Starting the Conversation
Why your opinions about architecture matter more than you know!
I had already been on the roof for about twenty minutes when the sight of a fast-approaching (and incredibly sweaty) lobby concierge froze me in my tracks. For several moments I simply did not know what to do. I had never actually been caught trespassing before, and this time I was definitely trespassing. I replaced my camera’s lens cap and stepped carefully along the raised parapet wall, tip-toeing toward the blazer-adorned CondoCop who now stood waiting with his arms crossed.
He was sweatier up close.
“What is your name and who are you visiting?” His brow furrowed.
I opted for honesty, “Chris Ferguson, and I told the parking attendant I was visiting my professor who lives here.”
He glared at me like a father with an empty liquor cabinet. “You’re a dumb piece of shit, you know that?”
My neck bristled.
“You fall off my building, I get sued. Why the hell are you on the mechanical roof?”
I looked down at the camera hanging from my neck with an impending sense of doom. Realizing the question wasn’t rhetorical, I stammered, “I’m just taking pictures. I’m an architecture student and really love this building, too.”
And as if I had said a magic word, his features softened.
“Architecture, huh?”
Oh here we go.
He continued, “You know, this is a pretty impressive building.”
And it was! The clean lines and modernist proportions made the thing feel downright heroic at such a large scale. The simple façade was rich with texture and patterns that celebrated whimsy without abandoning restraint. Generous top floor balconies framed by arches marched endlessly around all sides, capped by a razor thin stone cornice. The building was handsome, and this guy was proud of it.
For about fifteen minutes we talked about architecture in what quickly became a conversation about Austin’s development since the construction boom of the 1960s. When I realized that James (first name basis) wasn’t going to call the cops on me I relaxed and asked him about his favorite building, which led him to ask me about mine, which happened to be a three way tie. After another fifteen minutes he had forgotten about why he had come up to the roof.
“You know, it’s nice to know some people actually appreciate these buildings, too,” James confided.
“I’m sure you’re not alone.”
He paused, “I can’t be. I think it’s just about starting the conversation.”
* * *
James reminded me of a few things during our brief encounter, the first being the importance of scouting for surveillance cameras if you’re sneaking onto private property in broad daylight. The second, that there’s opportunity in speaking an architectural language. And third, that few people (outside of the architecture community) will talk about architecture unless the topic is brought up by someone else.
That last one keeps me awake at night, so consider the conversation started as we segue from anecdotal vignette into an architectural call to arms! No hyperboles will be spared!
You have to understand my frustration at most of society’s collective indifference to their built environment. I am, admittedly, biased as a student and lover of all things architecture. I understand that not everyone finds door knobs and hand rails sexy, or is moved by elegant egress. I am a romantic, perhaps a victim of Stockholm syndrome after so much time in school. This is true.
But during a decade of incredible development in Austin it is also true that the factors shaping the architectural landscape today will continue to shape our city, lives, and ethos for generations to come. Simply put, we are obligated to have architectural opinions or we face losing our identity. This isn’t a “keep Austin weird” swan-song; this is a reality check that problems like traffic, lack of affordable housing, gentrification, food deserts, lack of museums, incomplete public transportation, and water shortages aren’t going away. These are issues we can and must solve together through architecture, and to withhold your opinion goes much further than forfeiting your vote; it destroys the momentum of conversation.
For things to be accomplished at such a scale they must be discussed, vetted, and mulled over by an informed community. They take time. When the Waller Creek park development is complete it will have been in progress for over a decade. The same is true for the Seaholm Power Plant reuse plan. It was eight years after the Mueller Airport closed in 1999 before the first commercial building was even built in the rezoned area. But seven years after that the new-urbanism of Mueller’s planned community offers a variety of affordable housing options and access to work, retail, and public open space, with much accomplished but more to be done. These are just a few examples of large, far-reaching projects underway in Austin today.
But not all of us are moved by obligation. What about opportunity? Forget the doom and gloom of ignoring architecture at an urban scale, how can you benefit from appreciating it?
That takes us back to lesson number two from my exchange with James. Being able to communicate what excites you about architecture doesn’t just set you up for getting out of trespassing tickets; it gives you a lens from which to reevaluate the world. I think this leads to a richer life, much in the same way that appreciating art, music, or any other media can make you feel more whole. There is a major difference, though; while we cannot always be consuming art or listening to music, we are constantly experiencing architecture in our everyday lives. An appreciation for architecture can extract the poetry from the everyday. Rooftops and parking garages are what do it for me, but feel free to create your own adventure.
Finally, to those who would claim that they are tongue-bitten because they “can’t” speak the language of architecture – what a joke! Contrary to what many may think, having an architectural opinion does not require a license. If there is no little voice in your head at first, then stop thinking so hard and start listening for it – it’s there. It speaks the same language of aesthetics, space, and function: in our case, English.
Be reactionary. If a building is frustrating you, take it personally! Somebody did this to you! You have a right to be indignant when the bathrooms are impossible to find, or there isn’t enough daylight, or if a condominium development replaces your neighborhood park. You have a right to call a building stupid if it isn’t sustainable, or looks ugly, blocks the sun, or doesn’t engage the community. And you owe it to yourself to indulge in the best that architecture has to offer. Pick sides. Indifference is the enemy.
At this rate, if we keep our hands over our ears for much longer we risk losing our chance to preserve the best parts of Austin and its communities - ourselves. Let’s talk to each other about the world in which we live. Let’s appreciate the beauty of an abandoned rooftop, evenly spaced electrical outlets, a community garden, an underpass. The world of architecture has so many stones to overturn because it is just that – the world.
See you out there.
Christopher Ferguson is an architectural designer in Austin, Texas. He has served on the Executive Board of the Austin chapter of the American Institute of Architects and is a graduate of The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture. He is working towards licensure at New York based Clickspring Design, and is the co-founder of DO.GROUP, a start-up focused on empowering designers with the skills to bring products to market.
Originally published in the March issue of 787xx, an Austin-based art and journalism newspaper, as part of an ongoing series of thoughts on local architecture and our built environment.