#DrawingToBuild

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Drawing the Unbuilt: A Reflection on Architectural Vision and Contemporary Relevance

In the late 1980s, I was a student in London, working at Skidmore Owings and Merrill, engaged in the design of open public spaces for the water courts of Canary Wharf. At the time, London was in the midst of an architectural transformation, one that would symbolize its global financial ambitions. The project was marked by collaboration with Gabriel Smith and Merritt Bucholz, and beneath the polished exterior of corporate architecture lay a deep undercurrent of political manoeuvrings, ambition, and creative tension.

The drawing I produced, now seen here, was never merely a technical document. It was a narrative, an expression of a vision that was as fluid and dynamic as the space it sought to represent—a market structure with opening roofs and sides, designed to create a flexible, permeable boundary between the interior and the city beyond. It was a conceptual structure, one whose design was as much about politics as it was about function, navigating the expectations of the Reimann brothers of Olympia & York, who sought a new, modern city within a city.

While the building itself was never constructed, the drawing lived on. Combining plan, section, and elevation into one composition, it became more than just a proposal—it was an argument for the role of architectural imagination in the public realm. The project manager, Jeff McCarthy, saw something in it worth displaying in his office. The piece transcended its utilitarian purpose and took on a life of its own, a visual essay that encapsulated a moment in London's architectural history.

Fast-forward to today, and the context in which architecture operates has shifted dramatically. The fluidity and openness imagined in that drawing now resonate in new ways. Contemporary architecture often finds itself caught between the demands of efficiency, sustainability, and rapid urbanization, with the creative process constrained by regulations, market forces, and an obsession with digital precision. The human hand, once the primary tool for interpreting space, has been partially replaced by algorithms and 3D modelling, distancing us from the tactile intimacy that pen and ink once afforded.

Yet, the drawing itself remains timeless—a reminder of architecture's potential to reimagine public space as a living entity, adaptable and responsive. In a world increasingly defined by smart cities and hyper-automation, the ethos behind that market structure—its flexibility, its engagement with the public, its openness—feels more relevant than ever.

Architectural discourse today is at a crossroads. We wrestle with the challenges of climate change, housing crises, and digital dominance. But perhaps the answer lies not just in future technology, but in revisiting the past, in recalling moments like this one, where the hand and the heart guided design. The market structure, though never built, stands as a symbol of architecture’s deeper responsibility: to imagine spaces that serve not just our functional needs, but our human aspirations.

We live in a time when the physical boundaries of architecture are blurring—when buildings are not just structures but platforms for interaction, collaboration, and exchange. That market, in its ideal form, was a precursor to this dialogue, and its spirit lives on in the designs we craft today. In reawakening this drawing, we are reminded that architecture’s greatest strength lies in its capacity to evoke, inspire, and ultimately, to adapt.

The real legacy of that drawing is not in the ink or paper, but in the ideas it fostered, and the possibility it represents for today’s architects—to challenge, to provoke, and to create spaces that transcend the physical, offering instead an invitation to engage with the city in new and unexpected ways.