Lessons from Our Personal Project

When Architects Become Test Subjects

There’s something both humbling and liberating about designing your own home. The usual safety nets disappear. There’s no client to blame if something doesn’t work, no one else’s budget constraints to hide behind. Every decision becomes a personal manifesto about what you believe architecture should be.

At Fairfield House, our personal residence for several years, we became willing test subjects for ideas we’d been developing but hadn’t quite had the courage to implement for clients. The result was an education in living with our own theories, and discovering which ones actually worked.

The Philosophy of Buying Ugly

Our approach began with what I call the “buy ugly” philosophy. We deliberately sought out a house that was structurally sound but aesthetically forgettable, the kind of place that had good bones but no soul.

When you start with something unremarkable, you’re liberated from the weight of preservation. You can experiment without guilt, push boundaries without destroying something meaningful. Most importantly, you can focus entirely on what the space could become rather than what it once was.

This strategy, which we now recommend to clients regularly, recognizes that transformation often requires a blank canvas. Beauty isn’t always about starting with beautiful materials, sometimes it’s about finding the clarity to see what’s actually needed.

Living with Innovation

The most significant experiment at Fairfield was a 60-foot translucent wall system that defined the bridge connecting our main house to a smaller rear structure. Faced with the prohibitive cost of specialized German translucent insulation, we developed our own solution: polycarbonate panels sandwiching white-painted studs filled with bubble wrap.

It sounds absurd written out like that. But living with this wall for years taught me something fundamental about innovation: the best solutions often emerge from constraints, not abundance. During the day, that wall filled the entire bridge with ethereal, even light. At night, it transformed into a glowing lantern that made the ordinary act of walking from one part of the house to another feel almost ceremonial.

The performance was exceptional. The aesthetic was unlike anything we’d seen. And the cost was a fraction of conventional alternatives. More importantly, the daily experience of living with this innovation gave us the confidence to propose unconventional solutions to clients, not as experiments, but as proven strategies.

Climate as Collaborator

Perhaps the most valuable lesson came from learning to work with, rather than against, our climate. Three strategic projections on the building’s west side blocked harsh afternoon sun while capturing gentle north-south light and promoting cross-ventilation. The covered breezeway beneath the bridge created a microclimate so effective that even on the stillest days, southeast breezes flowed through the space.

These weren’t theoretical concepts anymore. They were daily experiences. I learned the difference between air conditioning that fights the climate and design that partners with it. That understanding now influences every project we approach, because I’ve felt firsthand how architecture can amplify the pleasant aspects of weather while mitigating the challenging ones.

The Honesty of Materials

Using Texas pecan wood throughout, floors, walls, cabinetry, became an exercise in embracing regional identity. Pecan’s natural flame patterns and occasional insect markings initially worried us. But living with these characteristics day after day revealed their beauty.

This experience taught me that perfection and character are often at odds. The slight irregularities that manufacturers try to eliminate are often what give materials their personality. Now, when clients express concern about natural variations in wood or stone, I can speak from years of waking up to these materials, of watching how light plays across their surfaces, of understanding how their character deepens over time.

Performance as Proof

Perhaps the most convincing validation came from our energy bills. Despite the home’s 3,200 square feet and experimental systems, performance was exceptional. This wasn’t just theoretical sustainability, it was lived sustainability, measured monthly and proven annually.

That real-world data became our most persuasive argument for similar strategies in client projects. When you can speak about passive solar performance from the perspective of someone who has paid the utility bills, the conversation shifts from theory to proven practice.

Beyond Personal Satisfaction

Fairfield House won several awards, but its real value was educational. Potential clients could experience our design philosophy firsthand, understanding viscerally what we meant by “regional,” “functional,” “minimal,” and “expressive.” They could feel how natural ventilation worked, see how minimal aesthetics actually made spaces feel larger, understand how expressive forms solved functional problems.

It became our most effective communication tool, not because we could describe our ideas, but because others could inhabit them.

The Laboratory Continues

We’ve since moved to a smaller house, but the experiments continue. We’re planning renovations that apply refined versions of what we learned at Fairfield. Because the most important lesson from living in our own design laboratory wasn’t about any specific technique or material, it was about the value of conviction.

When you believe deeply enough in an idea to live with it yourself, that confidence becomes contagious. Clients sense the difference between theoretical knowledge and lived experience. They’re more willing to take risks, more trusting of unconventional solutions, more excited about the possibilities.

The Courage to Inhabit Your Ideas

Perhaps the greatest gift of designing our own home was learning to trust our instincts completely. There’s a certain fearlessness that comes from being willing to live with your own ideas. It’s one thing to recommend a strategy to others; it’s another to stake your daily comfort on its success.

That willingness to inhabit our own experiments has made us better architects. Not because every innovation worked perfectly, but because we learned to see architecture not as a collection of aesthetic choices but as a framework for living. And living, as it turns out, is the most honest critic of all.