When Berkeley, California, residents Fran and her husband, Chris, first contacted architect Erick Mikiten, they were facing the difficult choice of either selling their beloved home or pursuing extensive remodeling to include the addition of an elevator. If they were going to hang onto their century-old Craftsman-inspired residence in the Berkeley Hills, it would need to better accommodate Fran, whose multiple sclerosis was severely limiting her mobility.

Now three years after a remodel by Mikiten, they have no regrets: “Erick’s ideas were radically different than the other architects we consulted because he didn’t separate accessibility from the overall design,” says Fran. “Our home now far exceeds anything we could have imagined.”

The Berkeley architect is uniquely qualified when it comes to universal design, an approach to creating places that considers the needs of everyone—regardless of age, size, or physical and cognitive ability. For more than three decades, he’s been building a diverse portfolio of residential, commercial, and multifamily projects, including much-needed local affordable housing. And he’s been navigating it all from the vantage of his wheelchair.

In fact, it was his disability that steered him toward design, he says. Osteogenesis imperfecta causes bones to easily fracture or break, so Mikiten spent a lot of time during childhood convalescing at home, contemplating and making drawings of the physical spaces he occupied.

Today, even though it’s been 33 years since the legislation of the Americans with Disabilities Act, introduced just a year before he established his practice, the architect still sees plenty of room for improvement in his industry. And he is determined to fill that space.

“The profession is still falling into a set of assumptions that often make accessible solutions not great architectural solutions,” says Mikiten. “We see solutions that don’t accept the duality of accessibility and artistic design; we see lots of ‘either-or’ solutions. I’m here to change that.”

Recently, he started a new design firm, The Art of Access, as a vehicle to “advocate for radical levels of UD,” as he says, and showcase how accessibility and aesthetics are by no means incompatible.

Over a video call with Mikiten, we discussed his approach to the Berkeley project, as well as current industry challenges and opportunities around universal design, the Boomer-driven demand for “aging-in-place,” and multigenerational housing.

Dwell: Let’s start with the project. When did the clients approach you and what were the circumstances?

Erick Mikiten: The clients bought the house in 2000 while in their 40s. Fran was diagnosed with MS while they were in escrow, but they went forward, settled into the neighborhood, made friends, and never wanted to leave. The house has served them beautifully for 18 years and was where they raised their son. But as the MS progressed, the 22 steps from the street and the three flights of stairs inside turned the house from friend to foe. When they first reached out to me, Fran called it her “castle prison.”

The financial investment, of course, was a big decision for them. The alternative was to move, but that would also incur expenses, including a big increase in property taxes, and most likely require some sort of accessibility remodel in the next house. It cost a bit more to stay, but leaving the house they loved felt like giving in to the disease, so they embraced moving forward with the project. Over the first six months of design and permitting, Fran’s condition accelerated, preventing lunches out with friends, shopping trips, and almost everything else. And she was feeling increasingly isolated.

Other architects she spoke to before coming to us had proposed a corner elevator connecting the garage to the three levels above. But both proposals were for a windowless silo that would block existing windows; a Band-Aid approach that forgot about design.

We took a more holistic one, considering the entire house, and asking about the owners’ lifestyle. We learned about Fourth of July fireworks-watching parties from their high perch, and about the abrupt feeling of entry on the existing too-flat wall. We also learned they anticipated a caregiver in the future, but wanted to maintain their private space.

“We have to stop thinking about universal design as being for a particular population, because it holds the key to doing better design that is more convenient, more comfortable, and more flexible for everyone.”

OK, so how did you approach the remodel? What did you do?

There are a lot of steps up the steep hill from the sidewalk to the front door. We had to close that vertical gap, but also the horizontal gap between the sidewalk and the front of the house. We did that by tunneling back into the hillside from the garage, while bringing the façade of the house forward. Once we had those two things stacked, we could drop an elevator shaft through to connect the four levels.

But rather than just grafting on an elevator shaft, we incorporated it into a larger addition, creating friendly nooks on the two upper floors and an exterior shape that, combined with a new arbor, produced a better overall entry experience. Inside, the nooks on the third and fourth floors actually make these rooms a lot more interesting than they were before. And when you’re using the elevator you feel like you’re entering and exiting a foyer rather than abruptly entering the space. We also created bookshelves on the elevator walls outside the nooks, which very effectively disguise the blank walls, and make the whole design feel more intentional.

For a future live-in caregiver, we turned the laundry space into an in-law unit, which also allowed the clients’ college-age son to have a separate space during Covid and provides flexibility going forward. We also rearranged the small primary bathroom, without moving walls, to make a wheelchair-friendly space that didn’t eat into adjacent rooms.

How did your own disability inform your perspective with this project and how does it inform your practice?

You know, dealing with other people’s reactions can be tiring for a person with a disability. When a doorway is too narrow or a check-out counter too high, I can feel the awkward stares of the people around me. Should they offer help? Pretend not to notice? Or wait for a cue from me? (Yes, that’s the right answer!) How much better to have spaces that function elegantly to begin with?

As a wheelchair-riding kid, it felt like disability was about me. Over time, I’ve seen that it is about everyone. We all have things we can and cannot do, and we all go through changes, some temporary, and some long lasting. Building spaces that fit only one condition is like filling your closet with the clothes that you wore in high school, and commanding them to fit. It doesn’t work, and acknowledging that at the outset preserves freedom in the future.

With this project, the two other architects the client spoke with both suggested the elevator in the same logical location we did. But they had sketched a blank shaft on the facade—a minimalist appendage with a roof that looked like a rocket ready for takeoff. This highlights the two problems with most accessibility solutions: they either let aesthetic design lead, compromising functionality along the way; or they are made so functional that they fail to inspire. If the client had abandoned their house to find a more accessible one, it would have felt like a surrender to the disease. But accepting a harsh addition—that’s obviously an elevator shaft—would have been an unfortunate concession as well.

So, I think my own lived experience and my professional experience enable me to see possibilities where others don’t.

I can only imagine adding an elevator is expensive. How do you keep costs within budget when incorporating something like this?

There can definitely be extra costs but much of universal design can be achieved through planning ahead and making smart choices that don’t necessarily cost more. That might be something big like deciding to give an extra foot or two to a bathroom rather than a living room, to ensure easy maneuvering, or something as detailed as choosing shower controls, cabinet pulls, and smart home features that work better for people with less dexterity.

How would you describe universal design? What are among the most common considerations?

Universal design is an idea in architecture, web design, product design, and other disciplines often described as that which accommodates a wide range of disabilities. But I think the approach means you’re thinking more deeply about as many current and future needs as possible. As architects, we have to stop thinking about universal design as being for a particular population, because it holds the key to doing better design that is more convenient, more comfortable, and more flexible for everyone.

Many clients come to me because my lived experience can help them create spaces that work better for them long-term, whether they’re responding to mobility issues from an accident or a disease diagnosis, or maybe they’re combining households with an aging parent. We have detailed conversations about those issues, which include things like reach ranges, health issues, and physical family needs, among others.

But clients are often surprised that we also talk about things like art that’s important to them, places they’ve visited that meant something special, and finding three adjectives to guide the design process. They’re surprised that those discussions about artistic, sculptural design can coexist with accessibility discussions, but I can’t separate the two; together they create a full architecture of convenience, comfort, and artistic joy.

“Why is a staircase a design opportunity while a ramp is an afterthought?”

Can you talk about the perception that there are design trade-offs when incorporating UD principles? How do you see your professional peers dealing with these kinds of issues?

An overwhelming percentage of the perceived trade-offs are because people come up with a design first, then they try to make it accessible. If you’re designing a home, and the first line you draw is informed by the needs of a client—something as simple as getting to a no-step entry—then you’ve baked in accessibility, rather than designing the house and then adding ramps after the fact. For too long, the industry has treated accessibility as a set of code requirements, but we all understand that architecture is so much more than that. Why is a staircase a design opportunity while a ramp is an afterthought?

Creating practical ‘usability’ in service of the client’s physical needs is as important as creating beauty and architectural excitement in service of their metaphysical needs. The architecture profession has largely embraced the ADA, but compliance with it is viewed as an add-on to the design work, not integral to it. And more importantly, it’s viewed as a ceiling, whereas I see it as the floor from which we need to build more accessibility and more inclusion.

The Census Bureau projects that by the year 2034, older adults will outnumber children for the first time in U.S. history. Are attitudes shifting given that the Boomer Generation—more than 70 million people—has been driving demand for “aging-in-place,” subsequent generations may be more open to changing norms and multigenerational housing is becoming more common?

The phrase “aging-in-place” has finally taken hold in the national discussion about homes, and homeowners are realizing its importance. There are three big factors at play that are making people think differently about their homes. First, soaring home costs are making people hold onto their homes longer and think about whether it’s going to work for them as they get older. Second, those housing costs are making families contract—grown children are having more trouble affording their own homes and older parents are moving in with their middle-aged children due to both housing expenses and health changes. Third, the popularity of ADUs [accessory dwelling units] is shaking up how people look at their properties, realizing that the usefulness of the property they already own can be expanded in new ways to deal with the first two factors.

Over the past 30 years of our practice, many clients seeking universal design services were middle-aged homeowners looking to renovate their homes to accommodate an elderly parent requiring more support with daily tasks. Often, these homeowners felt a sense of urgency due to their parent's declining health. These projects were often stressful, with people feeling like they waited too long to make their home work well for their parents, whether it’s finishing out a basement space, adding on a bedroom and bathroom, or creating a new home that works for two or three generations’ needs.

But in the last five to ten years we’ve seen a shift in mindset. More people are planning ahead instead of just reacting to a crisis. They’re considering not only aging parents but also the challenging costs of housing for their adult children.

With more awareness of ADUs, people are realizing that attached or freestanding small homes in their backyards can provide flexibility while their kids are trying to enter the housing market, but these ADUs can be a place they can downsize into, handing the “big house” over to their kids’ growing families. This provides an amazing pressure relief for everyone.

I often emphasize that flexibility is core to UD; every element that’s designed, or every product or fixture chosen, should be flexible enough to be used comfortably by someone who’s short or tall; someone who’s got good hand strength or has low dexterity; someone who’s got 20/20 vision or has macular degeneration or is colorblind. This concept of flexibility extends to thinking about who might reside in the home at different stages of life.

All of that has led to a ‘normalization’ of the idea of aging-in-place and having a home that works great even when your body might not.

But I’m also seeing an upswell of expectations about inclusion coming from 20- and 30-somethings, especially with my tech workplace clients. They helped usher in gender-neutral restrooms in their buildings starting five or six years ago out of a sense of social responsibility for equality. Whenever I’d talk to them about expanding inclusiveness into the rest of their offices, they immediately embrace the idea, say “of course,” and start asking me why the ADA doesn’t go further. Even ten years ago, these conversations were always an uphill battle for my advocacy, but I am definitely seeing that change.

I want to see the same shifts in expectations for aging-in-place and accessibility for single family homes, but also for museums, libraries, community centers, stadiums, and every other building type. That kind of built world will be extraordinary for us all, throughout our lives.

Related Reading:

9 Inspiring Accessible Homes That Champion Inclusive Design

Accessibility Is Only the Beginning—Architecture Needs to Embrace the Full Range of Human Abilities