by Jeremy Wells

My job is one in which I am constantly creating. Whether it is for a painting or creating some new surface treatment from scratch that is the perfect solution to someone’s interior problems — I’m creating things. I’ve always felt that even in the seemingly simple task of creating a surface treatment for someone’s home that there is so much more going on than simple color theory and material selection. I’ve always been aware of how we are influenced and shaped by our environments and what those environments are saying about who we are as individuals. I personally am extremely sensitive to my environment and fortunately married someone who shared the same sensitivity. It’s a blessing and a curse, I suppose, to be able to comprehend why a space is affecting us the way it is. I suspect it is more blessing as I believe that everyone is affected but that not all are aware of it. This spacial sensitivity is at the heart of design and is a motivating drive within me to continuously be a student of environmental design and understand why space affects us the way it does.

I recently finished a wonderful book recommended by a friend called The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton and have since recommended it to numerous friends. My friend gave me a copy foretelling that I would enjoy every page as it is all about everything I always talk about. Apparently I’m not as subtle as I like to think I am when it comes to my opinion of space. The book is a true pleasure to read and covers a wide range of architectural history without the unnecessary pomp that might be associated with such a topic.

Mr. de Botton writes with a certain honesty and vulnerability as he describes how he, too, is affected by the buildings he is in. Throughout the book he is making a case for good architecture and is giving his reader’s permission to be critical of our buildings and perhaps more importantly the framework by which one should make judgments. Emphasizing a building’s ability to speak to us, it’s almost as though he is trying to teach the foreign language of a busy culture that is more concerned with things of time and cost and less of virtue and purpose. This language is so important to understand not only for those of us who work in an industry that is meant to supply work that enhances peoples’ environments and subsequently enhances their interior life as well, but also for anyone who cares about social change and architecture’s place in city planning and community development. For a city that is unfortunately plagued with a sea of endless strip malls and soulless structures thrown up without consideration for their impact on the surrounding area, it would do well for more of us to make an effort at learning this language. As we learn to hear what buildings are speaking we also gain a newfound appreciation for all of the marvelous buildings throughout Houston and become newly aware of how the projection of their voice has certainly sculpted the communities they inhabit.

Most of us are aware of the fact that certain buildings and interior styles just feel like us more than others. It is sometimes unexplainable why we feel this way but it is strong and convincing nevertheless. I think that many times we look for spaces that seemingly mirror how we see ourselves, just as we dress or groom ourselves a certain way based on our own subjective view of ourselves. An interesting argument made in the book is that we do not necessarily build or furnish spaces because they reflect who we are but that we build or furnish spaces to reflect who we want to be. He relates this to a belief that certain countries throughout history are drawn to one style of art over another based on the values that their current cultures are lacking. For instance a country that has enjoyed relative social and economic stability would be drawn to abstract works of art who’s abstractions provide a bit of escape from their stable environment much in the same way a peaceful pastoral landscape scene might be better appreciated in a country with political and economic instability with a desolate landscape. While I think this is a very interesting assessment I do not think this view leaves enough room for the simple fact that we are all drawn to different works of art and that a national trend is typically not the criteria with which most of us choose the works we collect.

Anytime a book is written that causes us to consider the reasons of why we buy and build things I think it is a good thing in that a little introspection is never bad. In many ways I view my work as that of a translator – I try to listen to the unspoken words my client’s project so that I can build a palette or texture that speaks clearly of their ideal self. It’s important for me, and I think should be to all of us, to be surrounded by places that are a consonance of whom we are and whom we want to be. Happiness, of course, can not be sustained by architecture alone, but understanding good architecture, it seems, can certainly help.