Texas Architect

Commentary

So You Want To Do Houses?

Residential design is not for every architect, says one who has learned from experience

A casual survey of why people become architects will inevitably lead to an early interest in or passion for the design of houses. It is therefore surprising to many people that not all architects design houses. Single-family residential design is something most architects feel they have the skills and knowledge to do effectively, but the reality is few of us makes an ongoing practice of it and even fewer can earn a meaningful living doing it. I know, I try to do it every day and it is tough.

A good friend of mine, Tim, got the opportunity to do what all of us architects (and a lot of nonarchitects) dream of—to design and build his own house. Tim enjoys a successful architectural career working almost exclusively on commercial projects. Using this experience, he used his considerable organizational skills when he designed his house in an orderly manner that reflected everything he’d learned about how to lay out and plan an efficient building. Using the careful assumptions any of us would make when planning for economy and efficiency, he arranged the rooms in a compact mass with a minimum of exterior surface area. He utilized standard sizes of lumber and masonry when laying out and organizing his elevations. He avoided curves, expensive finishes, and difficult details. He stacked his plumbing in a logical manner, minimized lighting fixtures, and oriented the house to minimize solar gain while maximizing opportunities for natural lighting. He reviewed his completed drawings carefully with a responsible contractor with a reputation for fair pricing and an acceptable level of quality and provided cut sheets and data for all of the materials he thought necessary, so as to leave no questions unanswered and to avoid gray areas that could lead to higher or incomplete pricing. A few weeks later, the contractor called him with news that his bid number was ready and a meeting was arranged to review the pricing.

That night Tim (and his wife), for the first time in his professional career, were on the receiving end of a cost estimate that was significantly over budget. He’d been in the room as a consultant many times when a client reacted with shock when a bid or budget price for a building project came in high and he was adept at all the things to say to handle damage control. But in this case it was his own house, his own money! He was the client and the other partner in this particular business deal was his wife who immediately brought into question his professional competence. How could he design a house so far over budget and not know it?

Prior to that day, Tim had always dismissed the residential aspect of my practice as a sort of hobby that allowed me to dally in frivolous things for folks with too much money. He assumed that the houses were an aspect of my practice that we did for “fun” as an artistic outlet for ourselves and they really weren’t a serious part of the business of my office. Like many architects in larger commercial or institutional firms he had never been involved in the design of a single-family home, never budgeted one, nor really thought of them in any context other than the annual issue of Record Houses. But after that day, Tim needed some help and he called me because he thought I could guide him out of his mess.

It is not unusual to be an architect and never design a house. The first one I was involved with happened after 16 years of practice, six as the principal of my own firm. That first house came to me through one of my commercial clients who, with his wife, decided to do significant additions and remodel to a large house and hired my firm because we had been handling a variety of other projects for them. At almost the same time, another friend of theirs was planning to build a house in the same neighborhood and they referred them to us. We went from doing no houses to two houses in the space of a few days and single-family residences have been an integral and rewarding part of my practice ever since.

Tim’s predicament and the way I was able to help him with it became the spark of an idea that led to my creating a 90-minute continuing-education program for the TSA convention titled “So You Want To Do Houses?” It was meant as a sardonic twist on the typical cocktail chatter I endure at a party when someone asks me what I do for a living and after I tell them I’m an architect they then relate how they always wanted to be an architect but couldn’t do the math or draw a straight line. This is usually followed by a loosely worded question to me along the lines of “Do you do residential?” which (then) requires the confession from them that they always wanted to do houses. In one of the most excruciating variants on this conversation, they ask me if I designed my own house. After I tell them “No,” they lose all respect and move on to chat with someone else.

In my convention program I provided a broad overview of residential practice and how it was organized within my firm. I relied heavily on my own experience, my central theme being this: even though houses are integral to the public’s perception of what we do, it is a unique architectural project type and not one that adapts easily to our established patterns of professional practice. What we are taught in school about the delivery of services simply has not worked for my residential practice, nor has it proved relevant or supportive to my clients’ understanding of the design process either. Houses are unique projects with unique client expectations and goals, and a generalized process as outlined in the standard agreements for services simply didn’t work. Experience has taught me that another way of looking at providing these services was necessary, and the development of a practice process and the subsequent success we have had servicing our clients by reorganizing our priorities became a basic model for our doing houses on an ongoing basis.

When we first started designing houses we did them like commercial projects. We tried to move through the five stages of the design process (schematic design, design development, construction documents, bidding and permitting, and construction administration) in a sequential manner. We also brought along all of our typical consultants (mechanical, electrical and plumbing, structural, and, occasionally, civil) and a full slate of services and staff to coordinate and document the process. We kept having problems though—the process that worked so well in the design of our commercial projects seemed ponderous and inflexible. It was frankly confusing to our clients, who were not used to working with architects and for whom our professional jargon made no sense. Even worse for our planning purposes the typical allocation of fees and resources simply didn’t work. We were not just losing money on the houses; they were taking our focus off the other jobs in our office that we were delivering along more traditional service patterns. But we loved doing them! I knew we would have to adjust and change the service delivery process if we were going to continue to do them, so I began to experiment with the right mix of services and fees to develop a practical and effective way of doing houses that would allow them to be a meaningful part of our project mix and continue to be good business. More important, I wanted them to be fun.

Last year McGraw-Hill asked me to write a book based on “So You Want To Do Houses?” which is scheduled for publication this fall. In the book – tentatively titled The Architect’s Guide to Residential Design in an apparent attempt to drain some of its cynicism – I point out my experiences and those of my associates in the context of our projects using real-life examples of things that went well and things that unfortunately did not go well.

Developed from actual experiences (good and bad, sometimes terrible), the book discusses residential practice as a special case in the way architects provide professional services. In my practice I’ve learned the importance of immediately setting a schedule with the client for all future design meetings, which is intended to measure progress and set expectations for both client and architect. The book also summarizes why programming is the most critical component of getting the project started and how the program is the tool that enforces shared accountability on both the architect and the client as the house is being designed. In addition, I explain in detail why the budget for the project should be determined before the contract is signed and how the architect can build trust with potential clients by helping them establish that cost figure through soft bidding the project prior to signing the contract.

Finally, the book will concentrate on how to deliver residential design services in a meaningful way that allows for straightforward, manageable client interaction and provides appropriate compensation for the professional services required to design and document the house. I attempt to dispute the perception that compensation for services should be tied to the cost of the house and instead recommend that compensation be aligned with the services the clients require, such as their ability (or inability) to make timely decisions and their overall focus on the project. Each chapter includes a case study from our practice with an actual project summarized, including how the client worked with us, how successful we were in making them happy, and in some cases our role in subsequent litigation with the contractor. The book is intended as a practical guide to residential design – this common but misunderstood aspect of our profession – and an optimistic endorsement of the value we as professionals bring to the lives of those we serve.

--The article was adapted from the preface to The Architect’s Guide to Residential Design by Michael Malone, AIA, scheduled for publication by McGraw-Hill in September.