AIA Los Angeles Awards Exhibition, photo by Grace Lau.The truth is: awards programs are beauty contests. There, we said it, even though we hate to admit it. Buildings, after all, are complicated endeavors, and the best buildings fulfill programmatic requirements while possessing layers of artistic and conceptual ideas that can only be fully appreciated as an experience. Yet, it is impossible for an awards jury to visit every project in person. Thus, we depend on images—beautiful, sweeping, colorful, seductive images. This is why we maintain that Presentation Is Everything. And why we want to open the conversation about how to best judge architecture.
Or are we really just judging architectural images? No matter the method—binders, boards, on-line—how the project is presented to the jury becomes almost as important as what is presented. We’ve observed many juries, and though each has its particular proclivities, the similar factor is that they can only judge what they’re presented.
The binder presentation has been the stable stalwart for many years. It makes sense, in that seeing it in books and magazines is how most of us experience architecture. A project information sheet and prescribed number of photos and drawings of completed work, or renderings for unbuilt work, are the common denominators. Depending on the specifics of the competition or category—environmental, lighting, historic preservation, urban planning—there may be supplemental information or additional photos or diagrams. There is little leeway for creative presentation: putting several images on one page or spreading one gorgeous horizontal photo across two pages are the scant options.
Logistically, the binders are easy for the entrants. They can be prepared by marketing departments, public relations consultants, and junior staff. They are easy to transport. But how functional are they for a jury? As a book, they can efficiently be reviewed by one person at a time. They’re passed from one juror to the next, usually leaving communal conversation to the finalist stage. And, how often are those densely written one-page (seven-point type?) project descriptions actually read? Not until the final round, unless the images are so compelling, or completely mystifying, to pique the judge’s interest.
For many years, Los Angeles AIA chapter members were required to create both binders and display boards. These boards were not intended for judging, but for display in an exhibition that would travel to area architecture schools and public spaces. This raises a question about the purpose of entering awards programs. Winning the award, of course, is the ultimate reason for entering. You gain prestige, certificates for the wall, increased morale in the studios, opportunities for media coverage, and the ability to use “award-winning” to describe your practice or projects. There is a greatly added amenity in the exhibition—the work is seen by colleagues, press, academics, students (great for recruiting), and potential clients. This is a big motivator in our chapter to enter.
For the past few years, AIA LA’s program has focused solely on board presentation, increasing the board size to accommodate more information. This was—and continues to be—a controversial move. The 42” x 30” board must have it all: images, text, drawings, supplemental information. It can be an opportunity for clarity as much as for confusion. It adds a critical layer to the process: graphic design. A major concern with board presentation is that it almost transforms an architecture study into a graphic one. The board raises questions of composition that are absent from binder or on-line submissions. Does the board explain the project well enough? Does it reinterpret the project, making it something altogether different? The board itself can become a piece of conceptual architecture in its own right. As entrants struggle to represent tremendous amounts of information in a relatively small space, they may either go the horror vacui collage route or the iconic mono-image mode. The jury, we have found, is looking for something in between.
Compared to binders, boards may be more taxing to the entrant, but are somewhat easier and more dynamic for the jury. No matter, the mantra stays the same: Presentation Is Everything. With one jury day and 200+ entries, judges very quickly determine if projects are “worthy for future discussion.” You have one opportunity to show the project, so the board has to grab the jury’s attention immediately. Everything has to be sexy, sexy, sexy—from each individual image to how they all come together on the board. The hierarchy of information on the board is also critical. From the prize-winning view, to all the supporting imagery that provides greater insight into the project, each piece of information should be gorgeous and compelling to first attract the judges and then to hold their attention.
We’re not saying that the architecture isn’t the main consideration in the end—no amount of graphic design prowess can make bad architecture into an award-winner—but we all respond visually. It’s rare to hear a juror say, “the representation is bad, but the building design is so compelling that this project gets an award!” But we have heard many jurors say that they suspect a building is much better than what the images show or that the images are so bad they don’t deserve to be considered. (That’s if they’re not familiar with the project to begin with, as many a juror has stated, “I know this entry board is awful, but I know this building, and it is good architecture.”)
Boards resemble pin-ups, which is how architects are accustomed to looking at work throughout school and during design reviews. From a communal discussion standpoint, the boards are very helpful. Jurors can spread them out across the room and compare the buildings in open—sometimes contentious— discussion. And that, after all, is what a jury session is to be about. Once in the final round, the presentation concerns diminish, and the real issues—design, architecture, context, program—hold sway.
Now, the Los Angeles chapter is considering moving from printed awards boards to a purely digital entry. Is this the great equalizer? The formatting and presentation would be taken out of the hands of the entrant, and put into the control of the chapter. There could be an opportunity to structure the entries so that site plans, floor plans, and contextual responses are scrutinized more thoroughly, similar to how binder entries were once reviewed. The “beauty shot” will still get a project into the later rounds of judging, but many think that fatal flaws in potential winners will be easier to recognize and discuss when there is more equal formatting.
Other potential benefits: online presentation allows for major cost savings in the submission process; web-savvy younger firm members can easily apply; juries can preview entrants; juries can take place “virtually,” saving the chapter travel funds. Some online submissions call for a PowerPoint format, which allows for the communal slide show (ironically harking way back to slide-submission days). However, viewing image after image—with no way to spread them out together—almost dematerializes the architecture, making it bits and pieces rather than a contextual whole. It’s even more problematic to compare different projects to each other. Having a small board for judging could alleviate that (the AIA National Committee on the Environment requires a board for the Top Ten Green Projects submission). A supplemental board could then be exhibited, akin to the LA chapter’s binders/ boards combination, and the bonus of added exposure could be maintained. Without a supplemental board for judging, an exhibition can still be mounted, focusing on winning entries.
Is there a way to present work objectively? There is work that lends itself to looking great on boards. There is work that needs to be discovered through several pages of a binder, one detail at a time. But who ever said objectivity is part of judging? When we create our juries, we look for responsible, respected practitioners who view work with critical insight. Entrants must bear in mind that jurors are keenly aware that their judgment is, in turn, going to be judged. The juries we’ve observed take their roles very seriously, and, in the end, reward those projects they deem architecturally worthy. By definition, they have to make difficult— and sometimes quick—decisions, which can be swayed by any number of factors. The ultimate fact is that the project can’t win if it doesn’t at least become a finalist. At that stage, especially, the quality of every piece of information is critical in determining the difference between the winners and almost-winners. These projects are looked at closely, discussed thoroughly, and argued about passionately by jurors who have given their time to reward powerful, inventive, meaningful—and beautiful—architecture.
Authors: Hraztan S. Zeitlian, AIA, is Vice President/Director of Design at Leo A Daly, Los Angeles. He has been an AIA LA Awards Committee member since 2005, acting as 2006 Co-Chair and 2007 Chair. Alex Anamos, AIA, is Studio Director/Senior Associate at KAA Design Group in Marina del Rey. He has been an AIA LA Awards Committee member since 2004, acting as 2007 Co-Chair. Julie D. Taylor is Principal of Taylor & Company: Communication for Creative Industries in Los Angeles. She is a professional affiliate member of AIA LA and AIACC, and has been an AIA LA Awards Committee member since 2006.
Originally published 3rd Quarter 2007, in arcCA 07.3, “Comparing Awards.”
