Henri Fanthome Office for Architecture

Its funny, or more correctly, odd, that there are these things one believes as a designer or an architect, but rarely do we find the exact word to express the idea in its purity. In some manner the pencil and the clarity with which it marks paper renders many of us mute. The idea the shape it gives rise to, or the form it engenders seem to arise of a direct and un-mediated connection that perfects itself over years of training, and practice.

And at the unexpected moment, a piece of paper with the words of some till then unknown person find their way into your hands. And those words make perfect, absolute sense, words which you had been looking for, thinking of, dreaming of but never found.

Two lines in a poem, written by some one, found by some one else, printed and handed over to yet another person, and in that moment when they fall into your own hands and you read them they take new life. 

Words that explain the idea I chase through every line I draw and everything I endeavor to do and of how I think of myself and the architect I strive to be.