the latest-greatest

Here's the latest on the floor plans as well as the first (posted) elevations (as always, click on an image to see a larger, more savory version of it):

We haven't yet (over)analyzed these plans, so let's go ahead and do that now (bwah-ha-ha!!!).

First off: We're totally digging 'em. It's interesting (to me at least) how different these plans are from the ones Architect 1.0 developed for us. And while we liked the plans from Architect 1.0, we both agree we like these plans better.

ch-ch-ch-changes

The site plan (the first figure above) is essentially the same as before except that (1) there's now parking for two vehicles in the front of the property, (2) the footprint of the house is more refined as the design has developed, and (3) the garage is pushed a little further back to align with the back edge of the house.

The first floor also has some subtle changes from the previous plan. The living, dining, powder, and office are the same. The door to the coat closet now opens in the other direction (a suggestion). The kitchen now has bigger and more windows (a request). The pantry now opens into the kitchen (a suggestion [thank you Devon!]). The fridge has moved a wee bit (not sure why and not sure we like that, although it may be to accommodate a wall mounted oven and microwave [we're insisting, at this point, on a built-in range]).

The rear entry is different to accommodate a suggestion for room for a built-in grill at that entry, although we're losing storage in the laundry room to do this (the bride really wants a covered grill so I don't get wet grilling). The stairwell is a wee bit wider to accommodate a few more risers to accommodate a request for taller ceilings in the "utilitarian" part of the house. There's now a sink in the laundry room and "sliders" (sliding doors) for the utilitarian rooms up the master hallway.

The master bath has a larger window over the tub and another window to the side of the tub. The fenestration (fancy-schmancy architectural words for openings) in the master bedroom is refined, and there's now a door to the great outdoors.

The second floor is essentially the same except for the windows. There's now a wall-to-wall window spilling light over the stairs and stairwell (yay!) and a bigger window over the tub.

And for the first time we can now show you elevations! There are some subtle changes in the front facade from last week's realization such as the horizontal "indent" in the two-story mass that lines up with the roof line of the single-story mass and echoes the slab line and thickness and the line and height gap and thickness at the top of the front two-story mass. There's also the whisper thin overhangs now hovering over the second story windows.

subsequent (but inevitable) overanalysis

Since I just finished (over)analyzing Le Corbusier's "Towards an Architecture", let me say that we think this house will be a good machine for living in. I had a pal who has had six houses (!) built for her over time ask to see the plans. After pondering them (an older version of the above) for a bit, she noted two changes that needed to be made: Door out the master (check) and the door from the pantry opening into kitchen (check). She said they were good plans. And they are. The kitchen serves as the core of the house with the public space clearly offset from the private space. The powder room is also central but away from everything so everyone doesn't have to listen to Aunt Mary's struggles with last night's El Arroyo especial (I've read that the door of a powder room should never open to directly reveal the occupant at first blush. Sometime doors open on their own or the occupant forgets to lock it. Our powder room gives a wee bit of squealing distance.)

The master bedroom has nothing above it, so the missus and I won't be woken up by toilets flushing or jumping around by potential upstairs occupants. We asked about having a sliding door in the master bath since the door in the older plan opened into one of the sink stations. The architects upped the anti and suggested the master closet and laundry also have sliders. Great idea, wethinks. With the master pooper enclosed in its own doored space, all those sliders will be open and out of our way for our day-to-day business. When there's a dinner party, home tour, or search warrant, we can close 'em. Perfect! Also, the master bathroom and closet are away from the master, so if one of us has to get up early, neither of us has to come back into the bedroom (except for the obligatory goodbye smooch, of course!).

The house is arranged such that the primary living space is all on the first floor. Although this wasn't a dealbreaker for us (it wasn't on the first house) we think this will be important as we get older and more gamey and grumpy (Get off the lawn you damn kids!!!). Plus, my bride hopes a guest room on the second floor will keep the mother-in-law away.

Speaking of the lawn, you can see from the site plan that we have plans for grass-crete: Some technology (whether grasscrete or not) that allows grass to grow on the driveway. You might also be wondering about the potentially awkwardish drive up there. In case you're joining the show late, we don't plan on parking our daily drivers in the garage. The garage will be for the two micro-cars we have. That's also the reason for the carport: a place for covered parking for one of the dailys.

next steps

The architects have given us their in-house assessment of cost, and the assessment looks good. However, our gut tells us the builder's number will be higher, so we're hitting pause before we go to construction drawings to give the builder a chance to review the plans and numbers. We also need to review and comment on the elevations (the floor plans are pretty solid right now) and think about landscape architecture. We asked the architects to give us their price assumptions on certain elements (such as the master tub, kitchen appliances, and lighting fixtures) so we can assess whether or not those assumptions fit in with our desires (if you recall, we set the architects down the path of designing a house to fit a certain budget giving us the option of bringing additional money to the table to upgrade). We also need to ponder the difficult question of color (more on that later...).

Please share any comments you might have. We've appreciated the ones we've gotten so far!

dancing with architecture: Dallas

I was at a water meeting this past week and was fortunate enough to stay downtown and steal a few moments to hike about the Dallas canyons between meetings and binge drinkings. A few surprises: A Philip Johnson commissioned sculpture in memory of JFK and a stumbling upon the building from where Lee Harvey Oswald "allegedly" shot JFK. Was also able to catch a whisper of the new Calatrava bridge over the Trinity River. Need a pleasure trip to savor and enjoy...

haiku for the book “Towards a New Architecture” by Le Corbusier

heavy carpets heave

keep your floors clear of debris

demand a vacuum

This book, first published in 1923, was an unexpected delight. Unexpected in the sense that it was readable (unlike most of Frank Lloyd Wright’s scribblings) and still (mostly) relevant almost 100 years later. Like Wright, Le Corbusier (pronounced core-boo-see-eh and referred to as “Corbu” by the cool kids) was a freakin genius, essentially perfecting Modernism. His houses are timeless; his designs still crisp and contemporary (contemporary in the sense they could easily be designed today and fit into the Modern meme seamlessly). Every time I see a photo of one of his houses with an automobile-o-the-day parked in front, I giggle like a drunken sorority girl. Oh to have lived back in those years and seen one of his creations for the first time!

The actual title of his book, properly translated, is “Towards an Architecture” not “Towards a New Architecture”. Probably because his architecture was so radical, translators (editors?) changed the title, and thus subtly changed Corbu’s main point: Architecture as architecture needs to change.

The book is a collection of essays he wrote for the magazine L’Esprit Nouveau. The main thrust of the essays is that architecture needs to change its dusty and crusty ways and be optimized to the people who use it. Corbu refers to and includes photos of automobiles, steamships, and airplanes (and grain silos!) noting that the clean designs of these machines and practical solutions were functional yet beautiful.

Corbu spills his famous quote here: “A house is a machine for living in.” Many, including Wright, have misinterpreted this quote to mean that a house should literally be a machine. What Corbu was really trying to say is that just as an automobile is carefully designed to meet its purpose (for driving in), so should a house (for living in). (He also writes that “An armchair is a machine for sitting in”. Hee hee!). Corbu questions the dogma and assumptions of architecture and design back in the day where living was required to bend to that dogma and those assumptions. He simply notes that architecture should bend to the people that plan to use it.

He includes a “Manual of the Dwelling” enumerating his thoughts on a house:

Demand a bathroom looking south, one of the largest rooms in the house or flat, the old drawing-room for instance. One wall to be entirely glazed, opening if possible on to a balcony for sun baths; the most up-to-date fittings with a shower-bath and gymnastic appliances.

An adjoining room to be a dressing-room in which you can dress and undress. Never undress in your bedroom. It is not a clean thing to do and makes the room horribly untidy. In this room demand fitments for your linen and clothing, not more than 5 feet in height, with drawers, hangers, etc.

Demand one really large living room instead of a number of small ones.

Demand bare walls in your bedroom, your living room and your dining-room. Built-in fittings to take the place of much of the furniture, which is expensive to buy, takes up too much room and needs looking after.

If you can, put the kitchen at the top of the house to avoid smells.

Demand concealed or diffused lighting.

Demand a vacuum cleaner.

Buy only practical furniture and never buy decorative “pieces.” If you want to see bad taste, go into the houses of the rich. Put only a few pictures on your walls, and none but good ones.

Keep your odds and ends in drawers or cabinets.

The gramaphone or the pianola or wireless will give you exact interpretations of first rate music, and you will avoid catching cold in the concert hall, and the frenzy of the virtuoso.

Demand ventilating panes to the windows in every room.

Teach your children that a house is only habitable when it is full of light and air, and when the walls and floors are clear. To keep your floors in order eliminate heavy furniture and thick carpets.

Demand a separate garage to your dwelling.

Demand that your maid’s room should not be in the attic. Do not park your servants under your roof.

Take a flat which is one size smaller than what your parents accustomed you to. Bear in mind economy in your actions, your household management and in your thoughts.

(Note to self: Demand a vacuum cleaner from the architect [We have requested a central vacuum, but we haven’t demanded one yet!].)

Although Corbu’s flavor of Modern is described as cold, he was truly a humanist, bending his theories at the knees to bow before humanity.

Corbu goes on, somewhat poetically:

Every modern man has the mechanical sense. The feeling for mechanics exists and is justified by our daily activities. This feeling in regard to machinery is one of deep respect, gratitude, and esteem.

Machinery includes economy as an essential factor leading to minute selection. There is a moral sentiment in the feeling for mechanics.

The man who is intelligent, cold and calm has grown wings to himself [blogger’s note: This is stated on a page with photos of airplanes.]

Men--intelligent, cold and calm--are needed to build the house and lay out the town.

In essense, what The Corbu is saying is that the machine ethic, that ethic of the cold-hearted engineer to design in a practical and cost-effective manner, needs to be brought into the design of our homes and cities.

However, Corbu recognizes that architecture is not simply practical design:

You employ stone, wood and concrete, and with these materials you build houses and palaces; that is construction. Ingenuity is at work.

But suddenly you touch my heart, you do me good, I am happy and I say: “This is beautiful.” That is Architecture. Art enters in.

My house is practical. I thank you, as I might thank Railway engineers or the telephone service. You have not touched my heart.

But suppose that walls rise towards heaven in such a way that I am moved. [...] That is Architecture.

Although practical design can accidentally lead to beauty (see grain silos), it’s best not to leave beauty to accident:

Architecture is the skilful, accurate and magnificent play of masses seen in light...

Corbu goes on to note that the Modern age, the transfer of people from rural to urban areas, from working in a field with family to working in a factory with the faceless, threatens family fabric which in turn threatens civilization. He notes that architecture at a home or city scale can be used to offset these threats, maximizing family interaction and interaction with nature, basic needs of our species. And he further notes that if these basics needs are not met we risk social unrest and the ruin of civilization. With this, Le Corbusier ends with these words and this photo:

Architecture or Revolution.

Revolution can be avoided.

The influence of this book on architecture cannot be avoided. If you are interested in architecture, you shouldn’t avoid this book, either.

the grease on the griddle is starting to sizzle

We met in meatspace with the architects late last Friday to yip and yarp about the revised plans (sorry: no digital copies this time…). We had been going back and forth digitally (which we like to do given our busy schedules and introverted tendencies), but some points in the process require face-to-face interactions. Since we are near the end of the design, this was one of those points.

We think the design phase has gone well and seemingly quick. Progress has had a weekly rhythm with squeals of glee with delivery of a new product, a couple days of mulling, vaguely detailed emails describing the mulls, and waiting a week or so for the next product. It’s been fun!

The meeting was somewhat sobering in that it was a this-is-it moment: We’re on the cusp of diving into construction drawings. It was good that the meeting happened on Friday afternoon (barking on evening): Being mullers, it gave us the weekend to mull the “finality” of the design. And we had a few things to mull, the main items being (1) the tree behind the garage (start your chainsaws!) and (2) lack of a covered spot for an outdoor grill (build into the house design or deal with it with the landscape?). Since the bride doesn’t want 8-foot tall ceilings in the kitchen (we’ve been spoiled with nothing less than 10 in our living-on-our-own lives), the architects need to find space for more risers in the stairwell. So we suggested that they add space for a built-in grill along one of the walls of the back entry (we grill a lot, so wethinks it may be warranted). That, in turn, gives more space for the risers, space (perhaps) for shelves in the stair nook (we’re thinking this could be the “library”; we need a place for all the architecture books I’ve been buying!), and (perhaps) more space in the pantry (which is now entered from the kitchen [thanks Devon!]). With the tree removed, the architects may optimize the placement of the garage with respect to the back of the house. Then there’s the question of color (more on that in a later post…).

You’ll notice (if you notice these sorts of things) that we haven’t had any [muffled grunts] during the design phase. That’s because there honestly hasn’t been any. The architects have been a pleasure to work with. Architect 2d has been quietly competent, and he (and the Usonian Expert) have not been driven by design dogma. Everything has been on the up-and-up, and design concerns have been addressed directly, either by changing the design or explaining why something is the way it is. Next up are some of the mods described above, a quick budget assessment (the dreaded budget assessment…), and then construction drawings. Yeehaw! We could be breaking ground in four months! Also, we need to find and talk to a landscape architect, someone who can De Stilj with the best of ‘em (suggestions?).

Check out the latest rendering of the house: It kicks the big butt!

haiku for the book “The Architect’s Guide to Residential Design” by Michael Malone

Here’s an idea:

Let’s superserve the client

And then build a house

Holy bug butts this is a good book! Well written, well organized, and well thought out, it’s the best description of what happens and why when designing a house with an architect that I’ve found. Written by an architect for architects getting into residential design, I reckon it covers the stuff that doesn’t get covered in school, namely how to interact with clients during the process. Malone has clearly thought deeply about this part of his business.

As a (ahem) consumer of architectural services, I thought his description of the typical client was eerily spot on (it’s odd reading about yourself by someone you’ve never met…). And his empathic approach--putting himself in the client’s shoes when sh!t goes wrong and responding accordingly--is admirable (and greatly lacking in client services in general these days…). As a client, it was very interesting to read about the architect’s perspective of the design process and “appropriate” client feedback into that process. This is a book that needs to be read by architects and clients alike.

Malone states that it takes three qualities for someone to want an architect-designed house: Ego, patience, and money. We were surprised by the ego bit. Not that we don’t have ego (my bride has nearly none, but I probably have enough for the two of us… [step back from the car with your hands up!]), but that came out of left field. Malone equates the ego thing, in part, to thinking that there’s not a single house out there to fit your needs; therefore, you feel the need to hire someone to design and build the “perfect house” for you (probably applies us; we attribute our desire to build a house to wanting to go green and particularness in material choices and color). Or it could, in part, be to beat the Joneses (definitely not us; Malone practices in Dallas—there’s a lot of Jones-beating up in Dallas). Patience is needed to work through the drama of the design and building process (yep!). And, of course, money. Building an architect-designed house is typically a rich man’s (or woman’s [or couple’s]) sport.

An interesting insight into this critter called “architect” is how they (or at least Malone) react to client design preferences: “During your initial interviews [the clients] will usually tell you up front what they are looking for; some may even have books or magazines with specific houses or, even worse, various elements of houses they fully expect to see incorporated into their new home.” This sentence made me go “hmmmm” and pull my earlobe three times. I had thought that showing architects precedents was a good thing (and swear I read that somewhere). From a client’s perspective, it lets the architect see what your general design preferences are and lets the architect respectfully decline if those preferences don’t align (“Sorry: I don’t architect houses that look like Burger Kings.”). I certainly understand an architect not wanting to deal with an exhaustive listing of required elements: The architecture at that point is driven by design elements rather than use and program.

Malone’s description of a residential architect’s potential client base is spot-on. He notes that the client base is a small world that either knows each other directly or have contact through social and business networks. Indeed. For example, one of the architects we considered and then unconsidered was because a pal of ours had had a terrible experience with him. Some sentences that resonated with me for some reason: “Bad word of mouth can hurt you, especially if you are terminated by a client who has been paying fees for work she or he considers unsatisfactory, without you being able to finish the project.” and “They will now be faced with selecting and hiring another architect and moving forward from scratch, a potentially devastating charge to be leveled against you.” Just saying…

Malone advocates that architects use what amounts to basic business communication strategies (which, admittedly, even businesses struggle to employ). Namely, using agendas for meetings that clearly describe the purpose and goals of the meetings, written communication following meetings, and ongoing written summaries of decisions. One thing I’ve learned in my professional and personal life is that communication is key. Not surprisingly, that also applies to designing and building a house.

Malone notes how design and material choices and preferences of the architect can cause a budget to go awry just as design and material choices and preferences of the client can cause a budget to go awry (and Gawd forbid if both run amuck!). And Malone is clever in noting that an architect’s vision is much more likely to be realized if the architect is attentive to budget issues up front. If not, the client or builder will “fix” things to fit the budget (true, true: a couple builders told us during the dissolution of Round 1.0: “Just get the plans from the architect and then we’ll fix everything in the build.”).

As mentioned in an earlier post, Malone advocates that architects use a questionnaire to survey the needs and preferences of clients. And he provides an example. A great idea, methinks. Gets the clients thinking about what they want and documents it in writing. Another interesting section of the book focuses on “soft bidding”: getting estimates from builders before working on design. Malone notes that he has “…a consistent history of projects that, when priced, come in over budget, making everyone unhappy and uncomfortable when they do. No amount of careful planning or candid disclosure of your thoughts regarding the cost can prepare the clients for a project that has a price they cannot afford.” He goes on to note that he tries “to do the maximum possible with every design opportunity”. Although admirable (design is good!), this pressures the budget. Something to keep in mind about architects…

Later in the book, he addresses bids over budget (“and they always are”) and notes that this is when most residential projects die (can’t tell you how many folks we’ve talked to that have worked with an architect only to have their project suffer a whimpering got-run-over-by-the-bidding death). He notes that this is where the client is often disappointed and angry (uh-huh) and the architect needs to exert leadership to ensure the project moves forward. Malone describes that leadership as leveraging trust earned earlier in the relationship into a discussion of value engineering and, if needed, changes in design. For his firm, he will often redesign and adjust the plans at no cost to the client.

It was real interesting reading these bits given our experience with Architect 1.0, which was, in short, a perfect storm of bad. He lost our trust as a good steward of our resources early in the design process; when things went wrong, he blamed us for things that he did (which were provable via written documentation [remember, putting things in writing goes both ways…]); and his leadership at the end was to try and save design elements and material choices he wanted over our program needs. That’s not to say we weren’t part of the problem. There were design choices we made that certainly added to the cost. And after reading this book, perhaps we had a misunderstanding of what an architect does.

About that misunderstanding: Malone suggests that architects provide a “service for fee” similar, say, to an attorney. Along those lines, you are hiring expertise to advise you, but you are making the decisions and hence the outcome, ultimately, is yours (hence Architect 1.0 stating that he was not obligated to design a house we could afford). From a consumer standpoint, this is there’s-a-monster-hiding-in-the-amply-sized-master-bedroom-closet scary if it’s not clear up front (and it isn’t clear up front) and if it’s not clear during the design process. When we hired an architect, it was not only to hire expertise to design a functional thing of beauty that met (most) of our program needs but also knowledge of general construction costs. The lawyer-service-thing comes into play because a lawyer will typically discuss your legal options and the implications therein (perhaps with a recommendation), but you ultimately choose the option and, hence, your fate. The same thing applies with an architect. If you want a $100,000 negative edge pool and the architect explains that it will bust the budget, you shouldn’t be surprised when the budget is busted when the project finally gets bidded.

On the other hand, be watchful for design decision traps where you are making critical decisions that impact budget without knowing it. For example, the architect might ask “What do you think about putting a negative edge pool off the back patio? It would look great juxtaposed against summer skies!” And you might reply “Yeah, that would be great!” assuming the pool fits into the previously discussed budget. But it probably doesn’t. This is an extreme example, but it happens with lots of little and medium sized design decisions that add up over time. If budget is a concern, always spew the phrase “Can we do this on our budget?” and “How are we doing on budget?” (although, as we learned earlier, that doesn’t guarantee anything).

We’ve received criticism that we were unreasonable in our upsettedness with Architect 1.0 because he designed a house we loved. Although I’m not an architect, I’ll go out on a limb and say that it’s pretty damn easy to design a house a client loves. There are lots of houses out there we love. We would love to live in about 90 percent of the houses we see on the AIA tours. One little problem: We can’t afford them. The true talent of an architect is designing a house the client loves within the budget. Although Malone notes the service-for-fee bit, he also notes that clients expect the process to produce a design that fits the budget and he runs his business accordingly. This is a case where reality (expectations/perceptions  of clients) trump the theory of the service an architect provides.

Malone goes on to discuss contracting, construction administration, and the building process. He also includes case studies at the end of each chapter. At first, the case studies are rather rosy; something I was going to ding the book for (what do you learn from rosy case studies?). But then he describes, toward the end of the book, some particularly nasty situations and the lessons he learned from them.

This book is, quite simply, fantastic. I can’t say enough nice things about it. I have to think that it’s invaluable for practicing or soon-to-be-practicing architects. And it’s certainly invaluable to clients hoping to get a better understanding of the process and the inner workings of this critter called “architect”. 

did Modern come from mud?

“Vernacular architecture” is essentially a fancy term for “traditional buildings not designed by architects”. A more sophisticated definition might be “architecture that uses locally available resources and traditions to address local needs and circumstances.” Since anything developed as “new” always rests on the shoulders of something that came before, it’s not surprising that the Modern movement was influenced by certain architectural traditions of the deep and not so deep past. I’ve often wondered if the Modern movement was in part inspired by the earthy edges of southwestern adobes and the ethereal white blockiness of seaside hovels in the Aegean sea. As it turns out, it was!

Although he denied it (“Resemblances are mistaken for influences.”), Frank Lloyd Wright was clearly influenced by traditional Japanese architecture. He saw the Ho-o-den, the Japanese building at the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago. He was an avid collector of Japanese prints (his design depictions were clearly influenced by these prints). And he most likely read Edward Morse’s book “Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings” published in 1886.

Wright was likely inspired by the horizontality of Japanese architecture as well as the large eaves and open spaces, elements that appear in his Prairie and Usonian phases. While in Japan overseeing the construction of the Imperial Hotel, he experienced the Korean tradition of heating a room through pipes in the floor, something he would employ later in his Usonian homes.

Photos of the Ho-o-den at the 1893 Columbian Exhibition

Wright, as well as many of the Modern masters, were either directly or indirectly influenced by the Arts and Crafts (also called the Craftsman) movement, a movement characterized by simple forms, local and natural materials, and hand-made (vernacular) craftsmanship intended to rebel against the machine-age and over-indulgent Victorians. Started in England about 1860, Many Craftsman houses included built-ins and furniture meant to compliment the architecture, traits picked up by the Modernists.

Indirectly, Wright, through the publication of his Wasmuth Portfolio in Germany in 1910, introduced his Japanese influences to the germinating Modern movement in Europe. However, vernacular architecture also played a more direct role in the development of Europe’s modernism. While prospecting for marble, Adolf Loos, he of “Ornament and Crime”, happened upon the architecture of the Cyclades Islands in the Aegean Sea (Skyros in particular). Cycladic architecture is cubic and blindingly white (sound familiar?). These buildings are blocky and flat-roofed to resist strong winds and white to reflect the hot sun. And herds of these blocky white buildings huddling against the mountainside is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s easy to understand how buildings on these little islands greatly influenced Loos’s architecture.

Scenes of Skyros. Catch your breath!

Interestingly, about the same time, Mediterranean architecture from a different shore and continent was being planted into the early Modern movement in California through the work of Irving Gill and Frank Mead. Gill worked for Adler & Sullivan in Chicago the same time Frank Lloyd Wright did before moving to San Diego (Louis Sullivan advised employees to “look toward the silent walls of Africa”). In 1900, Gill worked to stabilize the ruins of the Mission San Diego de Alcala and became impressed with its straightforward simplicity, economy in the use of materials, and emphasis on utility, elements he began to include in his own work. In 1907, he teamed up with Frank Mead to design what many consider to be the first Modern homes in California (or, at the very least, the first protoModern homes). Mead, as part of a commission to photograph Bedouins in Northern Africa, documented the vernacular architecture of northern Africa and the Mediterranean, something that clearly influenced the simple white structures the two designed during their brief one year collaboration.

Mission San Diego de Alcala.

Rudolph Schindler, a student of Loos, traveled the western United States in 1915 including Taos, New Mexico, writing that he had found "the first buildings in America which have a real feeling for the ground which carries them". Schindler was smitten by the native pueblo architecture and even designed an adobe-inspired house while he was there. In a letter to Richard Neutra, he wrote “When I speak of American architecture I must say at once that there is none. . .The only buildings which testify to the deep feeling for soil on which they stand are the sun-baked adobe buildings of the first immigrants and their successors — Spanish and Mexican — in the south-western part of the country.” 

Later in the trip, Schindler traveled to California where he saw (and photographed) several of Gill and Mead’s houses. He later worked for Frank Lloyd Wright before heading out on his own in 1921. His first project out on in his own post-Wright was his own house, influenced, in part, by the New Mexican pueblos. The El Pueblo Ribera Court Apartments in San Diego are also influenced by pueblos and sometimes described as Pueblo Revivalism.

Schindler knew how to ride a horse (photo'd in the Land of Enchantment).

Taos Pueblo (photo by Schindler).

The country home Schindler designed (unbuilt).

Similar to Loos, Le Corbusier was also influenced by the architecture of the Aegean Sea, but he was also influenced by vernacular architecture of a more recent vintage and purpose. As illustrated in his 1923 book “Towards an Architecture”, he was smitten with grain elevators! At first this might seem ludicrous, but grain elevators tend to be geometric, unadorned, and purely driven by purpose. The photos of grain elevators in Corbusier’s book came from an article published in 1917 by none other than Gropius, another fan of Midwestern grain elevators.

These grain silos are totally hot.

And finally, Wright, whether he liked it or not, was later influenced by Loos, Corbusier, Gropius, and even Schindler. The development of Modern architecture was a beautiful hot mess of cross pollination with each architect observing, learning, assimilating, adapting, and processing as they each developed their own style. All of it, as it turns out, has Organic roots, re-employing what was learned long ago by ancient builders and adapting lessons to modern living, a process that continues today.

open house at Sol Austin March 4th

Sol Austin is this little cute development on the east side of modern green homes, and one is available for viewing tomorrow from 1 pm to 4 pm! We saw this house during EAST (East Austin Studio Tour) and we hope to make it by to see the finished product which, from the photos, looks fantastic (we're totally digging the cooper-horizontal subway tile in the bathroom and those concrete floors!).