We are excited to present Bryan Cantley, an architect and conceptual artist based in Los Angeles, whose work challenges the boundaries between architecture and representation. Bryan's intricate work has been exhibited at prestigious institutions, including the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA), which holds some of his pieces in its permanent collection. He's also shown work at UCLA, SCI-Arc in Los Angeles, and The Bartlett School of Architecture in London.
Bryan's speculative designs, renowned for their complexity and depth, challenge our perceptions of built and imagined environments. In this interview, Cantley shares his artistic inspirations, process, and thoughts on the future of architectural representation.
MUSE:
Bryan, your work often straddles the line between architectural practice and artistic expression. How do you define yourself in this context—are you more of an architect, an artist, or a combination of both?
Bryan:
That's an interesting question, as I teach within a school of the arts and have quite a few friends and colleagues who are artists. For a couple of decades, I’ve been part of a debate where my artist friends insist that my work is not art, but architecture. Meanwhile, my architect friends claim it’s not architecture, but art.
Initially, I found this rather troubling, feeling as though I was caught in a kind of limbo between the two disciplines. However, over the past decade, I have come to embrace this in-between space. I’ve never been particularly inclined towards labels, as they can often be quite limiting and tend to confine rather than expand.
Operating somewhere between architecture and art allows me the freedom to take advantage of opportunities that would be exclusive to one or the other. Personally, I view what I do as part of the architectural discipline—it just happens to have, perhaps, an artistic output.
MUSE:
How do you choose the mediums and techniques that best express your architectural visions?
Bryan:
Since April 2023, I suffered a severe concussion and cervical injury, which has prevented me from leaning over a drafting board. This forced me to pivot exclusively to digital work, managing only about two hours of analog drawing since then, which I hope to eventually resume.
Before the injury, my work was typically hybrid, oscillating between analog sketching and digital compositing. I prefer working analog because I enjoy the tactile connection and the physicality involved, which digital work lacks. I often "media-shift"—developing elements in whichever medium suits best. For instance, if an analog piece reached a point where my physical skills couldn't develop it further, I would switch to digital, and vice versa.
Analog work also allows me to experiment with layering techniques, using materials like Duralar and Mylar with layers of information on each side. This physical layering leads to discoveries that I don't experience digitally. Though I now work more digitally, I often output digital components and integrate them with analog methods to maintain that tactile quality. This cross-media process allows me to explore new perspectives and keep my creative approach flexible and open.
Ultimately, I see the choice of medium as secondary to the exploration itself; both analog and digital tools serve the broader intent, with each offering unique insights into the work.
MUSE:
What influences your work the most? Are there particular architects, artists, or movements that inspire the unique style of your drawings?
Bryan:
In terms of architectural influences, the primary ones in my work are fairly clear: Thom Mayne of Morphosis, Lebbeus Woods, Daniel Libeskind, Peter Eisenman, Zaha Hadid, and Douglas Darden. These figures have shaped my architectural and artistic sensibilities profoundly. However, outside of architecture, a range of non-architectural influences has had a significant impact on me as well.
Growing up, comic books were a major source of visual inspiration, especially the work of Jack Kirby, whose machine-like, hand-drawn environments captivated me as a child. The cyborg culture, anime, and science fiction from that era have also left a lasting mark on my work. Growing up in rural North Carolina, I was surrounded by large machines that shaped the landscape, such as those used in construction and textile processing, which my father worked with. These machines were my first introduction to the beauty of mechanics—machines creating environments.
My work is also influenced by science fiction literature and film, such as William Gibson's Neuromancer, Blade Runner, and The Matrix, all of which explore blurred boundaries between machines and organisms, along with complex social hierarchies. I’m intrigued by these dystopian visions where class distinctions are softened, creating a more level social landscape.
Another major influence is automotive design, particularly import cars from the 70s through early 2000s. I view cars as ergonomic machines with architectural qualities—large enough to inhabit and filled with intricate, operable details. Music has been an influence as well; as a drummer, I find parallels between rhythm, structure, and movement in music and in my creative process. These layers of inspiration—from comics and sci-fi to machinery, automobiles, and music—all intertwine, sometimes surfacing visibly in my work and other times remaining as subconscious threads that shape my creative vision.
MUSE:
Many of your drawings feel like they tell a story beyond just being blueprints for potential buildings. How important is narrative in your architectural work, and how do you convey it through your visualisations?
Bryan:
I am not sure if there is a single narrative to my work. There is often a multiplicity of themes running through it. However, from an early age, I became acutely aware of social injustices, which had a lasting impact on me. Many of my projects – whether explicitly or implicitly – strive to act as points of activism, aiming to initiate meaningful dialogue.
One principle that I incorporate across all my drawings is something I refer to as “line politics.” Among other objectives, I am particularly interested in creating situations where formal issues, inherent to drawing, introduce or uncover opportunities for friction and conflict. My approach is not always to resolve these conflicts but rather to explore them graphically, spatially, or conceptually, allowing them to exist as a means to better understand social justice – or, more accurately, the politics of human interaction.
My work is about allowing these kinds of conflicts and frictions to unfold, sometimes with the aim of resolution, and at other times simply to foster an understanding that differences can coexist without resulting in discord. If there were one unifying idea across my work, it would likely be this commitment to understanding difference without demanding harmony.
MUSE:
Could you suggest if there are other subjects you’re interested in drawing beyond architecture and machinery?
Byran:
I'm not naturally skilled at drawing. My approach tends to be a mix of architectural and graphic design elements. However, I've developed a recent fascination with abstract painting. While I’ve only completed a few, I’m drawn to the way paint negotiates colors, forms, depth, and material textures.
About five years ago, my wife, who’s a talented realist painter, and I collaborated on a painting to fill a blank wall in our house. Working together on that piece was incredibly freeing, and it ignited a strong interest in abstract art. In the future, I hope to explore this medium further, moving beyond architectural influences to focus more on pure form, materiality, and concept.
MUSE:
Do you think like the role of hand illustrated or hand drawn techniques will still be relevant to architectural design in the future?
Bryan:
I believe that the potential loss of analog skills, along with the understanding that comes from them, could have significant consequences. The instantaneity, spontaneity, and ephemeral nature of a graphite sketch on tracing paper carry a unique tactility and body memory that would be unfortunate to lose. Rather than viewing these skills as something to be replaced, I encourage my students to recognize that any skill they bring to their practice, even if it does not directly relate to their current projects, enhances their capabilities as designers. It broadens their perspective and connects them to experiences beyond their own.
While artificial intelligence can be a remarkable tool, I harbor some concerns regarding its impact on authorship. I have observed that many students use AI to generate content without necessarily engaging with the underlying thought processes involved in what is being produced. When they edit AI-generated work, they may not approach it with a spatial perspective; instead, they might apply a different set of criteria, which I find both fascinating and novel.
The most effective architects and designers will always be those who embrace the full spectrum of technology, crafting, and conceptualization. For instance, if I were to rely solely on analog drawing, it may or may not be executed well, but it would limit my growth as a designer compared to someone who also explores digital mediums or AI technology. Every experience, much like my interest in abstract painting, enriches one's perspective. Traveling to a foreign country, for example, inevitably brings back insights that can transform and enhance one's life. I believe the same holds true for engaging with technology and media; it presents opportunities to create work that is deeper and more substantial.
Bryan:
For young architects or artists interested in speculative architecture or architectural visualization as a form of art, my advice extends beyond simply discouraging such pursuits, as they often lack financial rewards. Throughout my career, I have faced criticism regarding the legitimacy of my work, and while I acknowledge that some of those critiques may have merit, the journey is undoubtedly challenging and can be disheartening.
Whether in speculative endeavors or not, success requires commitment, passion, and self-belief, as well as the capacity to navigate through the often stagnant and uninspired aspects of architecture and the art world. Ultimately, determination and a strong work ethic are vital. Although these concepts may seem generationally outdated, they are foundational.
I am a firm believer in Malcolm Gladwell's notion of 10,000 hours; dedicating time to one's craft is essential. This might be something that the rise of AI is beginning to compress or streamline. At present, I am more curious about what AI will evolve into in five or ten years, once we have had the opportunity to explore its capabilities and limitations.
In speculative work or experimentation, a lengthy gestation period is necessary, which can often span years or even decades. Therefore, my advice would be to commit for the long term, as this is not a quick process. I would also urge caution regarding any approach that promises immediate feedback. Typically, instant responses encourage people to engage only with surface-level observations. In contrast, I believe that spending time with a project reveals its deeper layers, which adds richness and complexity to the work.
