Pressure Points
In Panama, we saw for the first time how our projects are truly like pressure points in the body. When you push on one point it affects the entire ecosystem, for better or for worse.
author
KRISTIN MORALES, LEED BD+C
FOUNDER / PRINCIPAL DESIGNER
IVAN MORALES
FOUNDER / PRINCIPAL DESIGNER
It was noon and two large birds of prey circled above us. We struggled to wade our way across the field of waist high grass that rustled with every step.
“Do snakes live in open fields?” I asked my wife and business partner, Kristin, half joking.
She responded with a look that was equal parts amused and alarmed. We had skipped buying dorky hiking clothes before moving to Panama, but now I wondered if our Doc Martens were a good match for tropical snakes.
We were looking for the only tree along the coastline of the site, a Nance (Byrsonima crassifolia) tree set against the backdrop of the glittering Pacifc ocean beyond. The tree was iconic with its crooked trunk and mangled branches marred by years of beating sun and salty winds. The landmark we had used as a guidepost just two months before was now lost in a sea of grass - and so were we. We couldn’t even see the ocean right in front of us. Each turn felt a little more futile as we realized we were most certainly just walking in circles. Exhaustion turned to fear and then frustration as we realized that the site of the residence was underneath us all along.
That day's task was to determine where to locate the house - but our tape measure would be useless in this tall grass. Instead, we had to figure out who was going to mow this lawn.
This was our first day onsite to oversee the design build of AMA Estancia, a residential project designed by Selldorf Architects in New York City, where I worked as a project architect at the time. Kristin and I were in our early 30's and intrigued by the potential of this project. We’d shed the confines of our desk jobs in Manhattan to spend 9 months building a luxury residence on the Pacific coastline of Panama. We were excited for the adventure. Coming from New York City, you learn that you always need to have a plan A, B and sometimes C - we were prepared to account for the unexpected.
The landmark Nance tree on the site - clearly visible once the grass was cut.
The neighbors cows - after we mended the fence.
As we made our way back to the car, defeated, we were confronted by a group of wayward cows. Where did they come from? We didn’t have to wonder for long. A man on horseback loped towards us. As he neared, we realized he was yelling at us because the property wasn’t properly fenced to keep his cows from wandering out. We were confused as to how this was our problem, but eager to appease this angry cowboy. The last thing we needed was to make enemies with the neighbors our first week onsite. So we agreed to fix the fences, having no idea what that required or how it would get done.
Mowing the grass and mending the fences won't set us back too far, I thought. We shrugged our shoulders into the setting sun, determined to try again tomorrow.
That was twelve years ago. Little did we know, that first cavalier verbal agreement to mend a fence was also our first commitment to the land we stood on - land that wasn’t supposed to be choked by grass at all. And just as there are no wayward cows without a cowboy to come wrangle them home - we wouldn’t just come to care about completing architectural projects and sustaining the land around them, but about supporting the community we were working within as well.
What began as a nine-month contract to observe the construction of a sprawling beachfront home, transformed into a project that was layered and complex. AMA Estancia taught us that architecture is more than brick and mortar. A lesson that would become essential in the creation of our firm, IM/KM, and our mission to create architecture that has its foundation at the intersection of environmental conservation, restoration, and design.
Breaking ground on AMA Estancia in 2008.
“ AMA Estancia taught us that architecture is more than brick and mortar.
”
As we walked in optimistic circles that first day on site, we had no idea that invasive grass and roving cows were among the smallest roadblocks we’d encounter on this journey. The construction of the home itself was relatively straightforward - that is, after a hefty investment of time, we figured out where to find a supply chain, electricity, water and skilled labor. Those choices became about so much more than logistics, but each one bore a great and unexpected responsibility. Every choice we made had an impact on the land around us, lush with old-growth tropical forest, vital waterways, turtle nesting habits and delicate banks of coral just offshore. We were no longer in New York City, with its clear laws and a long list of contractors to call on to ensure environmental compliance.
“The environmental and social impact of our projects is felt far beyond the property line.”
When we arrived in Panama, we had worked on LEED accredited projects in NYC for years - and we took this for granted. In Panama, we could see the effects of our work on the landscape immediately. Just as quickly we saw how meaningful it was to implement more holistic design strategies. The stretch of ocean in front of our project was the only one that didn’t turn a murky brown during the rainy season from construction runoff. This was a lesson. Whatever we do - as designers, as people - has an impact on the world around us. We saw for the first time how our projects are truly like pressure points in the body. When you push on one point it affects the entire ecosystem, for better or for worse. The environmental and social impact of our projects is felt far beyond the property line, and to claim sustainability, we cannot ignore that. Twelve years later we've gotten better, but not perfect, at understanding which points to push and when, to try and achieve an environmental and social balance not just for our site, but for the surrounding ecosystem and community.