The Separation of Church and State

My previous experience in architecture was mostly spent in firms that enforced a separation of church and state - "church" in this case denoting the designers (for whom faith, in one form or another, is the guiding force) and "state" meaning the drafts-people (who follow rules, regulations, and the laws of statics, thermodynamics, etc). I have also worked in firms where the two were integrated, most often in the same people. This is one of those rare instances when I don't actually have an opinion (at least not one set in stone) about which is best.

Separating the designers from the drafts-people seemed like a good idea when it was presented to me. When I was working for a firm that enforced the separation I would be approached by the drafts-people and asked, "Can you take the curve out of that wall and make that a right angle, it's going to be a bitch to detail." Or something similar. In those moments it seemed like allowing the designers the freedom to draw what seemed best to them (as opposed to what was unlikely to cause problems when it came to figuring out how to build it) was an excellent idea. Designers need to dream. I think I've written this before but the only compass a designer has to guide them through the wilderness of endless possibilities is that instant emotional reaction. I call it the "That's cool!" hypothesis. I know; it's a terrible name and when I think of a better one I will start using it.

Writers are not the only ones terrified of a blank page, what novelists call "the white monster." Architects, like novelists, do not lack ways to fill the page; the problem is precisely the opposite. The possibilities are literally infinite. I contend the only criteria that can usefully differentiate between them are emotional. Sure, after the first few lines are drawn, the first tentative shapes emerge, analysis starts to help. But in the beginning there was cool. Or hot. Or wicked. Or whatever. There was an instant emotional response to a form (or an idea of a form). It's difficult to talk about because the process is opaque even to the person designing. From my own experience I can say designers are almost never motivated by "That will work, I guess."

So, the decoupling of design and detailing seemed the best way to remove impediments to that instant emotional response. The process simply wouldn't work if as soon as you have that idea that makes you exclaim, "That's cool!" your internal editor replied, "And you couldn't figure out how to build it in a million years."

The flip side of that particular argument is as soon as designers separate themselves from the process of determining how a design will be realized they are surrendering a tremendous amount of control over the final product. One firm I worked for was structured so that one person was assigned a project and was responsible for it from start to finish. They did everything - from the first lines on the blank sheet until they handed over the keys and manuals. And they chose to run their projects that way because they wanted complete control over every aspect of the project. They believed, as I do now, that details matter. And they were courageous enough not to listen to the nagging voice that warned them not to over-reach.

I worked for them as a student intern and that might explain why I thought they were doing it wrong. I believed their system would inevitably lead to a bunch of projects that looked the same - for the simple reason it is easier to cut and paste details from previous projects than it is to develop new ones. Time is always against architects. I suspect this is true of most professions but if you knew how little time is allowed for each stage of the design process I think you would be surprised. People don't come to architects because they want a building 5 years from now - they want it today or, ideally, yesterday. For a big building, any of the dozens of condo towers that have gone up in Toronto in the last few years, architects' fees are approximately the same as the cost of the carpet. So, divide that into conceptual design, design development, fees for consultants, permit drawings, contract drawings, tendering (not what it sounds like), specifications, site visits and all the stuff I'm leaving out and the amount of time available for each section (assuming you want to pay your staff) is not very much. There is a tremendous financial pressure to do what you know. Then there is the pressure of potential litigation if you do anything wrong.

It is entirely reasonable to expect architects to design buildings that don't collapse and kill people. It is entirely reasonable to expect architects to design buildings that don't leak. No one would dispute this. But every single time an architect tries something new, he or she is taking a calculated risk that it won't result in anything surprising or unexpected. Because in architecture surprises are almost never good. The only motivation architects have to try new things is the desire to be better, to surpass themselves. Seen in this light any architecture that is new and different is also kind of heroic. Anyway, enough with enumerating the thousand and one reasons architects have to crank out nearly identical buildings year after year.

One result of my (naive I think) opinion that separation of church and state is a good idea is I have spent a lot of time designing things and comparatively little figuring out how to build them. I took the classes at school. I know the basics. I can draw a parapet detail or a wall section (steel, concrete, or wood frame). But I don't know building systems inside out. I am much better at explaining why a design is good or bad, or providing historical precedents (both completely useless skills) than I am at detailing buildings. The word architect means "head (or chief) builder" and I have not earned the right to call myself that - not by the standards of my professional organization or by my own standards.

I have had the privilege of working with architects who design things they have absolutely no idea how to build. It's a strange kind of thrill, like watching a horror movie. You have to be able to enjoy those occasional instants of panic. What surprises me, in retrospect, is that the most adventurous designers were in those firms where they were also responsible for figuring out how to build what they designed. The projects weren't flashy or deliberately outrageous; more often it was the type of detail you would have to look at carefully before you'd think to ask, "How the hell did they do that?"

I have deliberately kept my personal ambitions out of these pieces - except when dealing with the zombie apocalypse. This is because there is nothing less interesting than other peoples' dreams. This time, just once, I will confess my ambition is to become a master builder. I want the confidence necessary to design something I have no idea how to build. I don't care if I am ever a great architect; greatness is over-rated. What I want, and am willing to spend the next 20 years of my life to achieve, is extraordinary competence. And for that I will need a firm that integrates design and detailing.