Different Chapters: Lisa Mahar on Architectural Thinking, Being a Generalist, and Aldo Rossi

By Patrick Dimond

Lisa Mahar is a multi-disciplinary designer and photographer based in New York City and New Orleans. Educated as an architect, she has designed buildings, products, and books. In 2019, her work was included in The Museum of Modern Art’s "The Value of Good Design" exhibition. She was a contributor to Whitney Museum of American Art: Handbook of the Collection, and has published two books, Grain Elevators (Princeton Architectural Press) and American Signs: Form and Meaning on Route 66 (The Monacelli Press). Mahar has been the recipient of an American Institute of Architects International Book Award, a National Endowment for the Arts Design Arts Award, and a New York State Council on the Arts Grant.

PD: Tell me about your foundational years—where did you grow up, and what did you like to do as a kid?

LM: I was born in Florida but moved to Brazil when I was six. My father is very adventurous, and being in nature has always been a core component of his personality. He wrote a book about the Amazon, and I took many trips with him there as a young child. I have always been curious about animals, birds, reptiles, and fish. I had pet turtles and parakeets and kept journals about abandoned animals I cared for. I also had extensive collections of shells and rocks. In my teens, I moved back to the United States to Northern Virginia, where I had a much more traditional suburban upbringing.

How did you get your start in architecture?

When I went to college, I didn't yet know what I wanted to study. I considered marine biology, but during my first year, I discovered that the people I was naturally drawn to were studying architecture. So oddly, I discovered my love of architecture through people, not buildings.

The architectural program I went to at Virginia Tech was based on a Bauhaus methodology, so it was very interdisciplinary. Students were expected to be proficient in photography, silkscreening, ceramics, and drawing. Though I was a very good student, I don't think I ever designed a building. This couldn't happen in universities today.

Is that where you became interested in photography?

Yes and no. My mother was a photographer and studied with Jerry Uelsmann, who was well-known and working in the 1960s. So I had that exposure from an early age. When I started at Virginia Tech, I took photographs as a way of understanding architecture, but I always placed photography in a supporting role rather than a primary one.

I want to learn about your time with Aldo Rossi. Rossi was a theorist and a historian, and he ended up practicing. What was it like working for him?

I moved to New York right after graduating college. It was during the recession of 1987, so it was very difficult to find work. Everyone I contacted said the same thing: “Are you a graphic designer? An architect? A photographer?” They didn't know how to place me. Because I needed money, I ended up taking a position at the Rizzoli bookstore in Soho. Susan Sontag came in every week, which was a dream. I worked there for six months until I got my first job at Polshek, now Ennead, where I worked on the expansion and restoration of Carnegie Hall.

During my second year at the firm, I won two grants I had applied for — a New York State Council on the Arts grant and an NEA individual grant. I was interested in vernacular architecture and, specifically, the role American grain elevators had in influencing the emergence of modern architecture in Europe. I left Polshek and began working on a book on the subject, but I felt isolated working from home and knew I needed to find another job.

I'd always been enthralled with Aldo Rossi's work. He was a mystical, extremely private figure and rarely made public appearances. When I started looking for a job, I discovered that Rossi was lecturing in New York twice in the coming months — once at Columbia and the other time at IDCNY. In preparation, I worked for three months on my portfolio and decided to approach him at IDCNY, which was geared toward interior designers rather than architects. But when I arrived, I was absolutely shocked by the number of people there and had no idea how to approach him. Luckily, he decided to sign autographs afterward, but the line was incredibly long, and I was at least 30 people back. Just as I moved to the next in line, someone said, “I'm sorry, there will be no more autographs.”

“Generalists seem to have a better understanding of how to connect disparate ideas as well as a more comprehensive grasp of how things function.”

— Lisa Mahar

It was devastating! I had worked so hard for this moment and wasn't about to give up, so I followed him and his partner as they exited the lecture hall. We passed through a door and down several hallways to an elevator. I had no idea where I was or how I would get out. Because they were speaking rather loudly in Italian, they didn't notice me behind them. One of them stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed the button to call the elevator. It wasn't until they entered and turned around that they finally saw me. Rossi said something in Italian and began pushing the close door button repeatedly. I was so embarrassed that I'd frightened him, but I also knew this was it; I wouldn't have another chance. So in one of the boldest moves of my life, I took my portfolio and threw it between the closing doors, and it landed on the elevator floor with a loud thud as the doors closed.

Two weeks later, I received a message on my answering machine from Rossi's partner in New York. He wanted to know if I was the one who tried to injure them with my portfolio and said that my work looked interesting and could I come in for an interview. The following week, I was hired to design two monographs on Aldo's work.

Aldo was brilliant and, in many ways, a generalist, too. He was a true Renaissance man with profound skills and sensitivities, different from most architects today. He was mysterious, wildly original, supremely observant, and an exceptional talent. Initially, he was a little wary of me, but he warmed up and eventually wrote the introduction to my first book, which is so beautiful.

I was cleaning up recently and found a note he had written to me. I was designing one of his books at the time, and it was regarding his thoughts on how I might organize it. It just broke my heart to read it because, at the time, I wasn't yet able to appreciate the poeticism and complexity of what he wanted, and I didn't execute his vision.

I'm so glad you rediscovered it.

Yes, sometimes you're just not ready for the gifts you're given. It's made me rethink how I organize my own work. I wasn't able to do it for him then, but I'm learning from it now.

What has been your biggest challenge?

I believe that if something isn't challenging, then I'm probably not working hard enough! Challenges are just opportunities for growth. I've learned the most from significant disappointments, in whatever form they've taken, and believe me, there have been many. In that regard, there isn't anything that stands out. I accept and even welcome them as part of the process.

Your career spans so many disciplines and passions. You have seen success as an entrepreneur, where you designed and distributed children's toys, as a photographer, a graphic designer, an author, an industrial designer, and an architect. Is there a piece of advice you would give to someone interested in being a generalist?

Generalists seem to have a better understanding of how to connect disparate ideas as well as a more comprehensive grasp of how things function. They naturally create opportunities to test ideas from many different perspectives. This gives them the chance to discover universal truths that apply to all disciplines as well as understand what is unique about them individually. Generalists also increase their chances of stumbling onto an original idea because they're often combining things that don't normally go together.

Another benefit of being a generalist is that if you find yourself in a leadership position, you'll have a broader understanding of how the world operates. You will be a much better manager — better at hiring, directing, inspiring, better at all of those things because you can see it from a multiplicity of viewpoints and experiences. You can evaluate everything from the perspective of having tried it yourself, which is extremely valuable.

The downside of being a generalist is that you never become an expert at anything. It seems like it's that last 10 percent that makes something great, and I find that so challenging.

*American Signs: Form and Meaning on Route 66*. Photo by Lisa Mahar.

What are you most excited about right now?

Leaving New York. I've lived in the city for almost 40 years. It was productive and inspiring in my 20s, 30s, 40s, and even 50s, but my needs have changed. I find the ambition, drive, and the often transactional nature of relationships here to be exhausting. It just doesn't interest me anymore. I'm ready for a different experience — to find new ways of connecting with the things that I care about. I'm not the same person I was when I was 20, and the environment that served me well in my 20s is not the one that serves me best now. New York can make you believe that all the answers come from what the city offers you, but it's not the only way.

Will photography be that conduit?

In many ways, yes. Architectural thinking requires having reasons for everything, and decisions are always made rationally. An artist operates differently — it's fuzzier. Artists have the opportunity to open up to mystery, emotion, and things that perhaps don't make sense. I'm looking forward to exploring that side of my brain.

Who are you admiring right now and why?

I've been reading a lot of Henry Miller's lesser-known works, such as Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch and The Airconditioned Nightmare. Miller lived such a full and rich life. He believed that anyone, no matter what their background was, could create something of real profundity if they spent time alone and focused inward. It's a profound reminder of the power of silence and quiet observation.

“I’m ready for a different experience — to find new ways of connecting with the things that I care about. I’m not the same person I was when I was 20, and the environment that served me well in my 20s is not the one that serves me best now. ”

— Lisa Mahar

What is the impact you would like to have on the world?

That's such a huge and overwhelming question, at least for me. I've had many different chapters in my life, so my connection to the world is constantly evolving. I guess I'd say that I'm less interested in impacting the world than serving it in whatever form that takes.

What advice would you have for those starting their careers?

Know what your strengths and weaknesses are, and try not to view your weaknesses in a negative light. No one's good at everything. Once you accept that, you'll know how to recognize people who are strong in ways that you aren't; it's one of the secrets of powerful team building. Many people are uncomfortable with acknowledging their weaknesses, and that's often the thing that leads them to failure.

Also, have a mentor and be a mentor to someone else. You learn twice, once when you receive the knowledge and again when you have to convey it to someone else.