BUHRMAN: Can you hear me?
THOMAS: Yeah, I can hear you.
BUHRMAN: How are you doing? Nice to meet you.
THOMAS: Nice to meet you.
BUHRMAN: Thank you so much for helping me with this. I really appreciate it.
THOMAS: It’s my pleasure. Everybody has to go through a thesis, right?
BUHRMAN: Yeah, thank you so much. It was really hard to find an architect. So, just to reiterate what my project is about, I’m making a magazine consisting of seven interviews with seven different designers and artists from seven different fields. I want to show the cross-disciplinary connections between them, and how different fields can learn from one another.
THOMAS: Together as in how they work together, or how they work across each other?
BUHRMAN: More like how a photographer can learn from a painter about composition, lighting, and things like that.
THOMAS: Got it.
BUHRMAN: Okay, so before we start, I’m recording, by the way, if that’s okay.
THOMAS: You’re good.
BUHRMAN: Could you please tell me your name, your age, and where you’re from?
THOMAS: My name is Christian Thomas. I am 50, and I'm from Jupiter, Florida.
BUHRMAN: All right, so the first question I’m going to ask is: how do you define your creative identity, and what early influences shaped the way you work today?
THOMAS: Okay, so creative, creative identity. First and foremost, I'm an architect of primarily bespoke residential projects, so high end residential houses. My creative identity is really i. My knowledge and direction on materiality. So I'm really interested in ancient materials, how they've been lost in time, and how we're bringing them back, and how to use them in a modern or of today context, on projects, early influences. For me, I came across a book in college about wabi sabi, the Japanese kind of theory, and I grabbed onto that early on, and that started a conversation within myself. But the other piece of me that's kind of interesting is, along with being an architect, I'm a general contractor. So for the last 25 years, I've basically built everything that I drew, and so drawing a lot of knowledge from craftsmen on the job site in the ways that they saw presenting material or conducting material, or things that they've run across in their own professional and creative careers, and drawing from those as influences as a big deal to me.
BUHRMAN: So when did you first realize creativity could be a practice and not just like a hobby or a talent?
THOMAS: Yeah, when I was about nine years old, I wanted to be an architect. My dad was a general contractor, so instead of going to summer camp, I spent my summers sitting on job sites. I was just a kid who needed something to do, but from a very early age, I got to see how these organisms move — meaning job sites — and I was really fascinated by all of it. I also had a couple of interesting run-ins with creative architects when I was really young. The house I was raised in from age two to around 11 or 12 was kind of a glass box in the woods that my dad’s best friend, who was an architect, had built for us. As I lived in that house, I realized there could be almost no boundary between the outside and the inside. We just had these big glass walls in the woods, so it didn’t feel very permanent. It felt very transitional. When I started going over to other people’s houses, I could identify that those houses were different from the one I was living in. Ours was a really small house, but it was also really transparent and unique in its application. I realized that living within confined walls was something defined by somebody. As I grew up and started to understand job-site language, people, and roles, it became clear to me that this was meaningful work and that architecture was a career direction I could take.
BUHRMAN: My next question was going to be about how your background quietly shapes your work today, but I think you already answered that.
THOMAS: Yeah, my childhood house was so influential, and it still kind of drives me today. The memory of it is obviously very different from the reality of it, but that memory is still so strong for me. Blurring the lines between outdoors and indoors is a big part of my creative direction, and it’s something I always try to do, especially in a beautiful climate like Florida. I also work a lot in Idaho, in the mountains, and it’s the same idea there: how do you bring that landscape inside and create real connections for people, so that the house or the space kind of falls away? There’s a term for it — phenomenological reductionalism — which is about reducing and reducing the material around you so that you’re really in a space that you could only be in at that exact moment, and you’re feeling every part of it. I think you arrive at that through the materials you surround yourself with. They have to be very humble, very much of the place. Genus loci, right? The spirit of place. You have to bring those materials in so that you feel them on a human level. At the same time, you’re breaking down the barriers between the inside world and the outside world, so that as those begin to bleed together and become a little fuzzier, and the materials on the inside and outside start to speak to one another, I think you become transported.
BUHRMAN: So I'm guessing you drew a lot, right? And how many siblings do you have?
THOMAS: I have four sisters, no brothers.
BUHRMAN: How old are they?
THOMAS: Three are older than me, and one is younger, so I’m number four of five.
BUHRMAN: Were any of them also creative?
THOMAS: I don’t think so — not in the same way. It’s kind of interesting because my three older sisters had a different mother, so they lived in a different house. My younger sister came along six years after I did, so I was kind of in this little sweet spot in that home. If I had to pinpoint the genesis of my creativity, I think it was living in that house during that early stage of my life. My little sister doesn’t have many memories of that experience, and my older sisters were only there as visitors. They didn’t spend a lot of time there. So, in a weird way, I was kind of in this incubator by myself.
BUHRMAN: Is there another profession that you were interested in pursuing?
THOMAS: No, not really. I remember going in for my college interview with the department head of the architecture school when I was still in high school. My parents were sitting there, and she said, “Well, architecture school is very rigorous, so the attrition rate is huge. Not many people make it through this program. Do you have a backup? Is there something else you’d be interested in majoring in?” And I was like, “Absolutely not. It’s not even a question. I’ll make it through. Don’t worry about it.”
BUHRMAN: Well, that's great. I mean, you found a job that you really enjoy.
THOMAS: Yeah, it’s a life, a lifestyle. You probably hear that from artists too. You can’t really look at artistic endeavors as a job, because they’re too all-consuming. It becomes this thread that everything spins and centers around. It gives you great joy, but your travels, interests, career, and creative pursuits all start to connect to that same thing.
BUHRMAN: I applied to Pratt as a photography major, and then I switched to graphic design because, even though I still love photography and still practice it, graphic design became more interesting to me. So now I’m graduating as a graphic design major in May.
THOMAS: Congratulations. And I guess it’s kind of interesting from your perspective as well. Photography is a medium that you’re able to use to support and drive your graphic design. It’s kind of the same thing for me. I grew up sketching and drawing as much as I could, and I was always interested in it. But at the end of the day, sketching and drawing is one small part of what architecture is. Really, we’re always chasing built environments, or temporarily built environments — however you want to say it. But built environments, yeah.
BUHRMAN: I think it’s always important for artists or designers to be able to work in another art or design field. Like you said, with photography and graphic design, I use them both all the time.
THOMAS: So you play any music? Do you play music?
BUHRMAN: I used to play trombone and guitar, yeah, just those two.
THOMAS: Yeah, I find that helpful. I’m not great at it, but it’s another one of those creative endeavors that allows you to step away from your own world and enter a more meditative state. What you’re saying about having multiple disciplines of art within your sphere is a big deal. I haven’t gotten to a point in my life where I’ve started painting again — maybe that will come later. But cooking, I find, is a big deal. When I talk to most architects who are friends of mine, cooking always comes up. Playing music is a big deal too. They’re separate creative outlets, but they still involve combining elements together. Cooking is a great example. You have 15 different ingredients that come in different scales, sizes, textures, flavors, and colors, and you have to combine them to create one complete piece. In that way, cooking is kind of like miniature architecture. We always laugh about that.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I haven't thought about that actually.
THOMAS: Yeah, we always say that if you get invited to an architect’s house for a dinner party, it’s definitely worth going because it’s like a series of little miniature presentations.
BUHRMAN: That sounds nice. Thank you. So, who are your biggest inspirations in life, and why? They can be current inspirations, or people who inspired you when you first started your career.
THOMAS: Yeah, that’s a good question. My father was always a big influence on me because he was the general contractor in my life. He was kind of a mentor from that side of things, and he allowed me to see from his perspective, which was very different from mine. It was really valuable to have a mentor and an inspiration who I could bounce ideas off of and actually have conversations with. A lot of times, we choose inspirations who are from the past or far away from us, so we don’t actually get to engage in dialogue with them. And I think dialogue is a big deal. So I would say my father was a big influence on me. Rather than picking specific architects and saying I look up to this person or that person, you can always point to people like Louis Kahn, Tadao Ando, or James Turrell. But the people who really impress me are the ones who have figured out a way, almost egolessly, to strip away the built environment and just present what is really there. That’s always what I strive for. The other side of that is the local craftsmen I’ve worked with, whether they’re woodworkers, cabinet finishers, painters, or other people who work with their hands. Being able to have conversations with them about what inspires them is really important to me. Sometimes it’s a very simple thread, but hearing true artisans talk about what inspires them is really inspiring to me.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I’m always on screens, so I’m trying to do more physical things. For my classes, I’ve been making books, and I wouldn’t say I find it difficult, but it’s interesting to work with your hands physically, like you said, once in a while.
THOMAS: It’s a big deal. Even with graphic design, I’m obsessed with old hand-painted signs. I’m sure you see a lot of them in Brooklyn, but if you go to older cities and towns around the country, you see signs painted on the sides of buildings, like “WW Cattle Company,” hand-painted from the 1900s. Those were graphic designers. They were just working in a different medium, and they had to be proficient painters in order to accomplish what they wanted to do. It’s really cool.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I have this. There's a pizza spot on the end of my block, and they have, they kept, like, all the old, I think it was like a mechanic shop or something, but they kept all the paintings and ads, and it's really nice. I was curious, out of everywhere you've been in the world, which place has the best architecture?
THOMAS: It’s a good question. I don’t know if there’s one best answer, or one best architectural answer. For me, what’s most important is architecture that still feels culturally resonant and rooted in place. In America, especially now, you can travel from South Florida to New York, LA, or San Francisco, and so much of it feels the same. You see the same stores, the same kinds of spaces, and this kind of monoculture across the country. That’s why, when I travel, the architecture that interests me most is architecture that still feels regional and connected to the people who live there. In Costa Rica, for example, you might sit in very simple tiki huts or barn-like structures because the weather allows for that. In Italy, you’re surrounded by buildings from the 1500s or earlier. In Asia, or wherever you’re from, there are also regional qualities that come from the culture, climate, and history of that place. There’s also another layer, which is the history of colonization. If you go to Buenos Aires, for example, you can see Spanish influence in the plazas, streets, and urban landscape. You also see Art Deco influences that connect to other cities, like Miami Beach. What I find fascinating is when architecture tells a story about the people it was created by, or even imposed upon. Very regional, culturally specific architecture is what interests me most.
BUHRMAN: So what's something outside of your field that influences the way you think?
THOMAS: I surf a lot, and I think surfing has always played a role in how I think. I also kite surf and free dive, so I’m kind of a water-sport person. Surfing is a great example because you can go out there wanting to catch waves, but it’s not completely up to you. You’re in a dance with the natural environment, so you have to adapt quickly, read the situation, and understand what’s happening around you. I think that way of thinking connects to architecture. Even if I want to do something, it might not be right for the site, the client, the culture, or the region. There might be a mountain there, or some other condition that changes everything. So you have to survey the whole landscape and take in all the points of input. In my experience, a lot of people get caught up in ego and preconception. They imagine what something should be before they really understand it. As an architect, I think my job is to pivot, interpret, and reconnect to what the project should become, rather than force what I thought it was supposed to be. In that way, surfing has shaped my approach to architecture. It taught me to adapt to the environment, the culture, and everything around me. I see myself more as an interpreter than a dictator.
BUHRMAN: Okay, yeah, that makes sense. But where does a project usually start for you, like an idea or a reference that you use, or do you just start drawing?
THOMAS: That’s good. I listen a lot. As an architect, I’m blessed — and maybe blessed and cursed — to have clients, so I spend a lot of time listening to them talk. I ask them about their dreams, what they hope the project can be, and what they want it to be, because those are very different things. I also ask about their family, their daily routines, and all of those personal details. I build a kind of catalog, library, and vocabulary of what this person, or these people, hope to get out of the process and the built environment. Architecture is unique because, in bespoke residential work, the finished environment is only one part of it. The other part is the experience the clients have along the way, which can feel a lot like going through therapy with the architect. They have to make difficult decisions and come to terms with the way they live, the way they approach things, and the way they see things. So listening to people is the first part of the process. From there, I always start with a site visit. I spend a lot of time on the property. I look at where the wind comes from, where the sun angles are, the topography, the trees, and anything I can pull from the urban fabric, including surrounding structures. All of that starts to build a story in my mind, and then I begin sketching. For me, it usually starts with two-dimensional sketches.
BUHRMAN: What is a typical day like? How does it look when you’re in the middle of a project?
THOMAS: Yeah, it depends on the phase. Obviously, you go through different stages. If you’re in schematic design, which is basically the inception or creation of the project, it’s a lot of loose sketches and a lot of trash paper — ripped paper everywhere. The studio is kind of messy and chaotic. I tend to go inward a lot during that period and stay there for a little bit. As the project starts to develop, the sophistication begins to come out, and you can kind of back off from it a little. A project is super organic. I’m sure you’ve felt that way with graphic design too. You have this idea of how it’s going to go, but it always takes left turns and right turns, and you just have to follow it through. So it depends on where you are in the process. The beginning is the very creative, explosive part that everyone kind of imagines when they think of an architect. But once you formulate a concept or idea, it becomes more rigid. The discipline also becomes more rigid because we have to start incorporating mechanical systems, electrical systems, and structural systems into the project.
BUHRMAN: What kind of environment helps you do your best work?
THOMAS: That’s a good question. I never really thought about it. I would like to say peaceful, but usually when I’m creating, it’s loud. I like a lot of music. I like having this kind of big distraction around me. Most of the time, it’s music. There’s always music playing in the background. I think sometimes, when you’re designing, you’re going through a very visceral emotional state. Sometimes it’s aggressive, and sometimes it’s calming. You have to match what you’re feeling with the built environment or the surrounding environment around you. So, for me, it’s not so much about the space as much as it is about the sound. Sound helps me formulate ideas.
BUHRMAN: What part of your process do you find the most frustrating and the most rewarding?
THOMAS: The beginning, for sure. I would call it the development of the story. It’s about taking that aggregate we talked about — the site, the sun, the wind, the people — and putting it all together. From that raw material, you begin to draw out a design. When those first initial sketches start to formulate, I get really excited. You can start to feel how everything is going to weave together: their story, as well as the site’s story. That’s when I get excited.
BUHRMAN: How do you know when a piece is done? How do you know when you’re happy with it?
THOMAS: I always laugh because it’s this huge process, and then one day, all of a sudden, it’s a building, and you have to stare at it. For me, at least, it’s different from a lot of artists. Sometimes I have the joy and displeasure of driving past houses I’ve done every single day. They’re in my neighborhood or in the town that I live in, so there’s always an emotional tie to those things that brings you back. But I think, as any artist would tell you, there’s never really a complete satisfaction with the finished piece. Otherwise, they wouldn’t call it a practice.
BUHRMAN: Have you ever had a project fail or not turn out the way you wanted it to?
THOMAS: Oh, I would never answer that question. I’ll make all the clients guess whose house it was.
BUHRMAN: What would you say was the breakthrough point in your career?
THOMAS: It’s interesting. I think the breakthrough point came when I let go of what I thought I was supposed to be doing, and what society kind of wanted me to do. I really dove deeply into the materiality conversation that we had earlier. The genesis of it was memory. We were talking about memory and how human beings are remembered on this earth after they’re gone, and how long they are remembered after they’re gone. There’s this impermanence of you as a person, as a family member, or whoever it is, and I started thinking about how to reconnect that through architecture. I think that was the breaking point, when I stopped designing a house for the outward austerity of it, or the financial position of it, or what your neighbors are going to think about it, and started really designing it to resonate with the people who are going to live there for generations. A lot of the houses I get to do, and this is a huge blessing, don’t come on the market very much. They don’t get sold. People live there and hand them down to their kids. That is usually the concept. Being able to embody that soul into the architecture was a huge breakthrough point for me, or at least a big learning lesson.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I think that probably feels great for you, knowing they don’t want to sell the house that you built.
THOMAS: Yeah. Lucian, one of the coolest stories of my career is about one of the better houses I’ve ever done. It was a big house on the ocean, and I did it for a family who owns a business. They’re fourth generation in the business. We finished the house just before COVID happened, and their whole family came down. They were nervous because it was a Florida house, and all their kids live up in Manhattan. They were thinking, “Who’s going to come down to Florida when you’re young?” But when COVID happened, the whole family moved into this house. One of the kids was dating a new girlfriend he met in the city. She was from Sweden, so she couldn’t go back to Sweden, and she came down with him. They absolutely fell in love over the course of COVID in this house. Fast forward a couple years, they got married, and they decided to get married at the house. We were kind of friendly from afar, but I got invited. So we went, and there were around 150 to 200 people at this wedding. I didn’t really know very many people because I was just the architect of the house. The person giving the ceremony wasn’t a pastor, but he was the one making the union for them. He got up and gave his whole speech, and as he was going through it, he basically said that this house was the nest created for the love of these people, and it was done by Christian. It was really interesting to see how that product, that house, and that process wove beyond the parents who built the house into the kids, and how it will forever be remembered as part of their love story. I think that is really rewarding and interesting.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, that’s amazing. Wow. My next question was going to be, what’s your favorite piece of work? But I think you just answered that. Or is there another piece of work that you would say is your favorite?
THOMAS: They’re all pretty special. I mean, they’re special in different directions. Some of them go left, and some of them go right. It’s just kind of what it is. They all have their own unique personalities, I guess, like kids in their own sort of way. You can’t really compare one to the other. You can look at where you were during that process. You can look at the interaction that you had with the client during that process. Then you can look at those two factors and look at the outcome, or what was built, and judge that piece from there. There are a lot of little, tiny houses or projects that I’ve done that are really nondescript, but they might have been my favorite process of all because the client and my process really melded well together.
BUHRMAN: Do you consider your work to be beautiful? And what does beauty mean to you?
THOMAS: That’s a good question. Beauty is probably not how I would interpret my work. I’d probably say what I really strive for is soulful. Again, going all the way back to what we were talking about before, it’s about resonance. Can I strip away every piece of this to present what is really happening in the surrounding environment? How does it make you feel? That is a big deal for me. I think beauty is kind of temporary. I think beauty is fleeting. More than any of that, I really want it to resonate. What’s kind of strange is, as an architect, one thing I really strive for is humility. I want to be the quietest voice in the environment. A lot of times, I get the chance to design on really beautiful sites, whether it’s oceanfront, mountain, or lakefront. All I really want is for my work to support the true nature of the place, which is the view and the reason they bought the piece of property. I think my success rate comes from whether it blends in extremely well with the environment around it and whether it makes my clients feel something. If you hit those two things, then you’re bordering on soulful at that point.
BUHRMAN: Do you think about time when you create, like the past, the present, or the future?
THOMAS: Yeah, 100%. It’s a big deal. I mean, in graphic design, you guys are sometimes working with fleeting images, right? Whether it’s branding, advertisements, or even photography. But with architecture, if you’re building something, we call them 75-year mistakes. A lot of times, if people are building buildings in our local environment, whether it’s a shop or something else, they’re going to be there for a long time. In New York City, even more so. Some of the buildings there are 125 years old, and even if they’re bad, they’re still there for a long time. So yeah, I think you definitely have to look at that. The other thing that’s unique about architecture, and probably different from every other discipline, is that we really look at and lean on historic precedents. Whether they’re ancient or recent, there’s this culture and nature of understanding that we are only building in lineage on top of what the Egyptians have done, what the Romans have done, what the Greeks have done, and what the Europeans have done. It’s kind of like we are just one little stepping stone in this grand scheme of history. History is a big deal to architects because it informs so much of what we should be doing, where we should be heading, or the small, minute tweaks that we might make. As I was telling you before, the game that I play with my clients, Lucian, is this: can you name all your great-grandparents within your family? You don’t have to answer this, but I want you to think about it. The answer is usually that you can get through a couple of them, but you probably can’t get all of them. There are a lot of them. So what I always say to my clients is, in that case, you are potentially forgotten in two generations. That puts a real pinpoint on people. If you’re forgotten in two generations, but you want this house to be passed down through your family, then what should this house say about you so that you’re not forgotten in two generations? What do you want to communicate through this environment to future generations, if this is truly an inheritable home? Again, when you talk about the past, future, or present, I think you look toward the past for precedent and information, and you look toward the future to really dial in the present. Why are we building this house? It’s a hard endeavor, right? So why are we going through this endeavor? If it’s to be remembered, that’s really worthwhile. Then the question becomes, what do you want to tell the future?
BUHRMAN: What do you think your work says about the time that we’re living in now?
THOMAS: Most people use really bad materials. To say that more eloquently, I think we’ve lost touch so much with materiality, like stone, wood, fabrics, grasses, cloths, and things like that. I was saying before that the breaking point was World War II. Everything before World War II was still using old materials. Everything after World War II started using plywood, plastics, and those types of things. I’m not a big proponent of saying “green building” or things like that. I think if you build timelessly, it’s as eco-responsible as you could ever be. The problem is when we build temporarily, which is what so many people are doing right now. They’re just building for five or ten years, and they don’t really care if it gets demolished or torn down. I think that is irresponsible. I think that’s really where we are right now, at a crossroads of disposable architecture. That is a word I use a lot. It means we can build it, but we can also tear it down in a year if we don’t like it. If you look at a cross-section of culture, I think that’s what we experience as human beings right now too. Everything feels disposable.
BUHRMAN: That also connects to fast fashion.
THOMAS: Yeah.
BUHRMAN: Anyways, what’s something that you’re still trying to understand through your work?
THOMAS: Minimalism is a big deal to me, and it connects to everything I’ve said so far. If you want to let nature and the view lead, the architecture has to be quiet, simple, and detailed in a very intentional way. For me, the question is always: how do you get things to quiet down? As both a general contractor and an architect, I started noticing small things during construction. For example, when you pour a concrete slab, it’s never perfectly level. One corner of a room might be half an inch higher than another. Most people might not consciously notice that, but I think human beings pick up on visual noise very quickly. If outlets or switches are measured from an uneven floor, they can end up slightly different heights around a room. People may not know exactly what feels off, but the space can feel uncomfortable. So I started using laser lines instead of the floor, making sure everything was built from one consistent level. After doing that, people would come into my houses and say they felt quiet and peaceful. I think that happens because their brain is no longer trying to balance all these small visual inconsistencies. That’s what I keep pursuing: a kind of minimalism that is not just about furniture or clothing, but about creating an environment that feels soft, quiet, and restful. I think the second part of my career is about dialing into that feeling even more.
BUHRMAN: Where do you see yourself in five years?
THOMAS: I’ve spent my life on the east coast of Florida, building and designing down here. But about two years ago, I started picking up projects in other parts of the country, like Austin, Texas and Idaho. Being a lifelong surfer, I can design your house on the beach because I’ve spent so much of my time there. I understand where the wind comes from, what the sun does at different times of day, and what the reflection does off the ocean. But it’s really exciting for me right now to work in places I haven’t lived or spent much time in. It makes you feel like a kid again. You get your feet on the ground, sit on these sites, and reanalyze everything from the beginning. You have to understand where the winds come from, whether they matter, what the regional climate is like, and what you need to shield from. So in five years, I want to be doing more work in new locations. People are always different, and that is already a variable, but I love having another variable added to the mix, which is the spirit of place, or genius loci.
BUHRMAN: How do you want to be remembered? If you want to be remembered?
THOMAS: That’s a great question. As an architect, I don’t really think about being remembered that way. I would rather be remembered as a good dad and a good family member. But I do hope the buildings stand as a testament to a time period where egotistical architecture is really rampant. Maybe this little thread of one person doing things quieter and simpler is what I’ll be remembered for. I’ll tell you a story that might help with the article. When I was in college, I went to Auburn in Alabama. A lot of architecture studies are usually based around Manhattan and the built environment of Manhattan, but when you go to school in rural Alabama, the basis of your architecture education includes studying a lot of slave housing, which is really dark and interesting. I was coming from South Florida and the Caribbean, where I had spent a lot of time in my life. The slave trade moved through the Caribbean into the American South, so you can make a clear connection between Jamaica and Savannah, or between Port-au-Prince, Haiti and New Orleans. My thesis was about African traditional architecture moving from Africa into the Caribbean and into the American South, and then seeing it blend with European colonizers’ Georgian or French architecture. It was about that melding process. I became obsessed with little slave shacks, these tiny houses that were almost transportable depending on where someone needed to work. My mom used to make fun of me and say, “Your goal in life is going to be to put really wealthy people in little slave shacks.” And I thought, maybe that is my goal. So that’s how I’d like to be remembered: as someone who took people with infinite money and showed them that a simpler life is possible, and maybe even better.
BUHRMAN: That’s really interesting. So this is the last question. What’s one piece of advice you would give to young artists or designers today?
THOMAS: I’ll give it to you. I tell people this all the time. Design for you. Be your strongest critic. Put your head down and do the work. As long as you continue to be challenged by the work, and somewhat satisfied by the work, everything will come into being. But when people get to a point where they’re trying to design to please others, that’s when we get really muddy design, and it’s not good. I say that across the board, whether it’s clothing, fashion, graphics, photography, or architecture. You have to be your strongest and hardest critic, and you have to be the one you’re designing for.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I really agree with that. I think only this past school year, I’ve been making work for myself. I don’t really care what other people think. If I think it looks good, then it looks good.
THOMAS: And then the thread starts going, right? That’s the most interesting thing. If I do one house, and it’s my design, yes, somebody else gets to live in it, and I think that’s amazing. Their soul is incorporated into it because they were part of the aggregate at the beginning of the process. But what’s so cool is that you end up with these theses that carry from project to project. One project informs the next, and that one informs the next. That’s when you start weaving a necklace together with your work. All of a sudden, this one informs this one, and this one informs this one. That’s when I think it gets really rich. It no longer becomes just a job. That’s when it becomes a lifestyle, when you stop being able to differentiate Project A from Project C because they are all part of one thought process.
BUHRMAN: Thank you so much. That’s all the questions I have.
THOMAS: Lucian, it was really a pleasure meeting you.
BUHRMAN: Yeah, I really appreciate it. It was great to meet you as well. I’ve heard people speak highly of you for years.
THOMAS: Oh really? Thank you. That’s nice to hear.
BUHRMAN: When you have the chance, is it possible you could send me a Google Drive folder or something with your work that I could put in?
THOMAS: Sure. You can also go to the website and grab images from there. It’s christianthomas.studio, and that would probably be the easiest way. If you need actual images, you can grab them from there.
BUHRMAN: Christian Thomas. Yeah, okay, I found it.
THOMAS: All right. And if you need more, I’ll happily send you more. Did you send me a Google Drive, or do you have one?
BUHRMAN: I can make one and send it to you.
THOMAS: Yeah, send that to me. I’ll send you some renderings and some things I’m working on currently, so you can have some current work as well as some older work.
BUHRMAN: Okay, cool. Thank you so much. You’re in Florida, right?
THOMAS: I’m in Florida, but I come up to the city. When are you graduating?
BUHRMAN: This year. I graduate May 19. We also have a Pratt Show, which is a show for all of our final thesis projects, mainly for the design majors. If you could come to that, I would love that.
THOMAS: When’s that?
BUHRMAN: I’ll have to check. I think around May 13, maybe before.
THOMAS: Send me an invite. We’ll try to make it work.
BUHRMAN: That would be great.
THOMAS: Well, Lucian, nice to meet you, my friend. I wish you all the best if I don’t see you.
BUHRMAN: I wish you all the best too. Thank you so much.
THOMAS: My pleasure. Have a great day, man.
BUHRMAN: You too. Bye.
THOMAS: Bye.