People never get a second chance to make a first impression – so goes the old saying. Given this, a home’s entry deserves a lot of thought, if not always a lot of space.

In the past, the entry was a rather practical affair. In alpine climates, it provided a kind of air lock, keeping cold drafts from blowing directly inside. In the Middle East, it kept visitors from peeking into the private heart of the house, which was strictly reserved for the family.

In the Jura Mountains of eastern France, the entry took the form of a room-size, tapering shaft that extended up through the roof and was topped with a pair of flaps that could be opened. In addition to having doors leading to various parts of the house, it brought in light and served as an escape hatch when the house was snowbound. Most importantly, though, it formed a sort of combined fireplace and smokehouse in which hams and sausages could be hung to cure. That, incidentally, is where we get the term “foyer” – French for fireplace.

Compared to having a bunch of hams dangling overhead, today’s entry designs are pretty predictable. They follow one of two opposing philosophies: Either they’re soaring, ostentatious rooms meant to impress the hoi-polloi, or tiny ones meant to heighten the drama of subsequent spaces.

Frank Lloyd Wright favored the latter approach. Being around 5 feet, 6 inches, he seemed to take diabolical pleasure in making tall people feel uncomfortable in his telephone booth-like entries. But the momentary discomfort was worth it: By making the entry oppressively small, he managed to wring even more drama out of the stunningly airy spaces that followed.

Alas, with today’s fashion for pompously overscaled homes, the knock-their-socks-off school of entry design usually prevails. Such entries routinely displace the equivalent of a bedroom – twice that if they extend through two stories. With today’s astronomical real estate prices, it’s foolhardy to lavish so much space on a room that’s largely ceremonial, especially at the expense of areas that will actually be used.

Mercifully, not everyone has money to burn on such productions. So, here are a few ideas that will help create an inviting entry regardless of size.

Don’t feel obliged to make the entry spectacular. A dazzling entry that leads to a series of mundane rooms will only create an anticlimax. Maintain a sense of hierarchy, so that the major living areas receive the most dramatic treatment.

Rather than relying on stupendous volume for impact, capitalize on inherently dramatic yet functional elements such as staircases and archways. Stairs, especially those with a hidden terminus, can also add a sense of mystery that makes the entry more compelling – everyone, young or old, will have a sneaking desire to see what’s up there.

Use a special, one-of-a-kind window in the entry. This is the perfect place for that stained glass piece found at the salvage yard, or the cute little octagon discovered at the lumberyard. This is also a good place to splurge on extravagant finish materials – whether stone flooring, a paneled wainscot or crown molding – that might be too costly to use in big rooms. Focus entry plans on quality, and quantity won’t matter.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner. ©2013 Arrol Gellner Distributed by Inman News

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Some folks just aren’t happy with their front yards until they’ve erected a miniature stockade around them. I couldn’t count how many 3-foot-high chain-link fences I’ve seen placed right up against the sidewalk – occasionally protecting a lovely garden, but more often surrounding a stone-dead lawn.

I’m not sure about the psychology of front-yard fences – one could go on and on about it, I suppose – but I’m quite sure about the aesthetic result: bad.

Such dinky little fences could hardly be for security, because anyone with a faint pulse could vault over them. More likely, it’s a territorial thing. You know – stay off my dead grass, or else.

Rather than keeping the bad guys out, however, those fences more often just prevent homeowners from enjoying their yards.

Although a fenced-in yard or two probably is inevitable on the average neighborhood street, there’s no rational cause for a whole row of front yards to be partitioned off into desolate little pens. There are plenty of alternatives that are more attractive.

In my book, the best front-yard fence is no fence at all. But if a barrier of some sort is de rigueur, ponder these things.

Before building, identify the objective. Fences – and every other form of barrier – have only three basic purposes: to keep things in; to keep things out; or to sit there and look pretty.

Things to be kept out might include people, animals, noise or prying eyes. Decide which is the main target, and then choose the least obtrusive barrier that will do the job.

If the goal is just to discourage casual trespassers – whether two-legged or four-legged – consider a different form of barrier before resorting to a fence.

A row of dense, low shrubs with nasty thorns or spiky leaves, for example, will keep out most mischievous kids. To keep animals in or out, an appropriate-sized wire-mesh fence concealed behind shrubs will handle anything short of a mad dog.

If the aim is to keep out criminal types, forget it. No fence of any description will keep out someone who’s determined to trespass. Moreover, a solid fence is worse than none at all. A burglar will probably be grateful that neighbors can’t see him while he’s breaking into the house.

As security measures go, it’s much more cost-effective to connect existing outdoor lights to a motion detector, which can be purchased for a reasonable price at any hardware store.

If the idea is to exclude noise or prying eyes, landscaping again offers an alternative to a privacy fence, which would have to have solid planks at least five feet high to be effective. Tall shrubs such as privet give a much friendlier look from the street, and the dense leaves absorb street sound better than a fence.

Lastly, if a fence is meant mainly for decoration, don’t settle for a run-of-the-mill chain-link one. Chain-link is excellent for many applications, but thanks to its institutional look, it’s probably the least attractive.

A fence with conventional wood posts will have a much warmer look, and can be finished with wire mesh, planks, lattice or any number of interesting materials.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner. ©2013 Arrol Gellner Distributed by Inman News

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Ayn Rand’s famed novel “The Fountainhead” is the amusingly overwrought tale of an egocentric architect named Howard Roark. After discovering that one of his brilliant designs has been tampered with, Roark becomes so incensed that he blows up the finished building. The novel eventually was made into an even more preachy and melodramatic film – no small task, mind you – with the genius architect portrayed by a chronically pained-looking Gary Cooper.

The Roark character, a thinly disguised version of Frank Lloyd Wright, was a mouthpiece for Rand’s belief that arrogance and egocentrism are integral components of genius. Given Rand’s fevered devotion to this unlikable idea, it’s no wonder the pious Roark was so insufferable.

Alas, fiction isn’t the only place that architects like Howard Roark can be found. The arrogance of many real-life architects is just as legendary. It’s become sort of an endearing character flaw, to be taken with a wink and a nudge: “Oh, well, you know those architects.”

Frank Lloyd Wright remains the undisputed mogul of architectural arrogance, a stature borne out by countless anecdotes. My personal favorite involves an enraged client who called Wright to complain that the roof was leaking onto her dinner guest. Wright’s response: “Tell him to move his chair.”

In his later years, Wright frequently engaged in a sniping contest with a younger rival named Charles-Edouard Jeanneret, who preferred the appellation Le Corbusier. He also was no slouch when it came to self-importance. Le Corbusier espoused radical changes in architecture and planning, based on copious theorizing but only a smattering of actual buildings.

“I propose one single building for all nations and climates,” he proclaimed in 1937.

Wright, with a half-century of brilliant work already behind him, dismissed the young architect with the observation, “He builds a house and then writes six books about it.”

Old age did not mellow Wright’s acerbic wit, much less his high opinion of himself. In the 1940s, he gave a talk at a noted school of architecture and declared: “There are two kinds of architects in the world. There is every other architect, and there is me.”

Geniuses can get away with saying such things, perhaps deservedly so. But, unfortunately, arrogance isn’t confined to geniuses. It can be exhibited by mediocre architects as well, and too often the results have been less than humorous. For the better part of the modernist era, it was this know-it-all attitude that gave us sterile public buildings, look-alike downtowns and inhumane urban renewal projects.

These well-publicized failures have helped form the unfortunate modern-day image of the architect: equal parts prima donna and buffoon, fussing over minuscule points of aesthetics while bungling vast portions of the client’s program.

For most architects, of course, reality lies somewhere in between. Yet now, in the 21st century, we’re beginning to stagger under the mantle of “master builder” – the literal meaning of “architect” – because it’s now quite impossible for us to know everything there is to know about building in this increasingly complex world.

That’s a problem, because genius is tough to come by, and arrogance won’t get us where it used to.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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Mirrors in architecture have somehow gained the reputation of cheap trickery. Part of this bad rap stems from the dreadful gold-veined mirror tiles that were so popular during the 1970s. They were applied haphazardly by laypeople and decorators alike, and became associated with all the other excesses of this period.

Such kitsch aside, mirrors can be simple and effective enhancements in interior architecture. But to be successful, they must be integrated into the architecture, and not applied as an afterthought.

1. First, be sure to buy quality mirrors made of float glass or plate glass. Cheaper mirrors have ripples that distort the reflection, as well as thin silvering that corrodes quickly. Also, for a really clean installation, attach mirrors with mastic rather than clips (this may be best done by a glazier). Mirror size is limited mainly by cost and by available clearance; floor-to-ceiling mirrors up to 4 feet wide are not uncommon.

2. When installing any mirror, take care that it’s absolutely perpendicular to the walls and ceiling. Otherwise, the reflected surfaces will “bend” at the glass and destroy the illusion of continuity.

3. An architectural mirror shouldn’t be placed on top of the wall surface like a poster – the edge reflection will be paper-thin and unconvincing. Instead, recess it so that its edge reflection gives an illusion of surrounding wall thickness. The illusory “wall” will appear twice as thick as the depth of the mirror recess, giving a look of mass and permanence so convincing that it can often fool onlookers into thinking there actually is a space beyond.

4. Carefully determine the reflection that will appear in the mirror. To help visualize what will be seen, draw a floor plan that shows the real room as well as the reversed, illusory space beyond. It’s worth spending a few moments diagramming the sightlines on paper to identify what will appear.

5. Arrange the mirror to reflect windows, doorways, or interesting architectural features like arches or columns. This essentially provides two features for the price of one. Mirrors reflecting windows also have the added effect of brightening up a room considerably.

6. At bathroom vanities, carry the mirror up to the ceiling line rather than stopping 18 inches below it as is customary (the mirror will have to be drilled for any wall-mounted lighting fixtures in this area – about a $25 charge). The ceiling will appear to continue through the glass into the “room” beyond, amplifying the illusion of space.

7. Really adventuresome folks may experiment with arranging mirrors at right or obtuse angles. The results can be surprising. Mirrors facing each other at less than 90 degrees (for example, on opposite walls of a powder room) will produce infinite reflections and give a funhouse effect.

8. Finally, one of the cleverest mirror tricks I’ve seen comes from the Fox Theater, a beautiful movie palace that opened in Oakland, Calif., in 1928. In an ornate upper lobby, a pair of blank metal fire doors were disguised as French doors and then glazed with mirrors rather than glass to give the illusion of additional rooms beyond.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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Unlike Europe, the United States has never had many reservations about demolishing its old buildings to make way for new ones. The vast array of exquisite materials squandered during the modernist era – when ornamentation was held in contempt – could make a grown person cry. After World War II, countless Victorian homes filled with ornately milled hardwoods, marble, leaded and colored glass, brass and bronze were blithely destroyed to make way for the sedate, blank surfaces of the “new” age.

Nowadays, any green designer or builder worth his salt recognizes the value of quality salvaged items. Yet ironically, long before the green movement, demolitionists first saw value in such items. Over the years, their equipment yards became stockpiled with items hastily stripped from old homes in the last bleak hours before the Caterpillars arrived. These stockpiles eventually grew into organized salvage yards featuring a huge array of architectural materials.

With money as scarce as it is today, many remodelers have turned to salvaged materials as a way to save a few bucks. And rightly so: If you know what to buy and what to avoid, the salvaged items can be a real bargain. With luck, folks may even come across an architectural treasure or two. Don’t expect perfection, however; remember that these items have already lived one lifetime. Consider a chip or scratch here and there as a badge of honor.

Probably the most useful salvage buys are metallic items like high-quality cabinet hardware, railings, escutcheons and grilles. They’re easily stripped of paint and reused, and their quality is generally far higher than similar items available new today.

Also worth searching out are fireplace mantels and other stone or marble items that have very expensive new prices.

Panel doors can be bargains as long as they’re in good condition. Except for really one-of-a-kind items, though, don’t bother buying doors that are badly weathered or otherwise damaged; repairing them simply isn’t cost-effective. Also, try to use salvaged doors in new openings made especially for them, not in existing openings. Modifying old doors to fit an existing opening (or vice versa) can be a real headache.

Salvage yards frequently have leaded or colored glass windows. Many have interesting muntin patterns or unusual shapes, and can fit nicely into remodeling plans. However, the more mundane types of double-hung or casement windows are seldom worth buying for new construction (nor do they often meet modern energy codes). Save rehab efforts for windows that are worth the time.

Unless they’re in near-perfect condition, salvaged plumbing fixtures are seldom worth the trouble. Many old fixtures (as opposed to the reproductions some salvage yards sell) are difficult to connect and may require modification, and many won’t comply with modern water-conservation standards.

Claw-foot tubs are especially impractical unless they’re installed so that all sides are reachable. Otherwise, all kinds of unpleasant things will start growing in places that can be seen but not touched.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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Almost 100 years ago, the once-flourishing school of design known as the international style represented architecture’s highest hopes for the 20th century. Though it fell far short of expectations, it left us with a valuable lesson: Theories alone can’t make for a humane environment.

The international style was really more of a social philosophy than a style. Its roots reach back to post-World War I Europe, where widespread social problems convinced many architects that a revolutionary change in architecture was in order. To them, this meant discarding every trace of the historically based styles of the past and replacing them with completely “modern” architecture.

The most famous proponent of these radical views was a German school of design known as the Bauhaus. By the late 1920s, the Bauhaus was proposing austere new forms of architecture meant to provide the masses with clean and dignified housing, workplaces and civic buildings. At the same time, they theorized, these buildings would raise the moral and spiritual levels of their occupants.

The Bauhaus rejected ornamentation as a useless trapping of the elite and replaced it with the so-called “machine aesthetic,” producing buildings that were intentionally stark and severe. Traditional pitched roofs were discarded in favor of flat roofs with little or no overhang. Windows were replaced by great walls of glass that frequently couldn’t be opened, and walls were left plain and invariably painted an antiseptic white. Such designs soon began to find favor throughout Europe.

After World War II, American architects such as Philip Johnson also became hooked by the refreshingly different international style, hailing it as the only “honest” form of architecture. Johnson’s austere “glass house” in New Canaan, Conn., and a handful of homes by other architects quickly became widely copied international-style paradigms.

The style’s largely theoretical basis was lampooned by opponents such as Frank Lloyd Wright, who once skewered the famed international-style modernist Le Corbusier with the comment, “Well, now that he’s finished one building, he’ll go write four books about it.”

Nevertheless, hack architects and tract builders rushed to copy international-style homes. Their absence of ornamentation made them cheap to build, and they had the cachet of newness. By the 1950s, such houses, dubbed “flat-tops” by their detractors, were appearing everywhere. Some, such as developer Joseph Eichler’s superbly designed offerings in California, set a standard for modernist tract homes that has yet to be equaled.

But problems appeared just as quickly. The unshaded glass walls either let in too much sun and made the houses unbearably hot, or allowed vast amounts of heat to escape in winter. The minimal areas of solid wall made them more vulnerable to earthquake damage. And after all the futurist hype died down, most people found the stark, undecorated architecture predictable and oppressive.

What went wrong? One problem was that the international style’s roots were foreign, and were seldom suited to U.S. climates or lifestyles. Worse, it was a movement based on academic theory rather than time-tested architectural evolution. And most ironic is that because its clean functionalism lent itself to austerity, it was too often copied by architects and builders who passed off miserly design as modern design, leaving us a legacy of mediocre buildings.

These problems spelled the eventual doom of the international style. Like many things, it worked better in theory than in fact. Good intentions were simply not enough.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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Have you ever been to a house where you had to skirt the gas meter or sidle around garbage cans to get to the front door? Or one where there was such a bewildering array of doors that you weren’t sure which one to knock at?

The front entrance is seldom high on folks’ remodeling priorities. Yet, just like that old saw about first impressions, it’s a home’s entrance that people notice first. It’s practically impossible to rectify a bad impression made at the front door. Tract-house builders have known this for years; even in the cheapest house, they won’t ever cut corners on the front door. They know that a strong impression of quality here subtly colors a visitor’s perception of the whole house.

For much of architectural history, front entrances have been a focal point of home design. In colonial New England, for example, the front door often was flanked by sidelights and topped by a pediment, setting it apart from an otherwise austere facade.

The entrance also should be clearly apparent from the street. That doesn’t mean it has to be glaringly exposed to view – just that its location should be easily deduced by an unfamiliar passerby. Architects call this principle “demarcation.”

There are lots of subtle ways to demarcate a front entrance. The most common is to surround the door with an architectural form such as a pediment or other type of trim. Another traditional strategy places the door in a recess, on a projection, or under a roofed porch. A well-known example of the latter is on the back of a $20 bill.

Here are some thoughts for planning a grand entrance:

• Don’t place an unsheltered entrance door flush with the front wall of the house; it will create an unwelcoming “side door” or trailer-door effect.

• Don’t bring the path to the front door past utilities such as gas or electric meters, or past unsightly storage areas for trash or the like. Keep these kinds of features out of visitors’ line of sight.

• Don’t force visitors to walk on a driveway to reach the front door. Provide a separate walking path, or at least set aside a portion of the driveway paving using a different color or texture so it’s clearly meant only for people on foot.

• If a covered entrance porch is planned, make it at least 6 feet wide – with enough space for a person to stretch out both arms without touching either wall. Anything less will feel cramped and uncomfortable. Also, make the porch at least 4 feet deep (6 feet is better), or it will feel cramped when more than one person is waiting outside the front door. A cheaper alternative to a projecting porch is to simply recess the front door. Again, make the recess at least 6 feet wide, and not less than 2 feet deep.

• Lastly, if a house has multiple doors facing the street, make sure the front approach directs visitors toward the main entrance.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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The late Malvina Reynolds best expressed the modern image of stucco when she sang about “little boxes made of ticky-tacky.” In the years since World War II, the mention of stucco has usually prompted snickers, with an image cheapened by dreary G.I. housing and monotonous design made infamous by tracts such as Levittown, N.Y., and Daly City, Calif. – the real-life inspiration for Reynolds’ lyrics.

But stucco’s history is long and dignified. The ancient Greeks applied it over rough stone to get a smooth surface that could be decorated, and the Romans mixed it with marble chips to obtain a brilliant interior finish. The magnificent frescoes of the Renaissance were painted onto a form of wet stucco. It’s still the finish of choice in Mediterranean lands.

Stucco is still unmatched for beauty and versatility. It’s far more durable and fireproof than wood. It can be formed in limitless ways, and the final (or “skim”) coat can be colored to almost any shade, and will never fade, peel or need repainting.

America’s golden age of stucco began with the California bungalows of the 1920s. These squat little homes, which eventually were built from coast to coast, quickly demonstrated the material’s economy and design potential. Contractors found that, unlike siding and shingles, stucco went up quickly and would conform to any shape.

Better yet, stucco could make a humble house look substantial: By applying it over a hollow, wooden framework, for example, a porch column could be given Herculean proportions.

The Mediterranean-style homes of the 1930s also put stucco to good use for mock adobe walls and arches. Its ability to form compound curves made it perfect for the bulging shapes this style demanded.

After World War II, the pressing need to house tens of thousands of returning military veterans made home styles turn strictly utilitarian. Stucco was used because it was cheap, but little attempt was made at creativity. The dreary legacy of postwar tract housing gave stucco its undeserved reputation as a slapdash, built-on-the-cheap material.

The inspired stucco design of the bungalow era isn’t lost, however. It’s just dormant. Here are some ways to capitalize on stucco:

1. Take advantage of its plasticity, or ability to be modeled into any shape. Stucco can easily form arches, vaults and even compound curves. All that’s required is a rough, wooden framework that approximates the final shape. Turrets, serpentine walls and bulging forms are just a few of the possibilities.

2. Use stucco to suggest mass and solidity. Handle it like masonry, not like exterior wallpaper. Make design features such as columns stout enough to look structural, using the same proportions that stone might require. The bungalow builders excelled at making inexpensive wood-framed homes look massive, and using stucco three-dimensionally was the key to this trick.

3. Use stucco’s many available textures. If adding to a home with an unusual stucco texture, find a contractor who’s willing to match it. If building a new house, take a drive through some prewar stucco neighborhoods. Discover a huge variety of textures, each the “signature” of its creator. Those houses also will provide a lot of great design ideas.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2013 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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When I hear people say, “They sure don’t build houses like they used to,” I think to myself, “Yeah, and it’s a good thing too.”

Granted, the quality of many items in new homes – doors, paint, hardware and so on – can’t measure up to that of their vintage counterparts. But when it comes to actual structure and infrastructure, there’s no comparison.

Starting at the bottom (the foundation), modern houses are already way ahead. Prewar foundations had little or no reinforcing steel in them, which is why sticking doors and crooked floors are so common in vintage houses. Thanks to increasingly stringent codes for earthquake safety, modern foundations contain plenty of reinforcement, which has the added benefit of levelness.

Building codes also require today’s houses to be much more robustly framed than their predecessors, which often were shockingly weak structures. Victorian houses, for instance, typically sat atop tottering “cripple walls” that made these already spindly and top-heavy structures even more susceptible to earthquakes, hurricanes and flood damage. Today, the use of inexpensive metal framing connectors such as joist hangers and tie straps produce far stronger houses at a modest additional cost.

Modern building infrastructure systems such as plumbing, heating and electrical also are leagues beyond their vintage counterparts. Take plumbing systems, for example – prewar homes typically used rust- and occlusion-prone galvanized steel water piping. Most modern plumbing systems, on the other hand, use durable, trouble-free copper.

Likewise, houses predating 1940 or so employed knob-and-tube wiring systems with cloth-insulated wires that were embrittled by heat and attractive to rodents. Worse, these systems were protected by simple plug fuses that could be (and often were) circumvented by clueless owners – the infamous “penny in the fuse box” trick that led to many electrical fires.

Modern home electrical systems, on the other hand, use circuit breakers that can’t be tampered with. They also provide ample electrical capacity and plenty of outlets, doing away with the tangles of dangerous extension cords so ubiquitous in old houses.

And speaking of fires, it’s no accident that fewer deadly fires occur in newer homes than in older ones. Rather, it’s because today’s building codes require interlinked smoke detectors, and many codes require fire sprinklers as well. Together, these improvements have dramatically reduced the incidence of fatal house fires.

Lastly, new houses easily trump older ones in regard to comfort and energy efficiency. Although we like to think of homes from the “good ol’ days” as being warm and snug, most lacked wall and attic insulation to conserve heat and instead relied on huge, wasteful gas furnaces.

Thanks to modern standards, however, gone are the days of huge furnaces that lost more than half of their heat up the chimney or poorly insulated ductwork. Today’s high-efficiency furnaces, coupled with other features such as mandated insulation for floors, walls and ceilings, mean modern houses are many times more energy efficient than grandma’s cottage was.

Given all these improvements, the next time you hear someone say, “They don’t build houses like they used to,” tell them they’re absolutely right.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – .

©2012 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

The post They don’t build ’em like they used to appeared first on Daily Journal of Commerce.

After 30 years in architecture, I still hear the same tired old wives’ tales about remodeling. It’s amazing how long it can take to stamp out a wrongheaded concept. Here are some of my “unfavorites.”

1. Bathrooms should be planned back to back to save cost.

Rubbish. This chestnut goes way back, and probably stems from the practice of placing apartment house bathrooms back to back. For a remodel, the meager savings in plumbing cost – around a few hundred dollars – doesn’t justify straitjacketing a floor plan with a poor bathroom arrangement.

2. The best way to improve a home’s energy efficiency is by installing new double-glazed windows.

Poppycock. In most houses, windows represent a small fraction of the total heat loss. By far the most heat is lost through ceilings, so attic insulation is the best place to invest in upgrades. Then consider installing a higher-efficiency furnace and ductwork. Replacing windows is far down the list of cost-effective energy improvements.

3. Granite is the best choice for kitchen counters.

Balderdash. Granite is definitely durable, but it may not make economic sense to install a 100-year countertop on cabinets that will last only 30. In any case, there are many other interesting countertop materials out there, including other stone slabs, butcher block, tile, and even plastic laminate. It’s worth taking a look at them before going with granite by reflex.

4. Skylights are the best way to get daylight into a house.

Malarkey. Skylights are a good last resort to improve daylighting, but adding windows should always be the first choice. Why? Because they’re passive solar devices naturally attuned to the seasons, letting in more low-angle sunlight in winter when it’s needed, and excluding it in summer when it’s not. Skylights do just the reverse. They also look out of place on many homes, particularly those built before World War II.

5. Point-of-use (“tankless”) water heaters are the most efficient way to heat water.

Maybe, but maybe not. Tankless units can be ideal for certain applications, such as remote bathrooms. But their efficiency is typically oversold, with ratings based on rarified laboratory conditions seldom reflected in real homes. They’re also complex and subject to erratic response under low-flow conditions. Plus, if saving space isn’t one’s primary concern, there are a number of conventional storage water heaters available with efficiencies in the mid-90s, some at surprisingly reasonable cost.

6. Recessed “can” lights are the best way to modernize a home’s lighting.

Piffle. Recessed lighting is useful for specific purposes – highlighting permanent objects or architectural features, for example – but it’s lousy for general illumination. This is because cans are inherently directional: They create a pool of light beneath, rather than diffusing it throughout the room. They’re also terribly overused, leading to the notorious “swiss cheese ceiling” effect visible in so many remodeled houses. Use recessed cans sparingly, especially in houses built before World War II. They’re literally a glaring anachronism in most older homes.

Arrol Gellner is a California architect, college teacher and syndicated columnist who writes about architectural issues. Follow him on Twitter – @arrolgellner.

©2012 Arrol Gellner

Distributed by Inman News

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