little boys and girls go make sure you have wads of money if you want to move up in architecture.
shanec seems to be one of the few people that are able to drill down to the core of the argument: its not about being black/ green/ a chick/ a dude/ straight/ gay/ bi/ membership in the good ol boys club or not...
Architecture is a rich people's club! its the williams and tsien/ thompson rose/ maya lin/ Laurinda Spear, Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk, Marilyn Taylor, Zaha Hadid, Toshiko Mori... I am not discounting their talents but the reality is that they have the cash to be able to do what they want.
Like i said a few post back, in the picture in the opening post, David Adjaye may be a black man but he is for sure NOT a broke black man. Gender, etnicity and economic (dis)advantage are not related. Until people realize this critical distinction we will be wasting efforts going after the wrong problem.
its not a glass ceiling holding people back. its their empty wallets and broke bank accounts that keep them back.
Would it matter if this moneyed architect recently written up in the NYTimes was a man/ woman or smurf blue colored?
January 9, 2005
HABITATS
Architect's Magnificent Obsession
By PENELOPE GREEN
HE apartment had all the flourishes you would expect from a young and prolific architect: the vintage modernist furniture (a little Mies, some Florence Knoll, a chair by Bruno Mathsson); the muted palette of gray, black and brown; the gallery-quality black-and-white photographs (mostly Wayne Maser and the haunting botanical portraits of Don Freeman). It's all very precise, and it's all in the details.
But the architect, Stephan Jaklitsch, 37, whose extreme good taste has shaped all the Marc Jacobs stores worldwide (that's nearly 50, and still counting) and who has been running his own 17-person firm for six and a half years, has amped the aesthetic volume up so high in his Horatio Street one-bedroom that only the most educated ears can pick up the frequency. For instance, on the coffee table, sitting casually at magazine level (not that there were any unsightly magazines) was a tiny celadon bowl the color of a grasshopper's wing. It turned out to be about a century or two older than most objects in the room.
Mr. Jaklitsch took about 15 seconds to find the bowl's pedigree papers - it's Chinese, from the Qianlong Dynasty (1736-95) - which were filed neatly in a Florence Knoll credenza nearby. Nearly as quickly, he offered a delicate Chinese terra cotta vessel weighing no more than a sheet of paper, its clay skin imprinted by a faint basket-weave pattern. Its papers declared that its year of birth was somewhere between 475 B.C. and 221 B.C.
Slightly built and with a husky voice and impish smile, Mr. Jaklitsch looked considerably younger than his age. An hour or so later, shrugging on his Marc Jacobs peacoat, he in fact looked much like a graduating senior from a prep school in the Northeast - Andover, maybe, or St. Paul's. Except that his peacoat was lined in sable, and his dorm room gewgaws have been bought on the Hollywood Road in Hong Kong.
"I've had friends walk in and say: 'What is the story in this room? How does the Asian stuff work with the modern? I don't get it!" Mr. Jaklitsch said. "The story is just that I respond to anything that is rigorously designed."
Which explains why this lover of Mies is living in an archetypal prewar apartment building - one of five Emery Roth buildings designed for the real estate developers Bing & Bing in Greenwich Village just before the Depression (and the only one that's a co-op; the other four, at 59, 299 and 302 West 12th Street and 45 Christopher Street, are condos). It's sort of a joke, Mr. Jaklitsch said, but kind of true that when he learned that Mies van der Rohe had, in fact, lived in a prewar building himself, Mr. Jaklitsch thought he "could cope with this one."
Also, as he pointed out, it's rigorously designed; its gracious proportions are an Emery Roth signature. R. A. Sassone, a vice president at the Corcoran Group who handles sales in many of the five Bing & Bing buildings, said it's a truism among fans of the Village quintet that if you are blindfolded and led into one, "you can't tell which building you're in." All have the same low and lovely beamed ceilings, brick fireplaces and cloistered bedrooms. Mr. Jaklitsch said he loved the proportions of his 800-square-foot home, bought in early 2002 for $441,000. (At an open house for the apartment, which had been on the market for just four days, Mr. Jaklitsch was one of 90 people sidling through its rooms. He found the owner, shook his hand and said, "Here's the asking price and here's my phone number.")
For a guy who spends four days each week traveling, it was imperative he find a quiet sanctuary for the few hours he has to himself. (Last year, Marc Jacobs stores opened in Boston, Beijing, Shanghai and Los Angeles; including the Marc Jacobs stores on deck for this year and beyond, Mr. Jaklitsch's firm right now has 45 projects on its drafting tables.) "The pace of work is relentless," he said happily.
Mr. Jaklitsch resurfaced the apartment's walls and replaced moldings long since vanished to restore it to a crisp 1929 state. He didn't touch its closet-sized kitchen and funky tiled bathroom. Set at the back of the building, the apartment is as quiet as a house on a suburban cul-de-sac. Mr. Jacklitsch has no television set, and the cellphone reception is lousy. "And since I'm never here to return calls on the land line," he said, "people have learned not to use that number."
Since moving to New York City in 1994, Mr. Jaklitsch, who grew up in Maryland and took his architecture degree at Princeton, has lived in the same four-block section of the West Village. "I hate the grid," he said, "and I love the trees."
Like many architects, Mr. Jaklitsch calls himself a generalist and does not stamp his clients' spaces in his own image. A West Village town house is all steel and hearty rough-hewn beams; another town house a few blocks away is a 19th-century paneled homage to itself. Five years ago, a contractor recommended Mr. Jaklitsch to Robert Duffy, Marc Jacobs's business partner, when Mr. Duffy wanted to renovate his own Fifth Avenue apartment.
Mr. Jaklitsch has since completed a town house for Mr. Duffy and designed every Marc Jacobs store, in collaboration with the French furniture designer Christian Liaigre, beginning with the company's second, in San Francisco, in August 2000.
"He is demanding as hell," Mr. Jaklitsch said of Mr. Duffy. It was clearly a compliment.
Mr. Duffy later doffed his own hat to Mr. Jaklitsch. "He has incredibly good taste - and he would hate for me to say that," Mr. Duffy said. "I love watching him on these safaris through the antiques stores in Hong Kong, evaluating and choosing and falling in love with a perfect bowl. I like that his apartment is so orderly and so neat, and that maybe there is this one perfect object on display that I know - because I've seen him do it - he's agonized over. And in our work together, I need the integrity of what he does to make what I want be good."
Mr. Jaklitsch is indeed so in love with good design he's arrayed silver-framed photographs of great buildings on a mantel and a side table like family portraits. You'll peer into them expecting to see the grinning faces of small children (Mr. Jaklitsch has 24 nieces and nephews). Instead, you'll see a snapshot of the Japanese Imperial Palace, or the Parthenon, his favorite building.
His second favorite is the Resurrection Chapel in Stockholm - a riot of classical details. He'll eagerly point out its intricacies, and the fact that its architect, Sigurd Lewerentz, designed it with two proportional systems, one for the inside and one for the exterior.
"No one could know that just by looking," he said, lauding Lewerentz's obsessiveness. "But he knew, and it mattered to him. I love that."
So, a visitor wondered, taking in the pristine space around her, did Mr. Jaklitsch consider himself to be in any way obsessive?
"Completely," he said. "Have you ever met an architect who wasn't?"