Raphael Thysgreen architecture — https://unsplash.com/photos/dqXiw7nCb9Q
My longest experience working with an architect was when I was hired to manage the construction of a new medical building, staff it, open it, and make it operational. I was hired when the building was a hole in the ground, but the architectural plans were set. The building design was beautiful.
I memorized the three-story floor plans and was disappointed I couldn’t make the changes necessary to accommodate how people would work. Some senior corporate staff had consulted with the architects, not cooks, laundry room workers, or nurses. For example, the laundry chutes were on the far end of the hall from the downstairs laundry — unnecessary daily steps pushing a laundry cart for staff.
Lounges should have had beautiful corner windows, but those windows were in small workrooms.
I appreciated the architect had to serve many masters. I oversaw the construction budget, which involved finding ways to cut costs from overruns.
Do other people wonder what will happen to obsolete buildings?
I browse floor plans of new buildings in my town. Some new apartment buildings include small study alcoves off each bedroom, presumably to accommodate work-from-home needs.
When I visited a church recently, I counted the people in the pews (20) and wondered how long the building would stay open. The airy, contemporary architecture, devoid of stained glass and built-in religious symbols, could easily be repurposed when the congregation gives up.
In New York City, celebrities have rallied to save the West Park Presbyterian church, even though the stone is crumbling. Small congregations all over the nation cannot afford the upkeep and maintenance of large, old, buildings. Even when I lived in New York City forty years ago, historic churches fought landmark designation that their congregations, a small number of their peak attendance, could not afford. St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church went through a very public and divisive fight.