A lifetime’s experience in housing design, underpinned by steely rigour and gentle humour, has been a constant inpiration, says Jo McCafferty
David Levitt, co-founder of Levitt Bernstein, in his flat at the Brunswick Centre, London, on which he worked with Patrick Hodgkinson in the mid-1960s (ph: Tim Crocker)
Looking back at the last 20 years’ work in practice, there have been moments that have deeply affected my thinking and offered opportunities to learn from the most talented and generous architects in the profession. Working in Switzerland with Thomas Keller at Arbeitsgruppe and Alfredo Pini at Atelier 5 first ignited my obsession with housing, and provided no better place to learn about the importance of rigour and joy in a plan and section – and what it takes to create a community whilst designing the perfect home for one household. A few years later, spending long evenings with Neave Brown at Alexandra Road while he captivated residents with anecdotes, and pouring over old blueprints together was the start of a lasting friendship and enduring respect for his work.
But working alongside David Levitt in one way or another since I arrived at Levitt Bernstein continues to shape my thinking in a quiet, unassuming way. He was the reason I joined the practice in 1997, and the reason I still believe in the work we do over 20 years later. We worked closest together on two architectural projects in Ireland: Ballymun and St Michael’s, although we somehow always seemed to end up side by side on most things. Our Irish projects involved flying back and forth to two of Ireland’s most deprived estates and discussing housing options in the middle of the most chaotic consultation events, with sometimes seemingly hostile audiences.
One such time, we arrived far too early at the airport, having spent much of the journey there deep in conversation about a client request to redesign the scheme, which had been communicated the night before. We knew we faced a problem and neither of us had an answer. Once at the airport and through security we sat down, coffee in hand and started working through a new design, spread across several hurriedly pieced together napkins. Though there was pressure in all senses, I remember thinking that David probably had a design solution emerging in his mind, and yet he allowed me time to think and test options without interruption. Before long, we lifted the sketches in celebration – we had an idea that might just work! However, looking at the departures board we realised we had missed the plane. Of course we got the next one, presented the idea to the client three hours later and everyone was delighted. I kept one of the napkins fixed to my drawing board as a reminder for many years: there were so many lessons in that one incident. On a similar trip to Dublin, David’s self-effacing humour also served us well. We were attending a consultation event that we thought was likely to be particularly difficult – especially for two English architects in a staunchly nationalist part of the city. Just before unleashing ourselves to the masses, he turned to me with a wry smile and said “this is when my private schooling and Cambridge education really comes into its own!” His patience, genuine interest and curiosity could disarm the most antagonistic of crowds: it was a revelation.
Across all projects, David has always managed to appreciate the bigger architectural story and approach each challenge with an equal measure of steely rigour and gentle humour. He is the only architect I know who can be thinking about service charges, funding, land assembly, structural strategy and the design of a handrail all at the same time. And yet, despite the depth of his knowledge, he has always been open to new ideas and ways of thinking, fascinated by young designers and without the cynicism that often comes with experience. So much for us all still to learn.
