Category: Member and Firm Profiles

For Margarita Gonzalez, Assoc. AIA, architecture began with watching her father work at his drafting table. That early fascination with thinking through drawings grew into a career spanning countries, cultures, classrooms, and practice, with a lesson that continues to guide her work: listen before you design.

AIA Colorado’s 2026 Associate of the Year honoree, Margarita is the founder and principal of Minidwell, a Denver practice focused on residential design. An internationally trained architect with a Master’s in Architecture and PhD earned in Paris, she brings 26 years of experience and a global perspective to her work in design and education.

In this Member Spotlight, Margarita reflects on establishing a practice in a new country, helping students find their place in architecture, the sense of belonging she found through AIA Colorado, and what it means to design for a shared planet.

Tell us about your journey to becoming an architect. What shaped you along the way?

My father is a civil engineer, and I grew up watching him work at his company and draw at his drafting table. I fell in love with the idea of thinking through drawings, and that early fascination led me to architecture.

I have since lived, practiced, and taught architecture across different countries and cultures. That experience taught me that architecture is never universal. It is shaped by culture, economics, traditions, climate, and, most importantly, the people who inhabit it. What may seem obvious to a designer can mean something completely different to someone else.

Above all, my journey has taught me to listen: to places, cultures, stories, and people. Architecture has been my way of discovering not only how we build, but how we live and belong.

Above all, my journey has taught me to listen: to places, cultures, stories, and people.

What is a pivotal moment in your career that changed how you think about architecture?

When I moved to Denver, I expected to continue teaching architecture, as I had in Saudi Arabia and France. But without the credentials to join a university faculty, I had to reinvent myself in practice. I also had to learn a new system, Colorado’s zoning, codes, and way of practicing, which pushed me to become more independent and eventually establish my own practice.

That experience changed how I see architecture. I discovered that practicing can be even more rewarding than teaching: there is something powerful about seeing a building come to life and become part of people’s everyday lives.

Taking that risk, with the guidance of an excellent mentor, taught me to approach architecture with an open mind and embrace unexpected opportunities. Sometimes, the doors that close are the ones that lead us somewhere new.

In your view, what role should architects play in shaping Colorado’s communities?

We have to remember that we are building for the people who live in Colorado today, and for those moving here tomorrow.

Someone moving from New York may have very different expectations than someone coming from Florida or another country, yet once here, we all share the same climate, landscape, and place.

As architects, we have a responsibility to listen before we design: to understand who our communities are, where they come from, and what they need. We should challenge the idea of a “Colorado architecture” and instead create architecture that reflects the many people who now call Colorado home.

Our role is not simply to design buildings, but to help shape communities where people feel represented and have a sense of belonging.

Where do you see the future of architecture heading in the next 5 to 10 years?

I became involved in education because I wanted to help open the door for more diverse voices in architecture. Some of my students are now finishing their bachelor’s degrees, and seeing them enter the profession gives me great hope.

I believe the future of architecture in the United States will be more diverse, bringing new perspectives and new ways of imagining the spaces we inhabit. This could transform how we design schools, senior living, housing, and communities, while encouraging us to rethink how we adapt existing buildings, respond to climate change, and use new technologies.

What excites me most is that the future does not have to look like the past. We may even begin to explore what it means to inhabit environments beyond Earth, which could challenge our understanding of architecture and humanity itself.

I believe the next generation will bring experiences and ideas that our profession has not always made room for, and they will help us create architecture that is more inclusive, inventive, and responsive to the world around us.

I am certain the future is bright, not because we know exactly where architecture is going, but because we have the opportunity to imagine something we have never seen before.

Why are you a member of AIA Colorado?

I joined AIA as soon as I arrived in Denver because I wanted to become part of the architectural community in my new home. I started by volunteering with the Design Conference Committee, which opened the door to other committees and showed me how much impact we can have when we participate beyond our individual practices.

At the time, AIA Colorado had created a Task Force for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion. The conversation was gaining momentum nationally, influenced by movements such as #MeToo, but it was also driven by something more fundamental: the recognition that our profession does not yet reflect the communities we serve. I saw an opportunity not simply to diversify the profession, but to help shape what the next generation of architecture could look like.

AIA gave me something I deeply valued as an architect who came to this country from elsewhere: a sense of belonging. I found a community that was willing to listen to my experiences, challenge my ideas, and make space for my voice. In return, I found ways to contribute my own perspective.

For me, membership is not simply about belonging to a professional organization; it is about helping build the profession we want to inherit. I hope to remain a member as long as I can, because I believe architecture becomes stronger when more voices are invited to shape it.

AIA gave me something I deeply valued as an architect who came to this country from elsewhere: a sense of belonging.

What advice would you give to emerging professionals in Colorado?

I teach college-level architecture courses to high school students, and when I introduce them to the path of becoming an architect, they are often surprised by how long and demanding the journey can be. Many young people are drawn to architecture without fully understanding the commitment it requires, and perhaps that is why some lose their way along the journey.

I recommend not looking for an easier path. Being an architect carries a great responsibility, and I believe that responsibility is part of what makes the profession meaningful.

The beauty of the journey is in the process: seeing a building come to life and watching people make it their own. Along the way, an architect develops a passion for building not only buildings, but places where people can live, explore, play, and enjoy their lives.

When you finally see that joy in someone’s face, you realize that all the challenges and sacrifices along the way were worth it.

What are you currently reading, listening to, or learning?

Over the summer, I joined a book club reading Orbital by Samantha Harvey. The book follows six astronauts circling Earth, physically separated from it and reflecting on humanity, our planet, and what it means to belong.

Their descriptions of Earth from orbit made me think about how much we take for granted: from that distance, there are no borders, races, or religions, only one planet and one shared home. It reminded me that we don’t simply inhabit buildings; we inhabit a planet. For me, architecture is therefore not only about creating shelter, but also about strengthening our relationship with the place that makes life possible.

At the same time, Orbital offers a nostalgic view of our planet and makes us ask: How can we improve our living conditions while reducing our impact? And shouldn’t we architects lead the way?

I’m also fascinated by the possibility of life beyond Earth. If we were to inhabit Mars, we would first have to recreate many of the conditions Earth provides naturally: air, water, shelter, and a livable climate.

This raises an exciting question for architects: What happens to architecture when the environment itself becomes part of what we have to design? I’m fascinated by what this next chapter of humanity could mean for how we live, adapt, and imagine the future.

Thank you to Margarita Gonzalez, Assoc. AIA, for sharing her story and reflections on listening, belonging, and opening doors for the next generation.

Congratulations on being recognized as AIA Colorado’s 2026 Associate of the Year!

For Adam Harding, AIA, a defining moment in architecture came on a restaurant’s opening night. Standing in the back of a room he had spent a year and a half designing, he watched people lean toward one another, linger, and settle into the space. The experience changed how he understood his work: its value would be measured by how people occupied the room.

The 2026 AIA Colorado Architect of the Year, Adam is the founder and design principal of Adam Harding Architecture, a Denver studio he established this year after twenty-two years at Roth Sheppard Architects, most recently as Design Principal and Partner. His practice spans hospitality, restaurants, retail, wellness, residences, workplace, and adaptive reuse, with a focus on the rituals and experiences that give places meaning.

A 2021 AIA National Young Architects Award recipient, Adam also contributes through service with Colorado DORA, NCARB, and the Architectural Education Foundation. In this Member Spotlight, he reflects on designing for experience, learning from the least comfortable seat in a restaurant, the importance of business education, and a weather-writing habit that offers another way to observe the world.

What is a pivotal moment in your career that changed how you think about architecture?

Early on, I spent an opening night standing in the back of a restaurant I had drawn for a year and a half, watching the room fill. Nobody looked at the ceiling detail I had agonized over. But they leaned in toward each other, they lingered, and the room got loud in exactly the right way.

That was the moment I understood that the deliverable is not the drawing set; it is the behavior the room produces.

Since then, I have measured my work by how people occupy it: whether they slow down, whether they come back, whether the space still works on a Tuesday in February when it is half full. That reframing has shaped every project since, and it is why I keep returning to hospitality. The client’s business either works or it does not, and the room is part of the reason why.

How would you describe your design philosophy in a few sentences?

I want to design rooms people remember being in, not rooms they remember looking at.

That means organizing space, light, material, and sound around how a place makes someone feel, and treating the sequence a person moves through—how they arrive, what they discover, where they pause—as the actual design problem.

Compression and release, material transitions, acoustic zoning, concealed light: these are narrative instruments, not technical requirements. The aim is a place that is intuitive on the first visit and still revealing something on the fifth, and that reads as inevitable in fifteen years rather than photogenic for one.

“I want to design rooms people remember being in, not rooms they remember looking at.”

What is one tool, habit, or process you rely on that others might not expect?

I eat in my buildings. Repeatedly, at different hours, usually alone and sitting somewhere I would not normally choose: the seat by the service station, the two-top wedged against the corner, the last stool at the end of the bar.

Those are the seats that tell you the truth about a room. You feel the draft from the door, the glare at 6:40, the pinch point where servers and guests negotiate the same four feet.

It is not a formal post-occupancy process, and it does not produce a report, but it has corrected more of my assumptions than any software has. Every project I design carries something I learned from an uncomfortable chair in a previous one.

Tell us about a project you are proud of. What made it meaningful?

Denchu Den—The Hidden Forest, completed in 2025 while I was Design Principal at Roth Sheppard Architects.

It is an 8,300-square-foot omakase restaurant and cultural dining experience, and the design is built around the Japanese principle of omotenashi: a quiet, almost withholding exterior that opens into a warm, tactile interior of wood, stone, filtered light, and deliberately narrow thresholds. You do not see the room until you have earned it.

What made it meaningful was the relationship behind it. This is the latest chapter with a client family whose restaurants have shaped how Denver eats, and that history raised the stakes. The work had to feel continuous with what came before without repeating it.

When a client trusts you with the thing their name is attached to, across multiple projects and many years, that is the highest compliment the profession offers.

What is one change you would like to see in the architecture profession?

I would like us to stop treating business acumen as something separate from—or beneath—design talent.

We are excellent at teaching young architects to draw and think, and nearly silent on how to build a durable practice. That gap costs the profession good designers, and it costs clients the continuity that comes from firms that survive.

It is also, quietly, an equity issue. The people who can afford to learn these things the expensive way are not a representative sample.

Talking about money is not a distraction from design. It is what makes sustained design possible.

“Talking about money is not a distraction from design. It is what makes sustained design possible.”

What advice would you give to emerging professionals in Colorado?

Go deep before you go broad. Early on, there is pressure to be conversant in everything; the architects I admire got there by staying with one building type long enough to learn what actually goes wrong in it. Pick something you find genuinely interesting and commit to it for a decade.

Second, get on site. The gap between what you drew and what the trades can build is where your judgment gets made, and you cannot close it from a desk.

Third, serve. I have spent years on the AIA Colorado board, on the state licensing board at DORA, as Colorado’s NCARB delegate, and with the Architectural Education Foundation, and none of it was a detour from practice.

It taught me how the profession actually works: how licensure moves, how policy gets made, how a scholarship changes whose kid gets to become an architect. The Education Foundation now awards $120,000 a year, and I would put that number up against anything I have built.

This is a small state. Be useful in it, and it will be useful to you.

What is something people might be surprised to learn about you?

I am an unreasonably serious weather person, and I have done something about it. I write and publish WeatherTime, a daily weather email that is short, genuinely useful, and completely unserious about everything except the forecast.

It has hand-drawn pigeons. It is not written for a professional audience, and I would not read it aloud at a board meeting. Just kidding, I probably would.

There is more overlap with architecture than it sounds: both are about reading systems, paying attention to conditions most people move through without noticing, and understanding that light, wind, and temperature are design materials whether or not you choose to treat them that way.

Colorado just happens to give you a spectacular amount to look at. weathertime.com, if you want your mornings improved.

Thank you to Adam Harding, AIA, for sharing his perspective on designing for experience, building a lasting practice, and serving the profession.

Congratulations on being named the 2026 AIA Colorado Architect of the Year!

Growing up in a military family, Alexander Person, AIA, CNU-A, NOMA, became accustomed to new cities, new landscapes, and new ways of understanding a place. From the civic monuments of Washington, D.C., to the shaded arcades of Panama City and brick warehouses of Omaha, those experiences sparked a curiosity about what buildings reveal about the people who create them.

Today, Alexander is a Project Manager and Associate at SmithGroup in Denver, with 23 years of experience and a practice spanning higher education, science and technology, housing, and urban design. His commitment to places that feel intuitive, enduring, and deeply human also informs his involvement with NOMA Colorado and AIA Colorado, where he contributes through leadership and mentorship.

In this Member Spotlight, Alexander reflects on the places and mentors that shaped his approach, a healthcare project close to his heart, the human qualities he believes will define architecture’s future, and why AIA Colorado offers opportunities to practice being an architect.

Tell us about your journey to becoming an architect. What shaped you along the way?

As a military brat in the 1980s, I saw much of the United States and two other countries by the time I could drive. Every few years brought a new city, a new landscape, and a new collection of buildings that quietly told stories about the people who lived there.

In Washington, D.C., I was surrounded by the permanence and symbolism of neoclassical monuments and civic buildings. The architecture spoke the language of democracy and national identity, crafted from stone and marble to project endurance, order, and aspiration. Even as a child, it was hard not to feel that these buildings were trying to say something bigger than themselves.

In Panama City, Panama, I encountered a city shaped by connection. Its architecture reflected centuries of cultural exchange and economic opportunity. The colonial character of Casco Viejo spoke to the city’s historical roots, while its skyline embodied its aspirations. Tropical conditions encouraged shaded arcades, balconies, and buildings designed to capture breezes and shelter people from intense sun and rain. Panama City taught me that architecture can be both an archive and a forecast, preserving the memory of a place while revealing its aspirations for the future.

In Omaha, Nebraska, I found a landscape built from the optimism and grit of the American heartland. Brick warehouses, sturdy commercial buildings, and unpretentious neighborhoods reflected the city’s growth as a railroad and agricultural hub. The architecture wasn’t concerned with grandeur as much as usefulness, craftsmanship, and community, values that continue to resonate with me today.

Looking back, I realize I wasn’t just noticing buildings. I was becoming curious about why places looked the way they did and what they revealed about the people who created them. Those early moves taught me that architecture is never simply about shelter; it’s a physical expression of geography, culture, history, and human ambition.

That curiosity eventually led me to architecture. More than two decades into the profession, I still find myself asking the same question I did as a kid staring out the car window in a new town: “What story is this place trying to tell?” Fortunately, I’ve managed to turn that habit into a career.

“What story is this place trying to tell?”

How would you describe your design philosophy in a few sentences?

Early in my career, I worked under three phenomenal architects, Joe Lear, Lupe Canto, and Arne Emerson, who all influenced my philosophy of architecture.

They taught me that great design is manifested in the moments that aren’t obvious, that designing with constructability in mind is nonnegotiable, and that architecture responds to political and economic climates as well as geographic ones. They also showed me that interrogating the program can reveal inspiring solutions.

How do you approach the balance between creativity and constraints such as budget, code, and client needs?

Recently, speed to market has been king, and my projects have used design-build or construction manager at risk delivery methods, which create interesting opportunities.

In this mode, creativity expands to include the constraints of budget and schedule early in the project. Bringing construction expertise into the conversation allows us to collaborate on real-world constraints and adjust before becoming deeply invested in a particular direction.

I believe code should be framed as hard-won design intelligence. It allows creativity to be focused where it matters most, including spatial experience, daylighting, context-appropriate design, and ergonomics.

Tell us about a project you are proud of. What made it meaningful?

The River People Health Center remains one of the projects closest to my heart. It brings together two things I care deeply about: architecture that serves people and architecture that belongs to its place.

The design draws its meaning from the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Community’s relationship to land, water, and wellness, yet its purpose is wonderfully straightforward: helping people heal.

When architecture can honor a culture, support a community, and improve lives without becoming a theme park of symbols, that’s a pretty good day at the office.

How do you measure success in your work?

Success is often visible, but impact is what endures. One is measured by recognition; the other by the difference we leave behind.

Where do you see the future of architecture heading in the next 5 to 10 years?

Art has always moved in cycles between technical mastery and human expression. I believe architecture is approaching a similar inflection point.

As AI and algorithms become increasingly capable of generating and analyzing buildings, architects will spend less time producing drawings and more time interpreting the human condition. Technology will continue to make us more efficient, but our greatest value will remain our ability to translate culture, memory, emotion, and community into built form.

The future isn’t less architecture; it’s more humanity in architecture. Technology will help us design buildings faster, but architects will remain essential because people don’t remember algorithms. They remember how a place made them feel.

“The future isn’t less architecture; it’s more humanity in architecture.”

Why are you a member of AIA Colorado?

My firm gives me plenty of opportunities to practice architecture; AIA Colorado gives me opportunities to practice being an architect.

That means leadership, mentorship, advocacy, intellectual exchange, and a community of peers who understand both the joys and challenges of the profession. And, admittedly, I’m never going to turn down a good building tour.

What inspires you outside of architecture?

My creative fuel comes from a somewhat eclectic combination of motorcycles, microchips, mountain trails, mindfulness, and modern art.

Motorcycling teaches perspective, hiking encourages observation, technology sparks possibility, self-care cultivates empathy, and modern art challenges convention. These pursuits reinforce my commitment to human-centered design and a belief that the best architecture emerges from curiosity, empathy, and a deep appreciation for how people experience the world.

What are you currently reading, listening to, or learning?

I’m reading Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. As I wrote this, I was listening to Ellie Goulding. I’ve also been learning how to do standing core exercises.

Thank you to Alexander Person, AIA, CNU-A, NOMA, for sharing his story, perspective, and reflections on the places, people, and experiences that shape his approach to architecture as part of the AIA Colorado Member Spotlight series.

From journalism and graphic design to architecture and firm ownership, Emily Adams, AIA, LEED AP, has built a career shaped by curiosity, creativity, and an interest in understanding how people experience the spaces around them.

As Founder and Design Director of Neoera, Emily leads a Denver-based practice working across higher education, aviation, workplace, retail, and residential design. Since founding the firm in 2013, she has focused on creating a collaborative and service-oriented design experience while demonstrating the impact small practices can have on projects of every scale.

In this Member Spotlight, Emily reflects on the unexpected path that led her to architecture, designing with curiosity, the value of small firms, what emerging professionals should understand about the business of architecture, and the experiences outside the profession that continue to inspire her.

What drew you to architecture, and when did you know it was the right path for you?

Looking back, there were signs from a very early age. When I was six or seven, I was constantly rearranging my bedroom, which drove my mom absolutely crazy. I was fascinated by how simply changing the organization of a space could completely change the way it felt.

But architecture wasn’t my original career path. In fact, it never occurred to me that it could be a career. I thought I wanted to become a broadcast journalist, so I studied journalism at Iowa State University. While I was there, I worked my way from a computer graphics creator and camera operator to being a “one-man band” at an ABC affiliate news station. I loved uncovering stories, talking with people, and understanding the challenges they faced, but I eventually realized that the relentless pace and daily deadlines of broadcast journalism weren’t for me.

That realization eventually brought me to Denver, where I spent some time working in marketing and graphic design and had the opportunity to work alongside an architect. At first, I thought I would pursue interior design, but the owner of a local architecture firm encouraged me to consider a Master of Architecture degree instead. I began working at the firm while taking a few architecture classes at the University of Colorado Denver, and I fell in love with architecture.

Working alongside talented professionals opened my eyes to what the profession could be, but architecture school confirmed that I had found the right path. It fundamentally changed the way I saw and understood the world around me, and I knew there was no going back.

“It fundamentally changed the way I saw and understood the world around me, and I knew there was no going back.”

How would you describe your design philosophy in a few sentences?

My design philosophy begins with curiosity, listening closely and understanding what a client truly needs, which isn’t always the same as what they initially think they need. I see our role as architects as asking the right questions, simplifying complex challenges, and uncovering opportunities that may not have been obvious at the outset.

Ultimately, good design should be thoughtful, flexible, and responsive to the people who will use the space, while making the greatest possible impact within the realities of the project. And whenever possible, I like to leave room for a little whimsy.

Tell us about a recent project you are proud of. What made it meaningful?

One recent project I’m especially proud of is our work for the College of Media, Design and Information (CMDI) at the University of Colorado Boulder. Early in the project, we worked closely with a large group of stakeholders, using visioning exercises to uncover what they truly needed from the available square footage. That collaboration shaped multiple spaces, including a highly flexible, technology-rich multipurpose space that can support everything from student gatherings and lectures to large faculty meetings.

We also recognized an opportunity to transform previously underused corridors into inviting, occupiable spaces for students and faculty. By creating niches throughout these areas, we were able to extend the project’s impact well beyond its original program.

What makes the project especially meaningful to me is seeing how people use the spaces we design. Because we continue to work in the building, I regularly see students, faculty, and staff occupying the spaces and making them their own. There’s nothing more gratifying than that.

It wasn’t a large project, but it reinforced something I strongly believe: a project doesn’t have to be large to make a meaningful difference in people’s lives. Even small, thoughtful interventions can improve someone’s everyday experience. When we bring that same level of care and intention to every project, regardless of scale, the cumulative impact can be incredibly powerful.

“A project doesn’t have to be large to make a meaningful difference in people’s lives.”

What is one change you would like to see in the architecture profession?

I would like to see the profession more fully recognize the value that small architecture firms bring to the table. Our size allows us to be agile, to respond quickly, adapt as projects evolve, and make decisions without layers of bureaucracy. Clients also benefit from direct access to firm leadership, greater continuity throughout the process, and a team that is deeply invested in both the project and the relationship.

Small firms are more than capable of taking on complex, large-scale work, yet we often compete with much larger firms operating with fundamentally different resources and fee structures. I’d like to see more clients create meaningful opportunities for small practices and evaluate teams not simply by their size, but by their expertise, creativity, responsiveness, and the overall value they bring to a project.

More broadly, I’d also like to see architects reconsider how we establish our fees. When our value is tied primarily to the number of hours spent on a project, it doesn’t fully account for the experience, insight, and creativity behind the work. I believe our fees should more accurately reflect the value of our ideas and the impact our expertise creates for our clients.

What advice would you give to emerging professionals in Colorado?

Be curious and resourceful. Design is an important part of architecture, but it’s only one facet of the profession. Being an architect takes dedication, grit, and perseverance. When you don’t understand something, ask questions, but also take the initiative to find the answer. Curiosity pushes us to keep learning, while resourcefulness helps us become more capable architects and more effective leaders.

I would also encourage emerging professionals to learn about the business of architecture. In school, we’re taught how to design, think differently, and solve problems creatively, but we aren’t necessarily taught how an architecture firm operates. Ask your firm’s leaders about business development, financial strategy, and the thinking behind key decisions. Understanding the bigger picture will make you a better employee, leader, and even a future employer. It will also help you see how your individual contributions support the success of the entire practice.

“Curiosity pushes us to keep learning, while resourcefulness helps us become more capable architects and more effective leaders.”

What inspires you outside of architecture?

I’m inspired by experiences that take me beyond my own perspective. Experiencing different cultures and connecting with people from different places, whether that’s in another part of the United States or across the world, continually challenges the way I see and understand the world. Inevitably, those experiences also shape the way I think about architecture.

Music is another significant source of inspiration for me. I’ve played and performed throughout my life, and I’ve always loved the process of creating something. Whether it’s architecture, art, or music, there’s something incredibly rewarding about beginning with an idea, exploring where it can go, and ultimately bringing something into the world that didn’t exist before.

Thank you to Emily Adams, AIA, for sharing her story, perspective, and insights on the value of curiosity, creativity, and thoughtful design as part of the AIA Colorado Member Spotlight series.

From helping shape Denver’s urban renaissance to leading one of Colorado’s most respected design firms, Andy Rockmore, AIA, has spent more than two decades creating places that strengthen communities and enrich the public realm.

As a Principal at SAR+ Architects and the 2026 President of AIA Colorado, he believes architects have a responsibility that extends well beyond buildings, serving as problem solvers, civic leaders, and advocates for resilient, vibrant communities.

In this Member Spotlight, Andy reflects on discovering architecture as a teenager, finding creativity within constraints, the future of artificial intelligence in practice, and why connecting with fellow architects remains one of the profession’s greatest rewards.

What drew you to architecture, and when did you know it was the right path for you?

As a child, I was always drawing, everywhere! My parents once found an entire mural on the wall under my bed, 1 foot tall, 6 feet long. My father also loved to build additions to our house, furniture, and anything else the family needed. I loved being his helper. 

In 10th grade, my mother took me to see the architecture studio at RPI, where I eventually went to college. I’ll never ever forget that moment, walking into a room full of drawings and models and people making amazing structures. It was a whole new world I didn’t know existed! I still feel similarly when I walk into our office every day.

“I still feel the same excitement walking into our office today as I did walking into my first architecture studio.”

How do you approach the balance between creativity and constraints such as budget, code, and client needs?

Balance is the perfect word to describe what architects try to achieve between all those forces and many more. The most important approach is accepting the possibilities AND the constraints! We are professional service providers, working in the interest of others first. Too often architects prioritize creativity and ignore constraints, leaving a client unable to implement what they need. Responsible architects know all too well, creativity is found within the constraints, not in avoiding them.

“Responsible architects know all too well that creativity is found within the constraints, not in avoiding them.”

What is one tool, habit, or process you rely on that others might not expect?

I still take notes by hand, because I remember what I write/draw. I find it easier to focus, listen intently, and remember what I’ve documented immeasurably better than typing.

In your view, what role should architects play in shaping Colorado’s communities?

As architects, we need to be using our diverse problem-solving skills to play in many roles. Colorado is a relatively young state with a national identity tied to its mountain towns, our front range cities, and outdoor culture. Colorado architects should ensure new development reinforces our state’s unique character, rather than superimposing ideas from other places. 

Colorado architects should be leaders in climate resilience, focusing on wildfire risk, water scarcity, and increasing energy demands. 

Our profession needs to keep expanding our traditional role by serving the public, not simply private clients. Architects should get involved in local government to help influence affordability initiatives, school planning, community development, and civic infrastructure. Our communities need us!

Our communities need us!

Where do you see the future of architecture heading in the next 5 to 10 years?

I believe that AI will continue to impact our profession in very significant ways. However, unlike some of the doomsayers, I’m confident there will be even more value placed on an architect’s judgement, reason, empathy, and ability to solve problems that create healthy places, meaningful connections, and a sense of ease to help people thrive in our complex world.

How has AIA Colorado supported your career or practice?

I’m continually grateful for the ways AIA supports our firm by providing resources that help us run our business and stay ahead of our evolving profession. Whether it’s the Compensation Report, the latest AI Toolkit, or leadership and mentoring opportunities like AIA Colorado’s Ascend and the Christopher Kelley Leadership Development Program, our firm has benefited tremendously from AIA’s support.

On a personal level, my involvement with AIA has connected me to the profession in meaningful ways. I’ve had the opportunity to build friendships with architects from across the country, and I’m continually struck by, and comforted by, how much we all have in common. Despite practicing in different places and facing different challenges, we share a common passion for improving our communities through design.

If you were not an architect, what would you be doing?

If I couldn’t practice architecture, I’d be a therapist. I find people and their stories far more interesting, complex, and wonderful than any building or place.

Thank you to Andy Rockmore, AIA, for sharing his story to kickoff the AIA Colorado Member Spotlight series!