blueplate pr gets client Frank Harmon, FAIA, a spread in the "Conversations" section of Dwell Magazine

1. “I am not interested in vernacular to be senti-
mental. I am interested in what it can teach us.
All vernacular architecture is sustainable. It is
always inherently related to the region. But let
me emphasize that regionalism should not be
confused with parochialism any more than you
would call Faulkner a local Southern writer.”
Let’s Be Frank
Frank Harmon (left) is a gentle-
manly Southerner who favors
regionalism: architecture that
befits its locale and climate.
The Prairie Ridge Eco Station,
an open-air classroom
in Raleigh, North Carolina
(above), operates without
air-conditioning and is made
of locally grown wood.
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116 Dwell Dec/Jan 2008
Conversation Story by Frances Anderton

2. You’re an avid proponent of regionalism.
How did you get there?
In my late 30s, I met Harwell Hamilton
Harris, who became a very important mentor
to me. He was the first modern architect to
fuse modern principles with traditional mate-
rials like wood and stone and to illustrate
a respect for climate and region. His thought
was that every building is a portrait. It’s a
portrait of the owner, or it’s the story of the
site or the particular climate or materials of
a region. In other words, he felt that all great
architecture started with the particulars
of climate or site or materials. The more I
thought about that, the more I thought that
was entirely true.
Also, as a child growing up, I used to love
North Carolina barns and farmhouses; but,
going off to school in England, then working
in New York, I felt they were rather provin-
cial. Then I moved back to North Carolina
and realized the inherent intelligence in
those buildings.
I was also influenced by my childhood
home. I grew up in Greensboro, North
Carolina, in a suburban development at the
edge of the city where some very forward-
thinking planner had created greenways and
parks, preserving the streambeds. I grew up
playing on the banks of those streams, and
I can say now that most of what I know about
architecture I credit to playing by those
streams. To this day I thank the anonymous
architect who planned those pathways.
That doesn’t sound like the stereotypical
1950s alienating suburb.
No, it was built before World War II—some-
time around 1920—and consisted of small
houses, on small lots, and there were side-
walks. There was a huge change in suburban
design in the 1950s. One reason for that was
air-conditioning; the other was the bulldozer,
which really came into its own after the war.
I never use a bulldozer. Now don’t get me
wrong, it’s a wonderful tool, but unfortunately
Though many people have recently woken up to
the need to go green, for a few, living in harmony with
nature has been a long-held ethos. One such person is
Frank Harmon, a North Carolina architect who has been
designing sustainably for almost three decades. His proj-
ects—mostly in his home state—include churches, arts
and educational buildings, and houses that embody the
ideals of new regionalism. Harmon hews to the notion
that a structure should be specific to its place in terms
of materials and its relationships to geography and cli-
mate. Raised in North Carolina but educated at London’s
influential Architectural Association, Harmon worked
for Richard Meier, the New York–based architect known
for his impeccably detailed—if somewhat cold—white,
glassy buildings. So what made Harmon turn toward his
warmer brand of regionalism? He had a couple of very
strong influences.
The Strickland-Ferris House
was built for an artist on a
steep hillside in Raleigh, North
Carolina. Conceived as a “fallen
leaf,” the structure is raised
to allow groundwater to flow
underneath. The copper rain
chain, fiber cement rain screen
on the walls, and standing-
seam metal roof combine
to give the house a modern
vernacular character.
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Conversation
118 Dwell Dec/Jan 2008

3. one of the cheapest things that can be done
is to level a site, which destroys vegetation
and wildlife and causes polluted runoff to
flow right into our rivers and estuary systems.
Prior to [its inception] you had to move earth
by mule, and prior to air-conditioning you
had to have porches for cooling. My grand-
mothers spent their time sitting on porches.
I am sure the storytelling tradition in the
South comes from sitting on porches.
How have you woven these kinds of regional
traditions, like porches, into your work?
I have just completed a church in historic
Charleston, South Carolina. It builds on
an existing vernacular of Charleston architec-
ture, a wonderful building type known as
a “single house,” because they were only
one room deep and always had [a] large
porch across the south or southwest side of
the house. So for this church, I said, “You
need hallways, but why don’t we put them
out on porches to reduce the heated area
by a third?” So now it is one room deep and
cross ventilated. It also has the first green
roof in Charleston.
So the church is a kind of modern vernacular?
Yes, but I am not interested in vernacular
to be sentimental. I am interested in what
it can teach us. All vernacular architecture
is sustainable. It is always inherently related
to the region. But let me emphasize that
regionalism should not be confused with
parochialism any more than you would call
Faulkner a local Southern writer.
You’ve been building sustainably for decades.
Does the current green awareness represent
a real shift?
Yes, I think it does. I’ve been doing green
stuff for 25 years, and over that time I’ve
had to educate my clients, and that has been
very difficult. Today they all come to me
and want something sustainable. The single
biggest impact we have energy-wise is our
buildings, not cars, and our clients get that.
I think there is general unease about how we
treat the world, and people want [to] build
in a sustainable way. The pastor at the church
in Charleston said that building sustainably
is a moral issue. Architecture is arguably the
most important issue of our day.
What about suburban development, which
carpets so much of the country and seems
to be the antithesis of regionalism? Is the
message getting though there?
It is, I think. Almost all major builders are
talking about how their buildings can be
more sustainable. The greatest difference
I can hope for is that houses and buildings
can respond to places where they are. In
our country we have the greatest geograph-
ical difference, so why is it that houses in
Washington State look the same as buildings
in Florida? The most sustainable—and
liberating—thing we can do is to acknowl-
edge the places we are in.
The Taylor vacation house looks
out on the Sea of Abaco in the
Bahamas. It’s sheltered from
the intense summer sun by an
inverted umbrella roof that
also collects rainwater for all
domestic needs. An open-air
stair leads up from the middle-
floor bedroom terrace. The
living room is perched on the
third floor to catch the breeze
and the best views.
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120 Dwell Dec/Jan 2008