Back at It

Photo by zhang kaiyv on Unsplash

It’s been quite nice these past few years to sit downstairs looking out on a midsummer lake, boats and paddle boarders dipping oars just off the seawall. We have little need for blinds—particularly as it applies to the lakeside window wall. The entire purpose of the addition was to turn the house from facing sideways at our neighbor to the longer view across the water. It was so obvious even Mojo and Maddie, our huskies at the time, and Molly the rotten-weiler, all knew it was a good idea. Mind you, our neighbor is a nice looking blonde, but still…

Since retiring I spent close to four years writing and enjoying this view, babbling about it, watching the wildlife chase through the seasons, taking photos. Now three days a week I’m joining the summer herd on the Beltway bright-eyed and bushy headed-tripping the light fantastic out to Reston and an open-plan office tucked not too far off the W&D trail. DBI Architects has been around long enough it’s considered an old-line firm at this point. It’s a fascinating study in another office culture—in ways unlike the one I left.

When I was a boy, my greatest ambition was not having one. I had my reasons—looking back I can see that—but I changed with the circumstances. I began changing in college when the game took on bigger stakes—mostly needing a job. Changed further with grad school, and all the years of a difficult profession that followed. After awhile it became ingrained.

So returning to an office environment wasn’t the shock I expected. The people in the office are friendly, the work is interesting—and my old design methods still apply. Most importantly they welcomed me. It’s been years since I was looked on as an asset in a well-oiled operation. Even curmudgeons appreciate the love.

A few years ago an acquaintance asked, what was I going to do when I retired? What indeed? D had been asking the same question. But there is no way to answer such a hypothetical question. I’ll confess the very idea of retiring makes me uneasy—that’s it, boy: turn in your papers and go find a rocking chair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had this idea architecture could be a lifelong profession.

The question isn’t how long I want to survive—more it’s how long I want to be living, something we don’t get to choose. I heard the famous Brazilian architect, Oscar Niemeyer practiced architecture well into his 100s—the boy made it to 105, which is amazing.

Pro athletes are already standing down by the time architects are finishing their warmups.

Returning to work, what I wasn’t expecting was the sense of accomplishment by the end of the day —sonofagun, why looky there. An interesting feeling, that. I had spent years learning the trade, so why was that a surprise? Of course the biggest accomplishment is seeing a building you designed becoming a physical entity. Look at those story-tall steel trusses cantilevered out there! They had to deliver those trusses in sections so they fit the lowboys hauling them from the steel mill. That’s what I’m talking about.

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I’ve known architects who think the best work stops when the building’s exterior and major spaces are completed—but a library is only finished when the carpets are in, the bookshelves installed, and the circulation and information desks are wired and up and running. I loved designing custom circulation desks.

DBI is a relatively youthful office, with a core of seasoned professionals. It is also made up predominantly of women, which is far different from my previous stints in architecture. Lukmire had women architects, even had a woman partner, but we were predominantly men, as are still a majority of U.S. architectural firms. Women of my generation were the first in any kind of numbers to enter the profession, and it remains a work in progress.

For as long as I’ve known Al Storm, DBI has been a major player in interior design in the large corporate and government markets. More recently multi-family housing has become part of their portfolio—and the reason for my employ. Lukmire by contrast was mainly a firm doing public work. The two firms collaborated on several Federal projects, but it wasn’t until I joined DBI that I was able to witness first hand how interior designers collaborated directly with architects. I strongly suspect DBI, comprising architects and interior designers, trains a better rounded crew of both kinds of interns.

I’m literally surrounded by women at DBI—and you can’t miss the different vibe.

Also, being an major influence on interior fit-up purchases, quite a few vendors arrive bearing food, showering us with too many calories. Were I to suggest to a furniture rep they deliver morning bagels and Starbucks coffee, we’d have a perfect routine—almost as nice as a stroll across the street in Shirlington to talk to Carlos and munch on his scones made at Best Buns. I confess to missing Best Buns. And walking down the block to buy tickets at Signature Theatre.

There is a clean, attractive aesthetic to the work DBI produces. The Reston office is an example of a modern look with an emphasis on making guests welcome and the staff productive. I even hear friendly dogs are sometimes welcomed—that insight came from the firm’s comptroller.

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Designing buildings seems like 90 percent puzzle solving, which is what I’m presently engaged in. No single right answer and a whole lot of bad ones. You need to know which to pursue, which option leads to a better one versus a dead end. Knowing which to start with is instinct—seasoned by years and listening when your structural engineer tells you the span’s too long for the beam depth and there’s no good place to drop a column to shorten the span.

Here’s something to impress all your friends at the upcoming Labor Day barbeque: the rule of thumb is the depth of a wood beam is equal to the span in inches. If it’s a twenty foot span, you need a beam of 20” and if it’s a football field, you’re going to need deep-ass steel trusses that will cost you extra.

The thing about architecture is you’re always sure the next project will be your best. It’s the curiosity that keeps you going—only reason to haul your sleepy ass out of bed heading for the Beltway.

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Writing can furnish a similar kick, if less the high when you finish. At a largest size, it’s a paperback sitting in a bookstore window—or just hitting ‘publish’ on SquareSpace. The area of influence one welds with language is greatly reduced from that of urban design, as any out of work journalist or English teacher will tell you. Writing gurus (and there are leagues of them) recommend striving to gain influence with readers one at a time, whereas with architecture everyone has to live with your work.

Though the effort to mold a worthwhile creation in either field has parallels. If the ratio of creativity to grunt work in writing is, say 40% writing to 60% editing, followed by 100% begging someone to read it, the art of architecture is tilted further in the direction of sweating hard on behalf of the dream. In either setting, if glory is your thing, you need another calling.

Architects are largely invisible in the U.S. even if their work isn’t. Like laborers hauling stones for the pharaoh. We do get to sit at meetings with millionaire owners and politicians, but that’s largely the extent of it. To be honest, that’s OK, though I did get to join Intel’s CEO for dinner once…

It is said that architecture is a practiced art. Some take that to mean you should take vows of abstinence like a priest. I take it to mean it’s the practice of educating yourself. It’s ongoing, or you should think about retiring because you’re probably missing something. And you’re always missing something.

Nothing’s level—some things are plumb—and nothing’s forever.