The Williams’ project is still a sore spot, so much so that I have nightmares and wake up sweating. It was meant to be the studio underneath my flagship adores—southeast Portland’s yoga sea which illuminated every strand of my life philosophy regarding natural light and biophilic design. Turns out? It is now my most embarrassing professional failure, best spent blushing, and it cost me so much money—money I didn’t even have—thanks to a client who didn’t hesitate to fork it all out for me.
I’ll explain. This was around four years ago, when my design consultancy was still running from what was practically a closet at the back of my friend Tara’s plant shop on Division Street. I had completed around a dozen small residential projects such as home offices and living room renovations when Janet Williams walked in searching for “someone who can make light feel sacred,” to use her words.
Janet had just purchased a lease for a 2,800-square-foot auto parts store that she aimed to transform into Portland’s premier biophilic yoga sanctuary. The space included these amazing 14-foot ceilings and a north facing row of windows that was caked with grime and dirt. But, the potential? My God, it was breathtaking. Observing the meager February sunlight navigate throughout the room over the course of a few burdensome hours was ironically mesmerizing, and just like that, I was hooked.
Janet’s wish was to have people feel as if they were practicing in a glade in the woods. To illustrate how forests looked as if they were revealing slivers of sunshine in between treetops, she said, “The dappled quality is what I want, like how sunlight shines on leaves,” and her eyes gleamed with excitement.
She also said, “We could do a series of skylights with custom diffusers,” which in my opinion, was spelled out in the best way possible. “Maybe even shadow wells so the shadows move during the day and the plants sway in response to the wind.”
When she said that, I was thinking to myself, “This is my first commercial project!” which so happens to be why I was extremely unprepared.
Without seeing a structural engineer before Janet, that former mistake cost me a lot of money for opening six “4×6 foot skylights.” After boasting that I could single-handedly add the ‘skylight’ installation to the ‘feat of freestanding structure’ section on my resume, I realized how vandalizing a ‘2-2’ skylight’ in my old bathroom’s ceiling does not compare to ‘bowstring truss system’ knee deep in battered graveled roofing from the ‘40s.
I finally reached out to the structural engineer after negotiating with the contractor for what seemed like an eternity because of my “bold” proposal, and was met with laughter. Actual laughter! Walt, the older gent, did not help his case when he chuckled at the design with his aloof expression. I can cut openings to this extent on a load bearing roof which has only undergone a facelift from Truman during his heyday? A Chuckle accompanied by “I suggest starting with one to see if the entire structure doesn’t collapse at the exact moment of impact around your ears,” was solidifying evidence enough.
The budget was brought down drastically. Skylights reduced to two on top of smaller in size, reinforced framing to hold them up at an additional cost of $13000, Added to the originally understood amount. Janet was calm about it, yet I could sense the light floods of hope and dreams juxtaposed against the light from dappled forest slipping away. I will craft an innovative system of reflected surfaces accompanied with LED lights which can be programmed to simulate diurnal shifts in natural light patterns, right?
But the skylights, as it turned out, were not the primary source of significant issues. Those arose much later.
The disaster began with what I believed was a great idea at 2 A.M. after I drank too much coffee. The exterior of this building was stunning. Like something out of a sci-fi movie – an astonishing restaurant in Norway utilized a complex system of angled mirrors to capture and redirect sunlight deep into the space.
It was something of beauty. Total natural light pools shifting throughout the building’s floors and walls. Depending on the time of day, the mirrors would showcase a different mood and feeling. More like Nature’s art. Just like the vision Janet had.
I called her immediately, fabricator of custom metalwork, my dear friend Deena. “So, I have a wild idea. Would it be doable to create a set of mounted adjustable mirrored panels?” Didn’t even think to check what time it was. Note to self: it’s always better to look at the clock before you start brainstorming. 3:15 a.m. as she so kindly complained later.
“Possibly,” came the reply after a yawn. “But why not use a heliostat? There are those which automatically follow the sun’s movement.”
I was utterly clueless about what a heliostat might be, but within a few moments, I Shook my head in understanding and picked up three Sun-Tracker Pro systems from a vendor in Arizona over the phone. They were not cheap at $4,200 a unit, but they would become priceless when Janet’s clients basked in glorious dappled light, wouldn’t they?
In mid-June, installation day came. The skylights were in (with only a minor leak into the last rainstorm which the roofer promised would ‘totally fix’ by the end of the month). The three mirror arrays capable of tracking sunlight were mounted on the south-facing outer wall. They looked like a cross between solar panels and satellite dishes. Very cool, very sci-fi. The interior was painted in the exact shade of warm white (gavan’s ‘Cloud Cover’) that I had chosen to best reflect and diffuse the admittance light.
We set an appointment for a reveal at two pm for Janet and her business partners which is what my sun path studies said was the best time to schedule for light. I wanted to ensure that everything was in order, so I arrived early and it was…perfect. The natural illumination from the sky windows was stunning, but once I turn on the Sun-Tracker systems, it was remarkable. Luminous shafts slashed through the space illuminating the surfaces of the polished ceiling structures that I had already put in place was exactly the moving, dappled effect we had strived to create.
When Janet saw it, she actually shed tears; tears of joy. “It’s exactly what I imagined” she whispered in amazement. Her business partner Miguel was equally impressed, taking video after video to post on their social channels.
This was comming in my way for a change now. My entire body felt as if it were soaring through the sky. This is set to be the masterpiece in my portfolio this will declaire my revenge in the biophilic design industry of Portland. I was already envisioning the case study that I would create, incorporating the before and after light Meter Data we had collected, displaying the 340% enhancement in natural light eben justs flooding into the space.
Zadie, who actually was the rest of the partner Janet and the yoga instructor for this specific class, asked a question that would bother me for the rest of my life
“That means in all the classes the light will move like this, right?”
I smiled and clapped my hands. “The system does track the sun shift throughout the day, so you will have this dynamic light effect.”
“Including when the students are in savasana? With eyes shut, trying to relax?”
Understanding her was as painful as it gets. I’d become so fixated on designer lighting that I had completely overlooked the entire function of the space. Moving, shifting, dancing light patterns are absolutely lovely—and for every other moment in life, unless one is trying to meditate or relax during a yoga class when they become impossibly distracting even through tightly shut lids.
But, as they say, waiting for the punchline is the best part – it gets worse.
I received a panicked call from Janet around eleven AM.
“It’s like an oven in the studio,” she said, her voice strained, “and there are… there are actual fire hazards.”
Actual fire hazards? My eyes shot open as I ran over to see that my beautiful, state-of-the-art heliostat system was essentially three large magnifying glasses focusing sunlight into beams so hot they could scorch the beautiful cork flooring they’d built. One beam was aimed at a stack of yoga blankets that—believe it or not—were starting to emit smoke.
I had created the world’s most beautiful, death trap made from dozens of liberally spending components.
Naturally, we turned it off and the system immediately. The following week was filled with emergency meetings where we consulted on HVAC systems (the skylights had turned a greenhouse’s effect into an ancient building’s cooling system), custom-fabricated diffuser screens and continuously put on hold meetings with Janet where more and more strict discussions were held regarding budget overruns and opening delays.What began as an elegant solution to a problem now became a $23,000 oversight, which does not include the floor repairs and HVAC system upgrades. I suggested that as an apology I return my design fee. I spent three nights sleeping on a yoga mat at the studio, manually tuning the system hour by hour to capture exactly the moments and spots the light would fall, and formulating a program to avert perilous accumulations.
Ultimately, we found a middle ground. The heliostats would function only at certain classes where active light was wanted and at a lower setting. The supplemental diffusers softening the impact even further. An automated shading device (which I also billed as a cost, charging only $7,000, which is what it cost me) would close the skylights during the warmest hours of the day.
The studio opened 6 weeks behind schedule. The light is beautiful, although it is nothing close to my initial concept. Remarkably, Janet and I are still on cordial terms, although I was not included at the grand opening celebration.
The shift in my experience greatly transformed my attitude towards natural lighting and biophilic design. What was the learning point of all my efforts? Lighting is elemental of structure, but even more, it carries the momentum that impacts physiology, psychology, and safety. Dr. Ellen Markson at PSU told me, whose work on supportive circadian lighting I so nearly idolized, “Light is more like a medicinal intervention than a design feature. The dose, timing, and application method all matter tremendously.”
Now I am much more process driven rather than creative. I begin every project with detailed interviews on how each space will be used throughout the day, down to the hour. I analyze the positioning of the sun in all seasons from various vantage points before suggesting any permanent light fixtures. I factor in light and heat glare, potential fire hazards, vigorous creative illumination activities, and yes—thanks to the overactive imagination of an artist.
Currently, my favorite has to be the light design for the Northeast Portland bungalow reading room addition, which is for a retired couple named Ellie and Sam. The clients requested a space that would accommodate their declining vision as well as their extensive collection of plants. To accommodate their needs, we placed Velux dynamic skylights with programmable opacity that change throughout the day and are complimented with soft light shelves deep within the room that wash the space with gentle illumination and with no glare or harsh transitions. In winter, when they need light, it is sharper and more diffused in summer to reduce overheating and is softer in summer.
On my latest visit, Ellie was reading with no task lamp, which she hadn’t done for years. “I can’t put it in words,” she said, “but the light in here feels… like it is nourishing. In a sense, I am being fed by it.”
That’s the one thing I didn’t fully appreciate regarding natural light before my Williams studio disaster. If done right, natural light goes beyond illumination- It can provide nourishment. Brains and bodies respond to the shifts of natural light, in a manner that no faux light, regardless of how advanced, will ever achieve.
All I ask is that you please do not install sun-tracking mirrors in a yoga studio. For the sake of humanity, don’t repeat my blunders.
