Breaking the Blueprint Barrier: Black Architects, Legacy, and The Movable Asset Advantage

Architecture is more than framing walls and roofs for shelter.

Architecture is more than buildings and structures.

Architecture is culture.

It frames space for memories, movement, and meaning. In Black consciousness, architecture has too often been overlooked as a strategy to heal what history tried to break and to shape the future we deserve.

The truth we can’t skip is this: Black architects make up just 1–2% of the profession in the U.S., despite being 13.6% of the population. That’s not because we “fear” creating and shaping our shared reality. It’s because in America, the profession was built with locked doors. For over 150 years, racist policies, educational gatekeeping, and economic barriers have systematically denied us access to architectural education, licensure, and recognition.

It’s like the story of the elephant chained in captivity from birth. For years, it learns that movement is limited by the chain’s weight and length. One day, the chain is removed but the elephant still doesn’t move. The captivity is no longer physical; it’s mental. Architecture did this to us. Even when the most visible barriers started coming down, the profession left many of us believing we didn’t belong, couldn’t thrive, or wouldn’t be welcomed. That belief is a lie and breaking it is the real work.

Our lineage in architecture runs far deeper than any policy meant to erase us. Imhotep, the ancient Egyptian architect, engineer, and physician, designed the Step Pyramid at Saqqara over 4,000 years ago, one of the earliest and most sophisticated architectural achievements in human history.

Architecture is in our DNA. Racism may have tried to strip us from that heritage, but creation is our soul.

I learned this firsthand at USC’s School of Architecture. Walking into studios where no one looked like me, I realized I was inheriting both a legacy and a fight. Every design review, every late-night model build, every concept pinned on the wall was an act of persistence. Later, when I founded Guesscreative, I felt that my work wasn’t just about design, it was about creating space in every sense: space for ownership, space for narrative control, space for us to build our own reality again.

The Math is Simple: We Were Locked Out

Black architects didn’t choose to be 1–2% of the profession. We were systematically excluded. Architecture schools refused Black students outright. When they finally let us in, they shoved us into unaccredited programs or forced us to work under white “architects of record” who stole credit for our designs.

Jim Crow didn’t just segregate lunch counters, it segregated space itself. Racial zoning laws quarantined Black communities into “leftover” neighborhoods, then labeled them “slums” that didn’t deserve good design. No inspiring or prestigious projects around us meant no career advancement and no visibility. The profession built its reputation on our backs while keeping our names off the credits, then had the audacity to claim we “weren’t interested” in architecture. Let's be real, if I got $1,000 every time someone told me that they wanted to be an architect but chose not to because it was "too much", I'd have enough to buy a Bitcoin. Pursuing a professional degree of any kind is daunting. However, nobody blinks an eye to pursue becoming a doctor or lawyer. That's because we see examples of success in our people.

The System Wasn’t Built for Us, But We’re Still Here

The architectural profession in the U.S. was born in an era when Black people were denied basic citizenship, let alone the right to shape public space. Even after emancipation, segregation, and redlining kept our communities disconnected from economic and educational pipelines. Architecture schools were overwhelmingly white, tuition was expensive, and mentorship opportunities were scarce. Licensing exams were intentionally gatekept with “good old boys’ club” networks, and public perception didn’t often associate Blackness with design excellence.

Yet, we’ve always been designing. From the African American churches built by freedmen, to shotgun houses in the South, to modern community hubs, Black hands and minds have been shaping the built environment long before we were ever “allowed” to call ourselves architects.

Bridging the Disconnect

The visibility gap for Black students in architecture isn’t just about numbers, it’s about connection, language, and lived experience.

Too often, young Black students never see real examples of thriving architects or designers who look like them, talk like them, or come from similar backgrounds.

Highlighting successful Black architects and designers isn’t just about inspiration, it’s about proof. Proof that we belong in every corner of this industry. Proof that excellence has always been here, even if the history books left us out.

Most Black students have never met a thriving Black architect in real life. As my systems fall into place, I'd love to represent possibility. Architecture has been packaged and sold as a distant, elite profession detached from the realities of our communities. Sure, many have heard of Sir David Adjaye, celebrated for the National Museum of African American History and Culture in D.C., but he’s British-Ghanaian. It's powerful, but it doesn't have the same resonance for the Black American experience.

I graduated from the University of Southern California with a Bachelor of Architecture, five years of design school, without learning about a single Black architect in class. I didn’t hear the name Paul R. Williams, the “Architect to the Stars” who mastered Hollywood’s skyline, until after I had my degree in hand. And That wasn’t because I wasn’t looking, it was because the system didn’t think it mattered enough to teach.

And this erasure runs deep. Imhotep, the ancient African polymath who designed the Step Pyramid of Djoser in 27th century BCE Egypt, is often called the first known architect in history. Black people have been building, shaping, and defining the built world for thousands of years. Racism may have tried to rewrite the story, but creating a better shared reality is in our DNA. Every time we design a home, a park, a cultural center, or a city plan, we are continuing a legacy that started before America even existed.

But Black students don’t see themselves in the story, so the result is predictable: they don’t see a viable path to “make a name” in the field. And those who do step into architecture school often face even deeper disconnections:

• The Math Disconnect – Architecture requires mathematical literacy, but math is often taught in ways that alienate, especially for those told early on they’re “not math people.” In reality, design math is about solving real-world problems (scale, structure, proportion) not just abstract formulas on a whiteboard. Yet many give up before they ever get to see that.

• The Money Disconnect – The cost of becoming an architect is steep. We are talking years of education, debt, and low salary internships, only for many to land in corporate firms designing door details they’ll never step through. True education should empower students to master their own destiny, not train them to become replaceable cogs who only “live” for the weekends.

• The Language Disconnect – Too many professors and professionals speak about architecture in overcomplicated, elitist jargon that turns away the very communities design should serve. Academic theory has its place, but architects must also be able to communicate empathically with owners, developers, city councils, and neighbors in plain language that builds trust and clarity.

  
  

The simpler we make design and construction concepts, the more people from all walks of life will see themselves in it. And once they see themselves, they’ll find their own lane whether that’s designing skyscrapers, restoring neighborhoods, or shaping the next generation of built environments. I’ve experienced these disconnections through others and within my own reality.

My Path Through the Maze

When I studied architecture at the University of Southern California, I was often one of the only Black faces in the studio. I felt the pressure of being both representative and invisible at the same time. While others could just “be students,” I carried the unspoken responsibility to prove I belonged, not just for me, but for every Black student who might come after.

Entrepreneurship became my way to bypass the closed doors. I built Guesscreative as both a design studio and a movement, merging architecture with business, branding, and cultural storytelling. That freedom allowed me to work on projects that would never have been “assigned” to me in traditional firms: modular housing for underserved communities, mobile business trailers that help entrepreneurs own their architecture, and award-winning wellness spaces that merge technology with healing.

I’m not just designing for clients; I’m designing to shift ownership, access, and cultural power. I'm shining a light for the belief in self.

Representation Matters, For Real

Highlighting Black architects and designers is not a token gesture, it’s survival for the profession. Visibility creates pathways. Stories of success light the way for future talent. I highly recommend that you take some time to research these individuals and look at their work.

Moses McKissack

The oldest known Black architect in America, an enslaved builder from West Africa whose skills laid the foundation for his grandchildren to found McKissack & McKissack, the first Black-owned architecture firm in the U.S.

Norma Merrick Sklarek

The first Black woman licensed in New York and California, who led massive projects like the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo.

Paul R. Williams

Known as the “Architect to the Stars,” Paul was the first African American member of the American Institute of Architects. He mastered drawing upside down so white clients wouldn’t feel uncomfortable sitting next to him.

Robert R. Taylor

MIT's First Black Graduate & the first accredited Black architect, who shaped Tuskegee’s campus and set the standard for design in Black education.

Julian Francis Abele

The first Black graduate of the University of Pennsylvania’s architecture program, who shaped icons like the Philadelphia Museum of Art and designed the entirety of Duke University’s West Campus.

Allison Grace Williams

A force in large-scale cultural projects, from museums to performance halls, blending art and community impact.

Robert T. Coles

A pioneer in prefabricated modular architecture who proved modular could be refined, enduring, and design-forward. His 1961 Buffalo home and studio, built from two prefabricated units in an L-shape, used post-and-beam construction, sliding glass doors, and site sensitivity decades before “sustainable” became an architectural buzzword.

Pioneers of Black Residential Architecture

While public buildings often draw the spotlight, residential projects have been a quiet but powerful front for Black architects, spaces where innovation met representation.

Vertner Woodson Tandy — Villa Lewaro

The first Black architect licensed in New York, best known for designing Villa Lewaro for Madam C.J. Walker in 1918. The 34-room Italianate mansion was a cultural beacon meant to inspire Black ambition and defy imposed limits.

John S. Chase — Texas Modernist Pioneer

Texas’ first Black licensed architect and the first Black American admitted to UT Austin’s School of Architecture. His 1959 Houston home broke convention with a central courtyard later enclosed into a soaring double-height space under a butterfly roof, blending modernism with social gathering at its heart.

Robert Kennard — Los Angeles Modernist

A postwar Los Angeles modernist whose 40+ residential designs brought clean-lined modern architecture into everyday neighborhoods. His Zeiger Residence earned Historic-Cultural Monument status, cementing his role in shaping L.A.’s modern identity.

Wendell Jerome Campbell — Chicago Innovator

A Chicago architect trained under Mies van der Rohe, translating International Style principles into residential and high-rise projects. His work in neighborhoods like Chatham merged global modernism with local context, making high design accessible.

Beverly Lorraine Greene

The first Black woman licensed as an architect in the U.S. (1942). Known for her principled stance, she resigned from a major Manhattan project after learning it would exclude Black residents, proving her belief that architecture must serve with integrity as well as beauty.

Why This Work Mattered, And Still Does

Residential architecture required more than design skill, it demanded direct client relationships, often in the face of racial discrimination. Many Black architects were forced to work under white “architects of record” whose names appeared on the drawings.

Yet, these homes often became monuments in themselves. Villa Lewaro was as a beacon of Black wealth and possibility, the Chase Residence as a reimagining of domestic life, and countless others as quiet acts of cultural affirmation.

These architects proved that residential architecture could be both a site of innovation and a tool of resistance, dignifying Black life while influencing the broader evolution of American domestic design.

The Next Era: Building as Liberation

Our ancestors built civilizations. Our pioneers built possibilities. Now it’s our turn to build freedom.

We need more than token hires. We need ownership. We need to build firms, not just résumés. We need to teach the next generation how to move from empathic design to empathic development. We need to teach them how to own the land, the plans, and the profits.

That means:

• Breaking the gatekeeping cycle by mentoring, funding, and opening access to architectural education and licensing.

• Redefining what counts as architecture - not just skyscrapers, homes, churches and museums, but pop-up markets, wellness trailers, pocket neighborhoods, modular housing, compounds and spaces that solve real community needs.

• Restoring our history so our kids know Imhotep’s name before they know Frank Lloyd Wright’s.

• Making design a cultural right, not a luxury.

I believe architecture is one of the most powerful tools for liberation we have left. It shapes where we gather, how we live, and how we see ourselves. When Black people can create our spaces, we can start to construct a better future.

The blueprint is already in our DNA.

Now, we build.

This is why The Movable Asset Advantage matters. It is a strategy for reclaiming space, wealth, and authorship in our own communities until we get the power, the resources and the collective to develop our communities.

https://www.ncarb.org/nbtn2024/demographics