For our retail studio, we were given a 4600 sq. ft. leasehold (mall or streetfront as appropriate), and asked to find a cutting-edge international fashion designer and create a boutique for them. This was a special challenge for me, because I have never been interested in fashion because most haute couture is so unwearable on my frame. I looked at designers from Korea and India especially, and settled on Anand Kabra as my designer of choice. The boutique’s design was to reflect the future direction of our designer’s three most prominent design elements. In my programming, I analyzed Kabra’s past work, the characteristics and demographics of my King’s Road site in Chelsea, London UK, and the needs of the store.

See the programming report (PDF 9mb).

The client brief emphasized use of perimeter wall space and mobile fixtures for merchandising. Most of Kabra’s clothes would display best hung on mannequins or hangers, because they emphasize drape. So I planned the boutique as being an open space with stock storage and a wall fixture system complemented by freestanding racks and a large display island.

Early zoning plan of sales floor

Sketch of track-and-cable system

The wall displays were broken up into sections by a track-and-cable system used to suspend panels in overlapping arrangements much like the logo. These panels needed to be easy to rearrange, so that as new seasonal colours and imagery arrived, and the mix of stock shifted, they could be changed quickly by just one or two employees. For small items such as jewelry and scarves, I used plinths and niches, as if this were a gallery or museum, to highlight Kabra’s chosen items for the season.

When developing the concept, our scope included branding. I often use the graphic design of the programming report, logos, and such materials as a way to ease into how the concept should feel. In this case, the logo is abstract but also makes reference to Kabra’s Indian origin and influences through the boteh (paisley) shape. The theme colour is a heavily mixed tertiary that is almost but not quite neutral, used in one of his collections. The typefaces were chosen for feeling personal, modern, and welcoming.

Sample of branding.

Light streaming into Notre Dame du Haut. Photo: Rory Hyde.

Terraform sculpture by Robert Cannon.

Kabra’s primary design elements are line developed into form, colour, and pattern. Kabra changes silhouettes almost every season, but his forms are always feminine (hence the typefaces chosen), and frequently return to the swirling lines of the Nivi-draped sari. I wanted to keep things simple and mostly use straight lines and flat planes, but I could not resist adding some sari-inspired S curves to that. Those few prominent curving elements give the whole plan an organic feel.

For the island, I was inspired by photos of Le Corbusier’s Ronchamps chapel and Robert Cannon’s terraform sculptures. The island was needed to anchor the center of the space, and its mass created a natural divider between the lounge on one side and a set of display niches on the other.

Kabra changes colours and patterns every season, and so my palette for the boutique was a mix of warm and cool neutrals ranging from white marble through olive wood to black leather. I used a great deal of more textured, often rougher materials, to highlight the shiny, silky materials Kabra often uses. The ceilings, for example, were mostly finished in plaster resembling stone, with gentle bumps and creases. This made the shop less vulnerable to becoming outdated. Seasonal colours and motifs can be added through the track-and-cable system and a pair of bulkheads meant as blank canvases. While the project was not fully specified, I emphasized sustainability in the materials I chose, and tried to create a design that would not need to be torn out and replaced in a few years, but could be selectively updated, for less wasted material.

See the Flickr slideshow of the presentation book (opens in new window).

The Tesla is the fruit of my hospitality studio project, where I was asked to program, plan, and develop a five-star themed venue with restaurant, nightclub, and exhibition space, in a major city anywhere in the world but North America. The concept had to be cutting-edge, integrate modern technology throughout, and cause guests to be educated as well as entertained by their visit. And so, given license to do anything I wanted, no matter how wild so long as it was commercially plausible, I decided that I wanted to do something steampunk. I’m a life-long science fiction and fantasy fan, and even more so for alternate history, especially with fantastical elements. Steampunk hits every one of those buttons and then some, because I also love Victorian tools and Art Nouveau, and steampunk covers them too. If I was going to design a club, it was going to be one that I wanted to attend.

What is steampunk?

Steampunk settings begin with the culture and technology of the Victorian era but then ask “what if.” The result is a related yet clearly different history with its own technology, fashion, and culture. Exploration and optimism are in the air, and technology is still a gift, not a curse. Materials and aesthetic sense begin with the Victorian and Art Nouveau: exuberantly detailed objects in materials such as brass, cast iron, wood, leather, and rubber. There must be gears, levers, or other elements iconic of machinery. Here at the Tesla, electrical elements also play a strong role, because its parent company was founded by an alternate universe Nikola Tesla.

Concept and Programming

Example of steampunk look. Credit Dana Mattocks.

The first questions were, one, were there enough steampunks to support this, two, had anyone done this before, and three, where in the world should it be? The answers were,

1. Yes. There are enough in many places to run events and conventions, and their numbers are growing. Most steampunks live in Britain or its former colonies, but there are also groups elsewhere, especially continental Europe. The trend is not yet mainstream and has not peaked.
2. According to Google, only three nightclubs in the world use steampunk as a theme: two in Australia, and the Edison in Los Angeles, the only one decorated to match its theme.
3. Not the UK, not Los Angeles, and not Australia, because there, it would not be cutting-edge. I went looking for steampunk populations that were under-served and in or near a world-class city able to support a five-star venue. That meant continental Europe, especially Paris, Copenhagen, Oslo, Bucharest, and Berlin. Of these, Berlin was recommended by the professor and friends as being the kind of city to welcome subcultures and things out of the ordinary. It is also full of young people and people with the knowledge and skill to make worlds.

I took for granted throughout that the Tesla had to be an immersive experience: steampunk occurs in an alternate universe by definition. So the building is a set, and everyone in it is part of the story. So why — in its own universe — does the Tesla exist? What does it do? Why is it here in our Berlin? And why do they let us in?

In our Victorian era, railway companies ran hotels next to the station. We only see the restaurant and nightclub, but in its home reality, the Tesla is just one part of a bigger complex that includes a hotel and an aetheric transference station — the local equivalent of “Beam me up, Scotty!” invented by their version of the electrical genius Nikola Tesla. The true name of the venue is “Tesla Ätherische Übertragung AG Hauptbahnhof Brandenburg” (Tesla Ætheric Transference Company, Brandenburg Station). It is our universe’s connection point to the TAU aetheric transference network.

Vincent M. Dantes, Esq. Credit Leonardo Molar.

As an interdimensional meeting point, the Tesla is populated by many characters, some original, some from classic science fiction and steampunk stories, such as the Grey Lensman or Phineas Fogg. But the necessary level of illusion would be impossibly costly to sustain using only actors. That is why the Tesla’s tribe, its fandom, are critical to its success. This must be the living breathing outpost of another universe, even though the audience is mingling onstage with the actors and participating in the performance. So ask the fans to help run the show. Hire them as staff, especially as management. Court them as customers with special perks and privileges for playing a character or visiting in costume. Let them know that the Tesla would die without them. Become the heart of their social lives with regards to steampunk: this is where they go to party, to relax, to roleplay, and even where they go to work on their costumes and props for the next big event. Because the Tesla has a well-equipped workshop, just for them.

Read the complete programming report (PDF, 15mb).

See the art and presentation book on Flickr.

Planning

When planning the Tesla, the first rough blocking diagrams taught me that the vertical stacking and circulation would make or break the project. Guest and staff functions needed to be separated, and each had a magnet: their vertical circulation, which I then put at opposite ends of the building. The repeated elements on each level needed to be compact and not get in the way of the remainder of the floor. It took several iterations to find a version that worked. Restrooms were the other worst thing to plan, honestly, since they either had to be located on exterior walls or vertically stacked for the entire building. The size and number of fixtures changed floor by floor, further complicating the problem. Once the circulation and restrooms were placed for each floor, the rest was easy.

I present the progression of the entry floor, which is actually the top floor. Guests reach it by a bank of express elevators from the covered waiting area off the street. The distinct look of the elevators (complete with visible gears and boilers) and the ride up contribute to the unique experience.

Adjacencies

Rough Blocking

Zoning

Final Zoning

More process work is available in the programming report (PDF, 15mb).

Working Drawings

Detail drawing packages are posted for the main guest stairs and the secondary bar, although they do not correspond perfectly to the final dimensions.

The Tesla - Stair Details

Detail drawings for the main guest stairs in the Tesla.

The Tesla - Bar Details

Detail drawings of the secondary bar in the Tesla.

See the work:

• Work-Research binder for the Loft Full of Curves (PDF, 3 mb)
• Final CAD drawings of the loft (AutoCAD 2004 DWG file, 254 kb)
• Client booklet and renderings on Flickr:

The loft full of curves is the result of our Design Project I course. The goal was a from-the-bare-concrete renovation for a Westboro loft apartment. The client was John Spencer, a senior designer at William McDonough + Partners. As a single man in his 40s, he needed space to live, work, and entertain, but wanted to avoid walls. He insisted on at least 30% sustainable materials, enjoyed transparent materials, and hoped for minimal use of colour, and space to display his art collection.

We began by researching the history of the loft and the client’s favourite designers, brainstorming three different possible layouts that satisfied the program, and selected one to develop further. The design development and selection process is recorded in the preliminary work file for the project. To arrive at the final design, I took elements from several of the preliminary designs and added some new ones. Because the mezzanine, stairs, and other elements are curves and spirals, I started calling the project “loft full of curves”.

Mezzanine and main floor plans.

Now that the floorplan was finalized, we selected and specified materials. I wanted the loft to have a timeless, natural feel that was beautiful without relying on opulent materials. I didn’t want it to belong strongly to a specific era or culture, but to be subtly global, to make a reference or two to the Industrial Revolution, and to complement Norval Morrisseau’s Artist and Shaman Between Two Worlds, on loan to the client. To me that meant wooden furniture with simple but not excessively modern lines, and minimal use of metal. Floors are generally red oak or cork, walls covered in rice paper or paint. As many materials as I could find were vintage, reused, recycled, salvaged, low-VOC, and local.¹ Closet doors are shoji doors, since those are translucent, simple, traditional, modern, and global all at once, and they went nicely with the window grids without overwhelming the space.

Vignette of entry and pixellated glass wall above

I did want to use plenty of glass, but not in the typical modern slab. Instead I used sintered glass (like a sheet of crushed and fused jewels) and glass mosaic tile, both recycled. The bathroom is clad inside and out in glass. Inside, it is entirely covered in clear and aqua glass mosaic tile, and all the surfaces curved where they join, so that the bathroom is a single continuous surface except for its chrome, glass, and white porcelain fixtures, and curved glass shower surround. The solid wall comes only to six feet. Above that, translucent aqua sintered glass sheet attached to the exterior side of the wall is both a window and privacy barrier. The view from the outside shows the aqua glass gradually pixellating out into white plaster through a transition of glass mosaic tile, and continuing over the half-wall to the stairs. This art wall is visible from the living and dining space below, and forms part of their palette — a soft but pleasant contrast with the warm woods, unbleached rice paper, and opal glass lights below.

There are also murals by a local artist, Mark Seabrook, in the same style as Artist and Shaman Between Two Worlds, but in cafe-au-lait and cream to co-ordinate without upstaging. The pillar murals are visible from everywhere in the first floor, and another group surrounds the built-in buffet under the serving counter.

Finally, there are the quarter-circle stairs of red oak and black iron. Red oak stringers and balusters, with black iron openwork steps and railings, so as not to block the light streaming in from the window. Black iron is a strong and beautiful material with so much history, recalling both Victorian cogwheels and curlicues, the plenty and ruin industry can give us.

Our final submissions for the project were the final plans and sections, and the client booklet with rendered vignettes, plans, sections, and digital sample boards.

We were asked to design, draw and model a 650 sq. ft. house for two people anywhere in the world but North America. Outdoor spaces were encouraged since they didn’t count towards our square footage, but no major functions could be left outdoors. I asked my friend Allison if she and her husband Paul would be my clients, and we promptly had a brainstorming session over tea. She wanted the house to be on New Zealand’s North Island, but didn’t have a specific town in mind. I located it in the Coromandel Peninsula, between Tararu and Whakatete Bay. Allison is a witch, Paul is a shaman and energy healer, and they are both tall, so they both wanted the house to be in harmony with nature, have high ceilings, and have quiet space to meditate in. There were many other desiderata, but these were the most important.

Our initial sketches were of earthships and cliffside houses. Our favourites were the many-storey cliff house, and the two-storey house built around a fireplace circled by the main stair, but I didn’t have enough experience to design these within the square footage requirements and the massing I wanted. So in critique, I was advised to concentrate on one or two key ideas, because I was being pulled in too many directions, and because I had some difficulty explaining how the place should feel — or rather, what I was going to do to produce that effect. The feel I knew: this was the good witch’s house, so I wanted it to be hidden away in a forest or other natural setting, and I wanted it to surprise and delight, to be a place that you hadn’t expected to exist but were glad did, like a secret grotto. That was when I got the idea of making it a treehouse. That surprised and delighted both me and everyone who heard the idea, but I knew it was feasible since I had heard of books about them.

Public block, first version

My first intention was to split the house into one or two-room chunks, and put them on individual platforms, all connected to a roofed outdoor stair wrapped around the trunk of a massive kauri tree, like a necklace. This is perfectly workable in a climate that stays between 5-25°C all the time. Compare that to my home in Ottawa, which goes from -40°C in the winter wind to +40°C in the summer sun.

Public block, second version

The first version of the public block saved space and was efficiently heated by the central fireplace, but didn’t respond much to the tree. The second version wrapped better around the trunk, and kept the compact but livable kitchen and dining room arrangements. It also snuck in a half-bath and laundry room (on the right) to cut down on the plumbing labour.

Private block with angled join between bedroom and bathroom

The blocks wrapped around the trunk. At this point, I still had to figure out how much height I needed between the platforms, and how many turns of stairs, since the roofs had not been figured out. I particularly liked the angled joining of the bedroom and bathroom.

Arranging the blocks around the tree

The drawings of the house were due soon, which was how I learned why traditional houses are simple rectangular boxes: they are vastly easier to roof. I sweated over how to cap those angled blocks until my head spun, and admitted that I would have to simplify them in order to meet deadline. That brought about the second version, which was a two-storey house and deck perched in a large, spreading totara tree.

I didn’t like this version so much. The whole composition was awkward. The deck was enormous yet boring, and while that peaked second floor roof worked, it felt like a 1950s or 60s bungalow, not a traditional cottage. Worst, the meditation perch felt like an afterthought. This mattered to me because the key idea I had been able to retain from the cliffside house was the ascension from public, social space through private space to a place to be alone with yourself. That last was the meditation perch, and I could barely cram in a ship’s ladder in the bedroom to the roof, and if I added a balcony or sitting area up there, it would look like an afterthought. Not acceptable.

Final floorplans, private block above, public block below. Link to CAD file below.

Since I wasn’t happy with the second iteration, I changed the plan again before building the model, which was the final submission for the project. Some features from the previous stage remained, such as the material choices: wood siding, a shingled roof, a brick chimney. But the concessions I made to simplify constructing it were exactly what made it feel charming and cottagelike again. All the rooms were simple boxes joined orthagonally except the angled bath, because I could cut 90° and 45° angles accurately in foamcore without a fancy mat cutting setup. Suddenly the blocks looked traditional and nestled into the tree better. I changed almost all the roofs to simple gables, which again, I could see how to make even though I needed to represent 18″ thick material with 6″ thick foamcore.¹ That meant the interiors would have vaulted ceilings with rafters — perfect! I solved the joining of the bedroom and bathroom roofs by not having them join — instead I made the bathroom enough taller that it could have its own roof, and just let it be square instead of trying to cut off a corner.  Since it was going to be so prominent anyway, I made the roof look like a witch’s hat, which Allison loved.

Get the CAD drawings for the plans and elevations (AutoCAD 2004 .dwg file, 170 kb)

But honestly, the house was the easy part of the model. The hard parts were the ground and the tree. Especially the tree. The ground is kitty litter molded into shape with water and glue, dry-brushed with several shades of acrylic paint, and set with twigs to represent smaller trees. It looks satisfyingly groundlike, and permitted me to stick dowels and skewers into it, which turned out to be very important.

Detail of tree and ground

The tree is made out of broomstick handle and coat-hanger wire. To make the tree actually look like a tree, I wrapped the bare wood and wire with gauze-mâché.² Once that was dry, I painted it with a basecoat of brown acrylic and dry-brushed another shade or two on it. This gave me a firm trunk, bendable branches, and a nice barklike finish, all good. The problem was that it also gave me branches that tended to rotate, even when unloaded. Perhaps that could have been solved by gluing them into the sockets, but I didn’t have time for epoxy or Weldbond to set, my cyanoacrylate had glued itself shut, and the hot glue didn’t work when I tried it. I saved the tree by adding reinforcing braces out of bamboo skewer and dowel, which would stick with hot glue to the outer layer of the tree.³ If I ever build another model tree, I’m going to buy a nice thick cable twisted out of medium gauge copper wire, which I can gently fray apart and bend to my will, and gauze-mâché it into life-likeness. I’m sure that method will have its own new and exciting dilemmas, but at least the branches won’t twirl in their sockets.

I admit this isn’t the best model I could have made — another iteration, and it would have been much better. But, given the difficulties I overcame in making it, and how impressed most people have been when they see it, I’m still pleased with it. At least half the class were startled to find out that it wasn’t a real tree. Allison is making room in her apartment (after downsizing from a house) to keep it permanently, even though it is large and somewhat fragile. Another friend who saw it stopped in his tracks and said, “Could I have that?”. Now, if I can just get that kind of reaction to all my projects, I should be set!

Intranet Improvement Proposal (PDF, 1.3 mb)

The Long Version

When Chris worked there, the Solectron callcenter in Belleville had a rudimentary intranet and KB, but the de facto way to get information was to ask your neighbour or a second level tech (henceforth a “second”) for advice. Having worked in callcenters before, Chris knew that this was an inefficient, unreliable and unscalable way to do research. When he and I had worked together at Compaq, we had a comprehensive, up-to-date KB, which made it much easier and faster to support our callers. Personal advice is a wonderful way to get answers, but often those people are busy, and you could look the answer up for yourself.

Chris smelled an opportunity to use his web programming skills. He drafted a proposal and sent it to me² for review. While correcting his spelling and grammar, I saw that the structure needed some work, so I made an outline and took it apart. I had such a good time revising his ten page draft that I spent the next four months working on the proposal, expanding it in complexity and scope. (This should reveal how much challenge, excitement, and joy I was finding in my own job by that point.) The final version was over seventy pages including appendices. I handled all the writing and editing, the majority of the research,³ and designed many innovative features for the intranet.

There were some hurdles waiting for us. Except for Chris, I had no techs from Solectron to mine for information. Because I had a full-time job already, all work on the proposal had to be done in my spare time. Biggest was that neither Chris nor I had tackled a project of this size, type, or complexity before.

Chris and I decided almost immediately that a good KB would use a content management system (CMS). I pushed hard for a wiki because having the techs write material would keep the KB comprehensive and up-to-date, but cost less than the editorial staff it would otherwise take. So, more important than the perfect CMS would be to reform the callcenter’s culture so that the techs expected and contributed high-quality content. We believed that using an existing CMS would let us put the programmer effort into the stuff that had to be customized, like the database design, live reports of queue statistics, webforms, and a report designer application.⁴

Just writing the proposal for this was a big project, let alone the thing itself. We needed to understand the needs and wants of not only the techs, but also of management, human resources, and training, and accommodate them. We had to research content and knowledge management, information architecture, usability, operating systems, scripting languages, databases, and content management systems. It was the first thing that I’d really gotten my teeth into since finishing Humanities, and bigger than anything I did during my first degree. I’m sorry that Solectron wasn’t interested in making any changes, because it felt wonderful to do real work instead of just unlocking passwords, and I wanted more.