Metal As Hell

When I was a kid my dad ran a sheet metal shop that had been started by my grandfather, who grew up on a North Dakota farm helping his own father raise cattle. My brothers and I would go into the sheet metal scrap bin and bend and corrugate the leftovers. We were always making. Come winter time we curved the metal into crude luges and raced down snow banks. Our dad, meanwhile, was shaping the metal for more utilitarian reasons, producing chimney flashing and ventilation hoods for barns — until one day he crafted a bronze sunburst that stretched decoratively across our raised living room hearth. Thus began something of a foray into true metal crafting.

It always stuck with me, as impressions made on you when you’re young do. That’s why, decades later as an architect, I was particularly glad to meet Rene Paradis, principle of Paradis Metalworks. A true metal artist, he not only crafts beautiful bespoke detailing that I spec for him — an unusual staircase railing, an integral part of a column in front of a house, a design of birds on branches etched into a metal doorway. He also intuits ahead of time how the pieces he makes will feel — and sound — and how they will reflect light. A handrail may be solid bronze — you’ll know the heft of it haptically as it protects you on the stairs. The way the sunlight glints off a metal cabana frame adds mood and meaning, as does the sound of raindrops on the metal when everyone runs into the cabana for cover during a summer rainstorm.

That is, Rene makes his art for people to experience rather than just to see. He knows when he applies a dark finish to a banister that over time, the first rail at both the top and the bottom of the stairs will patina out as people touch it for steadiness — the evidence of a family. He knows when he shapes something for a landscape architect how it will weather, depending on the effect of sun and precipitation over the seasons.

Plasma-cut art panel after being installed in this Wellesley home. The art panel is a collaboration between DGS/a Architecture + Design, Paradis Metal Work, and the client’s daughter.

Fortunately, Rene likes working with me as much as I enjoy working with him and seeing visions come to life. “I’ve been doing projects with Daniel for the last 10 years or more,” Rene says. “He’ll give us a set of architectural drawings, then we turn them into drawings for fabrication that he redlines or approves, and as soon as he gives us the blessing, we fabricate, finish, and install the project on site.

“It’s a true collaboration,” Rene says. “Daniel takes the time to look at our drawings and figure things out. He’s ready to listen. His projects are really cool. We did a staircase with him where balustrade terminated into the bottom ‘shoe’ of the woodwork with a distinctive ring around each spoke — a great detail.”

Rene’s attention to detail can be seen in the way the balustrade and wood staircase meet each other.

That light is shed right back on Rene. He’s always listening, too.

Rene didn’t happen to go to art school. He trained as a welder at a voc. tech high school, but metal artistry was in his blood. He really followed his passion. In fact, I’d call him “metal as hell,” a term Taylor Swift has used for Travis Kielce. 

My dad, too, by the way — metal as hell.

But They Let My Neighbor Do It!

The Ins and Outs of Getting a Renovation Approved
by the Local Historic Commission

I once had clients who owned a Beacon Hill townhouse with a top story that was recessed from the ones below it. That allowed them space for an outdoor deck with a jacuzzi. The jacuzzi wasn’t a problem in that historic neighborhood, whose appearance is carefully controlled by the Beacon Hill Architectural Commission. You couldn’t see it from the street. The problem was the taller privacy fence the couple wanted erected, which would be visible from the public way. When I went before the commission, I argued that the fence was not a permanent structure and therefore was not altering the existing facade. It could be removed without damaging the antique brick. It worked.  The couple was able to build their fence.

Call it inside architectural baseball. Knowing the hot-button issues for local historic commissions allows me to help clients and designers make changes to the exterior of period homes that might otherwise be denied. It also helps explain the age-old question: How come the local historic commission allowed one person to make a change to the exterior of their residence but won’t grant someone else the same permission?

Can you find the detail added to this Beacon Hill streetscape that required me to obtain permission from the local historic commission?

Granted, it’s not all about finessing the argument. Local boards do consider each project independently, and there may be something about the streetscape or overall design that alters their requirements for a particular residence.

Still, knowledge really is power when it comes to dealing with a historic commission to make a change to the exterior of a home, and there are a number of ways I use my professional skill set to help clients avoid disappointment. One of them is to submit a very detailed packet of the changes requested at least two weeks in advance of the in-person hearing with the local historic commission. That way, not only do I make the strongest case possible, but I also don’t have to spend my formal presentation getting down into the weeds. The weeds are all in the write-up and drawings. I can spend the time creating an overall impression with strategic details sprinkled in.

I also go to the historic commission while I’m writing up the presentation and ask questions. That helps me learn the reg flags for a project and lets the commission know in advance that I’m really trying to get it right. They appreciate that I’m going the extra mile to do my homework, and it gives me the edge if approval for a project is on the line.

 At the same time, I’m researching that particular locality’s rules. In the Back Bay, for instance, it’s not just about what you can see from the street. It’s also about changes that can be viewed from the public alleyway behind the building and from a taller building where someone could look down at the change — maybe a contemporary deck or skylight. In Beacon Hill, it’s just about changes that are visible from the public right of way in front of the residence. If someone on the Beacon Hill commission starts talking about renovations that can be seen from the rear, I know I can successfully push back by politely reminding them that’s it’s not in their purview. In Cambridge, they have one person in charge of paint colors; you speak just to her about the exterior palette.

 These idiosyncrasies from one local historic district to another are true not just for Boston and Greater New England but for anywhere in the country that I work. In Boca Grande, Florida, where I’m currently rehabbing a home, the rules for a historically zoned residence are different than the ones for Sanibel Island to the south.

 After learning a locale’s particular rules, chatting up commission administrators, and preparing all the necessary documents, I practice my formal presentation out loud beforehand, the way you might practice a speech — no stumbling in the moment. I make sure to include a line about how I look forward to the commission’s feedback, so it’s clear I’m ready to talk about making adjustments if need be rather than just shoving something through.

 But the preparation goes well beyond that, starting with the client.

 •   I tell the client — or the designer — up front that trying to do something they know is out of bounds is going to end in frustration. The minute a historic commission gets the sense that you’re aiming to pull a fast one, their hackles go up. Much better to be fully transparent — if for no other reason than if you have to go back a second time to resubmit drawings and the new plans are on the line of what’s acceptable, the commission may be more inclined to rule favorably

•   Saving an architectural element goes over better than replicating it.
A designer I worked with on one of the gracious Queen Anne Victorians along Cambridge’s Brattle Street wanted to replace all the front-facing windows with energy-efficient ones. Unlike antique windows, they would be easy to open, wouldn’t stick, would prove energy-efficient, and all the other good stuff. I knew that would never fly. Instead, I submitted a plan to reglaze the existing windows, rebalance them with a pulley system hidden inside the framing that would allow them to open with one finger, and put well-sealed storm windows in front of them to keep out the weather. The Cambridge Historic Commission went for it. A storm window can be removed, but nineteenth-century windows cannot be replaced.

Retaining the historic “fabric” of a home is important to most historic district commissions.  Rather than replace the windows, the original 1880’s double hung windows were retained and new storm windows installed over them to increase the energy efficiency.

•   If you do need to replace something, plan on using authentic materials.
On a brick townhouse in the South End, the corbels needed to be rebuilt; there simply was no saving them. The contractor said he could save money and complications by making them out of AZEK or another composite material. I knew we would need to make them out of mahogany, just like the original. I was right. That’s what the South End Landmark Commission required.

The specificity that historic commissions sometimes demand can be difficult, maddening. But if you have chosen a knowledgeable architect to get you through the process, it goes much more smoothly. And he can run interference for you, if necessary.

It helps to keep in mind that strict regulations reward you by protecting the value of your house.

You may not appreciate that a local board seems like sticklers, and you may not always agree with their decisions, but their ruling helps protect the quality and character of your neighborhood — and the value of your real estate. The more true to character your neighborhood remains, the more reliably your home’s worth will continue to appreciate.

An Interview with Tile Designer Rene’ Yang Becker

When a client wants the best in tile design — backsplash, floor, shower, vanity surround, wall accent — I bring Rene’ Yang Becker into the picture. A design consultant at Tile Showcase in Watertown, she applies her deep and uncanny knowledge of tile and her amazing eye to up a home’s design game — all while keeping the homeowner and the rest of the design team happy. To learn more about how she thinks about tile and brings her talent to bear while working with top-tier designers, I sat down with Rene’ for some insight on her process and what led her to this career.

Daniel: Before we get into the nitty gritty, is there a way you can describe how tile functions in the overall design of a home?

Rene’: People often approach tile as an afterthought, but it’s a critical part of interior design. I mean, yes, you can go to Home Depot and get something very utilitarian that nobody would notice. That’s fine. But tile can make an impact. 

Years and years ago I met a contractor who was certified by the Tile Counsel of America. He said to me, ‘Rene’, did you know that when you put tile in a bathroom or over a kitchen sink, you really don’t need it. It’s all decorative. You can waterproof a shower without tile; you can just install a waterproofing membrane.’ It drove home to me that tile’s main purpose is  decorative, not protective. So why not lean into that? It has only become more important, not less.

A custom glass & stone backsplash is the focal point in this kitchen renovation.
Tile Design: Rene Yang Becker

Daniel: How is that?

Rene’: Just think about kitchen trends — bigger kitchens with great lighting, so people want beautiful tile there, too. And you need a lot more of it. There used to be an average of 30 square feet of tile for a kitchen. Now it’s an average of 60 square feet. I’ve done $20,000 kitchen backslashes — not often, but people are really thinking about how the tile can be the art in a space.

Daniel: How do you help clients work up a tile motif that will both serve and augment the overall design sensibility being brought to a home?

Rene’: A homeowner may come in and say ‘I want pink tile.’  That’s very common — for someone to start with the color they’re looking for. Of course, pink looks very different on cement than on ceramic, so that doesn’t get us very far. And there are so many materials to choose from: porcelain, glass stone. And then even within just stone there’s limestone, slate, marble. And there’s mass-produced versus artisanal. 

So what I often like to do is step further back and ask a client to just say some words that describe how they want a space to look — glamorous, zen, organic, spa, sumptuous — and then I can begin to understand the kinds of things to show them. If they say ‘organic,’  maybe I’ll show them tile made of pebble, or even hand-poured glass. 

Or if they tell me they went on vacation once to the Bahamas or to Morocco and they have wonderful memories of how they felt in those places, I can begin to pull together a motif that will evoke those feelings — something Moorish, or perhaps something beachy. And, of course, the beach on a Caribbean island is going to lead to a different tile than happy memories of the family beach house on the Cape. There’s actually a tangible thing to it. People like to reach out and touch it.

Your home, and even the small spaces in your home like your bathroom — they are your sanctuary. Why shouldn’t you feel in your sanctuary the way that most pleases you?

In small spaces - like a bathroom - let your fantasy be expressed in tile.
Tile design: Rene Yang Becker

Daniel: What about mixing and matching different types of tile?

Rene’: I do it all the time. Do you know the reality show Chop? Each chef gets a basket of the same ingredients, and they all make up different combinations, different dishes, different flavors. Tiles are ingredients, and you can put them together differently for different effects.  

Daniel: So different tile combinations become like different meals?

Rene’: Exactly! Do you want a very rich dinner? Then maybe it’s an all-marble bathroom — marble on the walls, marble on the floor. 

Or maybe you want a ‘lighter’ meal — a marble wall with a marble mosaic that’s offset by a concrete floor with some porcelain. When you ‘cook,’ it’s not just about salt and pepper. It’s herbs. It’s all about layering. And it gets very technical, too.

Daniel: What do you mean? 

Rene’: Nobody’s bathroom or kitchen is a perfect square or rectangle. There’s always something going on with a corner or an angle. And you have to think about how the tile is going to terminate, how a border might work. What is the finishing edge going to be?

Tile is technical: Daniel & Rene lay out a tile backsplash in a client’s home before the final installation.
Tile Design: Daniel Steger & Rene Yang Becker

Daniel: Clearly there’s more to it than meets the eye. How did you get into this field?

Rene’: I have a bachelor of science in interior design from the University of Southern Mississippi in Hattiesburg, which is FIDER-accredited. That was my first stop in the U.S. after moving here from Taiwan. My first job after college was selling rugs in a store affiliated with a design center there. The store also sold tile, and I fell in love with it.

Daniel: What brought you from Hattiesburg to Boston?  

Rene’: Hurricane Katrina. My sister was up in Massachusetts already, and Katrina was terribly devastating, so she said, ‘Why don’t you just move up to this area?’ Once I moved to the Boston area, I never looked back.

Mix traditional tile shapes with contemporary patterns & bold colors.