It was a phrase that I heard often while I was growing up. My dad, a WWII Navy veteran, used it particularly around situations involving food or nutrition.

“Down the hatch”.

Whether it was stewed tomatoes (ick), or the gross chartreuse-colored protein in liquid form that my mother kept in the fridge - on the right side where we kids would be certain to see it as we opened the door- for us to take weekly (no, no thank you), or the headcheese aka souse meat that my step-grandmother Miss Luanna made for us at Christmas (oh, heck no), there was no shortage of questionable culinary items.

Don’t get me wrong, I adored Miss Luanna. But as I excitedly opened the brown bag lunch packed by Dad, on the first day back to middle school from Christmas Break, and then biting with surprise into the über-peppery headcheese-with-mayonnaise-on-white-bread sandwich, it is a memory that sticks stubbornly to this day. Even now as I write this, my stomach is roiling at the thought of the lunch, and what must have been (to my table mates) the horrified expression on my face as my dad’s voice echoed in my head-

This looks infinitely better than the stuff Miss Luanna made. For starters, hers was square. And did I mention that it was grey?

“Down the hatch”.

One of the consolations of the Great Headcheese Sandwich Lunch Incident is that I think I know how biting into a slab of (mushy) concrete tastes. It certainly looked suspiciously like concrete. At least Miss Luanna’s did because her’s was grey. No lie. Or maybe terrazzo is more apropos in this case.

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So, having spent the greater part of my career making architectural representations by hand, I was also compelled to learn how to use a well-known stronghold of computer software for architects. If for only slightly less long than I have been employing analog means. AutoCAD. Anyone familiar with it should remember those days when the slow performance of AutoCAD defined its very essence- before computers were super savvy at the underlying arithmetic operations that power the foundation of the drafting program. It is a different story nowadays. Think Harder Better Stronger Faster.

There was- and I use that word purposefully- one command that caused us CAD jockeys ,aka intern architects, to pull out our hair, to scream at the top of our lungs late at night (usually the night before a deadline), and to consume way too much coffee to combat the effects of this aforementioned command as it crashed the computer while we called it forth like a king calling his subjects to heel.

HATCH. Or, BHATCH (boundary hatch).

Oh, boy. Oh, joy. NO other command could be so simultaneously seductive and maddening. Just like her.

Back then, HATCH could take a drawing-a section or detail in particular- to graphic heights nirvana that would make Frank D.K. Ching proud. When it worked. But when it didn’t- look out. It could mean hours of redoing work. In hindsight, it was probably not such a terrible thing since the second, or third, or twentieth outcome was usually better than the original drawing. In hindsight, I realized that I was learning to be

“Down (with) the hatch”

Maybe it is the experience that comes with age, or (more than likely) the advances made in both computer technology and software efficiency (with Autodesk continually updating AutoCAD), but I am no longer afraid of using that command- even with my long, torrid and tumultuous relationship with it. With BIM (Building Information Modeling), hatches are built in. So, I don’t even have to really think about it. Though it’s a great resultant, I kinda miss the adversity. Just a little. But it makes using HATCH/BHATCH command- when I do use AutoCAD- totally worth it, since I don’t have to hand draw endless pieces of aggegrate for headcheese- I mean, concrete- details, or the never-ending 45° angle lines that symbolized earth cut through in section, or that dirty duo of wall details- aluminum and brick. Which is fantastic. Whoo hoo!

So yeah, you can say that I’m totally ‘down’.





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Entry title is courtesy of (the wonderfully unique) Komeda

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We were driving west on I-70. Well, Dad was driving and I was quivering with anticipation as our green and white sport van with my mom’s handmade gold and green brocade curtains (hey, it was the très chic in the ‘80s) traversed the highway. My mom was attending a work conference in Kansas City. We were tagging along, and we were stopping in St. Louis just to see it.

Ah, St. Louis. I could NOT get there fast enough. Mile after mile of concrete stretched before my not-fully developed brain. I wanted to get there NOW to see it. In person. An architectural masterpiece by a Finnish master builder that I admired from the glossy publications that showcased his work. My (then) gawkily stick-straight hind end was a fixture between the stacks in section 720 at our local library, absorbing all that I could about Eero Saarinen and the large iconic catenary structure.

THE GATEWAY ARCH.

photo by Intricate Explorer

Now, it is worth noting that these were the pre-internet (for the average consumer) days. What I thought I knew came mainly from photos in books or magazines. It may become clear why I am making this qualification should you choose to keep reading.

Indiana. Illinois. Closing in on Missouri. My face getting a glimpse of the sun glinting off the top and side of the south leg as I press against the window for even a little connection to the thing of beauty. I am enraptured. I am enthralled. Wait, what is that? Metal? Not stone- limestone- as I originally thought. COOL! It’s the GATEWAY ARCH, Y’ALL!

Seeing it from afar at that moment in my young life solidified my desire, and confirmed my decision to start an ardent love affair with architecture.

Fast forward (mumbling)-plus years later. I am travelling to Arkansas to check on a project. Traffic is horrible on I-64 because the the PGA is in town. The logistics for the tournament were amazing, but I’ll save that for another post, maybe… No matter. It gives me time to see my ‘love’ after 30+- oops!- after (mumbling)-plus years.

It is as gorgeous as I remember. Frankie Valli begins invading my brain. Late afternoon sun striking the south leg of the arch. Whoa, I better watch and be cautious of the car stopped just ahead of me. Also, I should be mindful of the tears that make their way to my eyes as I recall the memories of my childhood. Dare I stop? No, I’m already delayed enough…

The simple formality, even as I experience it dynamically, is not lost on my designer’s mind.

In undergraduate school, we were usually taught that simplicity and complexity in volume|mass|form making were not prioritized one over the other, necessarily. As in many things- architectural and otherwise- this perspective depends on the context. BUT, and it is a big one- I remember more than a few of my professors letting us know that simplicity in a project was usually harder to successfully achieve. Oh boy, how I took that as a challenge. Before realizing that this grand declaration- from people who were smarter than I- was a definite truism, my educational pursuits gravitated to the complex forms associated with the Deconstructivsts. Eric Owen Moss. Morphosis. Zaha Hadid. Daniel Libeskind.

Another love affair began for me with that realization. My constant pursuit to explore the endless architecture potential indelibly embedded within and offered by the simple and humble line.

Now, let me return to that childhood scene…

We stop to visit the arch. I think my parents were tired of me droning on and on about it. It was during that visit that I began to understand the idea of scale. It was a glorious day, and I was deliriously happy. Even with all of the reminiscing about architecture in this post, there remains one memory of our stop that I shall never forget.

My mom asked a passerby to take a family photo of us underneath the arch. When it was time to smile, everyone else said the requisite ‘cheese!’. I, however, said ‘prostitute’ a photo trick I learned- similar to Ralphie Parker- from my mom. It was a moment much to the chagrin and embarrassment of my parents, but guess who had the biggest smile in the photo?

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As if it were just like yesterday, I can remember touching down, while looking through sleep-filled eyes, and feeling as though I was home.  Then, I understood a plethora of conversations- both spoken and through letters- with a really close college friend of mine.  He was home in the shallow, gondola-filled waterways of Venice, Italy.  

During my time at the University of Kentucky, which is where I met said friend, I heard how architecture students (soon to be future architects) should at some point in their lives, plan to go abroad.  Italy- Ciao!  France- Ooh la la!  Spain- Salud!  Greece- Chaire! London- Cheers!  These were just a few of the places that I imagined I would visit when the opportunity arose.

When the time did come, where did I choose?  

aurora borealis.

Reykjavik.  In Iceland.  My very first trip overseas was to the northernmost capital in all of Europe.  What little I had seen of the city sounded great, though it was the few photos I could find of the landscape that intrigued me, and like the hardefisk hanging to dry in the open markets of the town, I was hooked, lined, and sinker-ed.

The black lava sand in sublime contrast to the layers of verdant moss fascinated me.  Fog rising above the water to give the city its descriptive name.  Deep, indescribably blue skies meeting the clearest ice that I’ve ever seen are something to behold.  

2005 was the first time that I visited and there was not much to speak of by way of architecture.  My search for a bit of history on this small island led me to the National Museum of Iceland where I heard (one of many) stories about the residential vernacular in Iceland.  The turf covered wood structures with typical four-pane windows were something out of a Peter Jackson movie.  They were completely beautiful and contextually apropos to me.  And for a time, apparently, they were the usual proud abodes of Icelanders.  

Until some Icelanders took a trip to mainland Europe.  

The Museum guide related the tale of how the Icelanders were so impressed and seduced by the cosmopolitan architectural evident in the major cities that they felt ashamed of their grassy, mossy, earth-built ‘huts’.  Upon returning to Iceland, they did (to me) the unthinkable- they began destroying their houses in an effort to be more European.  

Upon hearing this story, I was struck by how… unnecessary it was.  I wanted to protect these little houses, the home(s) that I have now adopted.  It is fortunate for us that some these turf houses have been preserved.  

Over the past 15 years, I have had the privilege and pleasure to teach Residential Design.  One of the first assignments that I typically give is for the students to define home- in whatever form they can describe.  Samuel Mockbee and the Rural Studio has been the foundation of the course through the years.  Lecturing about the Rural Studio has led me to relive, and even revise my thoughts about home.

What I realize now is that home is not only a noun (and should not be seen only as that) but home is also a verb.  

Let me put on my best Charles Bronson for this post.

Not only is the movie a classic- I mean, who doesn’t love that mustache- but I also love the coffee. Given to me by my sister as a birthday present, along with a super cool t-shirt and Assassin’s Creed Valhalla, Death Wish Coffee sounded to me like it could be a gimmick. But… it is not. Not in the least.

After a large mug of the stuff a few days ago, with my brain buzzing from the elevated levels of caffeine, I was sitting in front of my computer thinking, “could I do my job without modern technology?”. The answer is, “of course”, but it would mean going ‘analog’ to a great extent, or using different tools. When I think further on it, though, I still use said analog tools- pencils, trace and cold press watercolor paper, parallel bar, triangles, and, and, and… though I use them in conjunction with apps and software- AutoCAD, Revit, Rhino, PhotoShop, and, and, and… to which I’ve become accustomed over the years.

There is so much to learn about architectural representation, including production and visualization, that sometimes I think that I do have a death wish for wanting to learn so much about so much in such a short period of time. Will my brain- even with its happy status from the Scandinavia-themed black gold of Valhalla Java- explode from my pursuit of knowledge and training myself continuously on how to use not only old but emerging technology?

Probably not.

Using the proper materials, or, knowing which tools to use more importantly, is essential for me whether I am designing a project, taking a photo, baking a loaf of bread, watching a(n action) movie, or drinking a cup of coffee. (Ha!)

*SPOILER ALERT- Bronson plays an architect in the movie.