As I said in my previous book post, I recently picked up a copy of 101 Things I Learned in Architecture School. Out of the original 101 points, I’ve selected 20 that I want to look at in more detail or comment on. I’m not an architect and I don’t play one on tv, but there is a lot of theory or abstraction that is relevant far beyond the field of architecture. I’ll publish this in a series of 4 parts looking at 5 points in each post. Here’s part 1:

(1) How to draw a line

Architects use different lines for different purposes, but the line type most specific to architecture is drawn with an emphasis at the beginning and at the end. This practice anchors a line to the page and gives a drawing conviction and punch. If your lines trail off at the ends, your drawings will tend to look wimpy and vague. To train yourself to make strong lines, practice making a small blob or kickback at the beginning and end of every stroke.

Overlap lines slightly where they meet. This will keep corners from looking inappropriately rounded.

When sketching, don’t “feather and fuzz” your way across the page–that is, don’t make a vague-looking line out of many short, overlapping segments. Instead, move your pencil from start to end in a controlled, fluid motion. You might find it helpful to draw a light guide line before drawing your final line. Don’t erase your guide lines when the drawing is complete–they will lend it character and life.

This was a great way to start the book. I was hooked from the very beginning. Why? Because I’m a terrible drawer, and I do all of the things you aren’t supposed to do. My drawings look like the bottom picture, the NO picture. Since reading this I’ve made a concerted effort to improve my drawing, and these little tips make a big difference.

(14) Architecture begins with an idea.

Good design solutions are not merely physically interesting but are driven by underlying ideas. An idea is a specific mental structure by which we organize, understand, and give meaning to external experiences and information. Without underlying ideas informing their building, architects are merely space planners. Space planning with decoration applied to “dress it up” is not architecture; architecture resides in the DNA of a building, in an embedded sensibility that infuses its whole.

I couldn’t agree more with point 14. I think this point easily transcends architecture to all design domains beyond architecture. I even think the point can even be abstracted so far out to propose being mindful in all of your general interactions and decision making. Ideally, everything we do should be driven by some underlying idea. Its the difference between living a mindful life instead of a reactionary life. As with life, in design, I try to create designs and interactions from non-arbitrary design decisions.

(15) A parti is the central idea or concept of a building.

A parti [par-TEE] can be expressed several ways but is most often expressed by a design depicting the general floor plan organization of a building and, by implication, its experiential and aesthetic sensibility. A parti diagram can describe massing, entrance, spatial hierarchy, site relationship, core location, interior circulation, public/private zoning, solidity/transparency, and many other concerns. The proportion of attention given to each factor varies from project to project.

The partis shown here are from previously conceived projects; it is unlikely, if not impossible, to successfully carry a parti from an old project to a new project. The design process is the struggle to create a uniquely appropriate parti for a project.

Some will argue that an ideal parti is wholly inclusive–that it informs every aspect of a building from its overall configuration and structural system to the shape of the doorknobs. Others believe that a perfect parti is neither attainable nor desirable.

Similarly to the previous point, every decision should be based on an idea or concept. However, this point takes it once step further in saying that these ideas or concepts should be able to be boiled down to a very simple, gestural expression.

(17) The more specific a design idea is, the greater its appeal is likely to be.

Being nonspecific in an effort to appeal to everyone usually results in reaching no one. But drawing upon a specific observation, poignant statement, ironic point, witty reflection, intellectual connections, political argument, or idiosyncratic belief in a creative work can help you create environments others will identify with in their own way.

Design a flight of stairs for the day a nervous bride descends them. Shape a window to frame a view of a specific tree on a perfect day in autumn. Make a balcony for the worst dictator in the world to dress down his subjects. Create a seating area for a group of surly teenagers to complain about their parents and teachers.

Designing in idea-specific ways will not limit the ways in which people use and understand your buildings; it will give them license to bring their own interpretations and idiosyncrasies to them.

I see this concept manifest all the time when dealing with clients who haven’t thoroughly thought out their target audience. They say, “we want our product to be desirable and used by everyone.” This sort of approach just isn’t realistic or appropriate. This point also suggests another tenet I’ve found to be true. More people will come up with more creative solutions when they are given more constraints. Most people don’t do well in circumstances where they have complete freedom. People like constraints, and constraints help focus activities and force creative solutions.

(18) Any design decision should be justified in a least two ways.

A stair’s primary purpose is to permit passage from floor to floor, but if well designed it can also serve as a congregation space, a sculptural element, and an orienting device in the building interior. A window can frame a view, bathe a wall with light, orient a building user to the exterior landscape, express the thickness of the wall, describe the structural system of the building, and acknowledge an axial relationship with another architectural element. A row of columns can provide structural support, define a circulation pathway, act as a “wayfinding” device, and serve as a rhythmic counterpoint to more irregularly placed architectural elements.

Opportunities for multiple design justifications can be found in almost every element of a building. The more justifications you can find or create for any element, the better.

When I first read this point, I was in complete and utter disagreement. However, when I went back and read through the book a second time and reflected more deeply on several of the points, I found that I indeed agreed with this point vehemently, but hadn’t realized it. There are two ways to look at the point of dual justification. First, designs can be created with an intended dual purpose, much like the bookshelf staircase. On the other hand, every object has inherent capabilities that people will take advantage of. Its a manifestation of the unintended consequences of design, which is also captured in the book thoughtless acts. As designers its not only our job to create objects, interfaces, interactions, or experiences with dual uses, but also to explore all of the ways that people could potentially use the things we create.

More to come in the next installment of this series…

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