The Architect's Questionnaire: Randy Higgins

Randy Higgins (The Felt Hat)

BY BRIAN LIBBY

The latest entry in our ongoing series on local architects and designers and their inspirations takes us to Randy Higgins, currently a senior designer with The Felt Hat, which provides brand stewardship, marketing strategy and communication in all media for clients in a broad range of industries. As he'll discuss in the questionnaire, Higgins studied architecture at the University of Washington and played a key early role at Holst Architecture before later moving on to run his own firm, with projects like The Lumber Room, Elizabeth Leach Gallery and Mario's. But my favorite Higgins project may be the unique exterior paint job he created a decade ago for the Pacific Northwest College of Art's now-demolished Feldman Building; it translated an Arthur Rimbaud poem into a visual language of squares and rectangles. Most of all, beyond his portfolio of completed projects I appreciate his deep intellect and knowledge of design, from its conceptual underpinnings dating back to Vitruvius to the principles behind what it takes to make a successful retail design today.

Portland Architecture: When did you first become interested in architecture as a possible career?

Randy Higgins: When I was a kid, I dreamt of a house composed of interlocking interior and exterior rooms. I found it fascinating; so much so, I’d constantly imagine it, draw it and try to build it. Over time, new obsessions like National Geographic, M. C. Escher and Star Wars influenced how I imagined the house. Eventually the house became a complex world unto itself.

Registering for the draft inspired me to pursue architecture. My childhood was complicated; it left me knowing every decision has infinite consequences. Registration meant giving the government permission to send me to war. I didn’t want to live in a world where survival meant kill or be killed. My only hope was to make a better world. Since I spent half my life imagining worlds, I decided to spend the rest making real ones.

I thought architects made worlds. I was wrong; they make buildings. I stayed with architecture because it taught me how to make big complicated things. Only when I took literally the statement our world is made by design, did I understand it’s designers who make worlds. It was a case of learning the obvious last and when I did I left architecture for design. Now I design houses, interiors and small buildings for people who, like me, want a better world.

Where did you study architecture and how would you rate the experience?

I was the first in my family to consider college so I didn’t know what to expect. I knew about the Bauhaus, appreciated its holistic approach and assumed the University of Washington architecture school was the same. Feeling excited, unworthy and unprepared, I devised a two-part plan.

First, I began weekly used bookstore visits and began building a library of relevant books. Second, I enrolled in Seattle Central Community College. I didn’t care about the degree; I cared about creating the cross-disciplinary curriculum necessary for world making. Only when I felt ready did I allow myself to graduate and enroll in the UW.

The UW wasn’t the Bauhaus. They aspired to be holistic but were far from it. The discrepancy was confusing. I didn’t understand why, out of the entire range of world making conditions, the UW was satisfied with only responding to a small amount. My professors tried to help by telling me it would get better in graduate school. I didn’t believe them, because I saw the discrepancy increased as graduate students advanced in their specialized studies. Fortunately my continued bookstore visits help nourish the anemic content.

Setting my sights on graduate school, I deemed SCI-Arc the only school worth attending. Assuming attendance, I began work on my thesis and hit used bookstores for my primary source material. My thesis would attempt to resolve this discrepancy and in doing so make architecture into the world-building discipline I needed it to be.

I was accepted to SCI-Arc but never went. John Holmes offered me a job down in Portland at Holst Architecture, which was then just a two-person firm with Jeff Stuhr. John asked, 'Why don’t you come down and spend the summer and then go to Sci-Arc?' Then by the end of the summer he'd asked me to stay. I was their first full-time employee. I began applying my pre-thesis research to my design projects and that helped us win the Pacific Northwest College of Art competition. Holst was determined I stay. I accepted their offer of money, partnership and project leadership.

I never had the formal education I hoped for. Instead, it was my preparation habit, one that I still do every day, that taught me everything I know. This habit is why I’m the guy who declined architectural college in order to design an art college. And who later would spend years teaching architecture to PSU and PNCA MFA students with only a non-professional undergraduate degree in architecture.

Elizabeth Leach Gallery (Jeremy Bittermann)

What is your favorite building project that you’ve worked on?

I’m fortunate to have helped Elizabeth Leach with her gallery, Sarah Meigs with the Lumber Room and Mario Bisio with his stores. I wouldn’t have been able to help these, or any of my clients, if Sally Lawrence and James Canfield hadn’t first asked me to help them.

PNCA’s Feldman building and Oregon Ballet Theatre’s Eastside Studios were fraternal twins born of the same conditions. Both were forced to relocate because of the Portland Art Museum's expansion plans. Both had no money and nine months to find a new home or cease to exist. Both were considered impossible and for all practical reasons should not have succeeded. They did succeed and everybody benefitted. Both institutions were able to stabilize, grow and become what they are today. Holst received praise, awards and big commissions, changing it from a small firm into something larger. I was offered opportunities to teach, lecture and write. Without asking for any of it, I was on the architectural success track. But this was not the success I wanted.

I wanted to build worlds. PNCA and OBT required this because non- profits exist to make the world better. Helping them meant being part of a creative community bound by ideological belief and commitment to right action. The discrepancy between architecture and actuality I first in school and later in practice didn’t exist. The seriousness of their need wouldn’t allow it. These projects showed me the answer I’d been looking for. It’s the absolute response to the seriousness of the need that defines the difference between building making and world creating.

PNCA's now-demolished Feldman Building (PNCA)

The success I wanted was being able to spend everyday helping all my clients this way. Architecture wouldn’t allow it, since most commissions are speculative, requiring enough seriousness to make a building but not enough to make a world. Design, like art, is vaguely defined. It possessed the malleability I needed to create the practice I wanted. I completed PNCA and OBT, then left architecture for design. Showing me the way I wanted to practice is the benefit these projects gave me.

Who has been an important mentor among your colleagues?

Kim Stafford told me it’s not enough to teach somebody how to write; you must help them become a writer. This is what mentoring means. Mentors don’t just help you do stuff. They help you become the person you want to be. I know this, because I’ve been mentored twice.

Peter Dow gave me my first job at Kirkland, Washington's Cafe Juanita. At 15 I became a dishwasher. Six years later, I left after working my way to the highest kitchen position, second only to head chef. Peter let me, a high school kid with no culinary experience, cook his food, because he was personally committed to developing the potential he saw in me. He told me often that my goal was to leave the kitchen for architecture. When I felt ready, I asked him to recommend an architect I could work for. He arranged an interview with Larry Rouch.

Larry hired me on the spot. Because I had no architectural education or experience, he required I agree to a formal mentorship. Like Cafe Juanita, I started at the bottom and left six years later having worked up as far as the situation would allow. Larry ran his office like the cafe’s kitchen: every customer mattered, every thing mattered, everything that can be done must done perfectly.

I left Larry’s office when I realized the only way to learn more was to be directly responsible for everything, which meant running my design studio. At 27 my mentored experience allowed to gain the missing experience while ensuring clients didn’t suffer my learning curve. I closed the studio when John Holmes recruited me to Portland. We had worked together in Larry’s office and he wanted me to bring the lessons I learned to help his fledgling firm.

What part of the job do you like best, and as an architect what do you think you most excel at?

I love how design requires critical empathy. It’s beautiful how all of us are endowed with the ability to fully feel what somebody else is experiencing and at the same time not suffer the emotional complexity. It’s a fundamental design skill, for it allows us to completely embrace the seriousness of a client’s need while remaining clear-headed enough to create ways to help. I enjoy this experience and know from history the world is measurably better when others enjoy it as well.

Clients need me to understand their future, because they hope I can design a device that will allow them to meet or exceed their future expectations. I need to know everything I can about their future and the best way is for them to tell me about it as often as possible. Because clients are like everybody else, talking about the future is an emotional roller coaster. I work hard to keep them comfortable so the stories they share root from their most hopeful, courageous and creative self. It’s my job to translate these stories into images. These images are only right when the client loves them.

Mario's (Michael Mathers)

When I present I never pitch. I don’t want to influence the outcome because it’s their future, not mine, that we’re trying to manifest. Instead we revisit the stories, discuss how the design responds and then let them decide if it's right. If not, we talk about how to make it better and revise accordingly. If it's right, we enrich the design by moving on to other stories. I excel at this process.

What are some Portland buildings (either new or historic) that you most admire?

Knowing the language of architecture means being able to read buildings like books. I admire buildings that tell how the intentions are so seriously believed; they define every aspect. These buildings don’t always win awards, adorn magazine covers or become post cards. Attention is not their intention. They are devices designed to fully help a unique way of life.

Powells City of Books is the greatest bookstore on Earth. Its labyrinth layout encourages getting lost in the stacks. It has the more thought per square foot than another building in Portland and its inventory is constantly changing. If you want to understand Portland people, then spend some time at Powell’s and experience what we’re reading.

The Applied Craft and Design program started in an empty warehouse, with 18 students and a handful of faculty. The program’s leadership, curriculum and physical environment are intentionally insufficient, requiring the students and faculty to work together as collaborative creators. The resulting bricolage interior is more than just a building. It is a living example of how art, craft and design make our world.

50 years ago Lee Kelly bought a small dairy farm, converted the barn into his live/work studio and planted a forest. Today, the out buildings host artists in residency and his many sculptures are nestled beneath the mature trees. This is the world one of our most loved artists made to help him create. Nike needs a billion dollar compound to pump out its novel disposable goods; all Lee needs to make his perdurable art is an old barn.

What is your favorite building outside of Portland and besides any you’ve worked on?

Thanks to the Internet, every building in the world is knowable through photographs. I’m not sure this is a good thing. Much of what I appreciate about buildings can’t be photographed and can only be appreciated by spending time with the actual building. At its worst, building photography is like celebrity selfies: attractive facades implying inner meaning. At best, they provide a reason to visit.

My most favorite building I first learned about through stories and then later through photographs. Everything Donald Judd created at Marfa has been shot by some of the world’s greatest photographers. All these images pale in comparison to being there. The entire town of Marfa should be designated a world heritage site. After a three-hour drive through west Texas nothingness, the town with its funky bars, incredible bookstore and NPR radio station seems like a mirage. Donald Judd’s house, library, personal galleries and multiple studios feel as if he just stepped away and will be back any minute. The Chinati Foundation, created from a place originality dedicated to war and now home to dozens of genre defining art installations, is an example of what the world is trying to be. The two artillery sheds housing Judd’s 100 milled aluminum sculptures are alone a reason to visit. In the shed looking south, with the aluminum sculptures in the foreground, his 15 concrete sculptures in the middle ground and that flat Texas horizon beyond, I understood why Judd needed all that space. Everybody needs environments to help them do what they do. Marfa shows that to be truly creative, all one needs is absolute space.

Is there a local architect of firm you think is unheralded or deserves more credit?

I understand why we praise firms, but I’m not convinced it’s a good thing. Architecture firms, like any consumer brand, are abstractions that are strategically presented to show only what they want seen. The resulting praise can be warranted but it’s prudent not to assume praise based on isolated parts accurately applies to everything else the firm does. Praise (or blame, or any judgement), to remain accurate, must maintain its qualifiers, otherwise it’s best to neither give or receive.

Also praising firms ignores a habitually unheralded group. The architects, designers and other staff the firm employs to do the work deserve acknowledgement for their effort. Architecture is a hard job. Not every practitioner enjoys their job, but every practitioner deserves to. Lack of enjoyment limits absolute commitment to a project, because nobody commits body and soul to something they don’t enjoy.

Acknowledgement is different than praise, It’s simply letting somebody know their work matters, has value, and their efforts are not in vain. Acknowledgement given in small daily doses is enough to help somebody keep on keeping on.

How would you rate the performance of local government like the Portland Development Commission, or the development and planning bureaus?

We work with these agencies the same way we work with clients or any other collaborator. We research the requirements, figure out why they’re important and create the compliance that’s best for all. I’m sympathetic to folks who do have concerns. I know it’s hard to make something perfect so there is always a need to control influences. I also know much of an architect’s grumbling comes from a belief that it’s their role to educate others about what makes a good building. So when a government agency, neighborhood association or even a client tries to educate the architect, you can bet somebody’s gonna get their knickers in a knot.

Design Review could encourage willing and even creative compliance if they did what LEED did. Prior to LEED many of the black-shirt crowd belittled sustainability as thinky-feely Christopher Alexander stuff. LEED created the award system because awards motivate by creating market distinction. The result was a gold rush of firms competing for the top spot and the brands of many firms were built on their ability to comply. If zoning was presented as the recipe for making our unique civic cuisine, and awards were given for Most Portland Building, it’d encourage a lot of folks to see other criteria differently.

The Lumber Room (Jeremy Bittermann)

What famous architect would you like to see design a building in Portland?

I recently saw BAM’s Lou Kahn exhibit, listened to Steven Holl talk about his debt to Kahn and attended the after party at Peter Miller Books. It meant I spent the day with Seattle’s best and brightest architects. The entire time I kept thinking of the incredible distance that separated Kahn/Holl and these architects. Both groups spoke the same language of architecture, but the depth of understanding, ability to manifest and commitment to their craft was night and day.

Folks like Kahn and Holl are a different species. The typical architect, whether from Seattle, Portland, or wherever, has more than enough talent to make an attractive building. But if you asked Steven Holl, Peter Zumthor or Alvaro Siza to design the same building, the potential result is a wholesale redefinition of what a building can be.

These architects see differently. Their buildings become a livable lens that help others see differently. It doesn’t mean seeing what the architect sees; it means creating a device that allows others to exercise their own unique way of seeing. Hopefully that experience will inspire different thoughts and lead to different actions. Portland is a lovely city, but if we are committed to helping make the world better, one different than what we have now, then it helps to have buildings to surround ourselves with buildings that encourage seeing differently

Holl's Bloch Building addition, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art (Wikimedia Commons)

Name something besides architecture (sneakers, furniture, umbrellas ) you love the design of.

I’d love to design a book. Truly beautiful books are miraculous marriages of form and content. It’s what our buildings once were, before, as Victor Hugo says, the book destroyed the building. For centuries we told our important stories through buildings. We once expected buildings to tell our most important stories. Movable type disrupted this. It encouraged literacy and provided an easier way to tell stories. Our buildings still tell stories, but typically limited to architectural stories about function, construction, precedent and various forms of delight. So now if we want to know important stories, we’ll read a book, not a building.

The Felt Hat folks know the world is a better when important stories are abundant and accessible. It’s one of the reasons we started working together in 2004 and why in 2014 I joined the firm. They are brilliant typographers and know how to create that gorgeous harmony of positive and negative space that defines a perfectly set page. They bring their keen typographic eye to every strategy, design and project they do. I doubt I’ll ever design a beautiful book, but I love working with folks who can.

What are three of your favorite movies?

Most all the books I experience in stores and have acquired for my own library are non-fiction. Partially it's because I consult these books the same way lawyers, architects or academics consult their reference material. Mainly its because non-fiction is a special kind of story. It’s a story that could be true. Since it's my job to render true the story of my client’s future, these books show me how to make trust worthy stories.

My favorite movies are just the opposite. I’ve never lost my fascination with dreams. I love how a fantastic story, when told through convincing real imagery, results in unique kind of reality. Movies, like dreams, allow us to directly experience new realities. Unlike actual reality, we can fully feel and suffer nothing, leaving us free to decide how the experience will or will not affect our life.

I appreciate how these questions have helped me think about what I do. I’ve never thought about movies this way but doing so helps me understand why ever asked, these three keep coming up as favorites: Wings of Desire by Wim Wenders, Apocalypse Now by Francis Ford Coppola, and A Matter of Life and Death by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.