The act of creating architecture is a fairly unique process and the manner in which you learn how to think both creatively and technically is a skill that requires certain training and nurturing to develop. When young and eager architects in training head off to college, this development will take place in the architecture studio. This is a topic that – shockingly – we haven’t pointedly discussed on the podcast before and today, that is going to change. Welcome to Episode 169: Architecture Studio
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I’m excited to dive into a conversation that centers on the architecture studio—a pivotal experience in any architecture student’s life. I get a lot of questions about how studio differs from traditional classes like structures or history, and how it transitions into the real world of practice. In the upcoming discussion, Andrew and I will explore how studio life shapes a student’s creative mindset, sets the tone for collaboration (and sometimes competition), and can either inspire a lifelong passion or push someone to walk away entirely. Drawing on my own experiences and numerous inquiries I’ve received over the years, I want to shine a light on the essential lessons and challenges that make studio the heart of an architect’s education—and, ultimately, guide how we thrive once we leave the academic environment.
All-Nighters jump to 04:26
When we started discussing the concept of all-nighters in architecture school, I was reminded of just how universal that experience is – or at least was when we were in college. Whether you’re pulling your very first late night as a new architecture student, or reminiscing about it decades later, the all-nighter stands out as singularly stupid rite of passage—one that I believe can (and should) be avoided. Not because I don’t value hard work, but because I don’t think anyone produces their best ideas at 3:00 am, most likely just a continuing marathon session in the studio that started hours previously. Time management, especially for younger students, is often a serious challenge. We’re learning how to generate designs, how to collaborate, and how to gauge how long things will take. That last part trips up almost everyone (but to be fair, this is something that takes YEARS to get a grip on…)
Still, part of the appeal—and the chaos—of studio is that it’s a highly social place. I remember plenty of late nights where conversation drifted from design critiques to philosophical debates about architecture and back again. Those interactions were frequently more illuminating than formal lectures, because there’s an energy in a room full of tired, passionate, slightly delirious architecture students. Unfortunately, that reality today is different. Technology has enabled students to work wherever they want, which is more convenient, but it also fragments the collaborative spirit that was once a hallmark of studio culture. While I have never been on the all-nighter bandwagon, I feel like there is something missing when students pack up their tools (or in most cases, fold their computers closed) and retreat to their dorms and apartments to complete their assignments
Last Minute Changes jump to 13:05
I strongly believe that last-minute changes often create “negative work”- which is effort that doesn’t actually help you finish your project. It’s tempting to keep designing if that’s your passion, but in school (and in the professional world), you need to set realistic deadlines and work backward to decide how much time to devote to each phase. If you don’t leave enough time for making models or preparing drawings, you’ll end up with amazing ideas that you can’t effectively present. I’ve seen students come to critiques with almost nothing pinned up, talking about what they intended to do, and as someone sitting there looking at your finger pointing at some scribbles telling me what you were going to do, I can assure you that nobody cares and you are wasting everyone’s time. In a real work environment, you simply wouldn’t get away with that, so it’s best to practice being prepared now.
We spent some time discussing that a bad presentation alone won’t sink your entire grade. Your professors have seen your work and know the effort you’ve put in throughout the semester, and reviewers like me are only seeing a small snapshot. If you forget to mention something or someone on the panel doesn’t like your concept, it doesn’t erase everything you’ve done. What truly matters is that you have tangible deliverables to show, back up your design decisions, and demonstrate that you respect everyone’s time by being ready. That professionalism will serve you well long after you leave school.
Jury Reviews jump to 20:17
Many architecture students have the wrong idea about jury reviews. They usually see them as a chance to show off their designs and soak up a few pearls of “wisdom” from guest jurors. In reality, the real benefit is the chance to practice your communication skills under pressure. Standing in front of a group of people—faculty, visitors, guest jurors, and classmates – and presenting yourself as the expert on your own project is an essential experience. You need to know how to speak with confidence, explain your objectives and strategies, and persuade the room that what you’ve created is both purposeful and well thought out. In my own career, I wish I’d learned sooner that the ability to communicate effectively often outweighs raw design talent in professional settings.
Another thing I’ve noticed is that many aspiring architects believe that “good design sells itself.” That just isn’t the case. Clients usually aren’t architects and they need concepts broken down in a way that’s easy to understand and relate to. Mastering that skill—framing design decisions around a client’s priorities, illustrating how different solutions address different needs, and avoiding academic jargon – can make the difference between a brilliant idea that never gets built and a successful project. Ultimately, the jury review isn’t just about receiving criticism or praise; it’s about refining your ability to convey why your work matters. That skill will keep you at the table, land you more opportunities, and set you up for lasting success in the field.
Portfolio Lifespan jump to 27:14
Architecture portfolios have a finite lifespan—about three years for most people. When you’re still in school preparing to graduate, or within the first couple of years of working, you rely heavily on your portfolio to help you find meaningful employment. It showcases your academic projects and convinces employers you have the basic skills to function in a professional environment. But once you’ve been out of school for around five years, a portfolio full of old class assignments loses its credibility. Employers want to see real-world experience by that point, and they’ll question why you’re still showcasing studio projects. In my own practice, I see it as a red flag when someone with years of experience only has schoolwork to share.
Another issue I’ve noticed is that students often misunderstand what people like me look for in a portfolio. Many schools have their students work on identical or team-based projects, so reviewers end up seeing the same design brief interpreted by multiple candidates. If all your work is team-based, I can’t know if you did the renderings, the diagrams, or came up with the concept. What I can evaluate is how you designed the pages of your portfolio—your layout choices, typography, and how you’ve organized the information. That’s why I stress that students think carefully about the entire presentation. In the end, if your early-career portfolio captures your ability to communicate visually and you retire it once you’ve gained real work experience, you’ll be in good shape.
The role of an architectural portfolio is critical to help formulate a path for students, and as a result, this is a topic that has been touched on a few times here. A dedicated podcast Episode 60: The Perfect Portfolio which touches on the aspects of a portfolio, and then there was the systematic breakdown of one of my favorite portfolios of all time from former employee and current all-star Danielle Anderson which can be found here:
Hard Work is Easy to See jump to 31:48
I believe that you can spot genuine hard work a mile away. In my experience, there’s a world of difference between someone who’s actually putting in the hours—growing, learning, improving—and someone who’s just trying to appear busy. The truth emerges when it’s time to present or pin work on the wall. Suddenly, all those superficial efforts collapse, and you can tell who’s really committed to their craft. It’s not about pulling all-nighters or loudly proclaiming how much you “live and breathe architecture.” If you’re sleeping in class and bragging about how you never stop, it won’t take long for everyone—your professors, your peers, even future employers—to see through it.
I often share a personal anecdote about my daughter, who is currently preparing for grad school. She’s extremely intelligent, but what I want her to remember is that hard work will always trump raw talent. My father used to say he’d rather have a diligent worker than a supposed superstar, and it’s something I’ve carried with me my whole life. You can be the smartest person in the room, but if you don’t apply yourself, it won’t matter. That’s why I encourage her with the mantra, “You are better, so be better” – embrace the talents you have and back them up with genuine effort. I’ve seen students who flip the switch from simply doing enough to get by, to pushing themselves to reach their full potential. That’s when real growth happens, and that’s when your work ethic becomes unmistakable.
The Big Idea jump to 35:57
Every architecture project must have a clear, defining concept—what Andrew and I like to call “the big idea.” This concept should be the guiding principle for all decisions you make. When you’re looking at your design, if you can’t pinpoint what that idea is, you haven’t refined it enough and you need to keep working until you figure it out. In the early years of architecture school, it’s especially important to latch onto one driving concept that can help answer your questions and guide your decisions. Any piece of your design—whether it’s a specific detail or a large-scale move—must reinforce that core idea. If it doesn’t, you should consider cutting it out.
In my own academic experiences, I often wish someone had pulled me aside and explained how much simpler designing becomes when you let a single concept dictate your direction. For instance, if your project features an atrium as its centerpiece, every drawing, section, and elevation should highlight or clarify that space. Randomly cutting a section without considering your big idea wastes an opportunity to tell your design’s story. The key takeaway is that a concept doesn’t need to be elaborate; it just needs to be clear and consistently applied. If you adopt that mindset, you’ll save yourself time, frustration, and end up with a far more compelling project.
Andrew and I had a much longer and in-depth conversation about “The Big Idea” in podcast episode 96 and I highly recommend checking it out.
Sell Your Professor jump to 39:01
When I tell students to “sell your professor,” I mean they should treat their professor like a client instead of a friendly mentor. The real world expects architects to justify each design decision and stand by their reasoning, and it’s never too early to start practicing that skill. If you can’t convincingly articulate why you chose a specific direction – or if your reasoning sounds more like an excuse than a rationale – it’s a sign you still have work to do. It isn’t your professor’s job to draw or model your project for you. Their job is to ask guiding questions that ensure you’ve thought your design through. If your justification for a design choice amounts to “I liked it,” or my personal favorite “it looks cool” you’re missing an opportunity to learn how to defend your decisions critically and professionally.
I think the best professors serve as guides rather than directors. They let you pick your path and make your own choices—even if that means encountering a few failures. This approach forces you to develop clarity about your motivations. Eventually, you learn to anticipate those questions yourself: “Why am I doing this?” or “Does this design decision support my concept?” This deeper self-awareness will serve you well once you’re working with real clients who expect you not just to present a design but to explain how it solves their problems and meets their goals. In the end, good communication skills – knowing how to prove the validity of your ideas – are just as crucial as the design skills themselves.
Figure Out Your Software jump to 44:26
I’ve been dealing with questions about which software architecture students should learn for quite some time now, especially since I’m thirty years out of school. Recently, I had a conversation with a colleague about this very topic, and I voiced what has been bothering me: I really don’t think everyone (anyone) needs to learn Rhino. I am told that it’s easy to pick up, but, in my experience, it’s not the most useful tool for getting a job in a traditional architectural office. There are a few exceptions, of course, but why not focus on something that’s more widely used in the industry?
If I were advising students today, I would tell them to pick software that most firms actually use. Revit (as well as ArchiCAD) is a perfect example. Some people worry they might be limiting themselves to a specific type of firm or project typology, but learning industry-standard tools can open doors. From there, they can branch out, develop new skills, and not be stuck in any single role. SketchUp and Enscape are also solid choices, especially for conceptual work. In our conversation, my colleague mentioned that academia sometimes shuns SketchUp—possibly because it’s free or seems too basic—but in professional practice, it’s a perfectly viable tool to get conceptual ideas down quickly.
My main point is that using software common in the real world puts you in a better position for finding meaningful work, not to mention it probably would give you some options for where you could work. I’d rather see students learn one or two programs thoroughly than juggle seven or eight different ones to finish a single project. That kind of workflow can be incredibly cumbersome. In the end, Andrew and I agreed that it’s all about thinking strategically about your career and focusing on the tools that give you the best chance to succeed in an actual architectural practice.
Break the Rules jump to 48:17
Pushing or even bending the rules can lead to the most memorable and successful architecture school projects – provided you have strong ideas (the BIG Idea I mentioned earlier comes to mind …) to back them up. When your focus is on the big-picture concept or a bold design vision, smaller details like a perfectly sized copy room or the exact location of a door shouldn’t overshadow the main story you’re trying to tell. I’ve seen classmates ignore certain “requirements” that didn’t matter in the grand scheme, and they ended up wowing the jury with a well-defined concept, even though a few logistical details were off. Ultimately, if you can keep your design centered on a clear vision, professors and jurors often care more about how powerfully you communicate that vision than they do about the minutiae.
As a point of clarification, I’m not saying you should ignore every rule. There are studios and projects where structural integrity, code compliance, or mechanical systems are the primary learning objectives—those rules aren’t meant to be broken. But outside of those core constraints, don’t let a rigid checklist distract you from your main concept. If you find yourself talking about your masterful programming accomplishments (as one example) during your presentation instead of your big design idea, you’ve missed the point. My advice is to treat the rules that matter with respect, while recognizing that some details may deserve a more flexible approach. If you do it right, you’ll produce a more exciting project and a stronger presentation.
(by the way, I chose the image for this section from one of my own projects from my time in school … which eventually became the inspiration for the post “Your Projects from Architecture School are Silly“ which we later turned into a broader conversation for podcast Episode 32: Project in Architecture School are Silly” This is an example of when I broke the rules for a design concept and was rewarded with not only a top grade, but recognition from my professors that I might have something more to offer.
Hypothetical jump to 54:25
This particular hypothetical question requires you to recognize that you are constantly getting both smarter and stupider every day and that one requires effort, while the other requires nothing.
In exchange for $1,000 a day, your voice reflects how smart you are … meaning as you learn new things, your voice gets closer and closer to sounding like Pinocchio, but as you forget things or get dumber, your voice gets lower and lower in pitch. You do have some control over this situation.
The main issue with this question is that the dollar amount ($1,000/day) is too high. This is essentially a $365,000 a year salary which is more than enough to not have to work a real job, which would make this challenge a bit more nuanced to deal with and solve.
Ep 169: Architecture Studio
From the art of refining a design concept to the challenge of articulating your decisions with clarity (while standing in front of a room of people and most likely fighting through some sort of anxiety), the experiences encountered in the architecture studio lay the foundation for real-world practice. All of the items on the list discussed today were as valid when I was in college as they are today. While it hope that today’s conversation didn’t resonate as preachy, the lessons discussed will resonate well beyond college.
Cheers,
