Deeper Darkness; Doing Better

By DAVID WARFEL

Layers of light help spaces look and feel great, but vague or technical terminology can lead to clients less willing to invest.

Better living through light begins not with task, ambient, or accent light, but with beneficial darkness and light for our hands. Our next evolution as a profession begins when we understand that clients cut the lighting budget because we failed to establish appropriate value, instead scaring them or boring them with terminology that should stay in the studio.

We know that the right light can transform lives, that thoughtful lighting design can make architecture look and function better, and that the wrong light or lack of light can lead to both short- and long-term negative outcomes for those who live, work, and rest in our buildings. Clients do not have this knowledge, nor the time and energy to acquire it, and that gap leads to countless decisions made against their own best interest. Schools cut dynamic white light from the budget to save dollars. Businesses cut layers of light that could increase productivity and employee wellbeing. Homeowners cut nearly all architectural lighting, convinced that anything unusual must just be unnecessary expense.

“Let’s trim the flooring budget so we can spend it on lighting.”

As a meme would conclude: “…said no client ever.” It is very rare for a client to cut other areas to increase their investment in lighting. In our residential work, it is not unusual to see a client spend twenty thousand dollars on kitchen appliances and less than two thousand on architectural lighting for the entire home. I can offer a bit of hope from my own work with clients, and the best part is that you only need to change your words. What we know about light is critically important; how we talk about light more often determines what lighting gets purchased and installed.

For an introduction into the power of language in lighting design, read the introductory article in the previous issue of designing lighting (dl).

How we talk about light determines how clients value light itself. If we are to set aside dry technical terms like task and ambient and let go of fanciful language like play of brilliants, at least when talking to clients, we need language that allows us to effectively communicate both purpose and value. In this article I will look at beneficial darkness and light for our hands; future articles will dig into light for our bodies, minds, faces, places, lives, and values. As I wrote in the introduction to the series in the previous issue of dl, there is nothing sacred in my language, nor am I hopeful that I will gain followers who use my terminology. Instead, I simply want to encourage you to rethink how you talk about light and find a way that works for you—and especially for your clients. This is simply my approach, provided as food for thought.

A full, rich, satisfying lighting experience reminds me of red velvet cake. Each layer, bonded with the right amount of icing, serves to make the whole piece taste great. What analogy can you create that clients will inherently understand?

For a number of years I shared a whimsical red velvet cake theory of lighting with my clients. A rich, satisfying lighting experience is something like a rich, satisfying piece of red velvet cake: done in layers with just the right amount of icing. Only recently have I started thinking about the plate that holds the cake, the foundation that holds all lighting: beneficial darkness.

I picked up the term beneficial darkness from Edward Bartholomew, Lya S. Obsborn, and Mark Loeffler when they so eloquently pointed out how those with less power and money often lack access to good darkness. I like the term for its simplicity and clarity and its ability to communicate both what we need and why we need it. We need a certain kind of darkness, and we need it because it has benefits for our lives.

I am no expert researcher and make no claim to fully understand all the nuances of darkness and how a lack of it leads to harm. Of course, neither are our clients, nor should they be. If we can boil beneficial darkness down into something that both we and our clients can readily grasp, we can effectively communicate the need for good dimming and controls, lightfiltering and light-blocking shades, and low-glare cutoff fixtures. And boiling it down need not be difficult: excess light at night (LAN) is bad for our wallets, our planet, and our bodies.

Our clients pay for every lumen produced on their property, useful or not. So many homes are graced with brass-and-glass “coach house” lanterns that direct a majority of lumens into the skies or into our eyes. Besides discomfort, the end result is that our clients pay money to send light upwards that serves no practical purpose unless they often fly home on a broomstick. Why waste money when there is a better way to achieve light with respect for darkness?

The light we waste at night is staggering—and staggeringly bad for the only habitable planet in our solar system. Light sent into the sky disrupts animals and plants, all while requiring the generation of electricity for no useable purpose. The end result is endangered wildlife and plants, along with increased pollution and resource extraction. Again, much of this light at night is completely wasted. Who sees the trees in your backyard after you go to sleep?

I have not used this whimsical illustration with clients, at least not yet. But the next time I endeavor to explain the benefits of darkness, this might just be more understandable than many alternatives.

Light at night can be bad for our wallets, hard on the planet, and painful for our bodies. Less light can be the best lighting design strategy after dark.

Finally, we need beneficial darkness for our bodies. I am astounded at the continual release of research that points to the harm of light at night light at night, from potentially carcinogenic effects to sleep disruption and nearly every kind of modern disorder. It turns out that after thousands of years of dark nights, our newfound perpetual state of twilight just is not good for us.

When we talk about darkness in terms of its benefits – for our wallets, planet, and bodies – we are more likely to convince our clients to allocate resources of time and money towards preserving it. But complete darkness is not always the answer, and at some point we must introduce electric light to help us live our lives.

The first layer of electric light, for no other reason than it is most often first in our minds, is light for our hands that helps us see what we are doing so we can do it better. We might call it task light or focal glow, but simplifying the terminology to light for our hands makes it instantly understandable to most of our clients, and understanding leads directly to value. It is easy for a client to say “Let’s cut the task light” when they do not fully understand what it does. It is much harder for a client to say “I don’t need light for my hands” or “I don’t want to do better.”

Simplifying terminology makes it possible for us to rebuild our presentations and communications around something the clients can grasp. I have recently begun to dabble, in my rather untrained way, with illustrations that attempt to simply communicate the value – and place – of light for our hands.

For example, this first cartoonish illustration conveys that we need good strong light for our hands but that the strongest light is often lost above our heads. Showcasing lighting fixtures people know allows us to point out inherent weaknesses, thereby preparing the client for better alternatives. Historically-styled chandeliers, modern disk lights, and torchiere uplights will always put better light on the ceiling than our hands. Even the most unskilled client can usually recognize that this is misplaced effort and expense.

Simple illustrations can help convey the limited value of typical light fixtures to clients, most of whom have far more important things to do than get a PhD in lighting.

The second sketch shows a few alternatives like recessed downlights, desk lights, and table lamps. I find it useful to illustrate a series of tasks, from which a client might see something that is important to them. If they value knitting, or cooking, or reading, then the light I propose for their hands automatically has more value. When lighting has more value, it is more likely to be funded.

Once the need for light for our hands is established, a conversation with clients about how to achieve it is much easier to begin. Too often, we skip the step that establishes value and go straight to solutions.

I hesitate to include a plan-view illustration in an article aimed at simplifying communication for clients. In most cases, I try to avoid showing plans to clients. Without proper training, their only ability to feel good about their decisions is to make an uninformed judgement about quantity of fixtures shown on a plan, or whether or not they are in tidy rows. This serves neither the client nor the designer.

For a more experienced client, however, this simple plan illustration points out the weakness in strict grids of recessed downlights when lighting for their hands. The only practical way to make this work is to illuminate an entire space like a gas station canopy or big box retailer: light everywhere. If words are the key to unlocking value in lighting design, then graphics and pictures must be supportive of those words, not tangential or superfluous.

A recent collaborator told us, “Nobody talks about light the way you do,” and it was meant as a compliment. This is not because we are better than other lighting designers – we have our strengths and weaknesses like every studio – but because we do talk about light differently, and deliberately so. When we talk to clients about light, the notable absence of “task, ambient, and accent” or “play of brilliants” allows space for us to talk about beneficial darkness and light for our hands.

We do not have the perfect language of light. It grows even as I write this. We do not have all the answers to lighting design’s challenges. But I can say with confidence that changing the way we talk about light helps many of our clients understand and appreciate the value of what we do. Maybe the flooring budget will get trimmed after all. P

There is a fine line between educating clients enough that they make informed decisions and so much that they tune out. That line is different for everyone; the rare technically or graphically inclined client may appreciate a plan illustration.