The newly appointed head of the Yale School of Architecture
defends plywood, finds inspiration in artichokes and insists on
mood lighting
When she scans the current architectural landscape for a
structure to admire, Deborah Berke tends to end up in the weeds. "I
mostly love built things that aren't buildings -- like an
industrial shed in the New Jersey Meadowlands, or a dry dock at the
Brooklyn Navy Yard that dates to the Civil War," said the
architect, whose 60-person New York firm often designs projects
with a similar hardworking grace. These include a rural studio for
artist Peter Halley; the future Women's Building, an ex-prison in
Manhattan her team is transforming into a center for women's
support organizations; and the 21c Museum Hotels, a boutique chain
whose new Oklahoma City location opened last month in a former Ford
Motors plant. "It's the same reason I prefer smaller, grittier
cities to trophy cities like London or Paris," said Ms. Berke of
her predilection for the raw. "I love seeing the exquisiteness of
the not-consciously-designed thing."
She may not go in much for trophies, but Ms. Berke recently
landed a big one: On July 1, she succeeded Robert A.M. Stern as the
dean of the Yale School of Architecture, becoming the first female
to hold the post. The date coincided with the publication of her
third book, "House Rules: An Architect's Guide To Modern Life"
(Rizzoli). In a recent sit-down, the Upper East side resident --
whose almost-6-foot stature and Sontagian locks make her easy to
spot as she strides around New York City -- discussed her ardor for
plywood, a vegetable-themed parlor game she's itching to try and
the scourge of overscale furniture.
As a child I was obsessed with: painting on the walls of my
parents' house in Queens. I made murals of vines and flowers,
highly patterned. I think I got it out of my system.
I dream of designing: a house of worship, because the idea of a
space that's about silence and reflection is just so appealing. I
think of Bernard Maybeck's First Church of Christ, Scientist, in
Berkeley, Calif., or a Quaker meetinghouse. Just the simplest
possible quiet volume.
One of my favorite design moves is: breaking down the barriers
between indoors and outdoors. I love screened porches, floor to
ceiling windows and stone flooring that can extend from the inside
out. The Japanese notion of the borrowed view is important to me,
because I believe that a site often extends beyond a property
line.
The home improvement that's most worth making is: effective
lighting you can really control. Lighting is mood and warmth and
happiness. You want task lighting for work and then something more
restful, serene or romantic.
My design pet peeve is: over-scaled furniture. I like pieces
sized to the body -- that support and comfort you. People often try
to fill a loft or double-height room with large furniture. I prefer
to celebrate the vastness of such spaces.
My go-to seating is: Eero Saarinen's Womb chair -- so
comfortable. I have one with the original orange upholstery.
My favorite underdog material is: plywood. Also basic white
ceramic tile, 4 inches square.
I detest the color: pink. I look at it and have no immediate
response.
The strangest request I've gotten from a client is:
inappropriate for a family newspaper, but it involves a secret
room. Clients' personal quirks were behind other requests: for
beach-house windows that open facing a foghorn; for bedroom floors
that feel just so underfoot.
The biggest disrupter in my life is: dogs. Since marrying and
having a family, I've always had a Weimaraner or two. Today we have
two rescues, Percy and Blue. I designed William Wegman's loft a
million years ago, and that's how we got turned onto the breed.
They're big, they're silly, they're playful -- they bring enormous
mess and enormous joy to our lives.
My favorite design innovation for dogs is: those little rubber
booties that protect a dog's feet from getting burned with street
salt in the winter. Otherwise, I like a simple dog bed lined in
fabric that matches the color of the carpet or the walls. You want
it to be in the background.
Indispensable in my kitchen is: a cheese grater. We have two or
three. I find grating Parmesan very satisfying.
The most interesting food, from an architectural standpoint, is:
the artichoke. If you got a group of architects together for dinner
and served artichokes, you'd have the most revealing evening
imaginable. Everyone would have a different method of stacking
leaves on the perimeter of the plate. And it might even get
competitive -- I can only fantasize about it.
Everyone should know more about the architect: Lina Bo Bardi.
She's gotten some attention lately, but in terms of a broad public
knowledge of her work, she's way underappreciated. Her materiality,
color sense, understanding of climate and her spunk -- to make a
career as an Italian woman in midcentury Brazil -- all amazing.
The architecture book I always come back to is: The AIA guide to
New York, because I walk the city every day and then look up the
buildings I've seen. I'm waiting for someone to do a guidebook for
all the buildings that don't have famous architects.
I dress for comfort, but I just can't quit: statement earrings
by Haroldo Burle Marx, the Brazilian designer whose brother,
Roberto, was a landscape designer and artist. I've got several
pairs.
People underestimate the value of: the unexpected material in an
unexpected location. Like an old-school blackboard on your kitchen
wall for your kids to draw on.
The shade of white I like most is: impossible to name. You have
to choose white based on what the sunlight is bouncing off outside,
which way the room faces, what the floor color is. But there are a
million whites and they're all great.
My interior-design hero is: Alexander Girard. As a child, my
parents took me to La Fonda del Sol, his iconic and unfortunately
demolished restaurant in Manhattan. The energy, the colors -- every
space, surface and object was designed to create a total
environment that was just great fun. As an adult, I encountered
Girard again at the Miller House in Columbus, Ind., which he
designed with Saarinen. Unlike the Glass House or the Farnsworth
House, which are elegant and very austere, it is more like a
modernist family villa. It's grand but comfortable, with tremendous
personality, and it was very attuned to how the Millers lived.
An example of repetition elevating the ordinary is: Rows of jars
of deep red tomato sauce that look beautiful in the light. My
sister-in-law is a wonderful gardener, and she's rightfully proud
of the tomatoes she grows. My brother is a great cook, and he makes
tomato sauce and stores it in Mason jars to use throughout the
year. So they keep them out on display, which is a way of
celebrating family and food as a part of everyday life.
The quickest way to give a house curb appeal is to: paint the
front door. I love a bright red door, in Benjamin Moore's Chili
Pepper red. It's cheerful and welcoming. I'm also partial to dark,
dark green, almost black, in a high gloss. It's traditional in New
England and very beautiful.
--
Edited from an interview by Sarah Medford
(END) Dow Jones Newswires
July 16, 2016 02:47 ET (06:47 GMT)
Copyright (c) 2016 Dow Jones & Company, Inc.
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