Invariably, the first question I am asked when it is revealed that I am an architect, is this: “Do you do residential or commercial?” as if the field is that reducible. I suppose it is as simple a dichotomy as any: spaces to live in vs. spaces in which money is spent, or money is made. I like to say that there is residential DNA in a lot of what I do: designing dwellings in various scales (single family to high rise), for a blend of programmatic uses in addition to housing (ground floor retail, live-work units, office space, classroom space, structured parking), for a variety of residents (dorms for students, apartments for renters, hotels for travelers, senior housing for those of our elders that may need a helping hand now and again), all of this in the ever changing context and personality of particular sites.
The dichotomies fall away and The Architect left with the alchemy of combining the pursuit of Quality (morning light in the kitchen, the calm of the bedroom suite; a color that changes its mood at different times of day; conjuring a form that amplifies the spirit of the Place) with the tyranny of the Economics (land cost, construction costs, market comps, proformas, and return on investment). Architecture will result, and it will either add value to a place or not. Will that Value be monetary, in developing in a desired neighborhood? Or will that Value be in strengthening that Place, a strong affirmation of why someone would want to live here?
I started designing a stacked townhome thinking of that Value: 4 levels, each having an attached single car garage; perhaps one unit has two bedrooms, and the other has three; they would jenga and zipper together in an efficient but creative stack that could be repeated down a street. Each would have access to outdoor terraces. From the sketchbook lines to initial modeling to more figured out plans follow:
The scale and size of the units makes me think of ‘Triple Deckers,’ which are three story houses that are a Boston hybrid of a brownstone or similar walk-up, where each floor of the house was a separate unit. They typically do not have attached garages; we still need cars in Atlanta— perhaps the garage side of the units could create an alley or mews…
This stacked townhome could offset the expensive in-town land costs, as well as assist in bringing a critical and necessary density to create a vibrant place: the critical mass of city dwellers that love being where the excitement is, with all of a city’s amenities steps away from their front door. Perhaps it is more affordable than a single townhome, and less anonymous than living in a 300 unit apartment block. Perhaps this is a direction that could add affordable housing to the spectrum of available units?
How would it relate to other kinds of developments? How do the densities differ?
I created a 200’ x 200’ buildable block, which is nominally close to one acre, give or take some right of way/public sidewalk space.
Cities either evolve and grow, pruning deadwood and fertilizing new growth, or they die. And each city is its own unique organism, encouraging certain patterns of growth and life. Housing in cities is no different. What works in Paris or London might not work in Atlanta, which doesn’t have the density or transportation infrastructure of those cities. But the American South in general (and Atlanta in particular) is growing beyond its single-family suburban sprawl, with in-town neighborhood centers adding new growth in density. People want to live in these neighborhoods without losing the quality of the place to intense gentrification and exclusion of everyone except the wealthy. Is there an architectural answer to providing for that middle density, that middle income, that somewhat all-inclusive middle class? Is there a design for the city that has room for everyone?