Architecture has never been a one-man show. Today’s architect heads a planning team composed of drafters, engineers, and consultants, all necessary to complete a modern, complex project. But sometimes, given unique opportunities, the design team includes some unorthodox teammates, as I have fortunately experienced during my more than 24 years as an architect.
To begin with, the master’s degree in theater arts I received in 2001 from the renowned Arts Faculty of Tel Aviv University has benefited me throughout my career. By understanding the dynamics and aesthetics of a story, I can better envision a building or an interior, not just as static continuous spaces, but as spaces that tell dynamic stories.
In 2004, I worked as the main drafter on a design team for an international landscaping contest for the refurbishing of the “Hiriya,” a huge former refuse mountain in Israel’s center, east of Tel Aviv. My boss, the primary architect, involved his friend, a glass sculptor, to help envision the landscaping design with her freeform artistry and ideas. At first, I was confused. How can an artist with no landscaping experience contribute? In the end, her input on form and fluidity, fueled by her passion for molding colored glass, greatly influenced the overall colorful and creative presentation. The competition was rightly won by Latz+Partner, but we were still proud of our job. Of the approximately 25 international entries, our small team received third-place recognition and was featured in a museum exhibition, conference, and book.
Years later, I worked in an architectural office that specialized in hotels, including those in the tourist south city of Eilat, Israel. For its design of the Queen of Sheba Hotel there, the design process began with a storyteller who, together with an entrepreneur and architect, described the movie-like “adventure” that guests were going to experience at the hotel: from what they would see, smell, and hear at the lobby and reception, to the hotel’s amenities, restaurants, and suites. This “architectural story,” just a few pages long, became the DNA on which the entire design team based the hotel’s style, decorations, fixtures, surfaces, and accessories.
Another important teammate I encountered while working on dozens of urban renewal projects, either with the design teams or as the head of construction permits in a municipality, was the sociologist. The coordination needed between multiple—sometimes conflicting—residents can be longand complex. During one project, residents faced the decision of a lifetime: giving up their homes with the hope of several years later receiving a brand-new apartment. To coordinate this psychological and logistic endeavor required a delicate, interpersonal connection with residents. A sociologist contributed to the design process by mediating between the residents’ needs and the architectural restrictions. In the end, the residents approved the project only after their multiple demands for air, views, and unit size were satisfied by the design team, in coordination with the entrepreneur and the municipality.
I believe architecture is more than the fixed exteriors displayed in brochures, but the defining of an experience, a human emotional journey that begins way before arriving. I believe every finish, every material and, most importantly, their wise combination, delivers a very specific feeling.
Today, this multidisciplinary experience still drives my designs. I begin projects by “fantasizing” with the client about his or her vision, way before considering other, more rigid considerations, such as budget and regulations. After this idealization, the client’s specific story can be fused with the more workaday, physical, and bureaucratic restrictions. This flowing process, this “architectural concept,” has guided me since the beginning of my career. I dream of the opportunity to spread this abridging mantra to everyone who values and cherishes the artistry of architecture, too constrained, even driven, by excessive regulation and market trends.
