Life of an Architect

At some point in every career, the path ahead stops looking like the one behind it. The work that once defined you begins to shift, not because it lost value but because you start to see yourself differently within it. For architects, that realization can be complicated because we build our identities around what we design, who we work with, and the roles we play in the process. Change has a way of testing all of that, forcing us to ask what parts of our career still fit and which ones need to evolve. Today, Andrew and I are talking about what happens when you change course, the challenges and rewards of starting fresh in familiar territory, and how to recognize when it is time to head in a new direction. Welcome to Episode 188: Changing Paths.  [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Change is something both Andrew and I have lived through, and in this episode we wanted to take a closer look at what that really means. Each of us has reached a point where our careers needed to evolve, and the decisions that came next reshaped how we think about design, leadership, and purpose. This conversation isn’t about following a formula or finding the perfect next step; it’s about the reality of letting go of what feels safe and learning from what comes after. We talk about the adjustments, the uncertainty, and the satisfaction that can come from realizing you are still capable of growing no matter how long you have been doing this. Our hope is that anyone listening who might be facing a similar decision can find something here that helps them recognize that change, when you allow it, can be the most constructive part of your career. When the Path Starts to Bend (Recognition) jump to 3:21 Bob's Perspective: There comes a point in most careers where the work you are doing and the person you are becoming start to drift just far enough apart that you can feel the gap forming. For me, it wasn’t about dissatisfaction or failure, but about balance. I began to recognize that not every professional decision I made was about me anymore. I had a family to provide for, and whether I liked it or not, that reality had to shape how I evaluated opportunity. The irony, of course, is that architecture doesn’t exactly offer financial guarantees no matter where you go, but I started to realize that what I was looking for had begun to shift. I wasn’t just thinking about projects anymore; I was thinking about impact. Much of that realization came through the writing I was doing for the blog. Storytelling forced me to look at the profession differently and to think about how architects explain what they do and why it matters. Over time, I began to see that my influence didn’t have to come solely from drawing lines. I still think of myself as an above-average designer, but I started to value other skills that had developed along the way: communication, teaching, and helping people think differently about architecture. Those areas began to feel like ways to make a broader difference, and that awareness started to change what I wanted from my career. When the opportunity came to move from a small, residentially focused practice to a larger commercial firm, the attraction wasn’t about leaving one thing behind for another; it was about growth. I wanted to see what would happen if I stepped into an environment that operated at a completely different scale. More people meant more challenges, more opportunities for leadership, and more potential to help shape culture. Change has never scared me. I have always seen it as a chance to redefine myself and fix a few flaws that I know I have. Every new chapter is an opportunity to rethink how I communicate, to see how others experience me, and to test whether I am living up to the expectations I set for myself. The conversation that started the transition wasn’t strategic, and it wasn’t planned. I asked Andrew Bennett, one of the owners at BOKA Powell,

Architects explore the stories behind objects of design that remind us why design matters — revealing creativity, purpose, and meaning in everyday things.

Every rule was made to be broken, except in architecture, where even the act of breaking rules seems to come with its own set of rules. Modernism promised liberation from the past, but it quickly wrote its own commandments into the story—flat roofs, open plans, white walls, and exposed structure became the expected vocabulary. A movement that arrived as rebellion soon carried the weight of convention, and those conventions still shape how we design and judge buildings today. This week, Andrew and I are taking a closer look at the commandments of Modernism—where they came from, why they matter, and what they mean for the way we practice now. Welcome to Episode 186: The Rules of Modernism.  [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  If you are interested in seeing just a few of the houses I mentioned on the podcast, you can see them listed on the Realtor.com (here and here are just a few of them) The Roots of Modernism jump to 6:30 Modern architecture did not emerge in a vacuum. It was a response to seismic shifts in society, technology, and culture that took place in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Industrialization had transformed the way people lived, cities were expanding at unprecedented rates, and new materials like steel, reinforced concrete, and large sheets of plate glass were suddenly available to architects. These inventions were not simply practical tools, they were symbols of a new age. Architects began to ask why they should keep designing buildings that looked like medieval castles or classical temples when the world around them had become faster, lighter, and more efficient. The very idea of progress seemed incompatible with copying the past, and so Modernism positioned itself as the architecture of a new century - an architecture that would represent industry, rationality, and optimism for the future. This rejection of the past was more than an aesthetic preference, it was a manifesto. Ornament was not just unnecessary, it was cast as dishonest and wasteful. Historical references were treated as evidence of cultural stagnation. In their place, Modernists put forward ideas of functional clarity, open planning, and structural honesty. The promise was bold: architecture would no longer serve as a backdrop for tradition, it would become a tool for shaping a better society. Housing would be healthier, cities would be more efficient, and design would finally align with the realities of modern life. It was not only about how buildings looked, but about how they could transform the way people lived … and that is why the roots of Modernism matter to this conversation. The movement began as a radical break from the architectural traditions that came before it, yet it also established a new set of values that quickly hardened into conventions of their own. Before we can explore the “rules” of Modern design, we need to understand the cultural and historical conditions that gave rise to them. Only then can we appreciate the irony that a movement born from revolution became one of the most codified design languages of the twentieth century. By the time Modernism had established itself internationally, the movement that began as rebellion had already created its own set of unwritten rules. Architects may not have published them in a single manifesto, but they were understood all the same. You could look at a building and know whether it was ‘Modern’ or not, based on a handful of essential qualities. These rules were never carved into stone, yet they became the code that defined the movement for decades. To understand Modern design, and to really grasp how it operates, we need to lay out those unspoken commandments - the ideas that quietly dictate what belongs inside the Modernist tradition and what falls outside of it. The Ten Commandments of Modernism jump to 13:42 Modernism never published a rulebook,

It’s one thing to be busy and another to be productive – and most of us are far better at the first than the second. The reality is that architects live in a world of deadlines, meetings, and endless to-do lists, but somehow there’s always time to check Instagram, rearrange your desktop icons, or spend twenty minutes deciding which playlist will help you focus before actually doing the work. Procrastination has a way of disguising itself as “just five more minutes” until suddenly tomorrow is looking a lot worse than today. This week, Andrew and I are taking a closer look at procrastination – why it happens, how it disrupts even the best-laid plans, and what you can actually do to keep it from derailing your work. Welcome to Episode 185: Procrastination: Today’s Problems Tomorrow.  [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  The Struggle is Real jump to 4:09 Procrastination is not about a lack of discipline or effort, it is more like a default response that shows up once the to-do list starts outpacing the hours in the day. Think of it as that urge to tidy up your inbox, check social media one more time, or find anything else to do besides the one task that really matters. It is less about bad intent and more about a short-term survival instinct. I would not describe myself as someone who avoids work, but I can admit there are times when I put things off until there is no other choice, and I suspect that puts me in the same company as most people reading this. There is research that connects personality traits with procrastination, and some of it feels uncomfortably familiar when applied to architects. People who score high in conscientiousness usually do well in professional settings, but that same trait often brings with it a strong tendency toward perfectionism. When you are wired to want things done at a very high level, it can be easy to delay getting started until you believe conditions are “just right.” The irony is that the higher the standard, the harder it becomes to begin, and procrastination finds a perfect opening. Other personality studies using Myers-Briggs categories found that INTP (Introversion, Intuition, Thinking, Perception) types were among the highest procrastinators. Those individuals tend to be analytical, independent, and comfortable living in their heads, which can be useful qualities for architects, but those same strengths can also create a pattern of putting things off. When you are wired to keep analyzing and refining your ideas, starting the work can feel less urgent than thinking about it just a little longer. There is another angle to consider, which is that procrastination can actually act as a coping mechanism. Psychologists describe it as a form of avoidance, but not always in a destructive sense. Putting something off can create short-term relief, and that breathing space can sometimes be what allows a person to function in the moment. The problem is that the stress does not go away, it simply accumulates and grows heavier with time. For some people, that mounting pressure even becomes the fuel they rely on to finally act, which is why procrastination is not only common but oddly effective for those who claim they “work best under pressure.” Architects are Busy jump to 16:03 a look at my weekly calendar for the time we recorded today's podcast episode Procrastination is not always about laziness, and more often than not it shows up as the result of overload. Nobody in this profession plans to avoid their responsibilities, but when the day fills up with meetings, deadlines, and emails, something is going to slip. That delay might look small in the moment, like moving one task to tomorrow’s list, but it still qualifies as procrastination. It is not intentional avoidance, it is triage, and triage always comes with consequences. Architects are especially vulnerable to this because so much of our time is spent in coordination mode,...

The Architect as Brand explores how personal reputation and firm identity collide, coexist, and shape modern architectural practice.

Architectural career tips meet life lessons in a conversation about balancing professional success with being a genuinely good person. This is Tips for being an Architect and a Good Person.

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How leadership behavior shapes culture, trust, and growth - why people mirror what leaders model, and how influence is built through everyday actions.

The phrase “it’s just a small project” has probably caused more confusion, blown more budgets, and strained more relationships than we’d care to admit. It sounds harmless, maybe even charming - the architectural equivalent of a quick favor. But that phrase carries weight. Because behind every modest addition, bathroom remodel, or garage conversion is the same professional rigor we apply to larger work … just without the benefit of scale. Whether it’s fees that don’t shrink as expected, construction costs that defy logic, or clients caught off guard by the number of decisions they’ll need to make, these projects demand clarity, patience, and experience. So today, we’re talking about what architects need to communicate, anticipate, and prepare for when the work is small but the expectations are not. Welcome to Episode 180: Size Doesn't Matter.  [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Architectural Fees Don't Scale jump to 3:50 One of the most misunderstood aspects of residential design is how architectural fees are determined. Many clients assume that a smaller project should result in a proportionally smaller fee. But architectural fees don’t scale like that. A 400-square-foot addition still requires site measurements, code research, zoning analysis, (possibly) consultant coordination, and detailed documentation. Whether the project is 400 or 4,000 square feet, many of the baseline efforts remain the same. You still need floor plans, reflected ceiling plans, building sections, wall sections, electrical layouts, and coordination with structural engineers or energy consultants. And while the documentation may be shorter, the care and precision required to make a small project work can sometimes take even more time. For example, a kitchen renovation might involve more detail and coordination per square foot than an entire house. The AIA has published guidance on fee structures in the "Architect's Handbook of Professional Practice," (this is a book that I highly recommend) which notes that project complexity and risk should be used to help determine compensation, not just size. As architects, we must be clear in helping clients understand that fees represent time and expertise, not floor area. If you charge a fixed fee or percentage of construction cost, be sure to explain what that covers and what it doesn’t. Helping clients see the value in pre-design services, permitting assistance, and construction observation can prevent misunderstandings later. Saving the best for last, just because it’s a small project doesn’t mean the liability is small. Professional risk remains, which means the time spent to get it right matters, regardless of scale. the post that I referenced in our discussions was this one ...*the penalty of drawing too much -  Excessive or Essential? The Entire Timeline jump to 9:43 Clients often think the timeline for a small project will be quick. And to be fair, the design phase might be shorter than that of a ground-up custom home. But that’s only one piece of the puzzle. Permitting can take anywhere from a few weeks to several months, depending on the jurisdiction. In some cities, small additions are routed through full plan review just like new homes. And once the project is permitted, the construction timeline is subject to the availability of contractors and materials, site conditions, and even weather. It’s our responsibility to help clients understand the full arc of the process. According to a 2023 survey from Houzz, the average design-to-completion timeline for a kitchen remodel is around 8-12 months, even when the construction itself only takes 2-3. Why the gap? Because there are lags built into the process. Design review boards, HOA approvals, contractor bidding windows, and permit review times all add up. When you add in backorders on appliances or materials, things can shift quickly. That’s why it’s so important to map out the process...

Architectural influencers on social media can bring real insight to the table while others blur the line between experience and performance, you should evaluate what you’re seeing, questioning why it was shared, and learn how to tell the difference between helpful guidance and a well-lit shortcut.

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There’s a moment in almost every architect’s career where the idea first surfaces—quietly at first, then louder over time: What if I started my own firm? Maybe it’s the itch for creative freedom, maybe it’s frustration with someone else’s decisions, or maybe it’s just the instinct to build something of your own. I’ve had this conversation more times than I can count—at desks, on job sites, over drinks after a long day. It’s a topic that stirs up excitement, fear, pride, and possibility all at once. Today, we’re stepping into that mindset—the leap, the hustle, the vision behind doing your own thing. Welcome to Episode 177: Hanging Out Your Shingle [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  We have a special guest to assist us with discussing today’s topic. Joining us is Daniel Istrate, AIA — a licensed architect and co-founder of Kontexture, a Phoenix-based architecture firm with a growing international presence. Originally from Romania, Daniel moved to the United States as a teenager and went on to earn his architecture degree from the University of Arizona, with studies that also included Italian, Literature, and a minor in studio arts. He began his career at a small local firm, later navigating the challenges of the 2008 recession while gaining experience at a large national practice. But like many of us, he felt the pull toward something more personal, and in 2013, he made the leap, leaving a stable job to start his firm with longtime friend and collaborator Jorge Toscano. Since then, Kontexture has grown to include two offices - one in Phoenix and another in Hermosillo, Mexico - and in 2018, they expanded into construction by launching a design-build company. Daniel is joining us today to discuss betting on yourself, building with intention, and creating a firm from the ground up - all themes at the heart of today’s topic. Let’s start at the moment just before you decided to launch your own firm - what pushed that decision from a long-time idea into something real?  The first time I played with the idea of opening a firm with another colleague from the first firm I was working at was in 2007 right before the recession.  We quickly realized that was not good timing so we decided against it.  Looking back that was a really good thing, I was only two years out of school and still very green.  After weathering the recession at Smithgroup and getting licensed while there, I started taking on some side work.  I got an offer from another firm to move there as the principal was thinking of retiring soon and was looking to have someone take over.  After being there for a year, on a Friday night at 1:00 am while still at the office I decided that this is the time.  I already had a steady stream of clients and projects that I was doing on the side (moonlighting)  Binkowitz Residence - Kontexture You didn’t start Kontexture alone - can you talk a bit about that partnership and how you and Jorge divided up the early responsibilities?  I started Kontexture with Jorge whom I met while we were both in first year at the U of A.  We always talked about starting a firm together, even while in college.  Early on we were each responsible for our own projects, from early meetings with clients, to design, construction documents, Construction Administration, etc.  But we have identified early what each of our strengths were and we worked off of that.  Jorge is a stronger designer and I am more technical.   Marigold Dispensary - Kontexture When you first opened your doors - how did you find work? Did you chase the kind of projects you wanted, or take what came?  We started the firm with about 20 small projects that we were both working on, on the side.  Once we started the phone kept ringing and we kept getting work based on recommendations from engineers we were collaborating with, contractors and most important, the clients we had were recommending us.

We’ve all stared at the calendar, convinced there’s a hidden twenty-fifth hour—plenty of room to redline that section, nudge the model, and squeeze in just one more detail. “We’ll sort it during bidding,” we promise ourselves, and the optimism buys another day of breathing room. Architects thrive on this kind of self-talk; some versions are harmless, others lurk like change-order booby traps. Today Andrew and I are spotlighting the greatest hits—the stories we repeat, the messes they create, and the habits that can stop the cycle before it snaps back on us. Grab your favorite red Sharpie ... Welcome to Episode EP 176: Little White Lies. [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  I've Got Plenty of Time jump to 4:24 This may be the single most prevalent lie we tell ourselves the most during our career. We always are telling ourselves we have the time. Time to finish. Time to do just one more thing. Time to get enough sleep. Time to make it work. Time to meet that deadline and have all the details complete. I’m not saying all architects do this, but there is a large number. I think it’s our underlying optimism in our abilities and skills. Maybe that’s ego, but whatever the reason, it happens. A lot. We'll Deal with it During Construction jump to 8:13 Another beauty. This is one we tell ourselves as well quite often. We have a looming deadline and we need, no we MUST, publish a set of drawings and meet the deadline. We know we have left some things to deal with later. Sometimes, in the good cases, we make it back to those elements and finish our task in the manner we intended. Often, we deal with the element, but not always in the same manner and care we might have during the design phase. Then, there are those times when we just don’t ever make it back to that and the contractors solve those issues for us. Whether that is how we wanted to not is a different story. I'll Just do a Little Work Tonight jump to 11:38 Some architects are most assuredly better at this than others. The best of us never even tempt the fates and do work “at night.” Others can actually do just a task or two and then close up shop and move one. Then there is that group that sits down for a few small tasks and doesn’t realize until 4 hours later that they are still working. We knew we should have not sat down at the desk at all. But once it starts, sometimes it’s just too tough to stop. I'll Do a Little Conceptual Work to Show Them jump to 15:56 This one costs us the most. Not just as an individual, but as a profession. Don’t get me wrong, I have said this one to myself many times. If I just can show them my ideas, surely that will convince them to give me the project. My ideas are so outstanding, how can they not! But more often than not, they like the ideas, don’t hire me for the project, and probably take some of my ideas to the team they did hire. Again, this one hurts. But it also hurts all of the profession for us to give away any work at any time. It devalues our skills and knowledge to those who hire us. I’m not saying it’s easy to avoid that temptation, but for the benefit of all, we most definitely should. You Can Never Draw Too Much jump to 19:53 This one has manifested itself more and more in our digitally produced documentation world. The easier the software has become to operate and generate drawings, the more drawings we seem to WANT to make. Here the fallacy of just adding more drawings is a lie that gives us comfort that we have done enough and that we have proven our value. More sheets. Larger CD sets. On and on. I think is a way that we choose to compensate for being undervalued in general. It’s like we are the kindergartener that is showing everyone all the drawings they can make with a blue crayon. I can throw out this judgement because I too have fallen victim to this seemingly harmless lie. At Least We Got this One Detail in the Project jump to 27:53 ...

Nobody wants to be the person who asks a question that causes everyone else within ear shot to turn and look at them. We spend the early part of our careers trying to prove we deserve a seat at the table, hoping we sound competent, sharp, with just the right amount of confidence. But architecture isn’t a field you get good at by pretending. It’s a craft you grow into by doing, which ultimately leads to asking questions early, often, and sometimes awkwardly. We are going to embrace that process. We’re digging into how architects keep learning after school, what a real internship should feel like, and how long it really takes to get good at what we do. Welcome to EP 175: Stupid Questions. [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Today, Andrew and I are going to be talking about why becoming an architect takes a long time, that this process involves doing a lot of different things, and how "stupid" questions play an important role in the education process of everyone in this profession. Just to get this out of the way, I am admitting here and now that I ask stupid questions all the time – maybe not as often as I used to, but they’re still there. The Myth of Knowing Everything jump to 3:51 Architecture school is a beginning, not an ending — a place where students are exposed to broad ideas, creative problem-solving, and the early language of the built environment. But the idea that graduation signals readiness for professional practice is a myth. Schools tend to focus heavily on conceptual design, theoretical frameworks, and academic critiques, with far less emphasis on the realities of technical documentation, consultant coordination, regulatory compliance, or contract administration. According to the National Architectural Accrediting Board (NAAB), while accredited programs must address professional competencies, mastery of technical skills is not expected upon graduation. The gap between academia and practice isn’t a flaw — it’s an acknowledgment that architecture is too vast to teach all at once. True expertise comes from layering education with experience, not from assuming a degree makes you "complete." Understanding this myth matters because it reframes early career experiences from imposter syndrome into opportunity. If graduates expect to know everything, they’ll view asking questions as a failure; if they expect to still be learning, questions become the most important tool they have. According to a survey by the American Institute of Architects (AIA) Emerging Professionals Committee, 78% of young architects reported feeling “unprepared” for the technical and managerial aspects of practice upon graduation. Yet, firms consistently report that curiosity, not technical perfection, predicts long-term success. Accepting that you won’t know it all — and that you're not supposed to — builds the humility and resilience needed to become a great architect. The myth is persistent, but the truth is far more empowering. It turns out that the real measure of growth isn’t how many answers you can recite, but the kinds of questions you’re willing to ask. "Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers." — Voltaire This quote emphasizes the point that questions are more important than knowing all the answers — a perfect fit for reframing graduation not as mastery, but as the start of real learning. It aligns with breaking the myth that you're supposed to "know it all" after school. Learning on the Job: Interns jump to 13:46 Internships are often misunderstood by both students and firms. They aren’t simply about cheap labor or task delegation; they are an essential stage in transforming theoretical knowledge into applied skill. A well-structured internship fosters structured exposure to different phases of work: schematic design, construction documentation, consultant coordination, site visits, and client meetings. In 2021,

There are bits of advice that one collects over a 30 year career and when given the chance, some are worth passing on to those who care to listen. While this could have been a lessons from my father sort of episode, we decided to keep things focused on those of us who either are, or want to be, architects, and we are going to pass along a handful of things that we wish we had known at the start of our careers. Welcome to Episode 174: Dear Future Architects. [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Partial Results from an Instagram Poll asking the question what "Future Architects" should know ... click to enlarge Today we are going to be talking about those interesting considerations and bits of advice that have been shared with us during our career. While they might not be applicable to everyone, I feel pretty confident that all the items we will be discussing today are of value. This will be the first “Dear Future Architects post as there are too many items to work through in a single episode. These are in the order than they came to mind and I didn’t want to presume a specific priority to them and set them in order of value. I also want to throw in there that a few of these are pretty hot and I fully expect people to think I am full of s%!t … but I am here to bring the pain. 01 Dear Future Architects ... jump to 04:55 Choose your firm based on the skills you want to build. Residential firms often hone your soft skills—communication, empathy, and negotiation—while commercial firms emphasize technical depth, systems coordination, and documentation. Source: https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/big-or-small-whats-the-right-sized-firm-for-you/ In reflecting on my career, I’ve come to realize that the size of the firm you work for can shape the skills you develop, especially early in your career. If you’re just starting out, a small firm offers the opportunity to develop soft skills like communication, empathy, and negotiation because you're often thrown into situations where you're the point of contact with clients, contractors, and team members. You're more involved with every aspect of a project, and that experience helps you build your confidence. On the other hand, in larger firms, you get more exposure to complex projects that require technical proficiency, systems management, and understanding of legalities. While big firms can make you a better architect in that sense, they may not provide as many opportunities to hone those soft skills until you reach a higher level in the company. Personally, I’ve found that small firms, while sometimes lacking in technical depth, gave me the chance to sharpen my communication skills and gain a more intimate understanding of how a project works from start to finish. This has served me well as I’ve moved up in my career. But the reality is, each environment teaches you something different, and depending on what you want to learn, one might be a better fit for you than the other. 02 Dear Future Architects ... jump to 11:58 Start small if you plan to go solo. Working in a small firm exposes you to every aspect of running a practice—from contracts and client meetings to redlines and billing—which is invaluable if owning your own firm is in your future. Source:  https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/architectural-job-starter-kit/ Looking at the question of whether to start in a small firm if you plan to eventually go solo, I believe it’s the best way to prepare. In a small firm, you’re exposed to everything: you write proposals, manage clients, and get a feel for what it really takes to run an office. When I switched from a small firm to a larger one, I found that my skills didn’t always align with what was expected. In a larger firm, tasks like proposal writing are handled by specialists, not generalists like I had been in a small firm. That experience made me realize that if you want to open your own office one day,

Mentorship turns confusion into clarity, builds confidence, and connects you with people who help you grow faster than you ever could alone.

Most people have no idea what I do for a living, and to be honest, most of how I spend my time doesn’t look like the things I did when I was in college. Have things gone terribly wrong for me? What about Andrew? I’m pretty confident that his role as an architect is different than how he imagined it to be … and I think that this is all okay. It should be an interesting conversation, and possibly a mandatory exercise, to find out how architects actually spend their time. Chances are better than likely that the day to day experience for every single architect is unique with only a small bit of overlap … and that is what we are here to talk about. Welcome to EP 172: A Week in the Life of an Architect [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Today we are going to be talking about how we spend our time. I have answered this question as “A Day in the Life of an Architect” exactly 4 time previously on this website. https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/an-actual-day-in-the-life/ The  very first "day in the life" sort of post that I ever wrote back on March 10, 2010. At this point, the website was barely 2 months old and I was with a firm that specialized in residential work. Since this was the first time I decided to talk about "a day in the life" I literally went minute by minute through my entire day, starting at 5:50am. https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/a-day-in-the-life-of-an-architect/ Fast forward over 4 years to December 1, 2014 ... by this point I had changed jobs and was now working at a company where I had my name on the door, which suggests that I had some control over how I worked and spent my time. In this post, rather than going minute through minute along the tasks of my day, I broke into big chunks based on tasks ... one of which was making a margarita. https://www.lifeofanarchitect.com/ep-064-a-day-in-the-life-of-an-architect/ Time for some more changes - on to job number 3 since I started the website. This particular day was the first to be immortalized into a podcast episode  that went live on December 6, 2020. Andrew was struggling with Covid at the time of this recording so I had frequent guest and neighbor/architect Lane Acree on to discuss our particular days as it related to how we go about our business in the capacity of Principals at our firm. In an attempt to keep things somewhat fresh, beyond having another person's perspective being added to the mix, we simply broke down our days into early morning, morning, lunch afternoon, and evening. In each of these episodes, I typically choose a pretty interesting day  – mostly because I wanted to look cool and that my job was exciting. I also think it is interesting to go back through these “day in the life” snapshots to see how my typical day changed as I changed firms and as I changed responsibilities. So rather than simply looking at a singular day that  was selected because it was a “cool” day, we are going to change it up and actually look at a week of time so that we can avoid the possibility of selecting a singularly fabulous day. Monday jump to 7:58 a look at my work calendar for the week we are discussing today Bob I can’t stand Monday … it is easily the worst day of the week. All the meetings associated with preparing everyone for the work to be done that week, as well as all the in-house obligations – meaning, I don’t actually get a lot of work done on Mondays but yet my day is always full and I start the week off behind every single time. While the "Staffing Meeting" isn't the first thing I do on a Monday morning, it is typically the first meeting I have. Since I have Project Manager responsibilities in the office, that means I have some dominion over who is working where and on what. This meeting is generally about making sure that people are all keep busy, but not overly so. Almost immediately upon the completion of this first meeting, I have a Marketing and Digital strategy meeting.

Being an Architect is difficult and there is plenty of evidence that this is not a vocation that is suitable for everyone. The coursework you will take in college is all over the place – from the drawing and design classes to physics and upper level math requirements, you seem to have to be both an artist and a scientist to go down this path. This begs the question, Just how smart do you need to be in order to become an architect? Welcome to Episode 171: The IQ of an Architect [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  Today Andrew and I are going to be talking about intelligence quotient and architects. This was a topic that I tackled with the 3rd blog post I ever wrote (titled IQ's and Jobs), and for years, it was a foundational blog post in the development of my website because so many people read that article. I just checked and it currently has 92 comments, and almost amusingly, there are some angry people out there and they are vocalizing their discontent. When I was younger, probably between the ages of 8 and 12, I bet I took 20 of them. My mother was a school teacher and all of her schoolteacher friends Would use me and my sisters as practice subjects as they were pursuing diagnostician licenses. I am going to confess right now that this is a nerdy episode because there is a lot of data that needs to be presented and digested in order for us to have a fruitful conversation. The History jump to 8:21 The origins of the IQ test can be traced back to early-20th-century France. In 1904, the French Ministry of Education commissioned psychologist Alfred Binet and his colleague Théodore Simon to develop a method to identify children who required special educational assistance. The result was the first practical intelligence test, known as the Binet-Simon Scale (published in 1905). The French government needed a systematic way to distinguish students whose learning challenges were not being met in the regular classroom. The aim was to provide extra support, not to label them pejoratively or permanently, but to help tailor education to their needs. Binet and Simon introduced the concept of a “mental age.” The test included a series of tasks grouped by age level (e.g., tasks that an average 7-year-old could handle, an average 8-year-old could handle, etc.). A child’s performance on age-relevant tasks indicated their “mental age”—a reflection of cognitive performance relative to age-based norms. Memory: Recalling digits or sentences Problem-Solving: Completing puzzles or analogies Verbal Skills: Defining words, understanding analogies Attention & Comprehension: Following instructions, basic reasoning The tasks grew progressively more complex. If a child could perform the tasks that most 8-year-olds could but not those of a typical 9-year-old, the test would assign that child a “mental age” of 8. Although Binet did not explicitly define IQ as a single number, the later concept of IQ was directly inspired by the idea of mental age. Psychologist William Stern (1912) introduced the term Intelligenzquotient (Intelligence Quotient) as a ratio. Not long after Binet and Simon released their scale, Lewis Terman at Stanford University adapted and expanded their test. The resulting Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scales (first published in 1916) formalized the IQ concept for the English-speaking world and continued to refine “mental age” benchmarks. Terman’s goal was to make Binet’s test more suitable for the American population by adjusting questions, norms, and scoring based on data from U.S. schoolchildren. He also introduced the now-familiar numeric scale with an average (mean) of 100 and a set standard deviation—initially, each standard deviation was 15–16 IQ points. Terman’s (Circa 1916) Stanford-Binet Categories Although the exact cutoff points and names varied slightly in different editions,

There is a moment of realization that occurs when you get your first real job in an architectural office that maybe architecture school and what is now going to be expected from you are a little out of phase with one another. Are you prepared, do the differences matter, and what happens when you come to the conclusion that your job and almost everything you have experienced so far based on your time in college, seem so different. Have you made a terrible mistake, or are things about to get amazing? Welcome to Episode 170: Studio versus Real Life [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  today we are going to be talking about the differences between the studio experience of architecture students versus the realities of an actual job. There are a handful of emails that I routinely receive and in almost all cases, I would write a blog post with my normal response so that rather than rewriting my answer to the same question over and over again, I could simply point them towards the blog post on the matter. 01 The Pace is Different jump to 3:49 photo I’ve noticed that once you transition from school to professional practice, the pace of architectural work changes drastically. In school, you might have an entire semester to refine every last detail, but in a firm, every hour is assigned a dollar value (that might be an overly dramatic way of saying it but not entirely inaccurate). As your experience (and billing rate) grows, so do expectations for quicker, more efficient problem-solving. It can be just as cost-effective to pay a higher-rate veteran for one hour as it is to hire a newcomer for five. That dynamic pushes me to rely on my familiarity with codes, circulation, and design principles without having to look everything up or explore countless dead-ends. At professional architectural offices, this emphasis on speed is front and center. We frequently prepare proof-of-concept studies before contracts are even signed, compressing weeks of design into just a day or two. Recently, another colleague and I modeled a 160+ key hotel with retail, a parking garage, and amenities—complete with a commercial kitchen—in roughly a day and a half. Though not entirely final, it was accurate enough to move forward with confidence. This accelerated process can be stressful, but it also highlights how crucial experience is in making fast, informed decisions Speed and stress 02 Project Typology jump to 9:24 photo I’ve been thinking about project typology—the kinds of buildings we design in school versus the kinds we actually end up designing in the real world. In my own college experience, I worked on three or four museum projects, but I’ve never once designed a museum in my professional career. Instead, everyday architecture often involves strip centers and anchor stores, which are obviously less flashy. Yet someone has to design them, and that’s where many of us find ourselves in practice. It doesn’t mean there’s no pride in such work; in fact, the hotel project I’m involved with now is shaping up beautifully, with plenty of room for creativity and thoughtful design moves. Still, there’s an undeniable difference between the conceptual exercises we tackle in school and the real-world projects we take on later. My theory is that academic assignments are intentionally fantastical because professors want to teach you how to think rather than lean on preconceived notions. In school, you might end up designing a space for traveling poets and butterfly researchers—something so unusual that you can’t rely on a cookie-cutter approach. My colleague suggests that projects like museums and interpretive centers also have simpler programs, which keeps students from being overwhelmed by logistics and allows them to remain creative. Whatever the reasoning, I’ve come to realize that those outlandish academic projects serve a valuable purpose: they stretch your imagination and push you to develop...

The act of creating architecture is a fairly unique process and the manner in which you learn how to think both creatively and technically is a skill that requires certain training and nurturing to develop. When young and eager architects in training head off to college, this development will take place in the architecture studio. This is a topic that – shockingly - we haven’t pointedly discussed on the podcast before and today, that is going to change. Welcome to Episode 169: Architecture Studio [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player]  I’m excited to dive into a conversation that centers on the architecture studio—a pivotal experience in any architecture student’s life. I get a lot of questions about how studio differs from traditional classes like structures or history, and how it transitions into the real world of practice. In the upcoming discussion, Andrew and I will explore how studio life shapes a student’s creative mindset, sets the tone for collaboration (and sometimes competition), and can either inspire a lifelong passion or push someone to walk away entirely. Drawing on my own experiences and numerous inquiries I’ve received over the years, I want to shine a light on the essential lessons and challenges that make studio the heart of an architect’s education—and, ultimately, guide how we thrive once we leave the academic environment. All-Nighters jump to 04:26 When we started discussing the concept of all-nighters in architecture school, I was reminded of just how universal that experience is - or at least was when we were in college. Whether you’re pulling your very first late night as a new architecture student, or reminiscing about it decades later, the all-nighter stands out as singularly stupid rite of passage—one that I believe can (and should) be avoided. Not because I don’t value hard work, but because I don’t think anyone produces their best ideas at 3:00 am, most likely just a continuing marathon session in the studio that started hours previously. Time management, especially for younger students, is often a serious challenge. We’re learning how to generate designs, how to collaborate, and how to gauge how long things will take. That last part trips up almost everyone (but to be fair, this is something that takes YEARS to get a grip on...) Still, part of the appeal—and the chaos—of studio is that it’s a highly social place. I remember plenty of late nights where conversation drifted from design critiques to philosophical debates about architecture and back again. Those interactions were frequently more illuminating than formal lectures, because there’s an energy in a room full of tired, passionate, slightly delirious architecture students. Unfortunately, that reality today is different. Technology has enabled students to work wherever they want, which is more convenient, but it also fragments the collaborative spirit that was once a hallmark of studio culture. While I have never been on the all-nighter bandwagon, I feel like there is something missing when students pack up their tools (or in most cases, fold their computers closed) and retreat to their dorms and apartments to complete their assignments Last Minute Changes jump to 13:05 I strongly believe that last-minute changes often create “negative work”- which is effort that doesn’t actually help you finish your project. It’s tempting to keep designing if that’s your passion, but in school (and in the professional world), you need to set realistic deadlines and work backward to decide how much time to devote to each phase. If you don’t leave enough time for making models or preparing drawings, you’ll end up with amazing ideas that you can’t effectively present. I’ve seen students come to critiques with almost nothing pinned up, talking about what they intended to do, and as someone sitting there looking at your finger pointing at some scribbles telling me what you were going to do,