Left handed

If you’re left handed. chopsticks are great.

Scissors, not so much.

A simple tool, commonly used, made challenging for you simply because of who you are.

Our houses can be like this for society’s outliers.

Steep stairs, challenging door handles, narrow doors, high storage.

Universal Design is a concept usually applied to architecture from the vantage point of the outliers. But why does it only need to be in these special use cases? Why don’t we simply design all houses along these principles. Equality of opportunity and all that.

Besides, what are the downsides in living in a house that had (for example):

• Wider access ways and thresholds

• Level transition zones both internally and externally

• Lever turn handles rather than knob handles for doors and windows

• The preference for drawers instead of cupboards for easy access

• Kitchens that are not walk-through (transition) zones

• Easy-to-use drawer handles 

• The preference for drawers rather than cupboards, for ease of access

• Good task lighting in utility zones

• Well placed grab rails in bathroom areas

• Non-slip flooring. 

• Electrical outlets located higher than usual above the floor so they are in easy reach of everyone.

• Installing handles for doors and drawers that require no gripping or twisting to operate.

• Storage spaces within reach of both short and tall people.

Today's observations of newly-minted suburbia

Today I did many things, here’s two of them:

1. I lay on the grass in the sunshine.

2. I walked through a relatively new subdivision (new enough there are still empty lots and houses under construction).

Consequently, I’ve found a answers to yesterday’s question:

What are the assumptions that go into house design?

While yesterday I was more interested in the actual technical assumptions, today’s observations led to some more tongue-in-cheek conclusions.

I can’t be sure, but it seems that when designing a house, we seem to assume that:

1. Everyone needs a double garage, even though they park their cars outside.

2. All doors except the front door (although sometimes including the front door) must be separated from the street by a fence. Preferably a solid, six-foot high fence.

3. The only people people with different aesthetic preferences are those with money.

Assuming ro-bust-ability

I just realised that the word “robust” has the word “bust” within it. “Ro-bust” is essentially “un-bust-able”.

And having gone on that tangent, now we’re here, with a question:

What makes a house robust?

I’m not a structural engineer, or a builder, so I’m not sure what the technical answer is. But I’m interested in the assumptions that a structural engineer, or builder makes when they’re making the structure (in each of their own ways of ‘making’). No-one knows everything, and there isn’t the time to everything find out, so by necessity we must make some assumptions.

What are the assumptions that go into house design?

Who wants to live a spec life?

The average doesn’t exist in real life. There is no ‘normal’ person. No ‘standard’ homeowner. No ‘typical’ first home buyer.

So why is building spec homes, for average people, big business?

Probably because it is profitable.

And because it’s possible to employ a marketing team, in an ad-saturated society, to sell it to us.

Why should the homes we get to live in be dictated by what’s profitable to build?

There are many possible alternative bottom lines. Here’s a few:

• Connection: Homes designed to encourage connection with people and promote better mental health.

• Environmental Impact: Homes designed with a low carbon footprint over the entire lifecycle so that the next generation can enjoy the planet.

• Anti-Consumerism: Homes designed to make it easier to buy less stuff by being small and efficient.

• Low-energy: Or overall low-consumption (i.e. water, energy).

• Sufficiency: Homes that prioritise the ability to grow food.

• Proximity: Homes designed to encourage a low-commute, village-style day-to-day

Planning to think, or thinking to plan?

Planning can become a stand-in for doing the actual work.

That work we’re avoiding might be active: We spend all day writing a list of things to take on holiday instead of actually packing our bags.

But a more likely scenario is that we’re using the process of planning to give (ourselves) the illusion of thinking. Using the example of list-writing in lieu of bag-packing: We're avoiding the work of thinking about what we really need to take on holiday and replacing it with the (apparently) productive process of writing a list of everything we think we could need.

Planning is a familiar word in the property industry.* Development plan. City plan. Resource plan. Project plan. Construction plan.

When we prepare these plans, how often are we simply following a pre-determined process deemed appropriate, correct or efficient, instead of doing the hard work of thinking things through and determining the best course of action?

It isn’t that planning isn’t valuable. Written down, actionable plans are needed to deliver a project. Rather, it’s more that experts in planning processes should support the development and implementation of creative ideas, rather than hold court over the process that takes an idea into action steps.

*You could also easily replace ‘planning’ with ‘design’ here and throughout this post, but my feeling is that designers enjoy the creative thinking process to much to defer to a pre-determined planning process.

Who's it for? (or, who's missing out)

Who is an ethical, alternative, co-operative property system for?

Obviously it’s for all of us.

But the real question is, who is it most for. Who does the design bias towards. Who’s interests take priority, because there are always going to be competing interests, even (or perhaps especially) in an equitable system.

Here’s my proposal: It is biased towards the people not at the table.

Focus on the people furthest from the centre. Those most often left most disadvantaged. Create something that is generous towards these people, and it will work for all of us.

Some folks figured this out when designing homes for elderly, and people with disabilities. It turn’s out, these homes work really well for everyone.*

This is hard to do. It’s challenging to respond to people’s situations that aren’t mainstream. It’s especially difficult when they aren’t there to speak for themselves. And we make it harder still if we don’t know how to listen and learn.

But we want something truly equitable, something truly ethical, and entirely co-operative. To get there, we need to start at the margins.

*If you’re interested in the concept of designing in a way that is generous towards people at the fringes, you might like to look at Universal Design.

What's the hardest part?

The hardest thing about living together on this planet, in this city, on this street, is doing it together.

You could argue that doing life together is the point of life itself. We see to have forgotten this around here, at some point along the way..

Or maybe we've sold out. Maybe we live with the cry of "I don't need this in my life" ringing on in our ears. Maybe the pursuit of happiness just leaves us blinded by the shining light of our own dreams.

Somewhere along the way we've bought into the idea that we don't need to do the hard stuff, the tough journeys, the challenging conversations. We don't need to do the emotional labour of sharing our house, our street, our life with someone. 

It might be hard, but it's worth it.

And learning to life together, to work together, to share space together is only going to be more important.

Precisely messy design and construction

We are in age of technical precision. Automation, prefabrication, computer aided design and modern tooling mean our production and construction accuracy is at a level unimaginable even decades alone, let alone when the Romans were constructing community infrastructure we're still talking about in engineering colleges.

There's also a growing acknowledgement of the importance of messiness to the creative process. We need new solutions to unsolved problems, and creativity is an essential component.

How to bridge the gap between two apparently opposed ideals? 

The starting point is to ditch the "either/or" dichotomy and adopt an "yes and" approach.

We want our design process to be messy. To be creative. To uncover the new.

Yes!

And.

We want our construction to be precise. To be accurate. To minimise waste. To perform well.

Yes!

And.

We want precise design that delivers. And messy construction that is creative.

Precisely messy design. And messily precise construction.

Well-designed for what?

Here's some simple questions for the designers and occupiers of our homes:

Who designed your house?

Who did they design it for?

What lifestyle did that person have?

Is it your lifestyle?

Is it you?

Is it your house?

How much of our housing stock has been designed for people who lived (and live) in a social context which may not be current, let along desirable, or particularly healthy?

Start well, finish better, but what happens in the middle matters

It's often said: "Start the way you mean to continue".

The way we start something is definitely important. And perhaps equally important is how we finish.

As a musician, we'd often talk about how important it was to get the introduction and ending of a song sounding fantastic. After all, that's all that anybody really remembers at the end.

And the drum solo. No-one forgets the dummer's thirty seconds of fame.

But this is in the context of live music. In live music, the audience is present to the moment of creation, and arguably participates in creating much of the experience themselves.

It's a different story with recorded music.

Recorded music allows us to listen again and again to a song on repeat. In listening over and over again, we can discover our favourite moment buried deep somewhere in the fourth chorus of the eleventh track on the third album. Once we've found our moment, the purpose of the recorded introduction is to be a trigger, a reminder, a promise of the good stuff we know is coming.

What about when we're building a house?

When we're making something that will last.

Making something that someone is going to spend time in. Time living in. Time living with.

Starting well is undoubtably important. And the finish, the way things are left, matters.

But the middle sections, the work that is done, the main body of work that remains with the owner long after the creators are gone, that matters too.

Good homes - well designed, well built, well finished homes - should leave the possibility open that the best bit is not just walking in on the first day, but something discovered in the midst of living in the home. Discovered as we are present in the home. As we participate in turning a house into a home by the act of living in it.

Good homes bring a blend of the live performance where we engage and contribute to the creation of space and goodness, and the permanance of the recorded track, where we can discover our own distinct key moments in which to linger.

Good homes, well designed, property thought out, and well lived in, can become like that favourite piece of music, that ideal album where the popular title track fades in significance over time, leaving us with those moments that mean the most to us.

Nothing but a carrot

We all have something to offer. We can all contribute something.

And we all want to.

Having nothing isn't just a practical survival issue. When you often receive from others, and rarely have an opportunity to give, it's hard to feel like you have anything to offer. And it's hard to see how your presence and time matters.

The solution? Or at least one solution? How about a community garden.

For those without many options, community gardens can be a space where they can contribute their time and there presence, and see meaningful change after even half an hour of work.

And more that this, there is the opportunity for generosity. To share the fruit of your labour with others.

To give a carrot to a toddler. An act of hospitality and generosity so simple, yet potentially so restorative.

Dignity maintained. Mana enhanced. With nothing but a carrot.

Trial and Error v2.0 is called Action/Reflection

How often do we pause to take stock at the completion of a project? To reflect on the process, the people and product. To search for lessons to learn. And then embed those lessons in the next project.

How often do we change?

Making time to identify, solve and implement opportunities for continual, incremental improvement is critical if we want to try and keep pace with the world. And it's even more critical if we're seeking to make a difference, to deliver something new, to do something better than the status quo. To do more than meet spec, we need to challenge and improve the specification itself.

This is not a case of trial and error. We do this by design. We do this on purpose. We do this because we know we've never nailed it. Because there's always more to learn.

Trying is necessary, because otherwise we'll just talk. 

But reflection is necessary, because otherwise we're wasting our try.

Do collaborative design

Because not one of us has the answer.

But all of us have an answer.

And we've all got questions.

"Why do the windows have to be different sizes?"

"What is this space being used for?"

"What about when I get older?"

"Can we make it simpler to build?"

"Do you really need a walk in wardrobe?"

"How much will we save on power bills?"

Design delivers purpose, for good or otherwise

I'm a fan of good design. Of all kinds.

Interior design. Landscape design. Urban design. Architecture. Graphic design.

Design is creation with intent and purpose.

What is created embodies the purpose of the designer, and effects the environment around it accordingly.

Where we live affects how we live.

• If we have a six foot fence, we're less likely to get to know our neighbours. Because we're less likely to see them.
• If we have a 300 square meter house, we're more likely to buy more stuff. Because we have the space.
• If we have a double garage, we're more likely to have two cars. And probably even more likely to keep more junk.
• If we live close to work, we're more likely to walk or bike.

And we haven't even thought about how the inside of our house is designed and laid out, and how that affects the way we live together.

Design matters. Because it changes us.

What is the purpose behind your house?

Most of the houses being built seem to be built to-spec, not built for people. The purpose lies somewhere between making money for the developer, and looking appealing to the market, which really means the same thing.

The purpose isn't to build a home that is good for the people who will live there. It's to build a home that looks like what people want, so we can sell it at a good price.

Build a Good Home vs Get a Good Price

While we might strive for both, I suspect the latter is the priority for most people in the business of designing our new subdivisions.

The self-perpetuating commodified property market

Our houses seem to look best right before we sell them.

We fix the gutter, paint the garage, clear out the garden and finish the curtains just in time to put the house on the market.

The theory is, I guess, that we'll get a better price if everything's done. If everything's straight, neat and tidy.

We're trying to guess what will make the house most valuable to the buyer with the biggest wallet. A theoretical, imagined, impossible future buyer.

It's the same when building a new house. More thought seems to go in to what will make the house valuable when we sell it, rather than what will make the house valuable to us to live in, next year.

And so we all build, renovate, do-up and design houses for a theoretical, imagined, future owner', and never build houses for the actual people who live there.

Yet another symptom of the commodification of property, where the losers are us, the people.

It's a fulfilling prophecy. A self-perpetuating market: We build/renovate houses for the market, which then sell on the market because the market is people buying what sells on the market.

What if we built, bought, sold and renovated houses that we wanted to live in. Designed for us, not the market.

Coffee, cost and rational passionate home design

Value is in the eye of the beholder and it seems that, these days, price is more reflective of value, than cost.

When we buy a coffee at a cafe, we're not buying a coffee, we're buying the experience of the coffee. The anticipating, ordering and drinking of the coffee, and the planning, thinking and enjoying the cafe.

So for the budget-conscious, the challenge is to replace this routine with an alternative that has equivalent value, at a lower price.

It's why bench-top coffee machines are a hit. It's why niche coffee-machines exist. It's what instant coffee advertisements try to sell.

Of course, it is a different experience. We can't replicate the cafe experience at home. What we're trying to do is replace it with a coffee-drinking experience of equivalent value.

If we can do this, we haven't lost anything, we've just saved money! It's a rational, passion-based approach to designing our experience, and spending our money.

We can apply the same logic to our approach property. Or at least, the budget-conscious among us need to!

Our questions is the same: How can we achieve the same result (realise the same value) in a building for a lower cost?

This might mean that our original idea (drinking a flat white in a cafe) needs to radically change (making an Aeropress at home). This is a question of design. It turns out, Architects can be very helpful with design. Especially when we don't know what we don't know.

It might mean that we spend time reflecting to distill the essence of what we value (e.g. the caffeine kick in the long black, or the velvety milk in the flat white) and realise we can still achieve the same outcome in a different way (e.g. instant coffee, or a bench-top coffee machine).

If we go on the journey, we might just find that the reason we want what we want, is because we value what others have. We go after what we know exists, and what we can get.

A value-based home might not look quite like every other home you see around. Unless of course, what you value is being like everyone else, at which point you're job is easy!

For the rest of us, there's some thinking to do.

Get to the midnight conversation

The best conversations seems to happen after midnight.

The craziest plans.

The most exciting dreams.

The moments of deep connection.

It's why we get together with old friends for a weekend, not a coffee. We get to the goodness, the stuff we really want to share, down the track a little way.

What's the after-midnight conversation piece where you live, the bit of your place you really want to share?

And how long does it take to get there and see it, experience it?

And how much effort has gone into the rest?

If your main thing is the kitchen, food, cooking, sharing and sitting down with a cup of tea/wine, what's with the preoccupation with the front lawn, and the roman columns at the entrance?

Spend your time (and money) in the places that matter. And share those places with other people.

Street food for the soul

It's good to share food with friends. To connect, and reconnect. Reminisce and dream.

It's good to share food with people.

If food is such a foundational element to establish connection between people, why are the spaces where we can share food so limited, outside our homes? Does this limit our potential for connection?

What could a more open food-sharing space look like? Perhaps:

• Movie nights at the local cafe with cake and coffee before and/or after.
• Inviting people in the fish and chip shop on a Friday night to eat with you at the local park.
• Street party barbecues.
• Sitting at the bus stop with a thermos of tea and a spare cup.
• Joining someone sitting alone at a cafe.
• Inviting the neighbours around for birthday cake.

Food brings people together. Bring food, gather people.

Designing for impact

So you want to make a difference. You have a dream for a better future. You want to make an impact.

The next step is to try and make it happen within our sphere of control.

While positive personal, individual responses are necessary, it turns out that trying to convince others to "do what I did" isn't a particularly effective way to achieve a large-scale impact.

Attempting to control the situation based on your frame of reference isn't is not the determining factor in creating impact.

Collaboration might be.

This isn't to say that individual stories don't matter. They matter because they are all different. But listening and sharing is more important than convincing and justifying.

Collaboration, not co-opting.

Coordination and cooperation by communication, not command.

Imagine the solutions for housing we might arrive at if we wove our stories together:

• Simpler living in smaller spaces designed for neighbours, not purchasers.
• Coordinated, activated and populated public areas that are accessible to all.
• Households who know households. Neighbours who know neighbours.
• Cross-generational and cross-cultural living within a neighbourhood rather than demographic segregation.
• Shared facilities for making, fixing, growing, playing and being.
• Literal, and potentially common ownership of local commercial activities.
• Educational environments that extend outside the institution into our streets, parks, back yards, garages and kitchens.
• Urban design dominated by spaces for people, not cars.

Build smaller, live closer, share more

We don't really do high-rise around here. The ground's too shaky. So we tend to sprawl instead, building new commuter towns.

But we hate commuting, and like our rural landscape. So we're having a crack at densifying.

Urban densification to combat suburban sprawl.

We seem to be struggling to make it work though. 

Maybe it's because we're still trying to fit a quarter-acre 240 sqm house, lifestyle and expectations into a smaller footprint.

If we built smaller and lived closer, we'd share more.

Share more space, and connect more often.