My architectural journey
Specific knowledge and storytelling in architecture
A personal reflection by Nikolas Strugar
I wanted to be an architect since I was 6 years old. Every weekend I would analyse the house plans on a flyer that came with the Sunday paper—not the best exemplars of architecture, I know. But I would study these intently, assessing how the kitchen and living spaces related to each other, understanding how bedrooms and bathrooms were clustered, figuring out the circulation paths.
In early primary school I began designing theme parks, bird aviaries and my own homes, drafting 1:100 scale floor plans. No one taught me how to do this; it was just an innate understanding born from my observations.
My drafting skills for a pre-teen were pretty good, but the designs weren’t great. The houses often comprised large ballrooms and ornate bay windows. It would be many more years before I was exposed to the creative problem-solving aspects of architecture and a chance to hone my aesthetic sensibilities.
But I had an affinity with how spaces worked and felt. There was an interest in shaping the way people might live in a house.
In school I was focused on my desire to become an architect. I took Physics, Maths B and C, Graphics and Fine Art, to develop my technical and creative skills to become the best architect there was.
One of my earliest house designs
I had an affinity with how spaces worked and felt; an interest in shaping the way people live in a house
From education to practice
I started my Bachelor of Architecture at the University of Queensland the year after high school and was opened to a world of great ideas and buildings, but also the great potential of architecture to enrich our lives.
I received the John Black Award for the highest GPA in the first three semesters across all degrees at UQ and was awarded the Board of Architects Prize twice—for the highest-ranking student in undergrad and again in my Master’s. These accolades felt like affirmations of my path, reinforcing my commitment to architecture and the journey I was on.
I graduated my Master of Architecture and went into practice, expanding my interests in private and multi-residential housing, public architecture and urban planning, always grappling with questions of sustainability, density, affordability, social equity, and the role that architecture plays in shaping our cities.
But throughout my time at school, university and in practice, I developed interests in many other creative areas.
I discovered a deep love of music. My obsessions with rock bands went thus: R.E.M.; John Butler Trio; You Am I; Red Hot Chili Peppers; John Frusciante; The Mars Volta; and Tool. Along the way my interests grew into other genres, Baroque era classical, mid-century Avant Garde, contemporary and minimalist classical and jazz, progressive metal and ambient electronic.
2nd Year Architecture project: Woolloongabba Library section, Nik playing live with Crow Do Not Loiter Here
I realised that what I was really interested in was production—pulling together ideas and concepts and making sense of them in a creative and innovative way
My attention then turned to writing and playing my own music. I played in a number of bands, including an ambient minimalist noise duo with Nicholas Skepper from Zuzana And Nicholas, called Please Deface This Artwork, and my own passion project Crow Do Not Loiter Here, an instrumental progressive rock epic.
I was obsessed with gear and musical instruments. Tinkering with guitar pedals and synths, building my own electronics. I loved the process of writing, recording, and mixing music. Endless nights of perfecting phrases, layering parts and building up textures in a mix.
I had some chops on the guitar and bass, and loved the energy and spontaneity of live performance. But I realised that what I was really interested in was production—pulling together thoughts, ideas and concepts and making sense of them in a creative and innovative way.
So, whilst working in architectural practice, I started Ravens At Odds and went in search of multidisciplinary projects. I delved into graphic design where I became fixated on layouts and flow of visual information. Web development allowed me to scratch a nerdy itch as I learnt how to code and solve creative problems via a technical interface.
Branding and marketing offered me the chance to understand message and communication as the paint and palette of an artist. I even acquired a timber workshop and started making minimalist timber vases, another endeavour that married a set of technical skills with a creative outcome.
I began to travel and lived in Europe for a few years, first in Slovenija, then in Ireland. Photography became a way to distil an idea, a feeling, or an impression of my travels, into a simple image.
Storytelling—my specific knowledge
My ability to dive deep into things is what really allowed me to figure out the essence of an action, and develop strengths and master various crafts. I’m good at drilling down to detail, repeating and perfecting things. This is what Naval Ravikant calls specific knowledge—knowledge that is specialised to a person and can’t be taught, rather it can only be learned by pursuing things through your own curiosity.
Eventually my curious nature and pursuit of the creative journey led me to filmmaking. I decided I would make films about architecture. It felt logical: a way to bring together my knowledge and love of architecture and design with the craft of production.
Translating complex ideas into clear, understandable concepts, is something I have a knack for. Absorbing information, deconstructing it, and then reassembling it into something that resonates—whether visually, verbally, or through the medium of film, is my specific knowledge.
Reflecting in recent years, I’ve come to realise that what I love most about the creative process is storytelling.
When I was very young, I did this by writing and performing plays with stuffed animals. I built a Lego city with characters who had personalities and relationships that intertwined with a fictitious town. (It was loosely based on Baywatch and Los Angeles, despite having never been to the US at that point.)
In school, storytelling manifested in scripts for puppet shows and comedic drama performances. This evolved through my personal journey and challenges, expressed through music—sometimes with lyrics, but more often through instrumental pieces where the instrumentation, tone, and texture conveyed feelings and emotions.
Translating complex ideas into something that resonates—whether visually, verbally, or through the medium of film, is my specific knowledge.
In architecture, storytelling initially presented as a way of communication; constructional ideas through technical drawings, or describing building program through diagrams.
It felt natural to combine these various storytelling modalities with an interdisciplinary Master’s thesis titled “Noise: Sound in Spatial Experience.” I used film as a proxy to explore the relationship between sound and how we experience space—not necessarily in grand gestures like auditoria or galleries, but in our everyday experience of architecture and the built environment.
This led to many multi-modal sound and visual installations and experiments, both as a student of architecture and as a musician. They were all ways of figuring out how we relate to our inner and outer worlds, and the people and spaces around us.
Filmmaking and architecture
I recently listened to a podcast with professional mentor and sports mindset coach Ben Crowe. It helped crystalise my thinking around storytelling—what I do is make videos, but the why, the reason, is storytelling.
I want to inspire and educate others by telling stories about architecture, people and place.
In a recent conversation with architect and friend Andrew Forsyth of Aphora Architecture, he put his own ideas around story rather eloquently: “Storytelling is as old as humankind. It’s an important part of who we are and how we dream. Architecture is storytelling in the form of built environment.”
Making films about architecture is an act in which we tell stories about the intangible nature of space: the emotive essence and sensory experience of a building or place. It’s about how spaces feel and the way they make us feel.
My journey with Ravens At Odds is one of continual growth, deepening my specific knowledge and refining my craft. My aim is to tell stories that are meaningful and inspire change—stories that capture the essence of spaces and the people who inhabit them.
Through this work, I hope to not only contribute to the world of architecture but to use storytelling as a tool for creating a more thoughtful, connected, and ultimately better world.
—Nik
Photo by Anthony Lazaro