FFTP Panels: Finding the Forest Through the Trees

Wooden Skyscraper

Wooden Skyscraper

A very insightful and interesting video presentation about sustainability in the modern world, by Michael Green, as he discusses his vision for wooden skyscrapers and how wood would shape our future with the use of FFTT mass timber panels. He presents a challenge that not only asks architects, engineers and designers to push the envelope of conventional thinking about wood construction, but one that inspires them to expand the discussion and bring wood into position as the driving force behind systematic changes in the building industry. With economic and environmental benefits for society, it is a worthwhile topic.

If you're interested in learning more, you can click on this link to read an in-depth report on FFTT panels:   http://wecbc.smallboxcms.com/database/rte/files/Tall%20Wood.pdf

Paint It Black


Much to my mother’s chagrin, I’ve always been a huge fan of black. In the 80s, I began wearing black because, like many teenagers, I needed the world to know I was an existentialist, deeply mysterious, angst-filled, brooding artist. Plus it was quicker to get dressed that way.

Over the years, I’ve worked my penchant for black into my projects. To begin with, (just in case my design intent was misguided) I started by painting the walls around my own kitchen.  After tossing around and rejecting sample chips with names like Sealskin and Universal Black – partially because I thought PETA would be picketing at my front porch if I chose former, and the latter sounded oh-so-boring – I went with the ever-enchanting shade of Graphite (Benjamin Moore), the perfect mix of bold and calm, hard and soft… the color of fairy dust, if fairy dust were black. With the kitchen a complete success, I moved to the guesthouse, where I proceeded to paint the living room with an accent wall in Caviar (Sherwin-Williams), furnishings in cilantro and concrete, ceiling and trim in white. Touchdown number two… if touchdowns were black. Luckily, I have had several clients who have been game enough to follow suit. From bedrooms, to living spaces, to kitchens – black has become an integral part of the Dirty Girl design palette.

Every space is different, and balance is key when using a dominant/dark neutral or, for that matter, a dark color. There is no one “trick” when employing black as a design element, but some of the techniques that we use are: black as an accent wall; ceilings and millwork painted white; color-blocking in gradated neutrals; furniture, textiles and artwork that compliment and pop. Whatever method you choose, and whatever mood you’re setting, keep in mind that black needs to be either the lead or the supporting role. Below are several examples making use of the above: the parlor is via my current client, Ray Azoulay, owner of Obsolete, Inc; the kitchen is by Lizette Marie Interior Design; the bedroom is from Beth Dotolo – Pulp Design.

Ray Azoulay - Obsolete, Inc

Ray Azoulay - Obsolete, Inc

Lizette Marie Interior Design

Lizette Marie Interior Design

Beth Dotolo - Pulp Design

Beth Dotolo - Pulp Design

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Into The Wild

The Cabin

The Cabin

In 1954, my father bought a piece of land for $100 at the edge of the National Forest in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. In the summer of his 20th year, alone in the woods, this is where he built The Cabin. We spent many moons in our home-away-from-home. It was a special place. No phone. No television. No running water. A latrine that was relocated every seven years or so, a half moon slicing in some freshness and twilight through the door.

Winter was a half-mile snowshoe hike up the side of a mountain in waist-deep snow, toboggans loaded with food, water and heating oil, ski gear strapped to our backs and wrapped about our hips. Sweating cold in three layers of clothes waiting for the air to defrost, the burp and rattle of the heater working in unison with the hum of the fan to dispel icy exhales. Mice in the drawers, bats in the rafters, bears in the woods – oh my! The welcoming scent of solitude was everywhere. Spring brought the beginning of blueberry bushes, blackberry brambles and black-eyed Susans; the rich smell of wet, loamy leaves, damp and rotting under our feet, finding rebirth in the rays of vernal sunshine; the bubbling whisper of fresh groundwater welling through thin layers of ice, sweet and chilled with a hint of apple on the back of our breath. Elk stared quietly from just behind the birch that stood at attention along a well-worn path. We learned to never stare back. The heat of Summer tempted us down-mountain for a heart-stopping shock of a bath in the river, amongst rockslides and pools washed smooth by centuries of rapids. Occasionally persons unknown would build a bridge across the river, which we would summarily dismantle every time it appeared. We agreed that one must traverse the rocks and rapids with sure feet and guts to get to the other side, or one must simply go home. When the bridge building ceased, we silently declared victory. Then autumn. Precious autumn. The rustling song of gemstone leaves a sigh on the air. We walked heads up, surrounded by a fully mature forest, watching it come into full color and fading into its inevitable decline, collecting the gifts of the great fall and pressing them into our hands, our noses, and finally into waxed paper pages – memories of another year having cycled bound into our homemade books. We paged through the Sears catalog while listening to static-filled oldies. We hiked through the thick woods and picnicked on massive boulders. We skied, and then we skied some more. We paid a quarter for a hot shower at the AMC hut a few miles down the road when we could no longer stand our own scent. We teased our parents about how they’d never taken us to Storyland, accusing them of simply pulling into the parking lot and snapping a photo of us, laughing endlessly as they protested each time we told the tale. Evenings passed with games of gin and backgammon, or Cosmic Wimpout for those who knew how to play, eventually falling into a deep mountain slumber, only waking for blind midnight sprints to the outhouse, avoiding creatures and cold as quickly as possible.

In 1997 we updated The Cabin, which had achieved a considerable down-slope lean. Over a long weekend, with my older brother designated as GC, we lifted The Cabin to install a proper foundation, then new windows, roof, and electrical. We slapped a coat of fresh paint on the ceiling and closed in the deck to make another bunkroom for the next generation. The old oil-burning tank and furnace were removed and we set about digging a trench down the side of the mountain for a propane line. Finally, we cleared some trees to make our hiking trail car-wide with a turnaround at the top – just a few things to make life a little bit easier as we got older, and a few things to make sure The Cabin could be enjoyed safely. In reflection of who we are, how we live and what we hold dear – like the simplicity of family enjoying family around a board game or dinner table – we made sure to respect what our father built, even as we upgraded.

It is still a special place. No phone. No television. No running water. A latrine that is relocated every seven years or so, a half moon slicing in some freshness and twilight through the door – with the very special addition of sixty years of love, laughter and memories, and more to come.

 

Model Building

My best friend often recounts his days as a boy with tales of model building — the recollection of sitting at a table with minuscule pieces of plastic and metal that would slowly become a car, an airplane or a train. And glue. Lots of glue. Lots of toxic model glue in a ventless room accompanied by a Fluffernutter sandwich on Wonderbread and a 2-liter of Shasta creme soda.

His stories remind me of many a day spent in my room hovering over a shoebox full of treasures and trinkets that would decorate the 6-room dollhouse my father had built, listening to The Carpenters and belting out Top of The World or We've Only Just Begun as boldly as any eight-year-old in a plaid leisure suit and floral blouse could.

While our taste in music, clothing and food has evolved, we have both taken our childhood passions into our professional lives. Armed with 3-D printers, CNC machines, modeling software and a shop full of tools, we create our prototypes and final products — my BFF making titanium watches out of parts so small they have to viewed via loupe, while I design, build and furnish homes and commercial spaces. Though much of what we produce today is eventually modeled by computer, cut by lasers and stamped by machine, it begins with an idea, a pencil sketch, or a cardboard and paper model. And glue. Lots of boring, environmentally friendly, nontoxic glue. 

Being that most clients cannot read blueprints or truly grasp a finalized space by looking at 2-D images, models are an important part of the design phase. Basically an adult dollhouse, the model is a a tactile discussion tool that allows us to shape shift by hand in realtime, allowing the client to see the many possibilities within a space. Below are the 1/2" scale model images created by John Winston Studio for one portion of my current commercial project in Culver City. 




Sum-sum-summertime

God it's hot!  It's Vegas hot and Florida humid! 

This past month has been busy on the Westside. We are currently building two projects for the same client, both commercial and residential, keeping pace as the hottest and most humid June I can remember in a quarter century wraps its sweaty breath around us. Simultaneously, we are getting ready to roll out three more projects over the next few weeks.

As the projects develop, I will post some photos so you can see what we're up to. For now, I'm going to go pound some coconut juice and salted watermelon.

Happy July! 




Project Costs

There is a distinct difference between a bid and an estimate and, while everyone would like to know exactly what their project is going to cost prior to breaking ground, it is impossible to create an accurate hard bid without a comprehensive and thoroughly detailed plan set. Every week I receive several requests for bid. Occasionally, these requests are accompanied by a substantial set of plans and reports, with the majority of details included and finish materials specified. Very occasionally.  Honestly, if the definition of "occasionally" was "almost never," that would be quite accurate. More often than not, I am asked to estimate a project with a set of preliminary design drawings or concept drawings, my experience, and my very active imagination. 

Because I am both a builder and a designer, I understand everything that goes into the final product, allowing me to evaluate project costs in both scenarios with extreme accuracy.  Typically, final project costs on original scope of work are within 2%-5% of initial projections. This is achieved by breaking down a project into very detailed spreadsheets, with every aspect of the build itemized by line and associated cost. On a smaller project, my spreadsheets have roughly 100 line items; on a larger project, upward of 500 line items.

It's time consuming - taking two to four weeks to prepare, over hundreds of math-filled hours - but it's oh-so necessary to take the time.  While there are many different factors that go into a successful build, I believe that a detailed, no-stone-unturned approach to budget is the key element of achieving that success.  It is the first aspect of something I have come to call the "BRA," which I will write about at length in subsequent blog entries.  

For now, I'm going to wander back to my office to finish up some estimates on future dream homes.