Stagnation is the antithesis of creativity. Performing the same task repeatedly ensures efficiency and proficiency, yet it also breeds monotony and boredom. Architectural practice, arguably one of the most diverse and opportunistic fields, is limited only by the laws of gravity and physics. Why shouldn't every project aim to be unique? While precedent cannot be ignored, I frequently contest the typical advice against "reinventing the wheel," maintaining that "if the wheel had never been reinvented, our cars would roll on stones. Take it from the Michelin Man; wheels are reinvented every day." In any profession, particularly architecture, longstanding methods are not exempt from improvement. Each project deserves scrutiny, particularly if it fits a standard mold, though this is the ideal of a clientless architect.
Each project should be unique and provide the designers new learning opportunities. Furthermore, architecture should narrate the tales of its inhabitants and the local history, reflecting this through the building's character and charm. For instance, during my time in Manhattan, New York City, I visited an historic brownstone in Greenwich Village under renovation. The design team aimed to restore the facade to its original splendor, yet the genuine, celebrated sandstone was no longer available for construction. To address this, the team conducted thorough research to develop a concrete mixture with additives and pigments closely mimicking the original brownstone. Thus, the distinctiveness and depth of a project are not solely defined by its shape, but by its personality, essence, and the homage it pays to both the immediate and broader contexts.
While I cherish my professional life studying architecture and landscape architecture (unlicensed, for now), my personal journey as a visual artist, with a focus on photography, watercolor, and oil painting, has begun to flourish. Like my job, I am deeply critical of intent and motive. The crucial question in any project or critique is not how something is done, but why? What is the purpose? Is it to acquire a skill, to represent a social synecdoche, to earn income, or to share personal stories? And is that intent significant and worthy of discussion? Design is often praised for its aesthetic and superficial meaning without addressing the broader anachronism present. A resolution is necessary.
As a multidisciplinary designer, I strongly advocate for the ongoing enhancement of skills and knowledge. Education does not cease with college or the granting of a license; it ends only with life. The old adage "a jack of all trades, master of none, is better than a master of one" resonates with me, highlighting the diverse abilities needed to manifest good designs. A mastery of geometry, a relentless curiosity, a meticulous attention to detail, and an openness to technological advancement. Contrary to the popular misused phrase, a true designer must conquer every facet—a master of all.
