How does a regional firm like Studio KLP break into bigger markets? Every small business owner probably asks that question at some point or another. A smaller number of them try. An even smaller group actually succeed.

Seven years ago, KLP Principal Kira Kinsman was having lunch with a dear friend, Michael Ytterberg. If you know anything about contemporary architecture in Pennsylvania, you probably already know that Michael needs no introduction. He trained at Rice University and the University of Pennsylvania. He studied in Paris and Rome and is a sought-after lecturer.  

That’s not a flex; just part of the story. 

Architects are an isolated group. Only about 127,000 of them are registered in the United States. For comparison’s sake, civil engineers number around 310,000, according to BLS data. There are nearly 1 million carpenters. Accountants number around1.4 million. 

So the notion that we’re going to rub elbows with rockstars from time to time seems understandable (interestingly, the BLS counts more professional musicians and singers in the United States — 160,000 — than architects; so there actually could be more rockstars than architects).

As Kira sat in Philadelphia’s Chinatown with Michael, she confided that she believed Studio KLP, then a tiny firm in Northeast Pennsylvania, was ready to start working in Philadelphia.

She expected Michael to maybe chuckle, perhaps warn her about the odds stacked against her in a highly competitive market. 

Instead he said, “I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

We earned our way into the Philadelphia market, but Michael has been beyond amazing in opening up opportunities for us. The most honest friendships are always the most important and meaningful ones.

Most recently, and for the third time, Michael’s firm retained KLP as associated architects on a high rise condominium in Philadelphia’s central business district, right on Broad Street, across from the Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts. It’s been an honor to participate in the project, even now, nearly a decade after that memorable conversation over lunch in Chinatown.

Great story, but that doesn’t tell me how to break into bigger markets

Point taken. To be honest (and you probably knew this was coming), if there were sure-fire tricks, more people would figure out how to do it.

The story about Michael simply illustrates the power of relationships. Business at the highest levels, the levels we’re all after, can’t happen without them.

To forge relationships, you need to be likeable, approachable, gregarious and aggressive all at once. You need to have good ideas … err, scratch that. You need to have the best ideas. Those only come through persistence, trying and many mistakes. 

If you want to enter bigger markets, first get your own house in order. Become the master of your own domain, no matter how small it is. That’s actually just good advice for life. It takes time to do that, so while you’re figuring out how to run in your own small markets, get to know the players in others.

Spend time exploring the places you want to be. Don’t just google them. Go visit them. Start building a network there and get to know the market. 

Part of growing is also reckoning with the fact that sometimes, some outcomes are simply impossible. When we’re kids, our parents — if we’re lucky — tell us the big lie. It’s that we can do anything if we put our minds to it. “But, mom, does that mean I’ll fly some day or breathe underwater?” It doesn’t take long to figure out that even “anything” has its limits. But at least you got the chance to wonder, and test the limits of possibility without fearing so much that you might fail, and for that reason, the big lie is a blessing.

We’ve talked about the 1920s-’30s architects Innes and Levy before <internal link to ALTERATIONS blog>. They were prolific in Northeast Pennsylvania, and strived to break out and work in Philadelphia (and actually did receive some assignments for work in Southeastern Pennsylvania). But their legacy is almost exclusively tied up in the treasured homes they built for the rich and famous of, yes, Luzerne County, Pennsylvania.

This might be the worst self-help blog you ever read. It’s light on actionable tips, heavy on soliloquy and ends with a consoling tone that maybe you should sometimes accept defeat when trying to take your business into major metros.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s actually spot-on. Maybe the focus shouldn’t be on entering a big new market. Focus on excellence, on relationships and being the best at what you do. If that’s your priority, opportunities for growth will find you.

The post How to break into bigger markets as an architectural firm first appeared on Studio KLP Architects.

We don’t build things like we used to.

One hundred years ago, builders just knew how to use tools, materials and plans, perhaps in a way that few remember how to now. We could argue about whether the old way of building was better. But when we find great buildings, a century old, still structurally sound like the day they were raised, that speaks for itself.

A client recently asked Studio KLP to make alterations to a 1931 Colonial-style home in Northeast Pennsylvania. It had been designed by the prolific and influential Wilkes-Barre architects Donald F. Innes and Charles L. Levy. Their work primarily centered on stately homes; their portfolio includes local elites with names like Nesbitt and Kirby. The duo also served as architects of record for the Fox Hill Country Club and a tuberculosis sanitarium in Drums. 

Their trademark country projects dot the hills surrounding the Valley. There’s something fantastic about their projects. They’re stately, commanding with a touch of whimsy. They popularized the Tudor Revival in Northeast Pennsylvania, and designed much of the City of Wilkes-Barre’s River Street historic district.

When WLK got the job, we found original plans that were simple and uninvolved by today’s standards, like the difference between a roadmap and a GPS screen on your dashboard.

The client teased and said, “you’d have a stack of drawings this high!”

The roof note simply says “slate roof.” For comparison, when Studio KLP oversaw a big new slate roof in 2007, we brought in a specialist from Colorado to teach the entire team how to do it; we had three pages of drawings just for the roof assemblies. 

This vocabulary in the drawings is restrained and on its face conventional, but it is more than that; it is erudite, not necessarily cutting-edge but very skilled in its massing, detailing and response to the landscape — as taut as a well-crafted song.

Now comes the conundrum. Like any artist or creative, architects all have their own brand. The most successful architects have a trademark look that receives a large enough consensus of approval. Everyone in this craft, unless they utterly lack ambition, aims for that. Ego boils beneath the surface, in search of a vent. The 1931 Colonial could offer no such vent. It begged for, or perhaps demanded, respect and preservation of spirit.

Knowing how to feel a culture not of one’s own is a beginning. You work to acquire the vocabulary in rigorous efforts like this, then you can learn to speak it in your own contemporary work. A project like this is like practicing Stravinsky on the piano over and over. First you learn the words that connect design to humanity, then you speak that language in your own voice, if you’re lucky.

We hardly know how to think like they did. The Colonial had a Juliet balcony next to the chimney. What’s it about? Pure romance, no doubt.

Projects like these ask the architect to become the historian. The gatekeeper and treasurer of what happened once, but no longer does. 

It would be easy enough to reinterpret the original architects’ intent for a contemporary audience; and plenty of great restorative architecture does that. 

That wasn’t our job here. Instead, we needed to be more like archeologists than architects. We didn’t get to tell the story. Instead, we had to just ensure the same story could be told again.

The post Can you alter historic architecture without changing its character? first appeared on Studio KLP Architects.

As the architect of record for the six-year project, Studio KLP faced a formidable challenge right from the start.

Our team needed to design a sturdy, timeless building that the community could be proud of. It had to be highly functional and also stately. After all, the new school building replaces and consolidates three high schools that each stood for more than 100 years.

Each one of the old schools is magnificent in its own right, and each has ironclad ties to its distinct neighborhood and community. We couldn’t mess this up. The community demanded a traditional style building. Towering stone archways and Corinthian-style columns made walking into Wilkes-Barre Area’s previous high school buildings feel like stepping back in time.

But it was time and use that pushed two of the three school buildings to the end of their useful lives, albeit prematurely. The school district made the difficult decision to combine all three into a unified school. The new building would have to accommodate a consolidated student body of 2,200 to 2,600.

Designing one of Pennsylvania’s largest new school buildings

At 405,000 square feet, the new Wilkes-Barre Area High School ranks among some of the largest high school buildings in the state. By comparison, Penn State High School’s south campus, built in 2018 is 520,000 square feet. Souderton Area High School, which was built in 2001 in Montgomery County near Philadelphia, is 445,000 square feet.

The closest new high school construction project, geographically, was Dallas High School built in 2011. That was a 230,000 square feet for a student body of less than 1,000.

With the project nearly completed, and almost ready to welcome its first students for the 2021-22 academic year, we’re celebrating the wins we achieved. The new school pays homage to the architecture of its forebears. Towering white pillars support a Greco-style triangular pediment at the main entrance. Natural light streams in from all directions inside creating an inspired environment where we hope students, in turn, will feel inspired to learn.

Traditional architecture vs. public school budgets

Traditional architecture has a lot of detail, and detail costs a lot of money. But we knew the community expected a portfolio piece under a tight budget. In fact, the school district’s budget allowed for just 80% of what it costs on average to build a school of that size.

We found new ways to squeeze out cost without sacrificing quality. The community expects this building at least 50 years, but most likely a lot more if we’re honest. Anyone can do a lot with a big budget. Unfortunately, modern school architecture, hobbled by limited budgets and a lack of creativity, produces sterile-looking shells more than anything else these days.

With the project mostly complete, it’s safe to say now that the high school qualifies Studio KLP to operate on a scale we never have before. Our team never imagined delivering on something of this magnitude, in a traditional aesthetic, with this budget, with this much community attention.

But here we are. We’re proud of the work we did for this and the legacy we’ve created for our company. We stretched and grew through every step, but we can confidently say it will never measure up to the growing that will happen inside this new building.

It’s a high school, after all. Thousands of minds will grow sharper there. Kids will uncover their passions and fire up their futures. In the grand scheme of things, we just showed them how to build the box to do it in.

Go Wolfpack!

The post Studio KLP designs monumental high school under tight budget constraints first appeared on Studio KLP Architects.