The Artists: Rocks in the Glass House

Ascending the bends of Bellevue Drive towards the Glass House up near the reach of the Flatirons, the phrase “big guy upstairs” became a touchstone of my conversation with Matt McMullan, award-winning architect and designer of the Glass House. Having the rare opportunity to see the marvel of a home constructed of stone and glass up against the angled peaks of the Flatirons giving view to all of downtown Boulder was edifying to say the least. One couldn’t help but feel like Batman in the Watchtower of DC’s Justice League or Zeus on Mount Olympus. The sensation was somehow simultaneously empowering and humbling. McMullan’s personal belief is that everyone deserves shelter, a place that is transformative.

You get a chance to understand this perspective if you align yourself from the house of glass nearing Boulder’s highest peak, you could glimpse the Boulder Shelter for the Homeless on the other side of town. Both buildings are of his design, and between these two buildings, we can get the scope of McMullan’s beliefs and how they could help the city stop an incoming crisis before it starts.

Designs for an aging place

Much has been written about the Glass House. It was even covered by Yellow Scene over a decade ago. A testament to its lasting power, the house has been owned by two families. The hope for the next owners is that they share the same feelings of reverence for the space. According to McMullan, everyone involved wants to make sure the space is truly cared for.

Development of the Glass House is rooted in the idea of familial love. McMullan’s drafts laid the groundwork in a web of inspiration emblematic of dichotomy within the idea of livable art. For instance, the house features an elevator not for the sake of having gaudy features, but because McMullan wanted the space to be an aging house, meaning the place is somewhere people can grow old. Using the elevator removes the need to climb stairs and eases the wear on an aged body.Experiencing McMullan’s livable art was most notable standing behind the chunk of stone inside the house set between the kitchen and the dining room. The stone faces an even bigger stone placed above a koi pond just outside the glass walls. Both are aligned with a mountain peak and, if one stands at the correct angle, one can feel the connection to the surroundings almost as if you’re looking at the rock growing into the peaks of the Flatirons themselves. Or, as McMullan puts it, “Baby rock, Mama rock, and Daddy rock.”

Being inside but still connected to the mountain is a unique feature to this particular piece of architecture. As McMullan likens the house to a “glass tent” with much of the design inspired by aspects of nature — the master bedroom referred to as a “quail’s nest” — anyone who visits can feel in harmony with the environment. “You’re a visitor, and yet you’re communing with nature.” McMullan also said about the space, “You can show it off at parties, but if you want to walk around in your jammies and house shoes, you still feel comfortable doing that. Within the overall composition, there are places where you can hunker down. It’s about livability and beauty.”

Shelter from the other side

For about as long as the Glass House has been standing, the Boulder Shelter for the Homeless has been too. With McMullan as the designer of both, the two are connected by divine synchronicity perhaps invoked by the “big guy upstairs.”

When the initial idea for the homeless shelter failed — originally pitched to be located where New Vista High School now stands — McMullan was called upon to resurrect the project. “Both of them were happening at the same time which, to me, was a very strange dichotomy between that house for basically two people, then doing something for 160 people.” He continued the comparison, “overnight sheltering for people who are just coming in off the streets to people who are in their transitional program, which was where you wanted to get clean, sober, get their life back on track, which, to me, was like the big guy upstairs saying, ‘Hey, you’re doing these two completely different things. One is creating this beautiful, livable work of art for these folks who have the means to do it. And another one that will live on beyond you and will touch hundreds, thousands of lives.’ And, yet, both have to be transformative.”

Shelter and dignity. Everyone deserves the right to a home or shelter that promotes dignity and respect, inspires them, and allows them to transform their lives. Especially with the homeless shelter, gives them the ability to transform their lives to get them to where they want to be.”

To that point, the shelter was built with the idea of safe space. There are spaces to sleep and congregate with a great view of the mountains. The windows are tinted to allow for a more colorful view of the world. For those occupants who may be averse to the closeness of the communal spaces, the atrium was designed as a “release of space,” letting those who want to be alone get the distance they need.

McMullan shared a story validating the importance of shelter and timing: “We had the shelter completely finished, and there was supposed to be this brutal snowstorm, and we didn’t have our elevator permit. You can’t get a certificate of occupancy to open the building until you get your elevator permit. I called the inspector, and he said, “I’m not going to be able to make it.” So, I called the public works director for the city of Boulder. After a brief discussion on the situation, she called right back, “The inspector will be there between three and four.”

McMullan was inspecting the shelter that night, ensuring that things were running the way they needed, when he ran into a man whose whole body was lousy with ice and snow: army jacket, long hair, matching beard, everything. McMullan checked in on him and asked, “Hey man. Are you okay?” The man shared that he had heard of the shelter’s opening as he was hitchhiking through western Kansas and eastern Colorado before running into the fortune of a trucker’s grace that allowed him to hitch a ride to town. If the shelter hadn’t been opened that night, the man wouldn’t have had a lot of options.

Navigating the trail

Long before McMullan discovered a love of architecture, he was a runner for University of Colorado Boulder. He still loves running — having full knowledge of the landscape, the bumps and hills, when to push past the congestion on a curve, all while enduring the elements. The bends in a racing trail place the runners into a squeeze. They must navigate the congestion, getting caught in the clutch of runners drags their time down. McMullan’s approach to competitive racing applies to how he approaches life. “You have to figure out the dynamics of that race. Am I going to go hard and burn all the people off me? It’s the same thing here. You have to figure the ultimate goal is to get to the finish line and have it be a success.”

McMullan believes his most special trait is a kind of foresight. He looks at how his gift as an architect will be needed in the future. The next thing he sees coming around the curve is a cause for concern for those with intellectual and developmental disabilities and their caretakers. He believes if nothing is done to help, the issue could become a major point of stress for the housing crisis. He called the solution to this incoming problem his big I/DDea.

The data buttresses the validity of McMullan’s assertion that this is a problem that will grow in the future. Helpers Community, a non-profit that advocates for individuals with developmental disabilities, states that “one in six, or about 17% of children aged 3 to 17 years old have one or more developmental disabilities.”

Further, a report written in 2022 by ECONorthwest indicates: “It is likely that more than 37,000 adults in Washington State are facing housing insecurity,” and that “housing unit production specifically for adults with IDD declined during the 2010s to levels well below those of the 1900s and 2000s.”

The Arc, a 501(c)(3) organization that advocates for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, also raised concerns about this issue. Between Colorado’s looming housing crisis  and the number of people living with IDD, one can clearly see the housing threat that McMullan hopes to thwart. The big I/DDea aims to provide affordable housing for both those enduring the condition and their caretakers.

“It’s the big I/DDea. So, we’re initially going to start in the Denver metro area, but I’d love for this to become a national thing where I put together a group or template. We can create this in multiple states, become a national network.”

Harnessing the power of the future

One of the tools that McMullan is excited to master is artificial intelligence. He sees AI the same as any rising technological advancement: “You either get with it, or you get crushed by it. Same way that there’s been a technological breakthrough. I still know people who hand draft. I already run AI tools where I can come in what would normally take me six to eight weeks to figure out [the solution], like, in three days.”

He likens the challenge along the path to mastery to the character George Bailey from “It’s a Wonderful Life” and his claim to lasso the moon. McMullan sees tremendous potential in the technology. He plans to use AI to create large language models. These models would essentially create an active database that would aid in the IDD housing project by allowing him a better understanding of a specific issue. He could then use that information to create a space that caters to a person’s needs. When the model is complete, he would no longer need to find the foremost expert on certain developmental conditions, sit them down, and ask them about varying degrees of the condition when creating a space for that person. Instead, he’ll just go to his model which will have access to that person’s work. All the information will be there, and the expert will still receive credit.

The grand design held together

The recent snow reminded me of an anecdote McMullan shared about standing in the center of a storm. The Glass House staircase leads up from the dining room to the floor with the master bedroom encased in glass. The platform where the stairs meet is also made of glass and juts over a koi pond. Everything is completely visible, so when a flurry of snow is pelted and whipped across the sturdy glass, one could stand at the center of the most furious expressions of Mother Nature’s power and admire it safely.

This anecdote about standing in the center of the storm embodies the power of safe and secure refuge. However, considering he also designed the homeless shelter, one can’t help but think of the other side of that glass, being stuck just outside. McMullan revealed it was the death of a veteran caught out in a snowstorm that roused a nun to rally the community around the need for a shelter in the first place. The act is reminiscent of the James Baldwin quote, “The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people. Walk down the street of any city, any afternoon, and look around you. What you’ve got to remember is what you’re looking at is also you. Everyone you’re looking at is also you. You could be that person.”

McMullan’s drive and beliefs may very well make him one of those people: “People will say, ‘Are you retired?’ No, I’m just tired. I work seven days a week, man. And, if I’m not working, I’m thinking about work.” The “big guy upstairs” hit up McMullan with the I/DDea concept at 2 a.m. one night. McMullan answered, forcing himself out of bed to his desk where he began to lay down the bones of the project. With any luck, it will be as successful as his previous ventures. A whole lot of people will be better for it.