----------------------------------------------------------------------
This article was sent to you by someone who found it on SF Gate.
The original article can be found on SFGate.com here:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/gate/archive/2002/01/22/carollloyd.DTL
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, January 22, 2002 (SF Gate)
New Tools Of The Home Trade/Computer drafting and the changes it has wrought
by Carol Lloyd, special to SF Gate
"I'm the end of an era that's gone back for five hundred years," my father
the architect likes to say.
He's only 75 years old, but he feels he shares more in common with the
gentlemen who designed the dome of St. Peter's Basilica than the young
techno-Turks armed with iMacs loaded with Archicad.
In the past 20 years many a profession -- from graphic design to
engineering to library sciences -- has undergone a technological sea
change. But architecture resides in a uniquely precarious place
vis-à-vis this shift. The profession has always been partly
artistic, partly technical, and despite many attempts by its visionaries,
it is bound by an essential practicality. Architects design structures
that keep the rain off our heads, and their drawings must teach
contractors and carpenters how to build those buildings accurately.
But ever since the early 1980s, when computer-aided design programs began
luring architects from their hallowed T-squares and meadow-size drafting
boards to design and draft buildings on computer screens, there has been
an ongoing conversation about what is being lost and what is being gained
in the profession. And out of this discussion has come some fascinating
speculation about the way CAD might change the world in which we live.
Those trained in the old school, like my father, believe that the very
interaction of paper, pencil and the mind yields special results.
"I'm an old dinosaur. I've got a pencil in my hand right now," says Bob
Blunk, a partner in the San Mateo firm Blunk DeMattei Associates, which
handles a variety of commercial and residential projects, including the
finishing of Wyntoon, Julia Morgan's Bavarian-style estate for the Hearst
family at the foot of Mount Shasta. "I have to admit this may be old
fashioned, but there is a creative something about working with a pencil
that I can't conceive of, sitting in front of a computer."
At the same time, Blunk says, his eight-person office has become
increasingly paperless. "We only have two drafting boards left," he adds,
laughing. "One is mine, and the other is my partner's."
Thus, while he continues to believe the pencil is a more inherently
creative tool, he now depends on the efficacy of the computer for the more
technical aspects of the job: "I do the conceptual drawings with a pencil.
Then, once the client okays them, I pass them to a drafter to do working
drawings on the computer."
Even among many midcareer architects in their late 30s and early 40s, the
notion of designing a house on the computer is still an anomaly.
"I don't use a computer," says Katalina Szalay, who graduated from the
University of California, Berkeley, with a degree in architecture in 1984.
"I was never taught -- and, besides, I really like drawing."
In some instances, the shift toward using computers after a lifetime of
drawing is difficult. "My analogy is the way farms are run," says
architect Anni Tilt, whose staff at her Albany firm, Arkin Tilt
Architects, have recently begun to train on computers. "Once you decide to
become big agribusiness, you invest in big equipment. Then you're in debt
on the equipment that you need to make more product, and, before you know
it, you're wedded to the technology. As you can see, I'm ambivalent."
Tilt notes that it's not so much the cost of the equipment -- her company
is using iMacs -- that bothers her; it's the idea of moving from what was
essentially a portable, manual trade to a technologically dependent one.
"Now the system has to be up and running," she says. "The electricity has
to be on."
Also, the programs have limitations, resulting in drawings that, as Tilt
puts it, "don't inspire a sense of three-dimensionality." Architects must
spend precious time trying to translate some of their subtle understanding
of "line weight" (architect-speak for the quality that creates a sense of
dimensionality) onto the computer.
Yet for Greg Bergere, 44, an architect with the San Francisco firm Kotas
Pantaleoni Architects, the idea of drafting a project without some
computer input seems absurd. "I still do my initial design work on paper,
but that's just because of my training -- that's how I was wired," he
says. "But from there on, I do everything on computer. I don't have any
desire to ever hand draft another building again."
Evidently, the introduction of computer culture to a community so wedded
to the aesthetics of graphite is bound to create some discomfort. But for
UC Berkeley architecture professor Yehuda Kalay, the computer-based
drafting programs that have caused so much rumination and bellyaching are
a far cry from the technological revolution that is destined to transform
architecture.
"Architecture hasn't changed," says Kalay, whose recent book,
"Computability of Design," describes the brave new world of 21st-century
architecture. "Even now, the CAD programs are just using the computer to
draft, to render. They haven't begun to scratch the surface of how
technology can transform architecture."
Kalay suggests that computers could change architecture in several ways.
Programs, for example, could be developed for "testing" building designs
for various criteria: energy efficiency, cost effectiveness and lighting
-- even aesthetics. "Many of these sorts of programs -- like the
energy-analysis programs -- are already in use for engineers," Kalay says,
"but architects cannot use them, because they don't know how, and it takes
three weeks to enter all the data. That just doesn't make sense for a
small building."
Computer programs could also offer design solutions for issues of crowd
control and building usage. As an example, he cites research showing that
people in nursing homes don't congregate near nurses' stations. Therefore,
if an architect designed a social space nearby, people would be
disinclined to use it. "You could have a program which would look at your
design and make sure you weren't making any such mistakes, and [would]
then suggest ways to improve the design," Kalay says.
"Most solutions are based on old design solutions -- that's why the age of
the architect is so important," adds Kalay. "Good architects are old
architects. Computers could improve on that store of knowledge with lots
of precedents."
Kalay also suggests that the construction process hasn't fully taken
advantage of our technological savvy. "We need to research more
construction automation," he says. "Buildings are still built by hand by
largely unskilled labor. A small house takes a year to build, but every
six minutes, another car come off the assembly line."
Finally, Kalay is keen on development of a "smart house" that would
respond to the inhabitants' needs through technological features. A home
could, for instance, immediately adjust lighting as the afternoon waned,
or could drop shutters when the sun reached a certain angle. Smart
buildings might be built with flexible floor plans that could be easily
altered to accommodate changes. "Most buildings [nowadays] are very dumb,
very inflexible," Kalay says. "If a new owner moves in, the solution is
usually to remodel."
There are many appealing things about Kalay's vision -- perhaps
construction wouldn't be so expensive, which would bring down the price of
housing. Perhaps we could perfect a cost-efficient "green" house.
But it also makes me wonder whether the passion people feel for their
homes now is precisely related to their clunky, inefficient unorthodoxy.
And wielding power over this deeply subjective realm is in part what
architects are resisting when they desist from using a computer.
Will the smart house -- produced on the assembly line, pretested and
adjusted by computers -- change the very nature of our relationship with
our homes? And will it influence the imaginations of those designing them?
On this question, of course, there is predictable disagreement. Many older
architects I spoke to felt their creativity would be limited if they
shackled themselves to a computer. Others suggested that computers could
offer one more technical resource but wouldn't change the fundamental
design process. And Kalay argues that computers, once architecture
realizes its true destiny, will greatly expand the architect's creative
resources.
"Design is a mixture of both the rational and the artistic," he says. "If
we can build a symbiosis where the people could do the art and the
computer could do the rational, it would be better for everyone."
Interestingly, both sides of the debate use architect Frank Geary as a
touchstone. In his process, images of both the maniacal boy in his cellar
and the futuristic techno team spring into vivid relief.
While his innovative buildings, like the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao,
Spain, could not have been built without sophisticated computer design and
drafting programs, Geary himself never uses the computer. His design tools
are paper, pencils, torn cardboard and tape. Perhaps what he best
symbolizes is that computers limit us in designing our world only if we
leave our instincts behind.
Carol Lloyd is currently at work on a book about Bay Area real estate. She
is teaching a new class on buying your first home in the Bay Area in
January. Author of a best-selling career counseling book for creative
people, "Creating a Life Worth Living," she also teaches ongoing workshops
based on the book. For more information, email her at surreal@xxxxxxxxxx.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2002 SF Gate (fair use for the architectural muse)
This article was sent to you by someone who found it on SF Gate.
The original article can be found on SFGate.com here:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/gate/archive/2002/01/22/carollloyd.DTL
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, January 22, 2002 (SF Gate)
New Tools Of The Home Trade/Computer drafting and the changes it has wrought
by Carol Lloyd, special to SF Gate
"I'm the end of an era that's gone back for five hundred years," my father
the architect likes to say.
He's only 75 years old, but he feels he shares more in common with the
gentlemen who designed the dome of St. Peter's Basilica than the young
techno-Turks armed with iMacs loaded with Archicad.
In the past 20 years many a profession -- from graphic design to
engineering to library sciences -- has undergone a technological sea
change. But architecture resides in a uniquely precarious place
vis-à-vis this shift. The profession has always been partly
artistic, partly technical, and despite many attempts by its visionaries,
it is bound by an essential practicality. Architects design structures
that keep the rain off our heads, and their drawings must teach
contractors and carpenters how to build those buildings accurately.
But ever since the early 1980s, when computer-aided design programs began
luring architects from their hallowed T-squares and meadow-size drafting
boards to design and draft buildings on computer screens, there has been
an ongoing conversation about what is being lost and what is being gained
in the profession. And out of this discussion has come some fascinating
speculation about the way CAD might change the world in which we live.
Those trained in the old school, like my father, believe that the very
interaction of paper, pencil and the mind yields special results.
"I'm an old dinosaur. I've got a pencil in my hand right now," says Bob
Blunk, a partner in the San Mateo firm Blunk DeMattei Associates, which
handles a variety of commercial and residential projects, including the
finishing of Wyntoon, Julia Morgan's Bavarian-style estate for the Hearst
family at the foot of Mount Shasta. "I have to admit this may be old
fashioned, but there is a creative something about working with a pencil
that I can't conceive of, sitting in front of a computer."
At the same time, Blunk says, his eight-person office has become
increasingly paperless. "We only have two drafting boards left," he adds,
laughing. "One is mine, and the other is my partner's."
Thus, while he continues to believe the pencil is a more inherently
creative tool, he now depends on the efficacy of the computer for the more
technical aspects of the job: "I do the conceptual drawings with a pencil.
Then, once the client okays them, I pass them to a drafter to do working
drawings on the computer."
Even among many midcareer architects in their late 30s and early 40s, the
notion of designing a house on the computer is still an anomaly.
"I don't use a computer," says Katalina Szalay, who graduated from the
University of California, Berkeley, with a degree in architecture in 1984.
"I was never taught -- and, besides, I really like drawing."
In some instances, the shift toward using computers after a lifetime of
drawing is difficult. "My analogy is the way farms are run," says
architect Anni Tilt, whose staff at her Albany firm, Arkin Tilt
Architects, have recently begun to train on computers. "Once you decide to
become big agribusiness, you invest in big equipment. Then you're in debt
on the equipment that you need to make more product, and, before you know
it, you're wedded to the technology. As you can see, I'm ambivalent."
Tilt notes that it's not so much the cost of the equipment -- her company
is using iMacs -- that bothers her; it's the idea of moving from what was
essentially a portable, manual trade to a technologically dependent one.
"Now the system has to be up and running," she says. "The electricity has
to be on."
Also, the programs have limitations, resulting in drawings that, as Tilt
puts it, "don't inspire a sense of three-dimensionality." Architects must
spend precious time trying to translate some of their subtle understanding
of "line weight" (architect-speak for the quality that creates a sense of
dimensionality) onto the computer.
Yet for Greg Bergere, 44, an architect with the San Francisco firm Kotas
Pantaleoni Architects, the idea of drafting a project without some
computer input seems absurd. "I still do my initial design work on paper,
but that's just because of my training -- that's how I was wired," he
says. "But from there on, I do everything on computer. I don't have any
desire to ever hand draft another building again."
Evidently, the introduction of computer culture to a community so wedded
to the aesthetics of graphite is bound to create some discomfort. But for
UC Berkeley architecture professor Yehuda Kalay, the computer-based
drafting programs that have caused so much rumination and bellyaching are
a far cry from the technological revolution that is destined to transform
architecture.
"Architecture hasn't changed," says Kalay, whose recent book,
"Computability of Design," describes the brave new world of 21st-century
architecture. "Even now, the CAD programs are just using the computer to
draft, to render. They haven't begun to scratch the surface of how
technology can transform architecture."
Kalay suggests that computers could change architecture in several ways.
Programs, for example, could be developed for "testing" building designs
for various criteria: energy efficiency, cost effectiveness and lighting
-- even aesthetics. "Many of these sorts of programs -- like the
energy-analysis programs -- are already in use for engineers," Kalay says,
"but architects cannot use them, because they don't know how, and it takes
three weeks to enter all the data. That just doesn't make sense for a
small building."
Computer programs could also offer design solutions for issues of crowd
control and building usage. As an example, he cites research showing that
people in nursing homes don't congregate near nurses' stations. Therefore,
if an architect designed a social space nearby, people would be
disinclined to use it. "You could have a program which would look at your
design and make sure you weren't making any such mistakes, and [would]
then suggest ways to improve the design," Kalay says.
"Most solutions are based on old design solutions -- that's why the age of
the architect is so important," adds Kalay. "Good architects are old
architects. Computers could improve on that store of knowledge with lots
of precedents."
Kalay also suggests that the construction process hasn't fully taken
advantage of our technological savvy. "We need to research more
construction automation," he says. "Buildings are still built by hand by
largely unskilled labor. A small house takes a year to build, but every
six minutes, another car come off the assembly line."
Finally, Kalay is keen on development of a "smart house" that would
respond to the inhabitants' needs through technological features. A home
could, for instance, immediately adjust lighting as the afternoon waned,
or could drop shutters when the sun reached a certain angle. Smart
buildings might be built with flexible floor plans that could be easily
altered to accommodate changes. "Most buildings [nowadays] are very dumb,
very inflexible," Kalay says. "If a new owner moves in, the solution is
usually to remodel."
There are many appealing things about Kalay's vision -- perhaps
construction wouldn't be so expensive, which would bring down the price of
housing. Perhaps we could perfect a cost-efficient "green" house.
But it also makes me wonder whether the passion people feel for their
homes now is precisely related to their clunky, inefficient unorthodoxy.
And wielding power over this deeply subjective realm is in part what
architects are resisting when they desist from using a computer.
Will the smart house -- produced on the assembly line, pretested and
adjusted by computers -- change the very nature of our relationship with
our homes? And will it influence the imaginations of those designing them?
On this question, of course, there is predictable disagreement. Many older
architects I spoke to felt their creativity would be limited if they
shackled themselves to a computer. Others suggested that computers could
offer one more technical resource but wouldn't change the fundamental
design process. And Kalay argues that computers, once architecture
realizes its true destiny, will greatly expand the architect's creative
resources.
"Design is a mixture of both the rational and the artistic," he says. "If
we can build a symbiosis where the people could do the art and the
computer could do the rational, it would be better for everyone."
Interestingly, both sides of the debate use architect Frank Geary as a
touchstone. In his process, images of both the maniacal boy in his cellar
and the futuristic techno team spring into vivid relief.
While his innovative buildings, like the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao,
Spain, could not have been built without sophisticated computer design and
drafting programs, Geary himself never uses the computer. His design tools
are paper, pencils, torn cardboard and tape. Perhaps what he best
symbolizes is that computers limit us in designing our world only if we
leave our instincts behind.
Carol Lloyd is currently at work on a book about Bay Area real estate. She
is teaching a new class on buying your first home in the Bay Area in
January. Author of a best-selling career counseling book for creative
people, "Creating a Life Worth Living," she also teaches ongoing workshops
based on the book. For more information, email her at surreal@xxxxxxxxxx.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2002 SF Gate (fair use for the architectural muse)