n. Seer, soothsayer, necromancer, especially a class of priests who advised concerning building and locating of temples, homes, fish ponds, hence a professional architect. Lit., point out the sand dunes. [Hawaiian Dictionary (Hawai'i)]
Architects used to listen to ʻāina. Natural phenomena became puzzle pieces that they would connect to build space. The closest term to architects in Hawaiʻi were known as Kuhikuhipuʻuone, meaning "point out the sand dunes," as a direct allusion to how we see the land at its natural form and build with humility and honor toward it. They were used in choosing site, analyzing space, and then within the building process.
"Architecture is man's relationship to place," a brief by Kumu Ron Williams, as he discussed the vitality of place-based design. This made me realize that as architects we are pushed to find our voice in a world full of voices, but as designers of Hawaiʻi we should be pushed to amplify the voice of ʻāina.
There is a constant push to find a concept, or find a "greater purpose" for a building. If there is a greater purpose, shouldn't we see it from the start? Why search for abstract concepts when it can come from the land itself? As a design student, I see this pull for architects to please clients and developers, while trying to find a warped reason to get our designs to come into fruition, but we lose time, meaning, and connection with the world as we tangle ourselves in this knot.
How do we get out?