I cannot speak without sketching. For me — and for our studio — drawing is a form of thinking. The pencil moves faster than the mind, revealing ideas we didn’t know we had.
When we begin a project, we don’t start with ArchiCAD or carbon reports. We start with the land, the story, and a stack of tracing paper. Through sketching, we test volume and light, we explore movement, we respond to constraints. The act of drawing slows us down just enough to really pay attention — to the shape of the wind, the way the sun falls, the desires of the brief.
The act of drawing slows us down just enough to really pay attention
Drawings are not just internal tools. They’re also how we communicate — especially with clients. A drawing can reveal what words can’t: proportion, lightness, solidity, feeling.
It says: This is a work in progress. You are part of this.
At Alki, our clients often come into the process without architectural vocabulary— but they don’t need it. When we sketch, they see the thinking unfold. They see that their site, their story, and their values are being listened to. In this way, the drawing becomes a shared language — one that makes the invisible visible.
Even the messiest butter-paper overlay carries a kind of intimacy and invitation. It says: This is a work in progress. You are part of this.
A new book — The Importance of a Drawing — offers a glimpse into the private world of Louis Kahn’s drawings. Some are recognisable. Many were never built. All of them mattered.
the point is not always to finish — the point is to understand
That’s something we believe deeply at Alki: not every drawing has to be for something. Sometimes, sketching is a way to hold an idea gently, before it becomes a building — or doesn’t. It’s where we explore different paths, play with tension, or test impossible junctions. It’s where the poetic and the performative sit in the same frame.
The act of drawing holds value even when it doesn’t lead to outcome. Because the point is not always to finish — the point is to understand.
Technology has changed the way we practice. And that’s a good thing. Digital tools allow us to measure, refine, simulate, and compare with more precision than ever.
But we never want to lose touch with the hand. The analogue. The embodied. The imperfect line that tells us something real. Drawing invites us to work with both logic and feeling — to hold structure and softness together in one place.
In that way, it becomes more than a tool. It becomes a philosophy.
Because drawing isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about presence. It’s about care.
And it’s about remembering that architecture is not a product — it’s a conversation.