I was the type of kid to pull things apart and put them back together again—curious about how things worked. My dad worked in construction as a carpenter and also as a landscape designer, so I was exposed to the full spectrum of design and building through him. It was both inherited and environmental. My formal introduction started with drafting which later evolved into studying architecture at university as I, quite early on, reached the ceiling of what drafting alone had to offer.

I wait for inspiration to come—the idea, the gut feeling, or the right moment when something feels right—and for the client to feel it too. There is an unspoken human understanding in aligning mutual visions. Alongside that is all the practical, analytical understanding, which contains and narrows the potential idea until it clarifies itself. Ultimately, it’s a natural thought process that leans on intuition.

I’m not sure—each project is something in and of itself. I’m drawn to local typology and character, but I also find it satisfying, or perhaps calming, to have a simple form or structural idea present while playing with natural light in creative and subtle ways—using light as a material. It goes without saying that the architecture should use raw, natural materials, be resourceful, and have structural logic and well-proportioned geometry. Beauty is the goal, but it’s not the boundary.

One currently under construction is a house for a special client. I’ve designed two other projects for them, so this project has a strong basis in trust and the ability to try things freely. The site is long and narrow, with north—the sunny side in Australia—on the short end, so it is difficult to draw daylight into the spaces and create well-lit gardens.

We formed three main pavilions linked by a long gallery that creates a continuous spine through the home. The outdoor voids between them become intimate courtyards, one formed closely around a century-old native peppermint tree. Various forms are carved from the interior to draw light into the spaces, while dramatic variations in height and width compress and release the feeling of each space.

The treatment of the exterior and interior forms balances charred timber with a mix of light and dark spaces, somewhat inverting the feeling of inside and out. The result should be one of discovery and a diversity of atmospheres within a compact urban site, making it feel spacious, private, and otherworldly.

Navigating bloated bureaucratic processes.

It’s not so much a mantra or motto but a question: is this worthwhile doing? Are the brief, the site, and the idea worth giving a part of yourself to for two, three, or more years? If not, one of those three things needs to realign or be cut loose altogether.

Beauty. It’s an opaque word these days. We have danced around it with ‘good’ or ‘intelligent’ design, while knowing full well that beauty, proportion, and geometry are part of nature’s order. We’ve discarded beauty within the profession to remain neutral and non-preferential. I think this has subsequently diluted the importance of the profession because our creations often do not appeal to the masses. There is a resurgence happening, but with a broad spectrum of views on how far back we go in defining the word and its architectural connotations. I believe there is a place on that spectrum where I would like to be—and where I think we should aim for.

To trust my judgment earlier. Architecture teaches you to see every possible failure, which can make you hesitant and overly cautious. You rarely feel completely ready, and certainty usually arrives after a decision, not before it. Choose the people and projects you give your time to carefully, then commit fully. The quality of those relationships will shape both the work and the kind of architect you become.