All architecture begins with a concept.

If you’re struggling to find one, curious

as to what one is, or simply wondering how

architects begin their projects, this short

course will walk you through the process I

use and some of the techniques I rely on to

develop architectural concepts, all illustrated

with one of my residential projects.

Very simply stated, a concept is an idea that

underpins your project.

To an architect, the concept is what distinguishes

a work of architecture from a mere building.

At its core, architecture seeks to solve problems.

It’s the questions we ask that will determine

which problems our architecture will solve.

Developing a concept allows us to frame the

questions we’re asking and it guides the

design process.

Choosing a starting point for your design

can be intimidating and an early stumbling

block for designers of any skill level.

But it doesn’t have to be.

Your concept shouldn’t be rigorous; the

more malleable it is, the better.

In fact, most architecture can’t be reduced

to one singular concept diagram; rather it’s

informed by many concepts working in concert.

There may be organizational concepts, material

concepts, functional, or structural or formal

concepts.

So, don’t fret if your design idea isn’t

reducible to a single elegant black stroke

on a page.

It’s best to illustrate concept development

with a real project so as I said, we’ll

use our Squid Cove Residence as an example.

Before we can develop the concept, we have
to first understand the practical constraints.

Now, my design process begins only after gathering

and assessing all the given parameters for

a project.

Now, this primarily consists of three types

of information.

There’s information derived from the site

things like: local climate, the prevailing

winds, the solar aspect, vegetation, neighboring

structures, the site’s history, and any

unique liabilities or opportunities.

The site of course also comes along with legal

frameworks for development, which describe

where and what we can and can’t build.

The second type of information we’ll gather

is from the client.

Now, every client has a set of cultural beliefs

and preconceptions, preferences and agendas.

Of course, we’ll want to determine their

budget and understand the personality traits

and organizational politics which might also

shape the design.

The client and the building type together

determine what architects call - the program

- which is essentially a detailed accounting

of all the spaces the building will contain.

And the third type of information I gather

is related to the building typology.

Is it a museum, a home or a school?

To learn about a building typology we often

conduct an analysis of notable or relevant

historical precedents.

We want to know the essential problems these

type of structures grapple with.

Understanding the history of the archetype

allows us to approach a problem from a fresh

perspective.
Now, all of this necessary information it’s
something that we collect for every single

project.

This inventory can also serve as the progenitor

for the design concept – our seed idea.

And, rather than shunting creativity, these

constraints often incite the creative process.

As with a good film, the setting, the characters,

the cinematography, and the plot all conspire

to make it what it is.

It’s the experience you’ll recall rather

than the concept per se.

Sure, the concept sets the film in motion

and it’s the starting point for all that

follows.

But this concept – the one or two-line description

– can’t possible capture the richness

and depth of the finished film or in our case

the architecture.

Yet without it, the work is unfulfilling and

so it should be clear that the concept is

necessary for all of our work as architects.

Once we’ve gathered this information, it’s

now time to begin processing it into a useable

form.

Of the three, the site inventory is the most

readily translated to a physical diagram.

For our Squid Cove project you can see I’ve

transcribed the zoning, the deed, and setback

information onto the site plan.

This diagram sets the real boundaries of our

project.

We have property line setbacks, a setback

from the ocean, and an unstable bluff we need

to avoid and this is shown on the topographical

plan.

There are a number of trees on the site and

one significant Ash that we’re trying to

avoid, but for the most part the trees and

vegetation here were just unremarkable.

Next I add to this the solar path, the prevailing

wind direction, and this amazing view.

There are site utilities and an existing logging

road and because there’s no public sewer

here, I worked with a soils scientist to define

the best spot for the septic field and consequently

the well which needs to be a certain distance

away from the field.

Now, this can often be a stringent limitation

to the buildable area because there’s so

much granite locally, so it’s important

for me to define it early.

And, the one last piece of information, is

that there’s a neighboring house here that

we want to avoid looking at.

Now, I like to diagram these constraints on

the site plan before I visit the site so the

information becomes a part of how I see things

when I’m there.

Visiting the site of course will leave a different

impression and I find mapping things out first

allows me to overlay the two in a way that

selects for opportunity.

Now that we have this diagram we can start

to see the buildable site.

Still quite a bit of territory.

This video won’t cover the programming phase,

we’ll save that for another one, but prior

to this I’ve worked with the client to define

the size of the home and budget which are

– as you’d imagine – strongly interrelated.

There’s no sense in beginning any design

work until the client is aware of the rough

cost of the work which at this stage is directly

tied to their wish list of spaces and the
sizes of those spaces.

So, having completed the programming exercise

I can now diagram the relative size of the

home and overlay that on the site when the

time is right.

Because I work solely on residential projects

I’m quite familiar with the building type

so I’m not doing an exhaustive precedent

study for each project.

But knowing the typology allows me to reinvent

and rethink things when I see an opportunity.

If I were working on a building typology I

was unfamiliar with, I’d research building

precedents and use that information as an

underlying framework for developing the program

and possibly as a launching point for my concept.

Now you should look at the work of Bjarke

Ingells as a contemporary example of someone

who uses typological reinvention to inspire

his building concepts.

So, we’ve visited the site and we know what

and where we can and can’t build.

We know something about the building type

and we know our client has budgeted for the

design we’re about to undertake.

What’s next?

Well, this is where the building concepts

or parti comes in.

Parti is sort of architect lingo for, “concept”

– and it actually comes from the French

prendre parti which means, “to make a decision”

It’s the organizing principle we use as

a starting point for the design.

Now, I’ve come up with a few of the most

common ones I rely on to spark ideas, but

there are an infinite number available to

you.

We’ll start with the simplest, and it’s

one we’ve already touched on in our initial

information gathering phase.

Buildings interpret their surroundings and

reformulate them in a way that can be experienced.

The site demands specificity from our architecture.

It must react to it.

So, using the site to inspire the building

concept is as genuine a place to start as

any.

We can react to: views, light, topography,

historical features, vegetation, and other

structures.

When a building concept references the site

in a rural setting, it establishes a dialogue

between natural and man-made; in urban and

suburban contexts, a boundary between what

you can design and control and what you can’t.

Your design inspiration can editorialize this

relationship: will it oppose nature or the

local surroundings or complement it?

Will it disregard it, or adapt to it?

Will it impose order on it or will it assume

a different order?

For our project, the site was an important

progenitor of the design concept.

It was important for me to work with the landform

and exploit the natural slope.

Of equal importance were the view to the water

and the solar aspect each of which became

strong organizing forces that shaped our early

building massings.

I imagined one arriving to the site and being

presented with the view beyond, rather than

the building.

So, I knew I wanted to site the home to the

south splayed out along the hillside rather
than on the crest of the hill.

The sloping landform presented an opportunity

to mimic that with the form of the house and

I began thinking of ways to zone the organization

of the building to complement the site features

too.

I used the view to the cove as well as the

solar aspect to select the most desirable

site for the home.

Now, often competing site factors will force

you choose one site force as more dominant.

For example, the prevailing wind direction

is in direct competition with the idea I had

about arrival to the site.

If we were to position a taller mass to the

northwest to act as a natural wind screen

it would impact our afternoon sun and prevent

an arrival sequence which presented the view

rather than the building.

Not all problems will be solved by assuming

a singular attitude toward the site.

What was most important was the idea that

the building conform to the topography.

Unfolding along the hillside allowed the building

to create a series of terraced planes and

transition spaces mediating inside and out.

We could then use these to establish intermediate

zones between architecture and nature.

Using the hard-edged site retaining walls

and decks would give us the chance to highlight

and contrast the soft edges of the site.

Equally, I could have positioned the home

at the top of the site and used it as a light

monitor or viewing tower or I could’ve completely

excavated the terraces, placed a green roof

on top and concealed the home.

And, although these were ideas I explored

along the way, they were abandoned as my client

helped shape the decision making.

The site helps to shape other dimensions of

our concept too, things like the material

and structural concept and we’ll get into

those in future videos.

But, you’ll begin to see and it’s worth

noting how the concept reverberates throughout

the design.

You’ll always be referring back to it as

you iterate and look to it when you’re stuck

on a design problem.

The site will obviously inform the organization

of public and private spaces too.

How one arrives and moves from the public

gathering spaces to the more private sleeping

spaces.

It shapes where we locate windows which would

be toward the views and to capture the sun.

And, the site informs the formal concepts

too.

This site concept is like a marriage.

The architecture shapes the site and the site

shapes our architecture.

So, this is not enough you say?

Well, I agree, there’s more meaning to extract

and more layers to the concept we should explore.

So, inspiration number two: the client concept.

Every work of architecture requires a client.

For residential architecture, the client is

a major force driving the design concept.

Not only from an aesthetic point of view,

but also programmatically.

The client determines the program and which

spaces are most important in that program.

And, they obviously provide the financial

framework for realizing the architecture.
Successful architecture artfully addresses
a client’s needs.

Now, client-driven concepts can take the form

of narratives, or lifestyle peculiarities

or they can be purely functional.

For example, a request for all living to be

on one level, or an open plan.

For this project, our client expressed a desire

for the house to act as a gathering place

for friends and family but also that it accommodate

seclusion and the need for retreat from others.

Because we live in a seasonal community, the

summer here often sees a massive influx of

guests and visitors.

So, those who live here year-round are accustomed

to welcoming house guests in the summer months.

This inspired the division of spaces into

separate living and sleeping pods, each afforded

a unique aspect or view to the site.

Now, as we begin to organize the spaces of

the client-driven program a simple way to

develop a concept is to divide public and

private spaces and then take a position on

their relationship.

Now, perhaps you overlap them.

Perhaps they’re in separate pods or nested.

Perhaps their relationship is inverted.

From here begin to diagram your concept and

iterate.

For our project, we continued on by layering

our client’s interest in the outdoors and

a near constant schedule of expeditions to

faraway places.

This lifestyle helped fuel a story about what

the house could be, how it might function

and, when they were home and traveling and

where we might position the spaces in relation
to each other.

And this, brings us to inspiration number

three.

The Narrative Concept.

Inspired by an attitude about how our client

might live in the home and welcome guests,

and how they plan to move in and out of the

spaces, and mobilize gear – this all suggested

to me the imagery of an encampment by the

sea.

I envisaged the home as a place for family

and friends to gather and sort of ‘camp

together’.

Uniting in the evenings around the campfire

to share a meal, but retreating to private

quarters for sleeping.

The village concept provided for both social

gathering and private reflection as needed.

Expedition travel allowed the house to expand

and contract with the seasons and with ebbs

and flows of visitors.

And, this story, as we’ll see begins to

inform layers of meaning as we develop the

floor plans and exterior elevations later.

Nested pods provided for escape within the

larger space of the home and a variety of

scales mimicked the site beyond and my client’s

need for respite and seclusion even when surrounded

by friends.

Each one of these ideas exists in various

forms in the earliest, early design concepts

presented.

Now I created this cover sheet to describe

the thinking behind the plans, but it may

not be important for you to convey this to

your client.
It’s sort of up to you.

I think it adds a level of interest and a

discussion point, but not every client will

see the value.

It’s most important that it exists for you

as you develop the design.

They will of course care most about what the

design looks and feels like and so at this

stage I present very loose sketched plans

to give an idea of how each concept deploys

the program on the site and within the home.

This process usually incites reactions both

positive and negative and you’ll use it

to pivot moving forward.

So, as you can see, it’s not a singular

concept.

There’s a narrative that ties it together

and suggests a means for organizing the spaces

on the site.

There’s the site topography and natural

features that suggest where we want to locate

the home and there’s our client’s life

that tells us how the elements of their story

can inform the architecture.

So, I’d struggle to produce the diagram

of this concept as gracefully as Maya Lin,

but it’s still a concept.

And, it’s informed every move I’ve made

since.

Sure, I revisited it and refined it.

I’ve tweaked things based on client feedback

and tastes.

But it’s still there and I continue to layer

on meaning as I develop the design.

When there’s a question I know how to answer

it because the conceptual framework is there

to help.
Now, there are as I said, infinite other ways
to develop concepts, here’s a few more if

you’re still stuck.

Materials.

Architects like Peter Zumthor, Herzog and

DeMeuron, and Peter Bohlin often use the raw

materials of building as the starting point

for their work.

Every line we trace on the page represents

real physical materials coming together to

make our architecture.

Instead of rendering our work in pure white

as we so often do, why not seek meaning from

the materials we’ll use to construct it.

Local stone, or wood, aggregates, tradespeople,

or special techniques; these can all be called

into service of the architecture and the spaces

can be enriched with meaning.

Materials have very specific properties by

which they’re bound.

Steel conducts, it’s strong in bending,

it can be welded.

Stone is heavy and thick and imposing.

Glass is light and ethereal.

Bricks are the size of the human hand and

lend texture, and scale and warmth to a space.

Ask yourself how these materials or combinations

of them tell a more interesting story.

For my work, I’ll always use the underlying

narrative concept to reinforce the material

concept.

Here we’re using dark stained local cedar

shingles as the siding for our project.

The spruce, pine and fir forest here is a

variegated dark green.

The shingles and the wood grain replicate

this subtle tonal difference and the green
helps the building to recede into the site.

Board-formed concrete references the wood

graining and the process of making.

Its patterns will host mosses and lichens

as the building weathers.

Is this a separate concept?

No, it all feeds into an attitude about a

place.

Next, a structural concept.

The expedition and the camping narrative that

we’ve been talking about helped us develop

the structural strategy too.

The gable form is a tent, glazed walls let

ample light in and we’re employing lightweight

cabling elements reminiscent of tent poles

or cordage to tie the walls together.

And of course, there’s nautical references

here that are pretty strong as well.

Now you could also, write a manifesto.

What do you believe this architecture’s

role is in society?

What are the larger questions it’s proposing?

Check out Dieter Rams for a famous manifesto.

Having researched your building typology,

how can you disrupt long-held beliefs or organizational

layouts?

See BIG’s power plant for example.

Perhaps you could explore a formal concept.

The idea of architecture parlance.

The bird’s nest.

The chicken that sells chicken.

And of course, there’s always the process

of making.

Charles and Ray Eames used their journey from

ignorance to knowledge as the motivation for
many of their designs.

How can you bring a fresh perspective to the

problem you’re facing?

Is there something inherent in the process

of building that reveals something novel?

The design process isn’t singular, or linear.

We don’t create a concept and stick to it

in the face of changing information.

Use what you’re learning to pivot, that’s

perfectly acceptable, sensible even.

You’ll present ideas to your client – or

professor - and they’ll react.

Design is a dialogue and the concept ensures

you have something to talk about.

Return to your design and tweak it using the

new information you’ve gathered.

Each time we learn a little more about our

client, about the design and new opportunities

arise.

Now, in the next part of this short course,

we’ll look at how we begin turning the concept

into architecture.

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This is how I know what I’m doing is helping

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Thanks for watching.

Cheers!