ArchJournal.

‘We believe good design makes people feel better.’

‘We’re passionate about our design,’ said every architect.
Hmmm! Aren’t your competitors passionate too? Doesn’t every other designer want to make buildings that make people feel better?

I had asked an architect what was distinctive about his design? He gave me the, ‘We’re passionate’ reply.
We both knew this wasn’t his usual answer. It was the weekend. We were tired. His project team, including me, had been working long days on a signature proposal. It was a great submission. And we were passionate. We just needed to demonstrate that.

It deserved a great cover story, a powerful debut. You wouldn’t hide the best hotel tucked behind a pokey lobby or a great book under a basic cover. Well, you might. But it would be incongruous, and no fun. You don’t want to be like anyone anywhere. You want to ARRIVE!

‘It needs to be something that’s distinctly you. What are you giving this client that no one else can?’
That’s what I needed to know but that question is too open. It’s like drawing the first line on a white page.

What’s the connection between the designer and the concept?

The architect I was speaking to usually finds literary references to inform his design. Some might say that’s my job as the writer. And yes, I will make further suggestions when spotted or needed. But the designer’s concept rules.

This time, he’d referenced a poem that is also the list of contents in a book. But we needed more.

We kicked around a few ideas up and down the phone line. Nothing.

‘There’s this I’ve been thinking about,’ he said. “I’ll email it.” A minute later I am reading it and he’s filling me in. It seemed obscure. They were words by a college teacher who had inspired him. The words had stayed with him. The words did not even apply to the discipline of architecture.

‘OK. Leave it with me.’ And with that, and informed by the poem, design, and its narrative, we’d reached a nexus from where I could begin. I would refine it in the day or so that followed but I had the first draft ready and sent to him in 18 minutes.

Characterising design is like creating a novel character. You define  the characters not by writing a CV or formal description but with a single question about how they felt in a single moment.

It’s about finding the story that reflects you today. That is enough. There is nothing more permanent than a temporary solution. It’s enough to reflect you and your design now.

Marian Edmunds

P.S. Why don’t I share the project, the design, the book, the poem? Respect for the designer’s ideas,  and confidentiality agreements. It’s also a challenge to you to think beyond being passionate.

I am often in Sydney where you can see many examples of the work that Harry Seidler, a modernist  influenced by the Bauhaus left on the city.

Pictured above is Blues Point Tower which must offer to residents the best view of Sydney’s New Year’s Eve fireworks.

The first time a designer collaborated with me, he downloaded the vision in his mind to mine. We sat in the studio at desks littered with sandwich packets, with a balsa model of a past project on a tilt atop the paperwork. I translated his vision for the island villas and the bay club into words. Together we refined the narrative and next morning it was ready for the presentation boards. It had to be — it was the deadline. A couple of weeks later we heard our project was the winner.
We’ve worked on many projects since, mostly via phone or by email, with one of us, mostly me, working into the night.

Even so, my complete focus is on ensuring a proposal, narrative or content is clear and interesting, and reflects your personality and purpose. I bring to this work principles and standards  instilled in me as a journalist and editor at the world’s best quality papers including the Financial Times.

Success in storytelling about design (or any topic) falls to the designer and relies on openness. What is the expected profit for the investor? How will it affect the user?

In managing messages we can easily forget to tell the story.

A story puts people in the picture. Jargon alienates. Show someone a rendering of a large building and they are likely to pull a face and liken it to a part of the anatomy. But sketch a possible life and they will imagine awakening there.

There’s an appetite for stories of design yet many designers receive little or no press. You rush on to the next project rarely pausing to bring people with you. Yet people are fascinated about how you think and want to see how cities and places could be. We want live to be smoother.

What stops a designer from sharing a story? Is it nerves that your vision is too out there, or not out there enough? Are you unsure of how to reach people? Or, is your relationship with the semantics of design uneasy?

Many designers can speak compellingly about their designs but less fluent in writing the language of design. For some walking across hot stones would be the easier option.

There is an old rule of writing called KISS, no it’s not a smooch. It means Keep It Simple Stupid. There is another device, an editor. The guiding principle is to tell a simple story.

Step away from the jargon.
Architectural terminology is OK. Yes! As long as it serves the story. Every word must take the narrative forward.Are you being self-indulgent or striving to impress?

Are you being self-indulgent or striving to impress?

Don’t! Just choose the right word.

The best architectural writing uses words as building materials. It ensures two things: that the house stands up and shows its character.

You can remain true to your technical ambitions but remember while engineering ingenuity impresses, other forces move people. Will this project be profitable? Does this house feel like home? Could  I work here?
The best stories come from the source.

Working with architects and designers, I make texts and narratives ready for clients and that can be carried over to PR and marketing.

Recently, I  collaborated with a designer on a project that had already sparked big excitement. It unites sensory and spatial experiences of an emerging urban lifestyle, and all from a small green footprint. In the process, we encountered a new name for the project and an image in people’s minds of a possible life. We had fun taking it as far as we could. What’s the point to do otherwise? We don’t want to make the same thing that has been made before. Not unless it’s a fine dinner.

On the way, we encountered a new name for the project and a possible life. We had fun taking it as far as we could. What’s the point to do anything less? We want to make a place like none before.

Marian Edmunds — Telling your story online, in feature articles, a narrative, a white paper, books or through winning proposals.