The Architects' Take » Vernacular Architecture

Greg Warner on the Importance of Place

Rebecca Firestone — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 01:04:11 +0000

[This is the first of a two-part series featuring Greg Warner and Brooks Walker, founding principals of Walker Warner Architects in San Francisco. Greg Warner's interview came first.]

Pretend you’re teaching a new group of students about site response. What’s important?

Many architects say that they’re sensitive to site conditions, the environment, and sustainability. But it’s easy to fall into what I call “bling” – for example, getting seduced by the idea of “green building technologies” without considering what’s actually fundamentally appropriate to the site in question. As an architect, you can let your guard down too easily, and get taken off the path by trends. The importance of place means thoroughly understanding what is actually there.

How do you respect a place?

You have to understand the nature of the place, including its history. Using your given senses too – listening, seeing, and understanding in order to harmonize.

How did your early life affect your design sense?

Most of our work is not urban. It’s rural. I grew up outdoors on a ranch, in Hawai’i, so I’m most comfortable in that familiar context. Most of my interests involve the outdoors. I love fly fishing, hiking, cycling, and triathlons. My experience growing up in a rural area has led me to design in a very specific way that has in turn influenced my occasional urban work as well. Even in urban settings, I seek ways to relate buildings to the outdoors, and I really appreciate the importance of using natural influences to enhance quality of life.

On the East Coast where I grew up, the outdoors can be your enemy, especially in the wintertime.

The question becomes, how do WE adapt to this context to respect that climate? If you’re hiking in a rainy area, you prepare for it. Similarly, when designing a home, climate should inform the architectural solution in order to be compatible.

So your approach [to discomfort] is not to deny it. You still face it – but properly equipped.

When we design a home, we have to provide a solution that takes the client’s desires into account, because that’s one of the parameters which, along with the site, informs the design. Some clients come to us with preconceived ideas, which we feel are not a good fit for the site. For example, a client may have his vision set on having an East Coast style home, but in California. That’s not an appropriate match for the climate and history here. If we can’t talk them into accepting an alternate approach, we often won’t take the project.

How do you talk someone out of building in a wrong style?

We ask the client what they like about the buildings that they have selected, and try to elicit the underlying qualities that attracted them to each one in the first place. Then we can embody those qualities in a design that’s actually a better fit for the place. Ideally we remove “style” from the dialogue.

Often, we push back BEFORE we’re hired, by educating the client on our philosophy and our approach. We’ve been around long enough to know the importance of being selective. Filtering our clients is tough in this economy, but you’ve got to love what you do; that’s the primary step to success in a project.

It comes back to respect. We respect our clients enough to be open and candid with them, because good design is a collaboration between architect and client. Respect is one of our core values as a business.

Can you give me an example of how you talked someone out of building something that would have been site-inappropriate?

Our Kamuela Residence project in Hawai’i is a good example. The clients were a young family who wanted to build a home that was understated and respectful of the surrounding community. The clients were sophisticated and understood the social issues that can arise when building a luxury home in the midst of an agrarian community. Originally, they had notions of what I’d describe as traditional bungalow buildings: pitched roofs, lots of predictable detailing, similar to many of the existing homes on the island.

The client for Walker Warner Architects' Kamuela Residence originally expected the architects to design a home that referenced the older plantation homes in the region.

But this was also an area rich with a lot of practical, agrarian structures already optimized for the unique climate in that area: low slanted roofs to align with the prevailing winds, long narrow buildings oriented for optimum ventilation. Very fitting.

Walker Warner Architects, Kamuela Residence. After the clients saw how well-suited the local agrarian buildings were to the Hawai'ian climate, they were open to emulating the best of those features for a home that was tailored to both unique site conditions and their own needs. Photo: Matthew Millman

Initially, we drove around looking at various local buildings while I described what worked about each one. The conversation happened quickly, as did their understanding, and then there was trust; the clients understood the reasoning and logic behind how the local buildings were sited, and saw the implications for weather, views, and rain. Once it became obvious to them, they got excited.

Once the mind is opened and confident, that’s when trust begins. That’s when collaboration begins. The early stages are a sort of courtship between architect and client. We’re really interviewing each other to see if there’s a mutual alignment. Just as we listen to their desires, we also educate them on what our values are, and they ideally buy into that early on.

So that means every project you do could be in a different style, depending on what fits the site.

We don’t work in a specific style the way some architects do. It’s an approach, a point of view. To me, a style is sort of like working with a kit of parts, though. So this means we may be less practiced in using a specific kit, but I feel that we’re more versatile overall.

Walker Warner Architects, Kamuela Residence. The extensive porch, called a lanai in Hawai'i, is a common feature of Hawai'ian architecture. Photo: Matthew Millman

A vision our clients had initially considered was of plantation homes from the 20s or 30s, common in the region. These were built as sugar plantation housing throughout Hawai’i – a semi-Victorian look. In early Hawai’i, however, the local structures featured “single-wall” framing made with simple planks instead of studs. The buildings didn’t need insulation. The gaps between the boards allowed air to flow freely through the walls. The buildings were oriented based on the direction of the prevailing wind to further encourage good ventilation. Sheet rock is a poor choice in Hawai’i because of the humidity – it deteriorates rapidly and is too susceptible to mold and mildew.

We actually borrowed this single-wall look and have used it in other projects elsewhere. We used single-wall framing to create a permeable screen in a residence located in Woodside, CA. The living room is a glass box, but it’s screened from the western sun by this planked wall that visually intersects with the rafters.

Walker Warner Architects, Woodside Residence. The textures and materials in this screen wall in this home in Woodside, CA are reminiscent of the single-wall framing typical of both Hawai'i and of barns in Northern California. This type of framing screens the sun but admits the breeze. Photo: Matthew Millman

Was it appropriate to use a Hawai’i feature in a California home?

There’s enough commonality between the climates of Hawai’i and California that in this case, it was. One common feature of buildings in both places is a generous porch, or lanai in Hawai’ian terminology. A mild and livable climate means that traditional buildings don’t always need excessive heat or air conditioning to be livable. People can live comfortably in the “in-between” zone between the indoors and the outdoors.

Walker Warner Architects, Kamuela Residence. It's hard to believe that this luxury contemporary home was originally based on local shacks! Photo: Matthew Millman

Our palette is often “weathered”, warmer, and not harsh or clinical. We prefer using enduring materials like wood or stone because we want our buildings to last.

Going back to the Kamuela project in Hawai’i, why were agrarian buildings a better example than plantation homes, since these plantation homes are also part of the “local context” – does this mean that the plantation homes are somehow LESS adapted to Hawai’i than the single-wall framed barns?

These homes (in the up-country ranch region) were somewhat unique as compared to true sugar plantation houses. Single-wall framing was common in Hawaii, primarily because of the simple means for construction (no studs needed). The exterior walls were simply made with vertical boards with a tongue and groove connection between each. For homes, there weren’t actually gaps (too many bugs!) between boards but the walls were literally 3/4″ thick. Barns and other structures of utility hade similar type of wall system; however, boards were not tongue and grooved together. This is similar to what you see in California hay barns (as referenced in the Woodside home).

How else was this project driven by site? Isn’t it on a border between two microclimate zones?

Yes. It’s on a hillside with great views toward a drier climate below, and a rainy climate directly behind. Trade winds tend to come over the hills and drop moisture on the way down toward the ocean. As a result, behind the house is a rainforest and watershed. The roof of this house is pitched to shed its rainwater back into the gulch located at the base of the watershed, while the front lifts toward commanding long-distance views.

A view of the rain forest behind the Kamuela residence by Walker Warner Architects. The moisture and feeling of shelteredness on this side is balanced by sweeping views of the ocean and mountains on the other. Right photo shows Greg Warner by the natural Ohia log windscreen. Photos: Matthew Millman

Both California and Hawai’i seem to have microclimates. San Francisco is famous for them. Can you talk more about how you design for microclimates?

Another project designed in direct response to climate and to site was Sonoma Ranch. This was also a new home located on a legacy cattle ranch property in today’s California wine country. One of the area’s challenges is the wind: in the summers, it’s often difficult to simply sit outdoors and read a newspaper with the wind gusting at 30 mph or more. Our solution was to use the building as a windbreak forming a courtyard, oriented for protection from the prevailing winds.

Walker Warner Architects, Sonoma Ranch. This home was designed in response to a vernacular style matching the surrounding Sonoma County agrarian buildings, and oriented to shelter the outdoor courtyard from the forceful prevailing winds. Photo: Mark Defeo

It’s designed in response to the Sonoma poultry barns that are so frequent in that area. These buildings are often whitewashed, with tin roofs. Taken in that context, our design was very fitting and respectful of the area’s history. Initially, though, the Sonoma Design Commission didn’t see it that way.

Typical barns in Sonoma are often whitewashed without offending the design board, but it can take some persuading to get a white-colored house approved. Credit: JG Bracco, Barns of Sonoma County (barnsosfsonoma.com)

Sonoma design guidelines call for buildings to disappear into the landscape: requiring earth tones that blend. We had to present to the county planners to explain how our design referenced the already existing vernacular.

The farmhouse references for Walker Warner Architect's Sonoma Ranch are clear in this photo by Matthew Millman. Even the tower is similar to the silo in the barn photo shown previously. Photo: Matthew Millman

On the one hand there are Modernists who seek to create very clean, pure designs that are honestly about the present, stripped of ornament and unencumbered by the baggage of ages past. On the other hand, we have some high-end resort communities that REQUIRE a replicated Tuscan or Mediterranean style – that same literal historical interpretation that you resisted in the Hawai’i home. And then there’s Sonoma Ranch, which very consciously and intentionally echoes the forms of local buildings – but these are also from the past. Why’s it OK to reference history in Sonoma but not in Hawai’i?

Forced style of any sort can be problematic for obvious reasons. Those restrictions you mention are often typical of resort community design guidelines. If they’re poorly conceived, the results can be unfortunate. However, their intended purpose is to create a cohesive-looking community, which, in a way, is the same thing we strive for by making our designs appropriate for their surroundings.

Despite the building's low profile, the interiors of Walker Warner Architect's Sonoma Ranch convey a sense of expansiveness and air. Photo: Steven Brooke

It may turn out that what a client specifically likes about a Tuscan home are the thick walls, the stone, the tile roofs. We try to dissect and re-interpret these qualities for the region and place that we’re actually designing for. You can edit the materials and the detailing and still satisfy both client and community.

Sonoma Ranch by Walker Warner Architects. Generous porches add another layer of transition towards the outdoors. Photo: Steven Brooke

Guidelines can raise the quality of design in a resort so it doesn’t turn into a free-for-all. A building can have a Tuscan palette, and still be very contemporary. For example, in the Woodside project, we wanted a contemporary feeling that was evocative of a California barn. It’s a very modern building, but it’s rustic and warm, too.

Walker Warner Architects, Woodside Residence. Once you get past the weathered-barn exterior, the living area is virtually walled in glass, but still shaded from the sun and screened for privacy. Photo: Matthew Millman

Some Modernists can have a difficult time with self-imposed palette restrictions – if they work primarily in exposed concrete and steel, they might find it difficult to satisfy community design guidelines that refer back to more traditional styles and materials. It’s risky for a Modern architect to push back against these design regulations, but it can be rewarding as well.

What’s the difference between a palette and a vocabulary?

Palette is just material. Vocabulary is inclusive of material, but also of methods and forms… more of a language.

Are you a Modernist?

I’m not a Modernist with a capital M, but I think I am forward-looking. I’m impressed with certain things about modernism, but it often seems lacking in what I like the most – warmth. There are restraints on how far I can go with a “Modern” vocabulary. On the other hand, Scarpa was a modernist, and yet his work is warm, textured, stunning and inviting – all the same adjectives you could use to describe the traditional buildings found in his Italian region.

A true Tuscan building has smaller, more modest openings. Tuscan-style in California incorporates modern glass walls and expansive arches, which creates a feeling of greater openness and grandeur.

How do you draw out your clients to elicit the architectural qualities that they truly seek in their home, perhaps without knowing?

By referencing: both our work and that of other architects. Our library is extremely important as a communication tool. There is an ongoing dialogue throughout the project. We show projects to our clients that seem to us to have some of the qualities they seek – they give us feedback – and then we respond to that with informed suggestions.

What sorts of questions do you ask your clients?

We actually have a structured questionnaire for new clients. We ask questions to help them identify what the essence of their home should be. How do they plan to use it? What does a “home” really mean to them? We get them to talk about places or architecture that they have found inspiring. We ask them why they chose a property in the Bay Area as opposed to someplace else, and of course we ask them what they like. We also ask them, “What DON’T you like, and why?” We have to extract the essence of what they want and what they don’t want.

Some clients come to us with their own books, clippings, and references, but they haven’t articulated what they’re responding to in each selection. So, we ask them to write down what they like about each image or project. It’s engaging, on both a practical and an aspirational level.

Questions become more and more pointed as the project progresses. Early on, it’s more general, more gestural, and more about the senses than about daily practices. As the designs become more developed, that’s when we start asking them more detailed questions, such as how they prefer to arrange their toiletries.

You teach your clients how to respect the site and region where they want to build. What about livability?

Livability is one of our guiding principles, and yes, it can restrict innovation. We choose not to sacrifice livability - some architects do. Philip Johnson’s Glass House is a good example of a very modern home, but it does impose a certain lifestyle where you expose yourself to the outside. It’s very bold, and the Glass House is an extraordinary design. But it’s not for everyone.

Our Woodside project mixes both traditional and modern materials and elements by combining a caretaker’s unit that is actually the guest suite above a fully functioning barn. The barn has a stone facade that references rural buildings you might actually find in California, while the guest room above is a glass box that presides over the structure.

Walker Warner Architects, Woodside Residence. The guest suite glass box is an intervention that breaks up an otherwise monolithic, almost medieval-looking structure. Photo: Matthew Millman

Do you ever have to teach your clients how to live in their home, if a site-appropriate design requires changes to THEIR daily living habits? For example, in a home that relies on natural ventilation rather than air conditioning systems, you might have to get the client in the habit of opening a window instead of automatically switching on the A/C.

Do we have to teach our clients new ways of living? No. But sometimes, especially with young clients who are just starting families, we can draw on our own experience to remind them of needs they’ll soon discover for themselves.

Tell me about your materials. Are there materials you’ll never use?

As an example, we don’t use sheetrock in Hawai’i because of the humidity there, but it makes total sense to use it in some other climates. It’s more about appropriateness than an absolute list of choices. You learn about what works and what doesn’t in a particular place by studying the buildings in that area that have endured for a longer period of time.

We are more cautious than some in our exploration of new materials. If it’s too risky, or too trendy, we are more careful. It has to endure both physically and aesthetically.

We’ve looked at how you design for Hawai’i. Have you ever designed homes for colder climates? What do you do differently?

The same approach applies, namely, reviewing local buildings first and taking cues from them. One home we designed in Idaho is an example of a site-specific design for a high desert, mountain climate with hot, dry, sunny summers and cold winters.

As with the Kamuela Residence, Walker Warner Architects began designing this residence in Idaho with clear attention to climate and local agrarian responses. Photo: Cesar Rubio

This home also references local agrarian structures.

So what constitutes good design?

To us, a good design should be livable, adaptable, appealing, and well-crafted with well-chosen materials.

Walker Warner Architects, Idaho Residence. The interior of the living room is simple, with the same natural materials as the exterior, and welcomes in the outdoors. Photo: Cesar Rubio

Who’s your favorite architect? How did you decide to become an architect?

Vladimir Ossipoff. He practiced in Hawai’i where I was raised. I went to school as a day student at the Hawai’i Preparatory Academy, designed by Ossipoff. We all had to attend weekly Sunday services at the Davies Memorial Chapel, which he designed. I sat in that building each Sunday, twiddling my thumbs pretty much, staring at the same four walls. Without my even realizing it, that building imprinted on me. As I look back, that building is likely why I became interested in architecture.

Vladimir Ossipoff designed the Davies Memorial chapel and most of the buildings on the boarding-school campus where Greg Warner spent much of his boyhood.

This revelation was actually a watershed for me, and we can follow the trail from there. An interest in fine art drew me to the University of Oregon, which has an architectural program that is steeped in the influences of context. By emphasizing sensitivity to site, I came to realize how naturally my own childhood buildings had come to shape my own point of view, and my appreciation of rural settings.

Davies Memorial Chapel, designed by Vladimir Ossipoff, located on the campus of the Hawai'i Preparatory Academy. Note the screen of natural Ohia logs, an element that Greg Warner has honored in subsequent designs from Walker Warner Architects.

Once you realize what your preferred design context is, you tend to seek out those contexts in future projects. This shapes your practice. If I had been born and raised in a city, I’d likely be an urban designer. But that’s not who I am.

What about Bay Area architects, past and present?

Many Bay Area Regionalists were also sensitive to site. Bernard Maybeck, William Wurster, Bill Turnbull. They were all forward-looking, yet they really understood the fabric in which they were working. My influences were primarily regionalists of the Bay Area and the Pacific Northwest.

Each of these rural wildnerness sites would require a different sort of architectural solution - or perhaps no solution, if it's on national parkland. Clockwise from top left: Sonoma, California desert, rural Italy, and Iceland

What do you think about the new generation of architects coming out of school today?

I’m an artist. I draw. [Drawing is a right-brain activity, whereas execution using computer-based tools is a left-brain activity.] Students today communicate more via computer than by hand. To me, the focus on the use of the computer has disabled creativity in that sense. Computers can be great tools, both for design and efficiency, but they don’t teach you how to think about a problem.

The process of design takes time. In today’s world, expectations are often focused on speed. Sometimes that means sacrificing the qualities that come from a fuller exploration.

Some designers work with a kit of parts that they’re familiar with. The advantages of this are it’s consistent, and it’s fast. You might compare this to cooking and recipes. There’s cooking from scratch, or there’s Betty Crocker.

Or, you can create your own custom mixes just to save time, but it’s still from scratch. Maybe that’s more a methodology than a recipe, though.

As a student especially, you owe it to yourself to explore as much as you can rather than go straight into formulaic approaches. You have to spend a certain amount of time in a discipline before it really becomes second nature. How can we expose students to the broadest possible range of possibilities in architecture?

Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers talks about something he calls the 10,000 hour threshold. It’s about how passion and a commitment to execution can become a differentiator by attracting better mentorship, which in turn raises your game even higher. I think there’s something to this.

[Note: My guess is that after 10,000 hours of practice, you will have honed your instincts and intuition to the point of a reflex that allows you to act both correctly and quickly, even under great pressure.]

Having said that, I do have some favorite details that I tend to use over and over again. One example is the steel beam resting on a wood column: simple, expressive, both durable materials used honestly.

Walker Warner Architects Woodside Residence. Modern structural systems together with natural stone and wood finishes create a California hybrid architecture that responds to climate and contemporary needs. Photo: Matthew Millman

How do you convey to the clients a sense of longevity in your designs?

We’re designing homes with the client’s full life cycle in mind, and beyond. Their young children will eventually grow up into older children, and then go off to college. In the meantime, the home might accommodate in-laws or even their grown children’s return. The home has to be versatile enough to accommodate these life changes without requiring a renovation every 10 years. Sometimes this freaks out the clients a little bit! They’re not used to thinking this far ahead. But we’re creating their home as an heirloom and a legacy to future generations.

Architectural Photographer Claudio Santini: Images That Make You Dream

Rebecca Firestone — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 23:11:38 +0000

It must have been three or four years ago that I first heard of Claudio Santini, when Mark English posted an unsolicited testimonial to the Small Business Committee of the AIA-San Francisco, praising both Claudio’s work and his professionalism. Crisp but subtle, with a gentle brush, his photos were naturally lit and at times appeared to glow from the inside. It had the same formality and rigor as the austere, head-on shots that seem to constitute “high end” architectural photography, but with a little more movement, a little more air – a little more room to breathe.

Simplicity of image shows purity of form in Claudio Santini's photography of a project by Mark English Architects.

What is your background and how did you come to architectural photography?

From 1979-1982 I went to architecture school in Rome. Taught by the best professionals, the curriculum included extensive field work and apprenticeships. At the same time, I did a photography major with a focus on architectural photography at the Institute for Architectural Design. The professors were very well-connected to the editors at magazines both at home and abroad. That’s how I made my first American connections.

In 1982 my professors brought me to the U.S. to photograph projects, and also introduced me to editors in Italy. I photographed U.S. projects and sold the photos to Italian editors of magazines like Domus, Abitare, and Casa Vogue. I enjoyed working on these projects and eventually they became a book.

What do you strive for when photographing someone else’s design project?

My purpose is to document their work and respect the philosophy of the architecture – to show what makes the architecture beautiful? The idea is to create an essential image with no “noise”… this means with interiors, keeping accessories to a minimum.

The orange throw creates a spot of color in an otherwise muted palette, creating a visual anchor. Design: LeanArch. Photo © Claudio Santini

When I photograph a building, I am documenting the work of someone else. The photographer’s interpretation should amplify the designer’s intent.

This structure is actually a 19th-century timber frame barn that was relocated from the East Coast to California. The skin is contemporary, with the original interior preserved. Design: Carver + Schicketanz. Photo © Claudio Santini, who says, "The skin is what makes this particular image so clear."

Do you have to photograph the same project differently for different publications?

Yes. For example, some magazine photos are overloaded with richness and artificial light.

I prefer a different approach, one that diminishes and reduces to bare essentials. I use 90% natural light if I can, and augment it only to help the natural light. It’s imperfect, but fascinating. When a photo has perfect light, it looks artificial.

In this photo of a project by Callas Shortridge Architects, Claudio Santini used mainly daylight with only minimal fill-in to assist the natural light in the darker zones.

For commercial purposes, the intention is to explain the itinerary inside the home, with a narrative development.

For books like the ones I’ve published, you want to dream. These photos are more abstract and not as literal. People can read whatever they want into it, like an abstract painting. Magazines on the other hand are more literal-minded.

"This photo is evocative because you don't understand what it is or even where you are. This ignites the imagination." Design: Carver + Schicketanz. Photo © Claudio Santini

Have you ever worked on a shoot where the same project was photographed by different photographers?

There is one project I’m working on together with another photographer. His photos are very technical, very perfect, very straight. Mine, on the other hand, are more atmospheric, emphasizing feeling and light. It explains less but it makes you dream more.

Photographer Claudio Santini used a tilt-shift lens to correct distortions in perspective when photographing this project, designed by Carver + Schicketanz. Photos © Claudio Santini

How do you photograph small spaces where you can’t get those splashy wide-angle lens shots?

A tilt-shift lens corrects perspective. It’s what we use also for exterior shots sometimes.

A tilt-shift lens helps when photographing small, tight spaces. Design: Steven Shortridge. Photo © Claudio Santini

In today’s digital world, everything is speeded up more. Images travel faster and are viewed by more people. That increases the rigor required of the image.

What would you say about image composition in architectural photography?

Details are very, very important. You need an assistant to move things around. Even one inch can make a difference.

These images have an abstract, rendered quality. Design: LeanArch. Photos © Claudio Santini

I try to make it as abstract as possible, almost like a rendering. It’s easier to reduce, to remove, than it is to add.

"The image is so clean that it almost looks fake." Design: LeanArch. Photos © Claudio Santini

How abstract do you go?

To the point where the image makes you dream. The dream is a kind of meeting point between description and abstraction, between the non-verbal and the explicit. It’s a tension between opposites.

The abstractions created by the downward perspective and the angled stairs almost feels like a movie or stage set, creating a sense of place that is curiously removed from the world at large. This shows a former hay barn in Siena, Italy, remodeled by architect Luigi Villano. Photo © Claudio Santini

What other photographers do you admire?

Julius Shulman is one. He brought life to images with black and white by adding people. He showed lifestyle and entertainment within architecture. Adding people puts the image at a specific point in time, not a timeless abstraction.

Julius Shulman's photo of Case Study House #22 includes people. Design by architect Pierre Koenig. Image © J. Paul Getty Trust, Julius Shulman Photography Archive

Of course, lifestyles have changed over the years. In the 1950s, everyone was in the living room. In 2009, they’re all in the kitchen.

This untitled photo by Julius Shulman pictures the State Capitol Bank in Oklahoma City. It was designed architects Bailey, Bozalis, Dickinson & Roloff; Shulman photographed the building on May 11,1963. Image © J. Paul Getty Trust, Julius Shulman Photography Archive

I am also inspired by fashion photographers. Some of them are very creative people in terms of lighting and trends. Another inspiration to me is Caravaggio’s sense of light and dark.

For a more dramatic photo, try using only a single light source such as a window or a door - and let it be natural light. Shown here is an example of vernacular architecture from the island of Pantelleria, a stone house estimate at 300 years old. Interior by Karin Eggers. Photo © Claudio Santini

Who were the “old guard”?

Aldo Ballo worked closely with Casa Vogue. Very graphic, simple, clean, pure photography design.

What about the use of color?

I want to find the perfect balance between color and form, as with fashionable clothing. Fashion photographers know how to interpret feeling and light.

A composition with an Eames chair, a concrete wall, and orange glass is simple but strong; this photo by Claudio Santini shows a home designed by Sander Architects, using all recycled materials.

For shoots I sometimes bring my own accessories, including artwork. Usually the owners and architects let me do that.

These architectural images would look quite different without paintings to anchor them. Claudio Santini introduced the paintings as accessories when photographing this project by LeanArch.

Do you have any do’s and don’ts for architectural photography?

Architects photograph like drawings, very literally, but with photographers, they each have to follow their own voice to invoke beauty. For me, it’s simplicity and formal balance among few elements.

The simplicity of this design from Sander Architecture is heightened by the focus on the shadows created by subtle inserts in the glass panels. Photo © Claudio Santini

With digital tools, it’s much more affordable to reach quality. Something that used to cost many thousands of dollars in labor costs can be a do-it-yourself project now for $3,000. I guess one “Do” would be to invest in technology and digital knowledge.

Is there still a place for the darkroom in the digital age?

Platinum and silver prints have a better black, but inkjet printers now are almost as good.

Tell us more about the way you handle lighting.

With natural light, there is a “zone system” between outside and inside. It’s all about compensation – compensating for the difference between the interior and exterior light levels. The goal is to make the balance believable, so that it doesn’t look artificial. Balance here refers to the interior and exterior light readings. If your light is well balanced, then even if you add small amounts of artificial light, the photos won’t show it.

If you add too much light inside, the final effect is fake. The goal is to create a final effect that is pleasant to look at.

Zones are a way of transitioning from interior lighting to exterior lighting. Design: Carver + Schicketanz. Photos © Claudio Santini

What about dealing with different types of light?

I’m very old-school and I prefer one light source – natural light, with a maximum of two light sources. The newer generation of photographers have eliminated lighting and just do it all on the computer using Photoshop layers. I think it looks less natural.

A serene sense of place comes from the expansive view as seen through openings. Design: Robert Anderson. Photo © Claudio Santini

Tungsten gives warmth, but not used as the main light source.

Simple forms and pure daylight enhance the drama of this skytop pool. Design: Robert Anderson, same project as shown immediately previous. Photo © Claudio Santini

When dealing with multiple light sources, they should be the same color temperature or the same color family, or it will look strange.

Consistency of light and a softer touch lend a sense of serenity and restfulness to this interior. Design: Jonathan Feldman of Feldman Architecture. Photo © Claudio Santini

Are there great buildings that don’t photograph well? Photographing Louis Kahn’s work for example… don’t you have to experience it?

If the architecture is very strong like a master, then the photographs will show it.

The strength of this architecture lies in a purity of form that complements the open, natural setting. Design: SPF Architects. Photo © Claudio Santini

What are you working on now?

I’m interested in architectural photography with a theme: connected to a social movement or social art, something that is connected to both people and cities. Themes like showing how green design can also be beautiful design, for example, or a survey of vernacular architecture in Italy.

Themes can be a way of treating subjects that are challenging to express. For example, my book Green is Beautiful is not just a technical book on environmentally friendly design.

Two examples of vernacular architecture photographed by Claudio Santini. Both examples show the Trullo style typical of Puglia, Italy. House shown on top was remodeled by architect Silvia Prevedello. Photos © Claudio Santini

I’m also interested in architecture without architects. For example, rural architecture - architecture made by regular people using common sense. The study of designs made by ordinary people is a branch of anthropology, actually.

I’m always excited about my latest project. Right now, its rural architecture and spontaneity. I’m working on a new book that is entirely photographed in Italy.

Vernacular architecture in the Trullo style, photographed by Claudio Santini. Interior and furnishings selected by the owner, Emanuele Amoroso.

Bernard Rudofsky organized shows in the 1960s [and earlier] treating this subject.

Isn’t it scary for architects to hear about “architecture without architects”?

Not for the talented ones. They’re inspired by it.

Le Corbusier’s sketchbooks included lots of little drawings of rural architecture.

A good architectural photographer should identify or feel out trends, show something wider than simply documenting architecture as one would for a magazine feature. I feel that a good architectural photographer’s work should have balance: 30% academic work and 70% social trends.

Let’s talk about books. How do you start them?

The first step is choosing a publisher and selling them on your idea. I have to consider:

Who’s going to buy this book?
What does the publisher want? The publisher wants to show the most popular trends in art and social architecture. So, the question for me is: What subjects can reflect or express these trends?
How to go beyond niche marketing to reach a wider public audience.

Claudio Santini worked very closely with the editors and writers to produce his latest book on the aesthetics of eco-friendly design, "Green is Beautiful"

How do you keep it from pandering to the lowest common denominator of public tastes? How do you keep it from being crassly commercial?

Technique and beauty must be formally balanced. The first thing to remember is that beauty is not luxury! A $10 million dollar home or a $500K home can both be equally beautiful. Simplicity is the ideal, and sometimes simple subjects are more photogenic.

Left show a $20M home in LA designed by Ted Tokio Tanaka Architects for a celebrity golfer. Right shows the Venice residence of architect Steven Shortridge, with a considerably more modest budget and footprint. Photos © Claudio Santini

Tell us more about the production behind your latest book, Green is Beautiful.

I was totally comfortable with the process. The project was supported by architects, the publisher who liked my idea, and the editor/designer.

I thought: My story can make people dream. This is the American dream, the land of opportunities. Books like this can make people dream about what they themselves could create.

How was it collaborating with Dafna [writer for Green is Beautiful]?

I gave her the concept and she took it and ran with it. Photographers interpret, but so do writers. Her writing really completed my work, and I could not have done it without her.

What’s the most unusual project you’ve ever photographed?

I’d have to say the houses of artists. Artists have very strong personalities, and they bring their own creativity and soul to their homes. They don’t care if it’s going to be photographed for Architectural Digest.

Detail from the LA luxury home pictured immediately above, designed by Ted Tokio Tanaka Architects. Photo © Claudio Santini

What about photographing interior design vs. architecture? Architects don’t always like a lot of pillows, draperies, etc. But why do interior design and architecture have to fight?

I think it’s because the interior designers are not with the project from the start. They’re treated as an afterthought. The vision for the building should be shared by the interior designer from the beginning. Even Frank Gehry uses interior designers. There doesn’t have to be a conflict.

Photographer Claudio Santini's black and white imagery captures the same feeling of space and atmosphere as his color work. Design: Dean Nota

Image Copyright Notice

Claudio Santini has granted limited rights for The Architect’s Take to publish the copyrighted images of his work that appear within this article. For more information, please contact Claudio Santini directly.