The Boat

I asked a contractor recently what he thought makes a good architect. He said construction projects are like a three-legged chair: the architect, the builder and the client. If one leg is weak, the whole thing becomes unstable.

Hmm, ok. Not specific to the architect but I can see what he meant. A weak architect creates confusion: poor coordination, unclear drawings, details that don't make sense on site. A weak builder creates uncertainty: hidden costs, delays. A weak client creates chaos: endless revisions, unclear priorities, indecision.

At first the lesson seems simple: be a strong leg. And there are certainly things one can do to become better at their chosen profession. But the more I thought about it afterward, the more I realized construction projects are probably not chairs.

If anything, they are boats. And on a boat, it doesn’t really matter how strong you are individually. You can’t row a project ashore by yourself.

So maybe being a good architect is not only about being the best you can be at architecting. Maybe it is also about recognizing where others might struggle and helping them along. Helping clients understand tradeoffs so they can make decisions. Work with the builder to bring more clarity into the drawings.

I have a lot of admiration for competent people, but I don't think projects are held together by expertise alone. I'd rather be remembered as the most helpful person in the room.

The Line

Louis Kahn once asked:

“What does a brick want to be?”

It’s a strange, fascinating question. Some bricks spend their lives as quiet, unassuming buildings. Others become extraordinary monuments.

But architecture begins even earlier than the brick. It begins with lines on paper. And every line is also trying to become something.

To most people, drawings are simply information. Something needed to price the project, get permits, or start construction. But don’t be fooled. Beneath their abstract appearance, lines carry consequences.

Most lines eventually become what they were meant to be: a wall, a roof, a joint, a slope, a shadow. Others become something else entirely: extra cost, more work, unnecessary complexity. Good or bad, each line is ultimately a decision somebody has to live with.

Responsible design is not about filling a page with interesting geometry. It is about understanding that every line eventually becomes somebody’s work, somebody’s problem, and ultimately part of somebody’s daily life.

Every line wants to be something, it’s true. One day we might work together, and when we do, I may remind you to reread this note. Because you get to shape that future just as much as I do.

The Basics

I was at a trade show yesterday and found myself in a conversation with two millwork guys. It sounded like they had crossed paths before, and now they were trying to figure out if there was an opportunity to work together on future projects.

At some point, one of them asked the other: “What’s the thing that’s most important for you when working with someone?”

The answer honestly floored me. The other guy said:

“Just show up and do the thing you said you were going to do.”

That was the answer. Not exceptional craftsmanship. Not innovation. Not pricing. Not speed. Just reliability. Just the basic follow-through. And my immediate thought was: Jesus Christ, if that’s at the top of your list, you must run into the opposite constantly.

Because what that answer really communicates is that in his experience people either don’t show up, disappear halfway through, overpromise, underdeliver, or create problems that he has to clean up later.

Construction is complicated, no doubt about it. Things go sideways all the time. Everyone understands that. But somewhere along the way, simply being dependable became a differentiator instead of the baseline expectation. And that’s a bit depressing.

At the same time, maybe it’s also a reminder that people don’t actually expect perfection from each other. Most people just want honesty, effort, consistency, and someone they can rely on when things get difficult.

Maybe the bar isn’t that low after all.

The Cost

If you think good design is expensive, you should look at the cost of bad design.

— Ralf Speth

I like this quote. Of course I do. I’m an architect, after all.

But the reality behind it has very little to do with fancy materials. Most of the time, good design simply means thinking things through early enough that problems don’t show up later when they become expensive. That’s the part that’s hard to see until you’ve experienced it yourself — and by then it’s usually too late.

I’ve seen relatively small oversights during design turn into tens of thousands of dollars in construction changes later. Hell, I’ve made some of those mistakes myself over the years. Construction is unforgiving, and its lessons tend to be expensive for everyone involved. Once crews are on site, materials are ordered, and schedules are moving, even small issues become costly to fix.

That’s why I’ve always believed the architect’s role is less about “making plans” and more about reducing risk. Clarifying decisions early. Coordinating information properly. Catching conflicts before they become site problems. Helping projects move through approvals and construction with fewer surprises along the way.

It’s true — good design does cost money.

But in many cases, it costs far less than confusion, delays, redesigns, and construction rework.

If you’re planning a project and just want a second set of eyes on it, feel free to reach out. Sometimes even a short conversation early on can prevent a lot of headaches later.