We have just completed our final draft for view and download from our website. Please click on the link below. You will find recent and past projects with more extensive photos, diagrams and writing.

https://www.dyarchitects.com/books/dya_works.pdf

“Of all the pitfalls in our paths and the tremendous delays and wanderings off the track, I want to say that they are not what they seem to be. I want to say that all that seems like fantastic mistakes are not mistakes, all that seems like error is not error; and it all has to be done. That which seems like a false step is the next step.”
– Agnes Martin

While working on our holiday card this year (2021), the newest member of my staff asked, what do all the letters and numbers mean? I diverted in a lengthy manner, because as the others in the studio knew, I was not entirely sure either. As she smiled in acceptance, I responded, “I know I didn’t answer your question”. I wanted to use one of the working sketches from a current project. Overlaid on a render, lines, notes, arrows, and numbers recorded the studio dialogue of space and form. Then, there was the freedom of drawing a holiday wreath but, I realized the wreath had taken on the nervousness and searching of the design flow beneath. The layers, exaggerated in the anxious markings of the wreath, reveal the exploration of sequence and series, a tension between the geometric series conceived in the mind against the visual affirmation confirmed by emotion. In this sense, in that moment of the process, drawing is speculation, letters are deliberation, markings are contemplation. The sketches are archaeological remnants of the striving for resolution, indicators of indecision; but also, the evidence of possibility, the intrigue of a pathway and the glimmer of something lyrical.
 
High altitude sickness is very real. In 2002, I found this out after a few long nights in the studio, scrabbling to get things together before the flight to Santa Fe from New York City. Some of you will know the elevation of Santa Fe and our ultimate destination, Taos, is over 10,000 feet. My wife was doing research on her doctoral dissertation and in the days of written letters, the painter Agnes Martin agreed to her request for an in-person interview. Even back in then, Martin was considered an iconic Modernist, whose seven figure works and museum retrospectives were regular news makers in the Art world. The idea of meeting Ms. Martin was thrilling for both of us. More directly for my wife, as a central figure in her dissertation research; for myself, to meet the painter that had influenced many in the then new European school of architects such as the firm of Hertzog & de Meuron. Abstraction, rhythm, and repetition made with the imperfection and irregularity of the human hand. I am not sure how much Martin’s writings elucidate her work. She, like many in her early circle, spoke of uncovering the spiritual, of being purely abstract in her work. I wanted to find the connection to the desert, the mountains, and the sky. These were all rejected by her as influences. Yet, how often does an artist’s words really help the viewer in understanding? The interpretation and contextualization of the third person critic, the art historian, seem more fertile and thus, the contribution of critical art theory. Even so, Martin’s work was compelling without any text, as I think all great painting finds a way of being.
 
“Let’s go for a drive, and take my car, it’s much nicer than yours, but you drive”. More or less, that’s what Ms. Martin said to me after having lunch at a local restaurant. She and my wife had been taking all morning, so lunch was a big break and I think going for a drive was a way to call it a day from all the talking. For me though, this was my chance to ask my own questions.
 
The three of us in a big Mercedes, driving literally for hours down the highway in a straight line. My head pounding and near nauseous from altitude sickness. I could not keep from thinking; austere, minimalist, infinite, the terrain must be an inspiration for the work. Ms. Martin each time, with every variation and shading in my questions said no, I just paint abstractions. The ride was becoming very quiet. After the first hour, I said, would you like to turn back? “No, let’s keep going a bit”. Hour two, the same response. Hour three, the same response. Her bigger interest for conversation was the baby in my wife’s tummy, how the pregnancy was going, the wonders of children and, how raising them would be tough. I surrendered to all the baby talk. My stomach slowly began to settle, the pounding in my head began to subside, the miles started to glide by a bit easier.
 
In her studio, Agnes Martin had these small pieces of paper. Numbers in sequence, with no apparent order, but enticingly close to something rational. I asked what she was working out on those slips of paper. She said she was calculating the divisions of the grid, but I don’t think that to be the case. I have worked out countless divided grids, for paving patterns, ceilings, drawing details and building structures. Those slips were not about the canvas grid. I also knew, I was not about to get any clear answers. But something else happens when you spend two days with a person. Something happens when you simply feel someone’s presence for a substantial block of time. So much was happening internally with Agnes Martin. The paintings are more than repetitive grids. Her searching for the inner world and the spiritual pulsates between the lines, in the field, at the edges.
 
I did not include many sketches in this volume, nor the rougher, early models. Most clients see a small fraction if any of these. In whole, those would create a volume many, many times larger. Elucidating would take too many words but also, architecture is in the end about built space and form. Even the photos that follow fall short and, though the topic of another essay, as Adolf Loos would argue for his own work, I too am glad the projects do not really photograph well. Each project though, had its own literal, and unique markings, sequences and series, dead end pathways and confused translations. Each project found in its site, or program, or aspirations, a structure amidst complexity and, a calm amidst dissonance. Like our interaction with a painting, we do not need to see the working sketches to feel a space. Because in the architecture of a home, we search to reflect who we are and thus, we delight in the wonderful tension between its rationality and its underlying emotion.

The built in furniture consists of a continuous white oak handrail supported by brass rods that are integrated into a dark walnut open shelf.

The brass rods are placed at an angle though the open shelves and terminate at the supporting legs with bolts. As the rod extend through the horizontal panel, it keeps the open shelf in place while supporting the load of the handrail.

We wanted to create a minimal frame that could be easily assembled on sight. This consists of steel legs and two support rings made of plywood that would surround the existing shell.

Through further exploration, the battens extended beyond the glass to control flow and accessibility. The end of the battens conceal the entrance into the desk.

Visiting the fabricator, we received a tour of the space as well as a mockup of our batten desk. The battens and the support ring would be cnc milled laminated plywood.

David Yum

I attended Cantonese Opera on Saturday night- The Standard Chartered Tea House Theatre Experience at the Xiqu Centre in the West Kowloon Cultural District.  That’s a lot of words, a lot of formal, official sounding words- a lot of what is happening in Hong Kong right now.  However, first things first, I need to say how astonishing it was to hear, see and yes, experience Cantonese opera at the Tea House.  In the opening performance,  the actor’s gaze politely greets, then startles, and finally locks into one’s eyes like a tomahawk missile.  Enthralled, one is absolutely brought back in time to 1930.  The Tea House is a clean, contemporary space.  Wood lattice screens add warmth and sound absorption, but allow the space to remain minimalist in feeling. The actress is dressed in simple attire, modern, all black.  Hair tied back, no large pieces of jewelry.  How did she create so much atmosphere?  I don’t know.  What I did understand was the power of abstraction.  An elaborate set reconstruction of a Cantonese opera house of the 1930’s, or similar period costume, would have only diluted the experience.   We would have all too quickly understood the artifice.  Instead, our imaginations filled in around the temporal shear the actress created.  This grand opening was a Nanyin, a popular ballad type in the Pearl River Delta region and, an important part of the vernacular singing tradition of Guangdong.  In this performance, abstraction reduced the dimensions the audience needed to see and hear; it also focused the energy of the performer.  Abstraction can be powerful.  I find the mechanism can be the same in architecture.  Conversely, new historicism or stylistic revivals are hindered by their own premise, never to move us in the way Nanyin can at the Tea House in West Kowloon.  This is a starting point for discussing what mechanisms evoke meaning in architecture.  The Xiqu Centre I am certain though, wanted me to consider the beauty of Cantonese song.  In the near rapture of being brought back to the past, the case was convincingly made. As even television and film are being reduced by on demand, user directed, binge streams, going to the theater can surmount all those waves.  Those forms all have unique aspects and wonderful examples; but, none can match theater’s ability to engage us in real time and, use our very own inner super powers to transport us a late night evening in 1930 Hong Kong.

After delving into the 1700s at the Philipsburg Manor in Sleepy Hollow, NY, we arrived at the site of Manitoga. We were able to catch a quick breath and picnic lunch, surrounded by nature, before the tour. After a hearty lunch, we head off to a small shack nearby that provided us with a brief explanation on Manitoga and Russel Wright.

Before entering the studio, we were guided through a scenic path where glimpses of the house could be seen. Covered by rocks and trees, the house was well integrated into the background, almost camouflaging itself using a green roof. In no way did the house seem obstructive to the environment.

As natural it may seem, the landscape was meticulously sculpted to Wright’s imagination, imitating a theater opening and closing as you traverse the path. Even the rocks of the waterfall were strategically placed to create a Quarry pool. Once you exit the path, you are confronted by the studio where Wright worked and slept. 

Upon entering the studio, the first thing you will notice is the scale of the studio. It provides the simple necessities that Wright would need as he was designing. The design of the house and furniture tells a story about Wright. It focused on ornamentation through natural materials and abstract art in attempt to introduce organic shapes. The use of this would express the juxtaposition between synthetic and natural materials. The studio is filled with intricate details, one being a window that opened downward into a sill, hidden from sight when opened. There is a quality of function and efficient design that could only be experienced in person.

The next part of Manitoga is the house where the rest of Wrights family would normally stay. Taking your first step inside, the landscape follows along. Looking at the ceiling, you could tell that Wright was influenced by Japanese architecture introducing natural forms into the house. Large panels of glass illuminate the interior while light is scattered along the walls through the native plants embedded into them. Walking down a stair made of rocks brings you to the kitchen which showcases Wrights line of China and custom made chairs that would be stable on an irregular slab of rock. The house changes along with the seasons; having bright white counter-tops and cabinet drawers during the summer to vibrant red during the winter. It would normally take three days to switch them over. Knowing that, it would be a different experience coming back during the winter. Moving onward, you may begin to see other intricate details along the way. It may be the butterflies pressed between sheets of translucent plastic, or if you have a good eye for woodworking, you will notice bow tie joints along the sill. The house shows a great deal of craftsmanship, all which brings you to an art gallery. Here, you will see unique paintings done by Peter Bynum. The techniques he used to create these pieces of art was pressing acrylic paint in between glass and releasing the pressure to create beautiful organic forms. The tour concluded after the gallery, and we were ready to head to our next destination, The Storm King Art Center.

Manitoga will go back on my list of places to visit, or to just hike on their public trails. There is a lot to offer if you enjoy being surrounded by nature, though I would recommend that you bring a can of bug spray.

As a part of our yearly field trip, this summer we visited the Storm King Art Center; a 500 acres sculpture park located at Mountainville in the town of Cornwall, Orange County, north of New York City.

The Storm King Art Center was founded in 1960 and found its course in 1961 as its founders, Ralph. E. Ogden and H. Peter Stern, became devoted to modern sculpture. In 1966 the museum began to place sculptures in the landscape, and the outdoor museum gradually evolved into what we see today; a collection of more than 100 modern and contemporary large-scale sculptures, situated in the landscape with consideration to the art work’s immediate surroundings and distant views.

The Storm King Art Center consists of a museum building where photographs, paintings and indoor installations are exhibited, and an outdoor area containing four different zones – the North Woods, the Museum Hill, the Meadows and the South Fields – for it’s monumental art pieces.

Several of the museum’s large-scale sculptures are situated in the Meadows, and the expansive South Fields combine views of the surrounding mountains with large-scale and site-specific work. The North Woods, on the other hand, provide an intimate setting for smaller-scale work, and the Museum Hill features many of Storm King’s early acquisitions. On site, visitors can experience Storm King’s collection either by walking, riding a bicycle or jumping on and off one of the trams that circulate within the park.

From the permanent collection we highly appreciated, among many other of the museum’s art pieces, “the Arch” by Alexander Calder, the “Storm King Wall” by Andy Goldsworthy, the ”Storm King Wavefield” by Maya Lin, the “Schunnemunk Fork” by Richard Serra, the “Nickel Couch” by Johnny Swing, and Joel Shapiro‘s untitled sculpture from 1994.

While at Storm King, we also took a look at the museum’s temporary exhibitions for this summer; “The White Sculptures” by David Smith (1906-1965) and “Outlooks” by Heather Hart (1975 – ). Six of Smith’s white steel constructions are installed outdoors on Museum Hill, while smaller sculptures are displayed in the indoor galleries. Hart’s “the Oracle of Lacuna”is an outdoor installation where a domestic rooftop, sticking up from the ground, comes to life with music, workshops, movement, spoken word and poetry, and other events.

After having enjoyed a couple of hours in the park, we had dinner at one of the local restaurants – the Storm King Tavern – before returning back home to New York.

Rei Kawakubo/ Comme des Gracons, Art of the In-Between

Though I love the art of Fashion, I am not the one to ask about Fashion.  Architects often have a certain look that trends with fashion, yet consciously attempts to be somewhat counter.  When I was a graduate student, the style conscious among Architects dressed in all black.  One evening in London, a friend and I were trying to leave a trendy, architectural reception.  The coat check had become a bit overwhelmed, overcoats were scattered and now the evening was ending in gridlock at the check line; every single coat was black, and all approximately the same cut and length.  Today, many en-point architects favor the workman jacket, part of the urban craftsman look.  Like Cathart, just slimmer, sleeker and five times the cost.  I always feel I should be more deliberate, and focused, in my own dress.  My dress evolution probably stopped in high school, and over half my clothes still come from the same couple of shops.  Somewhat sad since my father was such an enthusiastic, sophisticated dresser, with closets and closets to match.  Once in a while, I can come out and appear as though I inherited some of his sense.  I start with these personal notes because most of us can observe around ourselves that, Fashion expresses the group we identify with, are a part of, or with whom we want to be associated.  Whether our style is self-expression or, aspiration to be a part of a specific group, Fashion reflects decisions we have made about Social, Economic and even Political values.  I have never wanted my clothes to be a distraction to my time, collogues or clients; I felt the work should express greater importance than the clothes I wear.  If I have any fashion dogma, I think back to watching Dick Cavett interview Perry Ellis, asking him about the everyday people whose dress he admired the most; Ellis talked about those who appear very tidy and neat and, how one never really thought what they were wearing, but recalled more about who they were and what they were saying.  This was a long time ago, so I certainly have misremembered, and shaped the words into something I could adopt as my own.  Now, my wife is also completely correct in saying this is ridiculous and that I am once again living in my own ivory tower.  People cannot help but be influenced by how one dresses, and Style does express how you see yourself and how you want the world to see you.  Fashion both reflects the present moment and, actively engages aspirations for the future.

The current show at the Met, Rei Kawakubo/ Comme des Garcons, Art of the In-Between, is a retrospective of Kawakubo’s fashion explorations.  We see her experimentation of material, form and construction.  The work is bold and challenging, but also aware of history and the need of convention for meaning.  Most striking to me was the installation itself: clean white, fragmented geometric forms creating a picturesque sequence and more importantly, spatially unique containers to encapsulate each of Kawakubo’s investigations.  In this brilliant installation, I feel Kawakubo asserts several key ideas.  Fashion exists not on a pedestal, like most all costume museums seem to present, nor on a run way, but in real, inhabited spaces.  Each grouping is of a different moment in time thus, the space which it inhabited and first gave expression must also be different and unique.  The exhibition contains spaces that differ in scale, shape and density, like the moments of the past they also occupy.  Lastly, the human body is at the center.  The geometric volumes lead one exhibit to exhibit, like wandering through Arles but more importantly, the volumes shape the negative space around the mannequins.  The architecture has no subject, no melody, no aria on its own; only the interaction with the mannequins, the friction of color and texture, the silhouette measured against depth can create any kind of sound here.  As playful and curious as the installation forms are on their own, they resonate only because the protagonists have begun to sing.  Strangely parallel to a Loosian position, the architecture is secondary to the human body, the impact of its presence, resisting Reproduction through photography, is only truly understood through actual experience.   We are drawn to trespass, wanting to touch, embrace, grab and pull on these garments.  Kawakubo compels us to wonder about more than clothes and the body, we conjecture about moods, moments, mysterious characters, dramatic scenarios.  She reaches us because her work causes us to reach within ourselves.  How humanizing art can be and thus, in this exhibition, if one had doubt before, Fashion is indeed Art.

On the Saturday evening I attended the show, mostly fashionistas and design students filled the room.  I think other types will easily follow along, the opera fans, the gallery hoppers, the school kids on field trips.  The engagement of space and mannequin, architecture and body, idea and imagination, overridingly make a case for the relevance of Fashion to life.  So why don’t most people think far more about the clothes they wear?  Fashion one would think is in the best position to bridge Art and Life.  Though the show challenges us to consider the impact of fashion across time and space, I imagine most viewers, even those art and design inclined as myself, are not headed to buy the wildest Comme des Garcons; and that is probably not the point.  But why not?  We all have such different interests and, only so much time in a day.  Every day, we all make choices about things that are not primary, but necessary; what food we choose to eat can truly be political and, how we vote at some point, effects what we eat.  Is Modern life so complicated?  For myself, I do not see throwing out my khakis and button downs anytime soon, but maybe a trendy workman coat also concedes a small willingness to ripple against the flowing rush of the day.  Art in its many forms moves us all, deeply; but usually, in private, quietly in our chairs, sofas or gallery floors, within our mind and heart.  But these thoughts should not be locked away, through exhibitions like In-Between, our souls seem awakened.  We need to tie on some torn, brown, puffy paper; don some crushed, asymmetric velvet, reject those that talk to our fears, and embrace the messy, hopeful, human present.

The planting shed must have been an afterthought, an add-on, a luxury only possible if the budget for the house was on track.  I say this because the materials are basic and modest.  The assembly is simple.  The language, like the house and the covered deck, are pared down Arts and Crafts.  Using standard lumber, 2×2’s and 2×6’s, the joints delicately articulate frame, pitch and screen.  These members are tapered and bolted together with standard hardware.  But what comes together is refined and elegant.  The proportions are exquisite, and moving gently up the three tiers, the pacing seems absolutely spot on.  Two doors face one end, one is opaque on an opaque half.  The other is open battens, within the batten screen that clads the entire structure.  A simple symmetry/ asymmetry composition.

A couple of sketches of the house remained from an addition designed, but not executed, by the original architect, Wilbur C. Harrison, in 1965.  The original house was built in the late 1920’s and, no drawings remain.  The addition drawings were the only way I could have known who the original Architect had been.  Harrison seemed to have built a fair amount in the area, but not prodigiously.  If you google his name, he was one of the early original Board members of the Long Beach Petroleum Club, a social club in LA that exists today.  No references to any of his architectural work though.  If this house was typical of his work, he had commissions that were certainly above the norm.  I know from the children of the original client that their father was a very successful doctor who, in his spare time created an independent music label for striving jazz musicians.  For Harrison, there was probably room to design a beautiful house, just not overly big, not overly extravagant, not overly daring and of course, not overly expensive.  In the end, he succeeded.  The house is well proportioned, practical, graceful.

Yet, after spending long days and nights, walking, studying and drawing this house, it was my quiet step into the lowly planting shed where I met Wilbur C. Harrison.  I felt the rigor of his plan making, the refinement of his joinery and, the intensity of his thinking.  Few people will ever know about Harrison.  His archives are buried away if they exist at all.  But this story ends happily.  Architecture aspires to elevate the lives people live.  Architects hope to connect and communicate with others through their work.  And if the work is really good, architecture can move the spirit and emotions, whether small or large.  I think Harrison moved many, many people over the course of his career.  Even today, years after he past, his work moved my spirit in a quiet way.  For that brief time alone in the planting shed, I felt a had a few moments with Mr. Harrison.