Notes From An Armchair Architect...
My love of architecture started at a young age, although I couldn't have articulated why. It wasn’t until much later in life that I was able to draw a straight line between how buildings made me feel and excellent design. What I did understand was that certain places had a physical and emotional impact on me.
It started at around age seven when my mom would insist on dragging me to the fabric store. I hated going there and had no idea why—I simply knew that I did not want to be in that space. It was located in the basement of a building with no windows. Fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling with wires, the walls were probably once white but over time, had become a dingy off-white, and the linoleum floors were so beat up there were chunks of tiles missing. I would tell my mom that the store made me sad. She didn’t understand. To her, it was a room filled with beautiful fabric but to me, no amount of colorful textiles could make up for the space that housed them.
It was always like that. I avoided anyplace that had this kind of impact on me and still do. What I’ve always needed are pristine spaces filled with natural light, lovely furnishings, art, and pops of soothing colors.
Fortunately, my father was an architect, so I didn’t have to leave home at seven!
I finally understood the correlation between space and mood when, in my early twenties, I interviewed for my first professional job at an architecture firm in Los Angeles. The firm was BTA (Bobrow/Thomas & Associates) and from the moment I walked into the office, I felt like I was home. I knew I had to work there with every fiber of my being.
BTA’s location in an older building gave the interior spaces more character and charm. Everything was white and gray (it was the eighties after all) and each conference room had a chalkboard wall that was typically donned with drawings, sketches, and mathematical equations. The open office plan was way before it’s time and everything smelled like pencils and blueprints. I loved it.
I worked in BTA’s business office but because I was studying English and journalism, the marketing team would often call me in to help with proposal writing. Little did I know then that this would pull me in the direction of a lifelong career.
Today, I can say that I’ve been the marketing director for several firms and helped one of them open a satellite office in Portland, growing the office from two to 22 people. Flash forward to 2023 and I find myself helping AEC firms in many different states reach their marketing goals and increase their proposal success rate. My new business, Deconstructed Workshops, co-owned with graphic design guru Claire Schatzle, was born from our shared desire to help more people navigate a proposal process that allows them to be successful while still breathing. And if you’ve ever worked on a proposal, you know how important it is to breathe. The workshop is equal parts writing, graphics, strategy, and innovation that we believe carves out a clear path to a happier life.
But for me, these roads still lead to my love of architecture. In addition to proposal writing, I get to write about genius loci and CLT, embodied carbon in historic buildings, the importance of flexible and adaptable learning spaces, how transit creates community, and more. I also get to write about all the beautiful and notable projects the AEC profession designs and builds.
My father the architect died at the young age of 47 from melanoma. I had just started my job at BTA and was able to see how pleased he was that I would carry the torch, even if in a different way. Sometimes when I write, I think it’s just his words flowing through me.
I hope you’ll stay tuned for more thoughts and musings from an armchair architect/proposal workshop leader. My aim is simple—to share what I know. I hope it resonates.
