notes from the coast

We finally wrapped up our life for the spring and headed out to the West Coast for the summer. It’s become a cherished ritual, and it’s not lost on me how fortunate we are to do this.

I think Southern California—at least the green parts—has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world.

It’s been a huge help to me as a designer to go back and forth between such different places. You soak in inspiration from one and apply it to the other. You begin to see how design responds to rain or lack thereof, local economy, and context—how aesthetics emerge from the environment.

Take rooflines, for example. When rain is rare, roof pitches are shallow. That one change alone alters the entire feel of a neighborhood. You see white stucco, red tile, wrought iron, and native planting. The Spanish influence still feels fresh for me, and it's great.

I love this light

I remember our first build in Nashville being heavily influenced by the low-pitched architecture of San Clemente.

juxtaposition

Yesterday I had a nice power walk through a botanical garden built into the side of a hill in Laguna Niguel - lush, fragrant, and full of winding trails.

It's right next to the YMCA and, short of a sauna, heaven for me.

You have your strength training inside and then head outside for your garden paradise cardio.

Because the gardens are situated on a hill, it's easy to get your heart rate up with a vigorous walk, and you're surrounded by breathtaking beauty - vistas and plants alike.

It's a juxtaposition that I long for. One of my most popular videos is the idea of an aesthetic gym. Why is the default ugly?

Really. Why?

The role of the designer or artist is, in many ways, to ask, "Why does it have to be like this?"

As I've said before, our job is to cast the vision and build the world we want to live in.

That's why more artists should become real estate developers.

That's why it's so helpful to visit other areas. You see how they do railings, and street lights, and rooflines, and porches, and say, "Why not do this at home?"

It's not just architecture, though. Yesterday, while hunting for planters, I stumbled across this terracotta chair:

​New Volumes Terracotta Cove Chair by Thomas Coward​

It was one of those things that makes you stop and take notice. I just assumed a chair should be made of wood.

But this wasn’t. And it was beautiful. And it made me ask: what else am I assuming?

Could you make a terracotta bed frame? A modular sofa with terracotta arms and plush cushions? Why not?

Sometimes, a material shift can unlock a whole new language of design. What else is hiding in plain sight?

the power of art

We stayed at a hotel in Beverly Hills for a forthcoming brand shoot. It’s one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever enjoyed—but the art particularly struck me in the lobby.

It's a 1970s structure - nice, but fairly plain architecturally. What elevated it was the art curation.

I couldn’t help but think what this would do for a new apartment building or office, or gym. From a budget perspective, barely a line item.

And yet, enormous, outsized impact.

We all have spaces we move through every day that are just fine, functional, and acceptable.

The world we want to live in begins with seeking inspiration, juxtaposing it with the local status quo, and then doing something about it.

Start with one space. Ask one question. Make one change.

What we accept as normal are just design problems waiting to be solved.