Six of us sat around a conference table, eyes locked on a projection screen.
We’d been summoned by the local chapter of the American Institute of Architects to look through contest entries and select homes worthy of this year’s Architects’ Choice Award. As far as I was concerned, the AIA might as well have asked: “Would you like to spend a day eating chocolate truffles and sipping champagne?”
Heck yeah!
Ogling other people’s homes appeals to the voyeur in me, which, to be honest, is just about all of me. As photos and plans of residential projects flashed before us, we, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, jotted notes and tried to keep our thoughts to ourselves, which for me is impossible.
“I love that,” I blurt.
“You’re kidding?” another juror says.
“It’s structural exhibitionism,” says another.
Oh.
Our jury comprised two licensed architects, two editors from upscale shelter magazines, the director from the Colorado Division of Housing, and yours truly, whom the AIA billed as “author, columnist and architecture enthusiast,” which about sums up my architectural credentials. Plus the fact that I’ve built three homes from the ground up and made more mistakes than a dropout with a rap sheet.
To compensate for my lightweight status, I sat very straight and mustered all my professionalism, which wouldn’t fill a peanut shell.
The two architects spoke with academic authority on the merits or nonmerits of a project’s lines, proportions, site-appropriateness and choice of materials. The editors keenly observed the project’s photogenic appeal and how well the interiors and exteriors integrated. The housing director made inquiries about costs and sustainability.
Me, I looked at every home and asked: Would I like to live there?
As we struggled to narrow the field, the comments grew feisty:
“Aren’t we trying to be more sustainable?”
“Is that the ‘before’ or the ‘after’?”
“This architect has been looking at too many magazines.”
“The scale responds more to the trees than the humans.”
“It looks like a skin disease.”
“Is that a kennel or a staircase?”
Mixed with the criticism, however, were moments of pure appreciation. These started as spells of absorbed silence, until someone made a sound like he smelled warm cake. One urban remodel made us ask to see the before photo five times because we could not believe it was the same house. Another modern home was initially so unassuming it almost slipped by us, until we studied it. Then its simplicity, elegance and restraint won us over. One rustic home looked as if it had erupted right out of a hillside and fit the site so well we thought the architect was Mother Nature herself. In other words, I experienced spaces in which I could live happily ever after.
After the first run-through of the 24 projects, I had starred six I liked. I went with my gut, which you do when you have nothing else to go on.
Six hours later, when all was over but the shouting, three of my initial six were among our five winners.
I felt something like redemption. Not because the other professionals had validated my instincts, but because I realized that although architecture is often cloaked in mystery, good architecture is clear and accessible: The better it is, the more regular people — like me — get it.
I also realized that, even in today’s economy, people are still working with architects not to get awards, but to get their living spaces exactly right. They’re working at it for one simple reason: It’s worth it.
Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo), and of “House of Havoc,” due out this February. Contact her through .
The art of winning
For any residential architects out there, or those of you working with one, here, are the design qualities that get rewarded and those that don’t.
Humble is good. This year, ostentation universally got a thumbs down.
Ego in check. The more a project was about the client and not about the architect, the better it fared.
True to its roots. Location, location, location. This matters in architecture, too. How well a project fit the site counted. A lot. Homes should not look as if they came from a faraway land. For instance, if a Rocky Mountain home looked as if it were transplanted from the tropics, no matter how amazing, it was voted off the island.
Check your mirrors. Some projects looked spectacular — from three sides. But the back looked as if either money or imagination ran out, or both. Winners look great all around.
Don’t smite your neighbors. No home should make the homes around it look bad. Blend, people.
Restraint trumps excess. Don’t make something crooked when it can be straight. Don’t use seven materials when you can use three. Don’t import fakery when you can be authentic.
It’s not about the money. Lower-budget projects got just as much consideration as lavish homes, and often got lauded for how much they did with so little.
Don’t try to explain it. Every entry came with a written narrative. But the work often did a better job of speaking for itself.
