I'm breaking my blogging silence to do two things:  Alert readers to the fact I am still writing reviews of architecture books under the title A Weekly Dose of Architecture Books, but over at Substack, not Blogger. Put a new post at the top of this blog so I don't have to look at those photos of me every time I come here to find an old post that I want to link to. That is all.

After 25 years of running this blog under various names — all of which can be lumped under the "Archidose" monicker — I've decided to shut it down, moving this hobby, this labor of love, to Substack, which I have used since mid-2021 and where I will continue to send out weekly newsletters focused on architecture books, but in a new format. (You can subscribe to my newsletter here or on Substack.) So, this isn't "goodbye" as much as it is "see you in your inbox."  Grayer and hopefully wiser: me, John Hill, from the mid-1990s until today Besides thinking something along the lines of, Wait! 25 years?, you also may be wondering, Why stop now? The now, January 2024, is because I happen to like fives, it turns out — so much so that every significant thing related to this blog has occurred in five five-year intervals (this is by chance, not by design, I swear): 1999: Started A Weekly Dose of Architecture (with a post about the Kimbell Art Museum) 2004: Started A Daily Dose of Architecture (with a post about the World Trade Center Memorial Design Competition) 2009: Started working with World-Architects and got my first book deal (I was out of work at the time, so the writing that I began doing as a hobby in 1999 turned into my primary focus as of 2009) 2014: Stopped A Weekly Dose of Architecture (complete with five bullet points on why) 2019: Started A Daily Dose of Architecture Books (five more bullet points!)  2024: Stopped Archidose In terms of the why, I've thought of that question a little bit, and outside of it just feeling like it's the right time, here are a handful (again!) of reasons: Very few people read blogs anymore (true, that was also the case 10 years ago, but I kept at it until now, as I liked doing it) More people subscribe, open, and read my Substack newsletter than those who click on the links to this blog or find their way here in some other manner to read my posts (the logical step, therefore, is to put everything in the newsletter...but not behind a paywall, mind you) Blogger is outdated, with infrequent updates; its themes/templates are buggy; adding content is frustrating (this list could go on near endlessly) Substack’s formatting is much easier and more elegant than Blogger (see next bullet point, too) This blog takes up too much of my time, time I'd rather spend on other things (the new newsletter will be easier to produce than this blog, but hopefully it will be helpful and therefore worth people's time in opening it and reading it) But stopping this blog also makes me wonder what it amounted to, if anything. Is there enough good content on this blog to put some of it on paper, to make it a more permanent thing? Or is the content simply of its time and therefore best to leave here in the digital ether? I don't know, to be honest, and when I dig back through some of the posts I veer from thinking the things I wrote were really good to thinking they were garbage ... okay, not quite garbage, but not special enough for a bound volume tucked away in a library somewhere. The truth is somewhere between these poles, I reckon, so hopefully I'll come up with a way to make sense of this side project, this 25-year undertaking, and turn what I did into something else even more rewarding.

Instead of digesting a new book or diving into a novel, something others do often but I do rarely, I spent my holiday break reading a five-year-old book about a trio of intertwined topics I'm particularly fond of: drawings, exhibitions, and New York City. Drawing on Architecture: The Object of Lines, 1970-1990 by Jordan Kauffman, published by The MIT Press, 2018 (Amazon / AbeBooks) As the book's subtitle indicates, Drawing Architecture covers a two-decade period — the 1970s and 80s — when architectural drawings produced by contemporary architects increased in popularity: with architects, with museums, and with the wider art market. These decades, especially the 70s, are known for its so-called "Paper Architecture," which arose due to architects encountering a glut of commissions and offsetting it through theorizing and exploring ideas on paper. Although Jordan Kauffman, a researcher at MIT when he wrote the book and now an assistant professor at the University of Nottingham, does not restrict himself to New York City, much of the book takes place there, given the city's role as the epicenter of the art market, the numerous art galleries holding exhibitions of architectural drawings, and the willingness of local architects to promote themselves through those galleries. These display spaces included Judith York Newman's Spaced: Gallery of Architecture, the Leo Castelli Gallery, and the Max Protetch Gallery. There were also a number of museums and other institutions in and beyond NYC — CCA, DAM, MoMA, Getty — that increased their holdings of architectural drawings, in turn increasing value of such drawings until around 1990. Then, as architects found themselves with more projects and computers entered the realm of architectural drawing, the two-decade trend came to an end. I missed Kauffman's book when it was released in 2018, though I have to disagree with George Baird's review published in Architectural Record at that time. He finds the thorough documentation and explanation of this important moment in recent history "not completely satisfactory," due to the inability to grasp the individual drawings in the numerous photographs of gallery shows reproduced in black and white, as in the one below. Baird did appreciate the reproductions of individual drawings that are almost as numerous as the gallery photographs, but not enough to give the book a ringing endorsement. I'd counter that, since the book is about the galleries and institutions marketing and collecting the drawings rather than the drawings themselves, the illustrations selected for the book are ideal. They capture the seminal shows that led to the phenomenon that is the subject of Kauffman's book; without them, readers would be frustrated and have to rely on the author's extensive descriptions of the displays — descriptions that are important for the historical record but stultifying for narrative flow. (Kauffman also separately lists each piece in each seminal show, complete with values ascribed to the individual drawings.) Another review, by Paul Emmons at EAHN, is more gracious toward the book, calling it "a primary resource on the history of the commodification of architectural drawing." Installation view of "Architecture I" exhibition at Leo Castelli Gallery, 1977 (Image source) Being a scourer of used bookstores and having a strong interest in the period explored by Kauffman, many of the museum exhibitions and gallery shows described in the book as "seminal" were known to me before I cracked it open last month. For example, the three "Architecture" shows held at Leo Castelli Gallery every three years between 1977 and 1983 were each accompanied by catalogs: the first one is short, unpaginated and stapled, but the second and third were published by Rizzoli, the publisher of choice for American postmodern architecture in the 1980s. Even though I'm familiar with these shows — and others, including Arthur Drexler's The Architecture of the École des Beaux-Arts (MoMA, 1975) and The Drawings of Antonio Gaudi by George R. Collins (The Drawing Center, 1977) — through their printed companions, Kauffman is able to elucidate considerably more information about the exhibitions themselves as well as how they relate to the publications. Architecture I, the catalog, would lead us now to assume that just a few drawings were in Architecture I, the exhibition, for each of the seven included architects (Raimund Abraham, Emilio Ambasz, Richard Meier, Walter Pichler, Aldo Rossi, James Stirling, Venturi and Rauch), but Kauffman reveals how misleading this assumption is, by describing the circumstances of the show, illustrating it through gallery shots like the one above, and exhaustively documenting what was on display. In this sense, Emmons' description of the book as "a primary resource" is spot-on. Covers of catalogs for three "Architecture" series exhibitions — "Architecture I," "Houses for Sale," "Follies" — held at Leo Castelli Gallery in 1977, 1980, and 1983, respectively While I found it rewarding to learn more about these and other exhibitions I had previous awareness of, Drawing on Architecture was not short on revealing new information to me. Take, for instance, Spaced, the gallery run by Judith York Newman, a name considerably less familiar all these years later than Castelli, Protetch, and the like. The first iteration of Spaced was located on the Upper West Side between 1975 and 1983, making it the first gallery in the city to display architectural drawings and therefore leading the way toward other art galleries doing the same. Although Newman was integral to the reception of architectural drawings in the period, as were Martha Beck, Barbara Jakobsen (aka B.J. Archer), and Pierre Apraxine, their names border on the forgotten, at least relative to the more famous gallerists mentioned above as well as Phyllis Lambert (CCA), Heinrich Klotz (DAM), and Kristin Feireiss (Aedes) outside of NYC. Drawing on Architecture therefore serves, in its focus, to give them much-deserved attention. The shift of architectural drawings toward art and as architecture in and of themselves can also be found in Drawing Ambience: Alvin Boyarsky and the Architectural Association, the exhibition and companion publication from 2015 about the drawings collected by Boyarsky when he was head of the AA in London. Although Boyarsky's two-decade directorship overlapped almost exactly with Kauffman's book, he is only touched on briefly. Instead, we learn a good deal about fellow Londoner Ben Weinreb, "the most eminent antiquarian bookseller of architectural books, prints, and drawings," per Kauffman. Not only did he buy and sell drawings (many of them to Lambert at the CCA), making him relevant to Drawing on Architecture, he produced 58 catalogs over the course of four decades: catalogs that "set new standards for cataloging and connoisseurship," in Kauffman's words. The value of Drawing on Architecture is in discovering about Weinreb and other lesser-known players, carried out through exhaustive research and scholarship, but it is also found in the vivid portrait of 1970s/80s New York, when the architecture and art scenes overlapped and converged, unlike any times before then or since.

For the fifteenth and last time on this blog, I'm highlighting my favorite books of the year, selected from the many books I reviewed or featured as "Book Briefs" on this blog, and the few titles that I reviewed at World-Architects. From the 86 books I featured in 2023, 15 (or 16) books made my list of favorites, organized into three categories: history, monographs, and exhibitions (the books are alphabetical by title within each category). As in previous years, not all of these books were published this year, given how slow I can be at digesting books and my departure from the annual spring/fall cycle of publishers. This last aspect, the timing of the books I draw attention to, will change next year, as I shutter this blog and transition it into something else — details on that will be announced next month. Until then, warm holiday wishes!  6 HISTORY BOOKS: Chicago Skyscrapers, 1934-1986: How Technology, Politics, Finance, and Race Reshaped the City (2023) by Thomas Leslie, published by University of Illinois Press — Thomas Leslie's followup to his 1871-1934 history of Chicago skyscrapers is even better than its predecessor, not only because the buildings covered are by Mies and other modern architects, but because the research is meticulous and the stories are really interesting.  The Japanese House Since 1945 (2023) by Naomi Pollock, published by Thames & Hudson — The latest by Naomi Pollock, who has written numerous books on Japanese houses, benefits from a wide-ranging chronological presentation of nearly one hundred such houses but also the input of the architects and, most valuably, the people who lived in them. Lost in America: Photographing the Last Days of our Architectural Treasures (2023) by Richard Cahan and Michael Williams, published by CityFiles Press — In the right hands, archives can yield insights, themes, and presentations that are educational and unexpected, as in photo historians Richard Cahan and Michael Williams digging through the 90-year-old HABS archive at the Library of Congress to show Americans the wonders they have lost over that time. Mies van der Rohe: The Collective Housing Collection (2022) by Fernando Casqueiro, published by a+t architecture publishers — As I pointed out in my review at World-Architects, this book has some flaws in its graphics and text, but they don't detract from the comprehensive presentation of the apartment buildings designed by Mies van der Rohe in the middle of last century. Resisting Postmodern Architecture: Critical Regionalism before Globalisation (2022) by Stylianos Giamarelos, published by UCL Press — Architects who appreciate Kenneth Frampton's theorizing of critical regionalism starting in the 1980s should read Stylianos Giamarelos's scholarly book that explores and recenters the formulation of critical regionalism by Alexander Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre ahead of Frampton. Urban Design in the 20th Century: A History (2021) by Tom Avermaete and Janina Gosseye, published by gta Verlag — This carefully organized, beautifully presented, abundantly illustrated, and thoroughly cited history of urban design in the 20th century came out of a course taught by the authors at ETH Zurich, but it really should be a standard textbook for other schools, too. 5 (OR 6) MONOGRAPHS: A Book on Making a Petite École (2023) edited by Michael Meredith, Hilary Sample and MOS, published by Actar Publishers — There are very few practicing architects who produce books as an extension of their practice, and even fewer who do that extremely well. MOS is one of them and this is their latest. (Curiously, I saw an even larger, atlas-sized version of this book on display at Harvard GSD's Frances Loeb Library as part of The Book in the Age of ... exhibition in September.) Caruso St John Collected Works: Volume 1 1990–2005 (2022) and Caruso St John Collected Works: Volume 2 2000–2012 (2023), published by MACK — Released a year apart (will volume three follow a year from now?) but reviewed on my blog in February and December of this year, this monograph series on Caruso St John is stunning: beautifully made but also expressive of the words and images that inspire Adam Caruso and Peter St John in their quiet, poetic creations. Living in Monnikenheide: Care, Inclusion and Architecture (2023) edited by Gideon Boie, published by Flanders Architecture Institute — This book is about Monnikenheide, a residential care center for people with mental disabilities in Zoersel, Belgium, and the numerous buildings that have been designed there since the early 1970s. The book is beautifully produced and reflective of the place's myriad qualities. M³: modeled works [archive] 1972-2022 (2023) by Thom Mayne and Morphosis, published by Rizzoli — Fifty years of Thom Mayne and Morphosis are presented in more than 1,000 pages: a brick of a book centered on the models that the studio is known for, from the early models in wood and resin to the 3D-printed models they still produce. Speculative Coolness: Architecture, Media, the Real, and the Virtual (2023) by Bryan Cantley, edited by Peter J. Baldwin, published by Routledge — Architects my age will have flashbacks to Neil Denari, Peter Pfau, Wes Jones, and other machine-minded architects from the nineties when perusing Bryan Cantley's image-saturated monograph. The name says it all: page after page of speculative coolness, vague projects impeccably delineated. 4 BOOKS FROM EXHIBITIONS: Another Breach in the Wall: The City as a Common Good (2022) by Davide Tommaso Ferrando and Daniel Tudor Munteanu, published by Solitude Project — This two-volume book serves as the catalog to Another Breach in the Wall, the main exhibition of the Beta 2022 Timișoara Architecture Biennial in Romania, which focused on projects and actions in cities that subvert the norm. The book does that to some degree, too, with a foldout map serving as a wrapper for the two paperbacks and an elastic band holding the whole together. An Atlas of Es Devlin (2023) by Es Devlin, edited by Andrea Lipps, published by Thames & Hudson — It's hard to believe it, but the first monographic exhibition and monographic book on Es Devlin, the artist/designer behind sets for Adele, Beyoncé, and Cyrus (comma Miley) arrived this year, nearly thirty years after she launched her career in London. This big, expensive book is more artist book that exhibition catalog, and a highly revealing look at her creative process. Bernd & Hilla Becher (2022) by Jeff L. Rosenheim, published by the Metropolitan Museum of Art — A "captivating tribute to the renowned German photographic duo known for their systematic documentation of industrial architecture," according to ChatGPT, but in my words it is simply a "beautifully produced catalog" of the 2022 exhibition at The Met. For a duo who treated books as an integral extension of their photography, this catalog of their work is equally valuable. Yasmeen Lari: Architecture for the Future (2023) edited by Angelika Fitz, Elke Krasny, Marvi Mazhar and Architekturzentrum Wien, published by MIT Press — In early March, an exhibition on architect Yasmeen Lari, usually described as Pakistan's first woman architect, opened at Az W, and the following month the Oxford-trained architect won the Royal Gold Medal, RIBA's highest honor. Needless to say, the major exhibition and honor were justified for an architect who pivoted from commercial buildings for companies with money to houses and other zero-carbon buildings for the poor. The book is thorough, with essays and interviews accompany the numerous projects.

Just as last week's Places in Time III post featured a trio of books that were initially listed in my earlier holiday gift books post, two of the three monographs featured here were also on that list. As happened when I wrote this post, each book begins with a rhetorical question pertaining to monographs. This post features the last reviews of the year. A week from today I'll have a year-capping roundup of my favorites from the many books featured on this blog in 2023. An Atlas of Es Devlin by Es Devlin, edited by Andrea Lipps, published by Thames & Hudson, December 2023 (Amazon / Bookshop) Is it possible to love a monograph on a designer whose work you're largely indifferent to? Es Devlin is a phenomenally famous artist and designer who is best known for creating the sets and backdrops for U2, Adele, Miley Cyrus, Beyoncé, and other big-name musicians, and for such events as the 2022 Super Bowl halftime show. Her London studio's designs for these and other performances, such as plays on London's West End, are provocative and attention-getting, befitting their spectacle nature ... but they're just not my thing; they don't strike my fancy. Her immersive installations, on the other hand, though I've yet to experience one, resonate more strongly with me; these include Forest of Us in Miami and Memory Palace from 2019. And while I like the design and the labyrinthine layout of the monographic exhibition now at the Cooper Hewitt that is also called An Atlas of Es Devlin, the appeal of her work to me is just fractional: yes on installations, no on the rest. But reviewing a book or exhibition or some other creation is not about taste and personal preference; it's about judging the thing on its own merits and determining how good or bad it is relative to similar creations. For books, monographs are a genre in and of themselves, and some are better than others; some are notable for being hybrids. Though big, expensive, and with a print run in (I imagine) the tens of thousands, An Atlas of Es Devlin — the first Es Devlin monograph — is as much an artists' book as it is a monograph and exhibition catalog. The spreads displayed here give a taste of the way Devlin, editor Andrea Lipps, who also curated the Cooper Hewitt exhibition, and book designer Daniel Devlin veered from the typical construction of a book — they cut circles in the pages, inserted smaller page sizes and even smaller gatefolds into the binding, used a variety of papers, etc. — to give it an artists-book feel, but on a considerably larger scale: the book is more than 900 pages, though given the atypical nature of the book it's nearly impossible to count the exact number. It is so big it comes in a specially made orange cardboard box for storage and protection. Just as the exhibition features an "iris" formed by overlapping and shifted circles cut into the gallery wall, the hardcover book opens with ten pages with circular cutouts that frame a photo of Devlin on the floor of Memory Palace. The circular openings are rung with statements apparently in Devlin's hand, and radiating from the circles are complex, layered timelines of her studio's prolific output — the last a sign of how in-demand she an artist and designer she is. But, befitting an artists' book, these pages go even further, adding raised dots and lines that accentuate parts of the timeline, veer from it entirely, and/or push us to find some meaning amongst the information saturation. The book then shows some full-bleed photographs of her studio's output before launching into the process-based presentations that comprise the largest chunk of the book. The presentation is chronological, moving from "A Student's Sketchbook" (spread above) that spans from 1985 to 1995 to the designs for plays, performances, and installations she is known for, one after the other for at least 250 pages. After those come conversations Devlin had with fellow creatives during COVID lockdown, then more projects, then another 250 or so pages of completed projects in color photos. The book is packed, fully. The parts that make me appreciate the book so much are the process-oriented project presentations. Very few projects are presented simply; most are accompanied by a smaller inserted page and/or a gatefold — something that requires readers to do extra "work" that heightens their awareness and increases their absorption of Devlin's creative process. Each project, furthermore, is keyed to one of the color photographs in the last half of the book, requiring more flipping-back-and-forth "work" and providing a peek at the finished products. Put another way, it's impossible to nonchalantly flip through this book. The design and construction of the book force a slow movement and entice a steady gaze. One gains so much in handling the book that they need not read every description of every project to understand a lot about Devlin as an artist and designer. I can't think of a more ambitious goal for a monograph than the way An Atlas of Es Devlin gives readers such an intimate understanding of her creative thinking. Caruso St John Collected Works: Volume 2 2000–2012 by Caruso St John, published by MACK, October 2023 (Amazon) Is it better for a monograph to have project descriptions written by the architect or by an external writer? The first type ideally give readers some insight into the architect's creative process, though at times these descriptions can read as promotional materials aimed at potential clients. Descriptions of the second type benefit from some objectivity and most likely a critical position, but they might suffer from a lack of information and the sense, on the reader's part, of not learning enough about the illustrated projects. Most monographs fit into one or the other, including the two other monographs in this post: Es Devlin's monograph features project descriptions in her words, while the latest monograph on Jones Studio was written by curator Marilu Knode. Like the first volume of Caruso St John Collected Works, put out last year by MACK but reviewed on this blog in early 2023, Volume 2 has a mix of project descriptions written by the architects and coming from magazines and other external sources, the latter often years earlier and outside of the context of the book. If we look at the "Chicago and Milan" chapter, one of seven chapters in Volume 2, two projects are presented: Nottingham Contemporary, the UK gallery completed in 2009; and the Europaallee Mixed-use Building built in Zurich in 2013. The words of the architects, Adam Caruso and Peter St John, are used for Nottingham Contemporary, in which we learn about the intentions behind their winning competition scheme and the inspirations for the lacy pattern on the facade's concave panels. The longer, more in-depth presentation of Europaallee is accompanied by an article by Ellis Woodman from a 2014 issue of Architectural Review. The architects' mixed-use building is part of the Europaallee development west of Zurich Hauptbahnhof, which was master planned by KCAP and is made up of low- and mid-rise buildings organized about a pedestrian street; Caruso St John's building is at an important spot at the western end of the street, adjacent to a square and near a new pedestrian bridge that connects this main part of Europaallee to a sliver of the development on the north side of the railway tracks. I've seen their building on trips to Zurich, though I can't say I paid much attention to it, as the whole Europaallee project — with buildings by Gigon/Guyer, Max Dudler, David Chipperfield, and others — is characterized by unrelenting grids of windows. It's a bit like Tativille come to life. The Caruso St John building is in line with the rest, though Woodman admits that the narrowing of the piers between windows as the building rises — an element in the competition scheme that would distance the building from the earlier "joyless" building by Dudler — "came to present a significantly less austere image than was suggested by the initial renderings." Although Woodman is primarily positive in his assessment of Caruso St John's Europaallee Mixed-use Building, it makes me think that very few architects would actually incorporate critical texts like this in their monographs. That Caruso St John did so here is following from the format of Volume 1, in which texts by critics about the architects' projects are included, as are texts by others — architects, critics, historians, etc. — as long as they pertain to the issues explored by the architects in some way or serve as some theoretical foundation for their work. So Louis Sullivan's "The Tall Office Building Artistically Considered" first published in Lipincott's Magazine in 1896, is also found in the "Chicago and Milan" chapter, as is "The Existing Environment and Themes in Contemporary Practice," an essay by Ernesto N. Rogers from a 1954 issue of Casabella; these two essays give the chapter, which otherwise just features the two projects in Nottingham and Zurich, its name. Although the essays are presented without comment, the relationship between them and Caruso St John's work can be grasped without difficulty, as Sullivan's essays coming a few pages before the "tall" 13-story building at Europaallee attests. Even without an awareness to such ties, I greatly appreciate the inclusion of inspirational and important texts; it is one element that sets this series of monographs apart from others. In addition to the projects spanning from 2000 to 2012 and the inclusion of articles and essays written by others outside of the context of the monograph, the book also features texts by Adam Caruso and Peter St John. Befitting the series, these texts come from other publications, from lectures and interviews, most of them within the years covered by the volume. An example is Peter St John's "Aldo Rossi's Gallaratese Housing," first published in Building Design in 2012. The architect first experienced Rossi's famous building in 1980, when he was a 20-year-old student on a scholarship, also seeing the buildings of Terragni and catching the The Presence of the Past, the inaugural Venice Architecture Biennale. He recounts his first impressions of the building, discusses it relative to Rossi's famous texts The Architecture of the City and A Scientific Autobiography, and revisits the building to find it "more charming than before." A few pages later we read Caruso and St John's text on Pasticcio, a composition of fragments of classical architecture in Sir John Soane's Museum in London, and see their installation of the same name at the 2012 Venice Architecture Biennale. That is followed by restoration work at Soane's Museum, a new chancel for St Gallen Cathedral in Switzerland ... the whole book unfolds in this manner: one unexpected piece after another, adding up to a thorough and varied portrait of the duo's quiet and occasionally timeless architecture. STRIVE: Jones Studio Adventures in Architecture by Marilu Knode, edited by Oscar Riera Ojeda, published by Oscar Riera Ojeda Publishers, November 2023 (Amazon / Bookshop) Should monograph present many projects in just a few pages, or very few projects across more pages? Two years ago, Oscar Riera Ojeda Publishers put out Jones Studio Houses: Sensual Modernism, a monograph billed as "a self-imposed limited look at the 40-year-plus career of Eddie Jones." The thick, square book limited itself to houses (minus Jones Studio's own "house") and featured just ten of them, highlighted by Prairie Raptor, a stunning house in Oklahoma whose sculptural peak was inspired by Herb Greene's "Prairie Chicken" built in Norman, Oklahoma, in 1954. Digesting the book with its many photographs and drawings accompanied by short blurbs by famous names lauding Jones's architecture, it was clear the book was an incomplete portrait of the studio run by Eddie and his brother and first partner Neal Jones — a first course, if you will, to a larger, more well-rounded presentation of their work. With more than 40 built and unbuilt projects spanning more than 40 years, STRIVE is that main course. If a food analogy for an architecture monograph feels a bit contrived, note that three of the book's five sections take on "Family Table" titles. Instead of a literal family coming to the table to eat, the "family" is made up of Jones and the other architects in the studio, and the "table" is a collaborative work surface about which everyone's desks are arrayed. "Family Table #1," as it's called in the book, was in an office building in downtown Phoenix designed by Alfred Newman Beadle in 1978. In 1984, Eddie moved the studio he had established in 1979 (Neal joined in 1986) from his house to the Beadle-designed building, and years later he expanded within it to create the open-plan family-table office space. (Some further synergy between Beadle and Jones can be found in the fact both of them relocated from the Midwest to Arizona: Beadle from Minnesota, Jones from Oklahoma.) Jones Studio stayed in the Beadle building for 32 years, moving into the purpose-built "Home and Studio" in Tempe that begins the book's "Family Studio #3" chapter. The floor plans in STRIVE show how the literal table in the Beadle building is also at the heart of the now seven-year-old Jones Studio Office; the table and branching desks are described in the book as the "nerve center" of the studio and an "open mosh pit of ideas." So, you might be asking, what about "Family Table #2"? This is the most interesting of the trio, at least in the context of the book, and in two ways. First, for the exhibition southwestNET: Jones Studio, Inc. that took place at the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art in 2006, the studio moved its operations into the gallery for its three-month duration, from May to September. Indeed, the studio — the family — literally became the exhibit, sitting at custom-designed desks that converged to form "Family Table #2." Photos in the book show a somewhat typical architecture office, with computers, phones, and lots of papers in the middle of a gallery with drawings on the wall, drawings suspended from the ceiling, and museum goers taking in the scene. The second thing of interest is that the exhibition was curated by Marilu Knode, who considers it "one of the most exciting of my career." She was later approached by Jones Studio to tell the story of the firm in what would become STRIVE. Her writing and consistent voice detached from the making of the projects help make this monograph so good, especially compared to the many monographs that are written in-house and read like marketing copy and therefore lack firsthand insight. People who actually read Knode's words that accompany the buildings will learn A LOT about the studio's process and what makes each project so interesting, beyond the obvious skill with which they've been designed. Having looked at numerous architectural monographs, I've come to the conclusion that the project that occupies the middle section of a monograph is often the most important — both for the architect and for the book itself. The five chapters of STRIVE start with "Jones Studio: The Early Years" and end with "Focused Future," chronological bookends for the three "Family Table" chapters. Given this structure, the second of those, "Family Table #2," sits in the middle of the book's nearly 500 pages. While the firm was working at the southwestNET exhibition, they submitted an RFQ for the Mariposa Land Port of Entry in Nogales, Arizona. In 2007, Jones Studio got the job, which became a "colossal, firm-altering undertaking." While Knode's words partly reinforce my hypothesis for middle-project importance, the project's documentation in photos, drawings, and numerous texts over more than 40 pages cement it. The building, completed in 2014, is also found on the cover — another sign of the project's importance in the impressive Jones Studio portfolio.