Whelp it happened, I too, like many of my architectural brethren, have been pulled as a moth to the flame to New York City. A place I never thought I would live in. Though now that I’ve signed the lease to a huge sublet in Chinatown I’m starting to get kind of excited. Stay posted bloggers. I’m sure I’ll be one of the following options.
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Friday, September 26, 2014
Thursday, September 4, 2014
On the Hunt
So it occurs to me that for almost a year now I have been working freelance and continuing down my path of an unusual architectural career. Don't get me wrong, I personally love the balance of designing a kitchen in the morning and writing theory/history in the evening. Though the concept of wanting things is human, and so far the things I want are those which I think any 29 year-old person wants. An apartment I don't have to share with anyone and to be successful. However, that notion of "successful" is what I'm looking to write about today.
A few months ago, I had to leave London for visa issues. Trying to find a sponsorship job was a nightmare. The search resulted in a lot of self-doubt and the pain of losing a place and people (including one person in particular) who matter so much to me. A strong anti-immigration law meant that I could not extend my visa, nor could I act as self-employed and stay in the country. I contemplated (and still am contemplating) going whole-hog and investing in a PhD in Architectural History and Theory, however my bank account told me now was not a time to do that. I won't lie, it broke my heart to leave. I'm sure I'm not the first person to lose their cool at an airport, but I may be the first to have a total break-down in a duty-free aisle. If, in the future, I've got to summon tears on a whim, it will be the image of doors closing while my East-London Love waived goodbye. Not knowing when, if ever, I could return. Long story short: it sucked. It sucked big.
Though, in true American optimism, a person has to pull themselves together and survive. Since then I've designed a couple of interiors, published a ton of articles and committed myself to work at various Museums.
More than anything, it's struck me what a strange process it is looking for an office job. If media is to be believed, most people want to escape their cubicle imprisonment wishing to be free as a bird. What they never see is the point of view from the bird, afraid that at any moment they'll plummet towards the Earth. As it stands, most of my time is taken up by informational interviews, discussing options with recruiters, drafting, entering competitions and the general malaise of having to go to baby shower after baby shower. Which brings me again, to the notion of success.
Most of the time Shower-based parties are lovely, but sometimes they can enter into darker territory. A friend's husband told me about a week ago that "You had your chance to fall in love, and now you've got to fall in line", a half-joking attempt to set me up with one of his friends "Afterall, you're getting older now, and no one wants to have kids with someone older." Dude. What.
The question is, why can't architecture be my kid? I'm not saying I wouldn't love to be a mother at some point, but for God's sake, success is not determined by whether or not I've produced progeny. I understand where these men (I hate to be sexist, but it's typically men who are this insensitive) are coming from. They've just become fathers, which totally re-adjusts priorities, but the definition of success in a post-modern world is trickier concept than I previously thought.
In this past year, the impression I've gotten from friends with children is "everyone should want what I have", rather than the impression of success as "something only a few people have that everyone wants." If success is the accomplishment of a goal, that goal has to be one that is created on a personal level. If my goal is to create architecture, discourse and design that is nuanced, intelligent and useful, then I would deem that I'm moving towards success. If the goal instead was to fulfill the expectation of passing on my genes within a time frame that, until I moved back to the US, I was completely unaware of, then, yeah, I'm not as successful as I could be. But I don't think I'm a lost cause yet.
As I told my cockney love, "I'll probably never be famous, and if I ever am, it will probably be a century after I'm dead. I'm offering you a chance to get in on the ground floor of that. With me, you could have a lifetime of struggle, hardship and rejection." He laughed "Well, that is an appealing offer, but at the end, am I just going to be a footnote?" "More than that honey, you get to be a muse."
I hate to sound like a motivational speaker, I leave that to those more sincere and Candid-esque than myself. But I will say this. Designers of the world: do you. I don't know if it's good advice, but it's the only advice I've got to give. That and know the colors that look good on your skin.
A few months ago, I had to leave London for visa issues. Trying to find a sponsorship job was a nightmare. The search resulted in a lot of self-doubt and the pain of losing a place and people (including one person in particular) who matter so much to me. A strong anti-immigration law meant that I could not extend my visa, nor could I act as self-employed and stay in the country. I contemplated (and still am contemplating) going whole-hog and investing in a PhD in Architectural History and Theory, however my bank account told me now was not a time to do that. I won't lie, it broke my heart to leave. I'm sure I'm not the first person to lose their cool at an airport, but I may be the first to have a total break-down in a duty-free aisle. If, in the future, I've got to summon tears on a whim, it will be the image of doors closing while my East-London Love waived goodbye. Not knowing when, if ever, I could return. Long story short: it sucked. It sucked big.
Though, in true American optimism, a person has to pull themselves together and survive. Since then I've designed a couple of interiors, published a ton of articles and committed myself to work at various Museums.
More than anything, it's struck me what a strange process it is looking for an office job. If media is to be believed, most people want to escape their cubicle imprisonment wishing to be free as a bird. What they never see is the point of view from the bird, afraid that at any moment they'll plummet towards the Earth. As it stands, most of my time is taken up by informational interviews, discussing options with recruiters, drafting, entering competitions and the general malaise of having to go to baby shower after baby shower. Which brings me again, to the notion of success.
Most of the time Shower-based parties are lovely, but sometimes they can enter into darker territory. A friend's husband told me about a week ago that "You had your chance to fall in love, and now you've got to fall in line", a half-joking attempt to set me up with one of his friends "Afterall, you're getting older now, and no one wants to have kids with someone older." Dude. What.
The question is, why can't architecture be my kid? I'm not saying I wouldn't love to be a mother at some point, but for God's sake, success is not determined by whether or not I've produced progeny. I understand where these men (I hate to be sexist, but it's typically men who are this insensitive) are coming from. They've just become fathers, which totally re-adjusts priorities, but the definition of success in a post-modern world is trickier concept than I previously thought.
In this past year, the impression I've gotten from friends with children is "everyone should want what I have", rather than the impression of success as "something only a few people have that everyone wants." If success is the accomplishment of a goal, that goal has to be one that is created on a personal level. If my goal is to create architecture, discourse and design that is nuanced, intelligent and useful, then I would deem that I'm moving towards success. If the goal instead was to fulfill the expectation of passing on my genes within a time frame that, until I moved back to the US, I was completely unaware of, then, yeah, I'm not as successful as I could be. But I don't think I'm a lost cause yet.
As I told my cockney love, "I'll probably never be famous, and if I ever am, it will probably be a century after I'm dead. I'm offering you a chance to get in on the ground floor of that. With me, you could have a lifetime of struggle, hardship and rejection." He laughed "Well, that is an appealing offer, but at the end, am I just going to be a footnote?" "More than that honey, you get to be a muse."
I hate to sound like a motivational speaker, I leave that to those more sincere and Candid-esque than myself. But I will say this. Designers of the world: do you. I don't know if it's good advice, but it's the only advice I've got to give. That and know the colors that look good on your skin.
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