without the burden of an outdated tagline.

On Writing, Relevance, and Reflection

Piazzetta di San Marco, Venice (my photo)

In 2016, Architectural Record invited its readers to nominate the worst buildings constructed since the magazine’s founding in 1891. I submitted a list. My wife questioned the impulse. “Why tempt karma?” she asked. “If you can’t say something nice…” Her words echoed Thumper’s admonition from Bambi, and they’ve stayed with me. I understood her concern. To publicly disparage the work of fellow architects, even those I’ve never met, felt unkind and perhaps unnecessary. 

That hesitation wasn’t new. Even during my years in practice, I rarely offered direct critique of others’ designs. It wasn’t fear that held me back, but a belief in professional courtesy and a reluctance to engage in comparative judgment. Architecture is a collaborative endeavor, shaped by constraints often invisible to outsiders. To assess a building without knowing its full context can lead to misreading both intent and outcome. And doing so publicly can reduce complex work to seemingly a matter of one individual's opinion. 

I’ve written regularly about architecture and urban design, particularly as they relate to life in Eugene. My posts have occasionally been critical, though rarely polemical. I’ve tended to observe rather than opine, and to reflect rather than assert. That tendency has remained steady. 

These patterns—of restraint, of selective praise—raise questions I’ve never fully resolved. When is critique justified? When is silence ethical? What does commentary owe to its subject, and to its audience? 

When a project has struck me as particularly well-resolved, I’ve written about it with admiration. I praised Tacoma’s Museum of Glass, designed by Arthur Erickson, as a project that mediates its site with clarity and evokes regional history through form and material. That post is one of my more direct endorsements of a civic building that succeeds in both experience and context. If I’m cautious about critique, I’ve been less so with commendation. That imbalance reflects my inclination to recognize what works rather than dwelling on what doesn’t. 

When I have found a project or design ethos to be troubling, I’ve spoken plainly. I’ve written critically about Zaha Hadid’s legacy, questioning the civic relevance of her most celebrated work. I’ve challenged Bjarke Ingels’s Vancouver House and TELUS Sky as architectural spectacles disconnected from meaningful urban engagement. These were reflections grounded in concern for context and public life. 

My friend and mentor, Otto Poticha, has always taken a different tack. Otto’s critiques are famously blunt, and his voice has long been a fixture in Eugene’s architectural discourse. He speaks with conviction, and his assessments, however pointed, stem from a commitment to the city’s civic life. I admire his candor, even if I’ve never shared his style. My own writing leans toward the interpretive, not the declarative. 

Now that I’m no longer bound by firm politics or client diplomacy, I can speak more freely than before. But just because I can comment, does it mean I should? The impulse to weigh in is often there, but the sense of being situated—of having a defined part in the conversation—has faded. I’m seeing symptoms of relevance deprivation syndrome (RDS). I continue to write weekly, but I’m more aware now of the gap between having something to say and knowing whether it’s backed by any authority I still command. RDS shapes not only how I feel, but how I write, and what I choose to write about. It makes me question if what I say serves the work or merely signals that I’m still here. 

These questions about relevance aren’t separate from the ethics of commentary; they shape how I decide whether to speak at all. 

I care about the decisions designers make and the consequences those choices carry. I’m also aware now of my distance from the processes that shape those choices. I no longer participate in the conversations where decisions are made, and that absence changes how I think about speaking up. I write not to reclaim a role but to remain engaged and to test whether reflection still matters in the absence of direct involvement. 

At the end of the day, I want to stay connected to the questions that once shaped my work, to process the experiences I’ve accumulated over a long career, and to help maintain cognitive health as I age. These are quiet motivators for writing, but they feel essential. 

Commentary may affirm or diminish. It can clarify, or it can distort. I wrestle with whether discretion is a virtue or a deflection. Silence is not neutral. It can be a form of disengagement, or worse, complicity. If commentary is called for—if it might illuminate, challenge, or protect—then withholding it may be a disservice to the community. But not every silence is avoidance. In some cases, it reflects a calculation that speaking might oversimplify what’s complex or impose judgment where humility is more appropriate. 

Offering critique feels justified when a project’s civic impact is at odds with its architectural ambition—when the work risks undermining public trust, coherence, or care. Silence feels ethical when speaking would misrepresent the complexity of a project, or when my distance from its making limits my insight. As for what thoughtful commentary owes, it owes attentiveness, context, and proportion. By attentiveness, I mean a willingness to look closely; by context, an understanding of the conditions that shape design; by proportion, a sense of what commentary deserves in relation to the work itself. 

I will write as I always have: critically, when warranted, and with restraint where it feels more honest. That balance has remained consistent. What has changed is the context in which I write. I’m more peripheral now, less embedded in the rhythms of practice. Perhaps that remove makes the stakes of offering critique different. Still, the underlying awareness remains. And perhaps that awareness is a form of stewardship, a way of remaining present without presuming relevance, and of honoring the work, its makers, and the limits of my own vantage point.

Practice to Perspective

A year can pass quickly when you step away from a profession that once shaped your daily life. After more than four decades in architecture—spanning time in Vancouver, B.C., Los Angeles, and the last 36 years in Eugene—my first year of retirement has brought a noticeable shift in pace and a new perspective. No longer immersed in the press of daily responsibilities, I view the built environment with fresh curiosity about its ongoing transformation. 

As time passes, I feel a natural loosening of ties to the habits and cycles of practice. I no longer attend client meetings, visit construction sites, or monitor the latest changes to codes or design tools. My understanding of advancements in building technology or digital workflows isn’t as sharp as it once was. That distance—expected, even healthy—marks the shift from practitioner to observer. While my experience remains a deep well to draw from, I recognize that I’m no longer on the front lines of an ever-evolving field. 

In place of that immediacy, I’ve gained a clearer view of the profession from the outside. Anymore, I don't face the pressures of production deadlines, fee proposals, or unexpected crises that are part of architectural practice. Today’s architects navigate a complex landscape: integrating AI-assisted design processes, addressing climate imperatives, and managing an increasingly intricate web of regulations. I’m glad to leave those challenges to the next generation. My career unfolded during a time when optimism often felt possible, and collaboration—whether in person or, later, virtual—frequently brought teams together on complex projects. That sense of teamwork was one of the most fulfilling parts of the profession. 

Stepping back has allowed me to notice how the built environment continues to change. I’ve been paying closer attention to how Eugene’s newest developments are shaping its identity, or how Springfield balances growth with preserving its character. I've written about the rise of large student housing projects along Franklin Boulevard, towering 11- or 12-story buildings with small, punched windows and a scale that departs significantly from past patterns. These structures represent a type of urban form I wouldn’t have predicted when I first arrived in Eugene. At the time, I hadn’t imagined this trajectory for the area. But now, observing as a resident rather than a working architect, I see them as part of a broader progression that I continue to follow with interest. 

Don't get me wrong. My curiosity about architecture remains strong in retirement. The difference is I find myself engaging more deeply with the discipline’s fundamental questions: What is architecture truly about? What should it aim to achieve? I don’t expect to uncover new answers or truths that others haven’t already explored. But I’m interested in better understanding what architecture means at its core, drawing on the insights of the many thinkers who have tackled these questions before me. Retirement has given me the time to read, reflect, and consider what matters most—the ideals that architecture should strive to uphold. 

This blog remains an outlet for those thoughts. I may no longer be an active practitioner, but I continue to think about the forces that shape our communities, and the values architects ought to bring to that work. What role should architecture play in our collective future? I may not have the answer, but I know enough to ask. And I’m grateful for the freedom to do so from a place of perspective and quiet engagement.

Architect Emeritus

 

Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash.

 
Come January I will no longer be eligible to actively practice architecture as I will have relinquished my professional registration. In keeping with OAR 806-010-0075 this means I will not be able to offer services related to the planning, designing, or observing of the erection, enlargement, or alteration of any building or of any appurtenance thereto other than exempted buildings. And in accordance with ORS 671.020 I won’t be able to use the title of “Architect” or any title, sign, cards, or device indicating, or tending to indicate that I am practicing architecture or continue to be an architect.
 
While this change will mark the official end of my professional career in architecture, I will be able to retain formal recognition of my contributions to the field. In Oregon, the title “Architect Emeritus” is available for eligible retired architects. The benefits of the Emeritus status include being allowed to keep a professional title without the responsibilities of active practice. It also simplifies the process of returning to active practice in the future if I wanted (unlikely, but it is nice the option for reinstatement is there for me).
 
To qualify for Emeritus status, an architect must be at least 60 years old and have practiced architecture in a recognized jurisdiction for a minimum of 20 years. Additionally, they must have held an Oregon certificate of registration as an individual architect for at least 10 consecutive years. Because I am 65 years old and have practiced architecture for 39 years— the last 35 of them in Oregon—I easily fulfill these requirements.
 
The application process involved submitting a complete application to the Oregon State Board of Architect Examiners (OSBAE) and obtaining written approval, which I have received. Notably, there are no fees associated with obtaining or maintaining Emeritus status.
 
The American Institute of Architects likewise offers complimentary Emeritus membership status to its retired members. The requirements for AIA Member Emeritus status include a minimum of 25 years of membership in the institute, being retired (no longer signing or sealing architectural drawings, marketing services as an architect, and refraining from establishing a firm or business name that implies a continuation of architectural practice) and being 70 years of age or older. Since I’m only 65, I applied for a waiver of the age requirement, which the AIA approved. I can now use the title of “AIA Member Emeritus” in my correspondence and will continue to enjoy the full suite of AIA benefits. These benefits include member discounts for attendance at AIA-sponsored events, the AIA member newsletter, and various AIA-affiliated consumer and trade discounts.
 
The transition to Emeritus status feels like both an end and a beginning. To further acknowledge my transition from licensed practitioner to retiree, I have changed the name of this blogsite to SW Oregon Architect Emeritus. With this move, I promise to explore new ways to engage the built environment, not as a practitioner but as an observer and advocate. Whether visiting architectural landmarks, contemplating the future of design, or enjoying simpler pursuits, I will continue to share my insights and discoveries along the way.
 
Thanks as always for joining me on this journey—I’m excited to see where it leads.  

. . . and Architecture and . . .

 

I enjoyed a lengthy conversation over coffee this weekend with John Webster, AIA, one of my former coworkers at Robertson/Sherwood/Architects. We met to catch up, discuss how things are going at the firm, and what I’ve been up to during the first few months of my life in retirement. John will be director-elect for the Eugene Section of AIA Oregon as of January 2025, so another of the topics on our agenda was how the organization might better serve its members.
 
John suggested that I should consider submitting a proposal for an education session at AIA25 in Boston (albeit the deadline for submitting one just passed on October 28). My reaction was to ask, “what could I present that anyone would possibly find interesting or useful?” John answered by saying that I was underselling myself, that by virtue of my experience I have insights of value to share. In particular, he said he admired my ability to draw connections between architecture and the broader context within which it exists and within which architects work.
 
I admit to being fascinated by those connections. I have written with some regularity about an assortment of subjects or fields and how they relate to architecture. These include the following blog entries:

• Architecture and the Human Condition
• Philosophy and the Metaphysics of Architecture
• Morality and Architecture
• Architecture and the Culture Wars
• Monarchy and Architecture
• Automobiles and Architecture
• Taiko and Architecture
• Sculpture and Architecture
• Airplanes and Architecture

The common use of the conjunction “and” in their respective titles is not a coincidence. I purposely try to broaden and add depth to my understanding of architecture by drawing such connections, even as some may seem incongruent or at best tangential upon first blush. A consistent goal of mine has been to construct a narrative about architecture’s multifaceted nature, to explore it holistically and from as many perspectives as possible in the pursuit of greater truths.
 
I have long wanted to believe there is an objective and all-encompassing formula or theory underlying the production of architecture—essentially an architectural “theory of everything.” I want to find a recipe for (in the words of philosopher Ken Wilber) a “radical wholeness.” Perhaps Christopher Alexander has come closest to achieving this goal. He was notable for articulating the “patterns of life” necessary to creating a sense of well-being and connection to the natural world in the places where we live and work. I do generally subscribe to Alexander’s vision of a living world and his notions of order and wholeness in design. Nikos Salingaros is another thinker I know of who believes elemental rules exist that govern generative patterns linking architectural and urban forms to human sensibilities. Whether expressed as patterns or generative rules, it is the importance of understanding the connections between elements within and without a design that stands out. Fundamentally, architecture is intertwined with systems thinking.
 
The world is unimaginably complex. Systems thinking emphasizes viewing systems as wholes rather than merely the sum of their parts. Such an outlook—which is imperative if we are to adequately tackle the immense challenges confronting our species—acknowledges the existence of adaptive processes that evolve and change over time. In architectural terms this means recognizing the interconnectedness of various systems, whether natural or made by humans, so that architects can design buildings that are harmonious with their surroundings and more resilient and adaptable to changing conditions.
 
Many consider architecture to be a discrete field of study. To the credit of the profession, architects tend to think otherwise. This comes as a default condition, as architects are trained to see the big picture and most often charged with responsibility for organizing and managing the overall production of a suitable response to a given design problem. Architects are the generalists, while others on the design team are necessarily more narrowly focused and ensconced within the silos of their respective disciplines. Architects innately seek connections with and inspiration from the greater context of human dwelling and life on this planet.

 
John’s encouragement to share my perspective reinforced my belief that architecture thrives in the connections it fosters—with other fields, with society, and within ourselves as practitioners. It’s these connections that give architecture its richness and relevance, shaping it as a lens through which we interpret our world. Being timid, I’m reluctant to share my explorations of these intersections as a conference speaker. I will, however, continue to do so here on my blog. I look forward as well to future discussions with John about architecture, work in the office I’ve left behind, and life in its many dimensions.

1,000 Blog Posts!

Yes, it’s true! This post marks my one thousandth entry since I started SW Oregon Architect back in 2008. Though the accomplishment hardly ranks up there with the greatest of human achievements, I will pat myself on the back for my dedication to writing on a regular basis.

I embarked on my blogging journey with only modest goals. Initially, SW Oregon Architect primarily served as a means for me to communicate with the membership of the Southwestern Oregon Chapter of the American Institute of Architects (now the Eugene Section of AIA Oregon) on chapter matters during my tenure on the SWO board of directors. Since then, I have turned to a broad range of topics related to architecture and urban design, while maintaining a weekly writing cadence.

It seems many of the prolific architecture-oriented blogs that flourished during blogging’s heyday (roughly the mid-2000s to the early 2010s) have become inactive, including several of those listed here on my sidebar. With the rise of social media and a concomitant reduction in attention spans, long-form blogging lost its appeal for some audiences, prompting many bloggers to abandon the platform in favor of alternative outlets for their content.

For me, blogging is not about garnering followers and page views, but rather about being an enjoyable and satisfying hobby. I do not intend to give it up anytime soon, especially now that I am on the glide slope toward retirement. Writing is good exercise for my brain. Regular blogging will support my cognitive health as I age, so I figure the more words I write, the better.

Assuming an average of 600 words per post, my cumulative word count has now reached approximately 600,000.(1) For some perspective, that is more than such prodigious works of literature as Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace (587,287 words), Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged (561,996 words), and the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien (481,103 words). If I continue blogging as I plan to, my word count will one day surpass that of the King James version of The Bible (783,137 words), if it hasn’t already.

While my musings across 1,000 posts do not rise anywhere close to the profundity of renowned authors, I occasionally surprise myself by generating a piece I’m particularly pleased with. This is mostly the case when I avoid being too guarded about expressing my thoughts on a subject. It has been good to stick my neck out on occasion.

To commemorate achieving this milestone, I offer the following selection of posts because they offer a sampling of my views on architecture and urban design. Consider this an immodest list of SW Oregon Architect’s “greatest hits." I invite you to randomly read a few of them if you have some time and missed the opportunity to do so when they first appeared (click on the title you select, which will appear in a new window): 

1.  Architecture and the Culture Wars
2.  The Timelessness of Libraries
3.  Hyperlocal Identity:  A Strategy for Small Cities and Towns
4.  Commonsense Architecture
5.  The Worrying Absence of Housing Choice
6.  Challenging Our Biases
7.  Philosophy and the Metaphysics of Architecture
8.  The Better Angels of our Nature
9.  Oregon is Burning
10.  Corner Stores
11.  A Moral Obligation
12.  Eugene and the Menace of the Black Swan
13.  Architecture on the Frontline of the Culture War
14.  Private Good and Public Space
15.  Does Eugene really have an affordable housing crisis? Yes, but . . .
16.  Light
17.  Restoring the Related Wholeness of Notre-Dame de Paris
18.  In Praise of 5-over-1 Construction
19.  Looking Beyond 2019 (Way, Way Beyond)
20.  We Shouldn’t Fear the Change Diverse Housing Types Herald
21.  Riding the Rails
22.  Morality and Architecture
23.  Sunlight is a Powerful Healer
24.  The Fine Grain of Cultural Diversity
25.  The Obama Presidential Center
26.  Architectural Record’s Top 125 Buildings
27.  R.I.P. Zaha Hadid
28.  Architecture is Awesome: #11 Sense of Place
29.  The Pritzker Prize and Neural Nostalgia
30.  The Future of Architectural Craft
31.  Architecture is Awesome #6: Space
32.  Debate and Discourse: Hallmarks of a Healthy Community
33.  The Perils of Building Cheaply
34.  Self-Actualization
35.  Revenge of the Specifiers
36.  Awe, Wonder, and Curiosity
37.  The Pitfalls of Public Planning Process
38.  Incremental Growth
39.  Progress
40.  Revitalization + Reinvention
41.  Automobiles and Architecture
42.  Monarchy and Architecture
43.  Influences: Christopher Alexander & Peter Eisenman
44.  What is Architecture?
45.  San Francisco Walkabout
46.  Influences: Frank Lloyd Wright
47.  Ecopolis and the American Dream
48.  Utopianism, Cynicism, and Sincerity
49.  Authenticity
50.  Eugene, Genius Loci, and the Butterfly Effect

The ride SW Oregon Architect has taken me on has been both humbling and invigorating. What began as a channel for communication with the local architectural community is now increasingly a repository for my personal thoughts, topical insights, and occasionally whimsical digressions. I look forward to continuing this adventure, exploring new topics, and—with good luck and health—reflecting again upon reaching the 2,000-posts mark.

(1)    I am not going to bother to accurately tally my total word count. I may not make the most of my free time, but I do value it enough not to undertake the task. A 600-word per post average is a fair guess; if anything, this number might be on the low side.

Tempus Fugit

 
Photo by Matt Barrett on Unsplash

The flight of time never seems as fast as when we prepare to turn the calendar at each year’s end. Despite passing in what seems a blink of an eye, 2021 bore more than its fair share of virus angst, fear, division, fire, and flooding. The past twelve months have been strange, disorienting, and full of monumental events with global repercussions. 2022 will undoubtedly bring us more. My profession, like every other segment of society, can only hope to adapt to an unpredictable and constantly evolving “new normal.”

Blogging encourages me to think about the way architects can work toward building places and communities that help people live healthy and productive lives in the face of an increasingly uncertain future. By nature, I am resistant to change. Stasis is my default condition, so forcing myself to occasionally engage provocative topics is a good thing.

Below are links to one blog post from each month this past year. I chose to highlight these entries because they either directly respond to topical events or reflect the constant of change in our lives and the practice of architecture. Click on a link if you find the excerpted tease at all intriguing and if you haven't previously read the post (or read it again!).

January: The extent to which our treasured symbols endure and withstand the efforts of those who wish to undo the institutions that bind our society is important. Architecture matters for this and so many other reasons. [link]

February: Team bonding is a critical ingredient for any organization but is especially so in the creative culture of architecture. [link]

March: The fact Glenwood has laid fallow for so long is remarkable given its prime location between Eugene and Springfield, proximity to I-5, situation along the already established EmX BRT corridor, not to mention its immediate adjacency to and scenic promise of the Willamette River. [link]

April: The hallmarks of good architecture should be an attentiveness to the essence and uniqueness of each project, design intentions that translate those unique needs in a synthesized and comprehensive manner, and responsiveness to the natural, historical, and physical context of which it is a part. [link]

May: The intent of renaming is not to gloss over the historical record by imposing a fraught set of current beliefs and worldviews but to acknowledge the past forthrightly. [link]

June: While many employers are eager to get their employees back on-site full-time, it is true a substantial number of others are considering extending remote work indefinitely or the possibility of shifting to a hybrid model combining in-person and at-home work. [link]

July: Rather than designing prescriptively, we should tackle every design problem holistically, in a balanced fashion tailored to the specifics of each project and site. [link]

August: Despite the sophistication of today’s parametric tools, the level of analysis enabled by computer technology does not yet approach that which the human mind is instinctively capable of processing, nor can a limited set of primitive algorithms fully account for the profundity of our interactions with the places in which we dwell. [link]

September: The moral imperative to act has existed throughout the entirety of my professional career and yet here we are, confronted by a situation more dire than ever. [link]

October: The architectural profession and the schools of architecture that turn out its future practitioners will have come of age when an appreciation for diversity, equity, justice, and social well-being are ingrained and institutionalized. [link]

November: The value of reminiscing is its ability to strengthen our sense of identity, help us move forward with optimism, and provide inspiration. [link]

December: Fundamentally, architects bring to the project an understanding that a whole is greater than the sum of its parts. [link]

Let’s end 2021 and start the new year by building upon the lessons we have learned. Let us look ahead to 2022 with courage and optimism. Time is too short for all of us not to.

10 Years of SW Oregon Architect

I just realized it’s been ten years since I started blogging. Time flies, but those ten years have been full in part because of what has become a satisfying personal hobby. I’ve reliably published pieces at a rate averaging just more than one per week. All told, I’ve committed more than 540,000 words to online bits and bytes across 674 posts.(1) My Blogger stats tell me SW Oregon Architect has received 494,000 unique pageviews since February 2008—approximately 4,100 per month. Not spectacular, but a lot more than I ever imagined would be the case when I began. 

I had no idea being a blogger would become such a large part of my identity. In some ways, SW Oregon Architect is a personal journal; in other respects, it is more like a newsfeed for readers interested in local goings-on in the Eugene-Springfield, Oregon architecture and building community. I do find writing on topics of interest to me enjoyable and satisfying. It’s fun. It’s also gratifying when people comment on a post or say something nice about what I’ve written. 

Bloggers tend to be a self-absorbed bunch, but then the inherent nature of many blogs is to be narcissistic to a degree. “Look at me,” they all say. On the other hand, bloggers also risk getting it wrong or embarrassing themselves. Vulnerability is the toll paid when you put yourself out there, online. I always tend toward being circumspect and guarded in the way I express myself, so I chose the following ten posts—one marking each of SW Oregon Architect’s ten years—precisely because they reveal something about who I am and how I see the world. I invite you to read them if you didn’t have an opportunity to do so when they first appeared: 

2017 – The Fine Grain of Cultural Diversity 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-fine-grain-of-cultural-diversity.html

2016 – Architecture is Awesome #11: Sense of Place
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2016/03/architecture-is-awesome-11-sense-of.html

2015 – The Future of Architectural Craft 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-future-of-architectural-craft.html

2014 – The Perils of Building Cheaply 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-perils-of-building-cheaply.html

2013 – The Oregon Experiment 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-oregon-experiment.html

2012 – Awe, Wonder, and Curiosity 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2012/08/awe-wonder-and-curiosity.html

2011 – Challenging the Cult of Speed 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2011/01/challenging-cult-of-speed.html

2010 – Influences: Christopher Alexander & Peter Eisenman 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2010/05/influences-christopher-alexander-peter.html

2009 – Influences: Frank Lloyd Wright 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2009/03/influences-frank-lloyd-wright.html

2008 – Eugene, Genius Loci, and the Butterfly Effect 
http://sworegonarchitect.blogspot.com/2008/05/eugene-genius-loci-and-butterfly-effect.html 

Looking back, I’m sometimes surprised by how much my writing style and views have remained consistent. I like to think I can evolve and improve. The cool thing about blogging is that it’s something I can look forward to doing for many, many years to come. I don’t imagine I’ll ever lose my enthusiasm for maintaining SW Oregon Architect. 

Ten years from now, I expect the world will be much different. It’ll be interesting to see if my blog and I are different too. 


(1)   By way of comparison, the King James Version of the Bible has a word count of 783,137 words; the entire Harry Potter book series contains 1,084,170 words. It’s crazy to think I’ve written so much.

The Prophecies

Michel de Nostredame (Nostradamus)

Rather than writing a post along the lines of a unimaginative end-of-year Internet meme (such as lazily featuring only the first sentence of the first SW Oregon Architect blog post I published each month during the preceding year), I will instead mark the end of 2017 by offering my own take on the equally hackneyed institution of would-be soothsayers. The following are my prognostications, a la Nostradamus, about the future of architecture as 2018 approaches. I’ll even do as the cryptic Frenchman did: Rather than using plain, modern-day English, I offer my predictions in the form of abstruse quatrains.(1) I’ll first pose a question, followed by my prophecy in response:

Artificial Intelligence

True artificial intelligence is adaptive, self-learning, and intuitive. A.I. research has recently taken great strides, so much so that A.I. is making inroads into our everyday lives, including architecture, and its impact grows with each passing year.

The question: Will AI begin to take jobs away from architects in 2018?

The prophecy:
After the eclipse of the Sun will then be
The monster divine omen will be seen in plain daylight
The new land will be at the height of its power
So that on the left hand there will be great affliction  

By ChristinaC. (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Augmented Reality
Much like the exponential advancement of artificial intelligence, improvements in computer technology now make it possible to provide immersive experiences within real-world environments whose elements are augmented by computer-generated sensory input. Augmented reality will inevitably change the way architects make design decisions by overlaying digital content onto real-world imagery. This technology will only improve and become more affordable in 2018 and beyond.  

The question: Is augmented reality actually a slippery step along a path toward completely virtual experiences and the abandonment of society’s preference for real places? Will virtual reality someday render brick and mortar buildings obsolete? 

The prophecy:
You will see, sooner and later, great changes made
Over the walls to throw ashes, lime chalk, and dust
Not far from the age of the great millennium
Pointed steel driven all the way up to the hilt 

Designing for Resilience

According to the Resilient Design Institute, resilience is the capacity to adapt to changing conditions and to maintain or regain functionality and vitality in the face of stress or disturbance. It is the capacity to bounce back after a disturbance or interruption. At various levels—individuals, households, communities, and regions—through resilience we can maintain livable conditions in the event of natural disasters, loss of power, or other interruptions in normally available services. 

Relative to climate change, resilience involves adaptation to the wide range of regional and localized impacts that are expected with a warming planet: more intense storms, greater precipitation, coastal and valley flooding, longer and more severe droughts in some areas, wildfires, melting permafrost, warmer temperatures, and power outages. 

Resilient design is the intentional design of buildings, landscapes, communities, and regions in response to these vulnerabilities. 

The question:  Will the increased application of resilient design principles keep architecture relevant in an increasingly unpredictable and dangerous world? 

The prophecy: 
When 2018 is seven months over
For forty years it will be seen every day
War captive halfway inside its enclosure
Drinking by force the waters poisoned by sulfur

Architects and Politics 
The coarseness and divisiveness of today’s political climate has taken its toll on many of us. We’re stressed out when we think about the future direction of the country. Anxiety and uncertainty are at an all-time high. The election and presidency of the mendacious and unpredictable Twitterer-In-Chief has fed fears. An increasing number of architects wonder whether they should step into the political ring and voice their support for evidence-based (read: “science-based”) policymaking related to climate-change regulations and resilient design efforts, and opposition to budget cuts intended to gut environmental protections. 

The question:  Will architects serve as an instrument of positive change in the new year by constructively and/or disruptively engaging ethical and political concerns? 

The prophecy: 
Garden of the world near the new city 
Will cause its realm to hold in peace and union 
It will be seized and plunged into the Vat 
Late and soon comes the awaited help 

Economic Contraction 
The ongoing economic expansion and its concomitant rise in the gross domestic product, productivity, and prosperity has seemingly defied gravity since 2009. The buoyant economy has lifted most all boats, including the construction market and, in turn, the architectural profession. 

The question:  For how much longer will the good times roll? Are we headed toward a crash in 2018? 

The prophecy: 
No more than seven months will he hold the office of prelate 
Extreme horrors and vengeances 
War captive halfway inside its enclosure 
Nimes, Toulouse, perish in water, the market to collapse  

The Next Big Thing 
Too many architects have shied away from confronting the big problems of a world beset with enormous challenges. It’s far too easy to focus instead upon the more immediate exigencies of professional practice today, such as addressing arcane code issues or meeting staff payroll; however, what the world needs are visionaries, brave people willing to lead by example toward real, effective changes. 

The question:  Who will be the next Frank Lloyd Wright, the next great visionary architect? 

The prophecy: 
He who will have the government of the great cape 
Will cause the towers around the New City to shake 
Sword and lance before heaven is observed as serene 
King to be outside, he will keep far from the enemy 

*    *    *    *    *    *

So there you go: Visions as clear as the wellspring of the McKenzie River and as prescient as if uttered by the Oracle of Delphi. That said, I make no claims of true clairvoyance but if it turns out my quatrains accurately foreshadowed actual events, just remember you read it here first. 

Happy New Year!

(1)  I can’t take full credit for these quatrains: I relied upon an automated, online Nostradamus prophecy generator to mimic the seer’s famously vague predictions of future events.