Blueprint for an Architect

When I began this writing venture I wondered how long it would take before I ran thin on topics.  I now know the answer.  It’s going to be a long year!  I was lamenting my intellectually twisted knickers over dinner when my daughter, a first year architecture student, threw down the gauntlet.  “Write about architecture,” she challenged, then flashed me a grin accompanied by a distinctly evil twinkle in her eye.

At the risk of inviting all manner of criticism and mocking, I am taking up this challenge.  But in classic “be careful what you wish for” mode, I hope my little darling will indulge me as I ponder what I love most about architecture—the fact that she has chosen it as her life’s pursuit. 

Suffice it to say my daughter was an enigma from an early age.  In preschool, when most children scribble in the corner of a page, she would cover large canvases with brightly-colored undulating figures.   In the early grades, one of her teachers pulled me aside to show me her work.  He had been giving the children various writing prompts each day.  Each kid was producing a half page or so that in the allotted 45 minutes.  "This is what your daughter wrote," he said.  She had covered four or five pages with overflowing, phonetically spelled thoughts.  

I was taken aback.  To us, she had always been a pathologically shy and quiet child; our nickname for her was “Il Muto” [gratuitous Phantom of the Opera reference].    At home, the girl would not speak if her life depended on it.  We pleaded with her to “use your words.”   On more than one occasion we discussed whether an intervention was warranted, fearing some latent developmental difficulty.

Confounded by the inherent contradictions in this quiet yet expressive young lady, we came to realize that we were witnessing a “differently wired” intellect threading her way through the world.  It turns out that she wasn't detached or communicationally challenged.  She missed nothing; she was busy soaking up everything around her.  NOT being the center of attention was the optimal vantage point from which she chose to study and absorb.   As she rose from grade to grade, teachers would try to push her into their "mold".  She would spring back out. 


With a non-conforming, mock tolerance for the school system, she fixed her aim at a higher standard.  She is an avid reader, consuming at least three books to each one assigned at school.  She has always kept a journal, writing prolifically and regularly.  She loves to sketch things, most of which she visualizes in her head rather than from seated observation.  She is hungry to travel, so much so I fear she will settle somewhere far away.  As she matured, her talent to synthesize literature, philosophy, history with her own experiences proved remarkable.  She emerged into young adulthood a pretty interesting kid with a distinct (though quiet) voice and brilliant insight.  And she did this without calling much attention to herself in the classroom, completely secure in who she is and what she is doing, without needing validation from anyone else.  Rigid public school "frameworks"  and peer pressure be damned.

At the tender age of fourteen she whispered, “buildings speak to me.” From that day forward she was all about architecture.  I started to notice the increasing three-dimensionality of her high school art projects.  When she mentioned her friends, it was to describe their homes.  She began researching architectural history in parallel with her school subjects (World History, Latin, Physics) and our family travels (Greece, Turkey, France).  She would take note of every archway, column, window, and sightline of buildings she visited.  She chose an elective in Psychology in order to better understand what humans need from their environments.  She became militant about recycling as if she had been appointed curator of the remaining Earth’s surface. 

Because architecture was the answer to all that was bubbling up inside our daughter, it has awakened my appreciation for those who change the Earth's landscape, designing the spaces where we live, love, produce, learn, inspire, and heal.  I no longer travel from place to place; I stop constantly to look around me on the journey.  During the past few years we have visited almost all the standing Frank Lloyd Wright houses, compared the glass houses of Philip Johnson and Mies van der Rohe, stood in Walter Gropius' bedroom, and strolled across a Calatrava footbridge.  I feel a great responsibility to educate myself in order to have the capacity to appreciate her journey in a meaningful way.  I also feel a debt to my daughter for enriching my life with her interests rather than copying mine.

Having no knowledge of this field or any family relations who are architects, my husband and I have little to offer her except financial backing, lots of opportunities for travel, unconditional support, and did I mention financial backing???  While I imagine it would be flattering if one of our children was inspired to follow in our professional footsteps, I am more impressed that my daughter has solved the simultaneous equations of her life’s experience and found a perfect fit all her own.   She is now, and will remain, a true original.  When we visited her during her first semester of college, after she stayed up all night to construct something amazing out of corrugated cardboard, she was more radiant and beautiful than ever.  "Archi-torture" programs are daunting to most students, but she seems to be taking it all in stride.   “I was born to do this, Mom,” she said. 

Brava, little darling!

Coming tomorrow:  Welcome to my Analog Age