This week, the ominous threat of a double-dip recession looms large on the horizon. Its unrelenting march towards our doorstep – via Greece, the ancient birthplace of modern architecture – not only matches the lengthening shadows of gloomy autumnal evenings, but also the increasing levels of unpaid overtime that building designers are putting in across the country, as architectural practices struggle to stay in business.
Alessio Rastani, the headline-hunting independent trader from south London, recently caused a Twitter storm, with his comment to BBC news that major financial institutions rule the world (not Rupert Murdoch, as previously assumed) and that he and his kind tuck themselves into bed at night dreaming up ways to exploit global misery. Rastani’s most worrying assertion, however, was that the full scale of this current economic disaster will reveal itself within the next 12 months, and that instead of waiting for politicians and money men to decide what is best for our collective financial future, he urges the public to take action and prepare for the worst by joining him and his cohorts in the feasting.
Now, I’m no business expert – and it is most likely that these are the delusional ramblings of a super-charged egocentric mad man – but, like the unexpected Indian summer we are experiencing in the UK, a ray of hope may appear if we as a profession also embrace the art of making money. I think what I’m asking is, why can’t more architects be their own clients? Surely it would solve a lot of problems, especially as we usually leave this kind of thing to greedy property developers, well practised in squeezing as much profit from a project as possible.
My girlfriend’s grandparents – until their fairly recent deaths – owned one of the last remaining “original” houses in Sandbanks, a wealthy peninsular on the south coast of England. It was a grand period villa, which contained numerous bedrooms set in leafy grounds, with glimpses of the ocean from most rooms. It was bought by a developer a couple of years ago, knocked down and the empty space filled with flats built cheaply but sold for top whack.
This particular businessman managed to negotiate a very good price when buying the property. He asserted that, as it was set in grounds that sloped steeply, he could only build a limited number of units and therefore make less profit. Of course, he ended up erecting twice as many than he promised of the most monstrously designed buildings, making a huge profit in the process.
Now, I’m not suggesting that we all become bloodthirsty traders or destroyers of family heirlooms in the quest for those riches usually reserved for the most uncompromising money-makers. I do think, however, that there is scope to do things differently across the profession. For example, we are all used to watching the likes of Sarah Beeny cast her disapproving eye over would-be property developers, bemoaning their lack of experience/taste/market research and wondering what they could have achieved if the projects were run properly. Surely, as talented designers, we would make excellent property developers. We could use our analytic skills to search for potential projects – small rundown houses in need of some love – and then, with our project management experience, we could efficiently implement fresh and vibrant designs, carefully marketed to make the best return.
I know that there are some famous examples of this, but what if hundreds or thousands of individual architectural designers invested fairly modest amounts of money – an appearance on Dragon’s Den might help with this – on small projects, completed quickly, that made profit? They could then reinvest the extra money into other projects, increasing their moneymaking potential with every investment. After a few years, this same person could be building much larger projects that are designed for the people that use them. A more ethical architectural integrity would eventually permeate our towns and cities creating much more vibrant places for us to live and work.
The popular perception is that moneymaking and do-gooding don’t necessarily go hand in hand, but if we can somehow look to combine the pioneering attitude of modern business with the ethics of good design as a more commonplace strategy, then surely things can only get better.
5 Readers' comments