F Ford Motor Company

The newly appointed head of the Yale School of Architecture defends plywood, finds inspiration in artichokes and insists on mood lighting

When she scans the current architectural landscape for a structure to admire, Deborah Berke tends to end up in the weeds. "I mostly love built things that aren't buildings -- like an industrial shed in the New Jersey Meadowlands, or a dry dock at the Brooklyn Navy Yard that dates to the Civil War," said the architect, whose 60-person New York firm often designs projects with a similar hardworking grace. These include a rural studio for artist Peter Halley; the future Women's Building, an ex-prison in Manhattan her team is transforming into a center for women's support organizations; and the 21c Museum Hotels, a boutique chain whose new Oklahoma City location opened last month in a former Ford Motors plant. "It's the same reason I prefer smaller, grittier cities to trophy cities like London or Paris," said Ms. Berke of her predilection for the raw. "I love seeing the exquisiteness of the not-consciously-designed thing."

She may not go in much for trophies, but Ms. Berke recently landed a big one: On July 1, she succeeded Robert A.M. Stern as the dean of the Yale School of Architecture, becoming the first female to hold the post. The date coincided with the publication of her third book, "House Rules: An Architect's Guide To Modern Life" (Rizzoli). In a recent sit-down, the Upper East side resident -- whose almost-6-foot stature and Sontagian locks make her easy to spot as she strides around New York City -- discussed her ardor for plywood, a vegetable-themed parlor game she's itching to try and the scourge of overscale furniture.

As a child I was obsessed with: painting on the walls of my parents' house in Queens. I made murals of vines and flowers, highly patterned. I think I got it out of my system.

I dream of designing: a house of worship, because the idea of a space that's about silence and reflection is just so appealing. I think of Bernard Maybeck's First Church of Christ, Scientist, in Berkeley, Calif., or a Quaker meetinghouse. Just the simplest possible quiet volume.

One of my favorite design moves is: breaking down the barriers between indoors and outdoors. I love screened porches, floor to ceiling windows and stone flooring that can extend from the inside out. The Japanese notion of the borrowed view is important to me, because I believe that a site often extends beyond a property line.

The home improvement that's most worth making is: effective lighting you can really control. Lighting is mood and warmth and happiness. You want task lighting for work and then something more restful, serene or romantic.

My design pet peeve is: over-scaled furniture. I like pieces sized to the body -- that support and comfort you. People often try to fill a loft or double-height room with large furniture. I prefer to celebrate the vastness of such spaces.

My go-to seating is: Eero Saarinen's Womb chair -- so comfortable. I have one with the original orange upholstery.

My favorite underdog material is: plywood. Also basic white ceramic tile, 4 inches square.

I detest the color: pink. I look at it and have no immediate response.

The strangest request I've gotten from a client is: inappropriate for a family newspaper, but it involves a secret room. Clients' personal quirks were behind other requests: for beach-house windows that open facing a foghorn; for bedroom floors that feel just so underfoot.

The biggest disrupter in my life is: dogs. Since marrying and having a family, I've always had a Weimaraner or two. Today we have two rescues, Percy and Blue. I designed William Wegman's loft a million years ago, and that's how we got turned onto the breed. They're big, they're silly, they're playful -- they bring enormous mess and enormous joy to our lives.

My favorite design innovation for dogs is: those little rubber booties that protect a dog's feet from getting burned with street salt in the winter. Otherwise, I like a simple dog bed lined in fabric that matches the color of the carpet or the walls. You want it to be in the background.

Indispensable in my kitchen is: a cheese grater. We have two or three. I find grating Parmesan very satisfying.

The most interesting food, from an architectural standpoint, is: the artichoke. If you got a group of architects together for dinner and served artichokes, you'd have the most revealing evening imaginable. Everyone would have a different method of stacking leaves on the perimeter of the plate. And it might even get competitive -- I can only fantasize about it.

Everyone should know more about the architect: Lina Bo Bardi. She's gotten some attention lately, but in terms of a broad public knowledge of her work, she's way underappreciated. Her materiality, color sense, understanding of climate and her spunk -- to make a career as an Italian woman in midcentury Brazil -- all amazing.

The architecture book I always come back to is: The AIA guide to New York, because I walk the city every day and then look up the buildings I've seen. I'm waiting for someone to do a guidebook for all the buildings that don't have famous architects.

I dress for comfort, but I just can't quit: statement earrings by Haroldo Burle Marx, the Brazilian designer whose brother, Roberto, was a landscape designer and artist. I've got several pairs.

People underestimate the value of: the unexpected material in an unexpected location. Like an old-school blackboard on your kitchen wall for your kids to draw on.

The shade of white I like most is: impossible to name. You have to choose white based on what the sunlight is bouncing off outside, which way the room faces, what the floor color is. But there are a million whites and they're all great.

My interior-design hero is: Alexander Girard. As a child, my parents took me to La Fonda del Sol, his iconic and unfortunately demolished restaurant in Manhattan. The energy, the colors -- every space, surface and object was designed to create a total environment that was just great fun. As an adult, I encountered Girard again at the Miller House in Columbus, Ind., which he designed with Saarinen. Unlike the Glass House or the Farnsworth House, which are elegant and very austere, it is more like a modernist family villa. It's grand but comfortable, with tremendous personality, and it was very attuned to how the Millers lived.

An example of repetition elevating the ordinary is: Rows of jars of deep red tomato sauce that look beautiful in the light. My sister-in-law is a wonderful gardener, and she's rightfully proud of the tomatoes she grows. My brother is a great cook, and he makes tomato sauce and stores it in Mason jars to use throughout the year. So they keep them out on display, which is a way of celebrating family and food as a part of everyday life.

The quickest way to give a house curb appeal is to: paint the front door. I love a bright red door, in Benjamin Moore's Chili Pepper red. It's cheerful and welcoming. I'm also partial to dark, dark green, almost black, in a high gloss. It's traditional in New England and very beautiful.

--

Edited from an interview by Sarah Medford

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

July 16, 2016 02:47 ET (06:47 GMT)

Copyright (c) 2016 Dow Jones & Company, Inc.