The Artful Designer
Chris Haddad brings to life the modern designs of some of the Northwest’s most desirable homes—when he’s not making sculptures.
His prowess didn’t go unnoticed at his firm, either. “Just like all architects, the better they perform, the more work gets piled on them,” Deguchi says. “Chris was made an associate because of his great capability. He pushes our work even further and takes a huge load off the office in terms of overseeing the project. He can move things from a sketchy schematic stage and just run with it, adding things to make it much better.”
Until recently, Haddad’s two chosen disciplines, art and architecture, were related but always at practical odds. Time was a nettlesome problem for him. About a year ago, he approached Suyama and Deguchi with a proposal to reduce his hours to leave more time for his art. “I don’t feel productive unless I’m making something with my hands,” Haddad says, “creating something and craving to see how it will work out.”
That firm, whose Belltown office includes a small gallery dedicated to contemporary art, was open to Haddad’s request. “The firm has always tried to support him—showing some of his pieces at our office, for example,” Deguchi says. “We said ‘Sure, that’s fine.’ He’s very efficient and gets through a lot of work in a very short time. It’s not something we could do for everyone, but Chris is very focused.”
Just south of the West Seattle Bridge, in the chilly basement workshop of his 1915 wood-frame house near the Duwamish River, Haddad scrutinizes the surface of a long, dagger-shaped splinter of steel held fast by a pair of clamps on the worktable. He slowly shapes the starboard plinth of his latest sculpture, one of two conceptual, vaguely maritime pieces in a developing series he calls Hulls. He stands with his arms at his sides, clad in a heavy leather welding coat and boots, pockmarked and singed from hot flying metal. Concealed behind safety goggles and a respirator, Haddad’s face is expressionless. This piece of metal is giving him trouble, refusing to maintain the precise shape he wants for more than a few passes of his arc-welding torch. He could have cast molten steel in a mold for an easier, faster result. But, as with his work as an architect, Haddad requires a tactile relationship with raw materials and revels in the details of assembly.
“Hulls is what I call them, but I don’t intend for them to represent only boat hulls. ‘Hull’ for me means many things. It’s a sailing vessel, but it’s also a space…it’s our shelter on the water. And it’s also an investigation of the line between the organic and the mechanical, and how humans are attracted to both.”
Like an architect, this sculptor designs—thinks—by drawing. “It starts with sketching,” Haddad says. “I can’t completely envision something without exploring it by drawing.”
Like an architect, this sculptor designs—thinks—by drawing. “It starts with sketching. I can’t completely envision something without exploring it by drawing. It’s the same with architecture; a moving pencil is your thinking tool. What’s hard is that architecture is about making space as opposed to most art or sculpture, which is about making objects. That was the most difficult thing to get a grip on, and some architects don’t ever really grasp that. The industry has many people trying to design beautiful objects instead of spaces and places.”
Occasionally, Haddad’s worlds cross-pollinate, resulting in dramatic amalgams of his two passions. Broadmoor residents George and Laurie Schuchart contracted Suyama to design their home; Haddad was the project architect. The Schucharts purchased a piece from Haddad’s Weapons series that now hangs in prominent view in their award-winning house. “Chris would never talk about his sculpture to promote himself,” Schuchart says. Had-dad is scrupulously modest and doesn’t discuss his artwork without prodding. His clients have discovered his work on their own.
Haddad once casually mentioned that he sculpted with steel; it was such an offhand comment that Schuchart wasn’t certain if it was anything more than elaborate tinkering. “Actually, it was a couple of years before we became aware he was an artist,” Schuchart says. “Eventually, we saw a display of sculptures at George’s office in Belltown; Laurie and I were very drawn to the work. It was only later we learned the work had been designed by Chris.”
Some might claim that Haddad’s love affair with his artwork is nipping a promising architecture career before it can fully bloom. After all, the elements necessary for Haddad to launch his own practice—technical skill, fluid aesthetic signature, and monkish work ethic—have long been at his disposal. For the time being, though, Haddad believes the price of establishing a practice is too high. “I definitely have my own ideas and would do things a little differently if it were my office, but you learn a lot working with other good architects. To start my own practice would take over my life; I wouldn’t have time to make art, at least for the first few years. Right now, I have a great situation; I can work part time and still maintain my role as a designer, project architect, and associate.
“Money is not my goal,” he says. “I want just enough of it to buy the time I need.”
Chris Haddad’s sculpture can be seen at www.chris-haddad.com.
Published: March 2008
