John Sugden (1922-2003) was one of the most important Utah architects of the 20th century. Born in Chicago in 1922, he studied at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) under the legendary Mies van der Rohe, and worked at Mies's firm from 1945 to 1952 before moving to Utah.

For those who may not be familiar, Mies is a big deal in the architectural community. Some of his most noteworthy projects include the Farnsworth House (which hosted a 100th anniversary collaboration between Braun and the late Virgil Abloh in 2021); the Barcelona Pavilion (and its accompanying chair); Crown Hall at IIT (which is high on my list of buildings to visit); the Seagram Building in New York; and, of course, the Toronto-Dominion Centre complex.

Sugden moved to Utah in 1952. He would then spend the rest of his career defining what the International Style — a major architectural movement that dominated modernism from the 1920s to the 1970s — could be in a mountain context, while educating the next generation of architects at the University of Utah's Graduate School of Architecture.

His first major project in Utah was a house for his mother: the Roberta Sugden House in Salt Lake City (1955). It is a classic steel-and-glass structure that takes obvious cues from the Farnsworth House but that was adapted to the Utah landscape. Today, it remains an icon of Mid-Century Modernism in the city.

His own home and studio followed in 1984. Referred to as "The Glass Cube," or the Mountain House Studio, it is located in Park City (just down the street from Parkview Mountain House in Summit Park). A perfect 33 x 33 x 33 foot cube, the home marks an important turning point for architecture and design in the area.

By the 1980s, modernism had entered into a mid-life crisis in urban settings. Architects and designers were beginning to reject its austerity and lack of ornamentation in favor of a new movement: Postmodernism.

But in the Wasatch Mountains, and outside of perhaps only Aspen, the International Style had yet to truly make its mark. Mountain homes simply did not look like this; they were heavy and rustic, and they had gabled roofs. Sugden changed that. His home/studio was the opposite of this: light, transparent, flat-roofed, and industrial in its orientation.

It's also worth mentioning that the construction of the Glass Cube roughly aligns with the rebirth of Park City. By the early 1950s, it was a dying ghost town in the mountains. Many of the silver mines that had made it a wealthy place at the end of the 19th century had already shuttered, and the city was without an economic purpose.

The first ski operations opened in 1963 under the banner of Treasure Mountain Resort. However, it was a makeshift operation, and it would not be until 1971 that Aspen-developer Edgar Stern would acquire Treasure and transform it into Park City Mountain Resort.

By 1974, he had successfully lured the US Alpine Ski Team to the city. And by 1981, he had moved on to even grander ambitions with the opening of his latest project down the street: Deer Valley Resort. It was also around this time (1982) that Toronto-based Noranda stopped all work and closed the last mining operations in the city.

Then came Sugden's modernist Glass Cube in 1984.

Today, the Summit Park area is filled with countless new and under-construction modern homes, designed by award-winning firms such as Klima Architecture and Brach Design. No two homes are the same, and there's a palpable willingness to experiment. It feels like an architectural playground, and I like to think that it all started with John Sugden's simple glass cube.

I sometimes joke that one of my part-time jobs is charging devices, and so I love that the world has shifted to USB-C as the standard for wired charging. It's trendy to criticize the EU for over-regulating things, but this is one area where I'm glad they stepped in and forced everyone, including Apple, to get on board.

Phones, tablets, and laptops basically have 100% adoption at this point, and adoption is similarly high for other small appliances, electronics, and even airplane seats. All of this means having to carry around fewer cables, which is especially helpful when traveling.

At Parkview Mountain House, we equipped the main workspace area and kitchen with USB-C outlets, though we also included USB-A for legacy reasons. It's good for that electric toothbrush. But I know we're going to need many more USB-C outlets in the coming years.

On that note, I just discovered a cool Swedish company called Cords that makes beautiful, high-quality cables, chargers, and extenders. They also have a partnership program for architects, interior designers, and retailers if any of you are interested.

Sadly, though, they're a Swedish company and I think all of their devices use a Type C European wall plug. Otherwise, I'd be getting one of the cylindrical chargers shown above.

There are about 15 electrical plug types currently in use around the world. I can't see these being standardized anytime soon, but I do think that we'll see household outlets reach something close to a 50/50 split between standard and USB-C outlets. Already, I feel we should have installed more at PMH.

USB-C doesn't allow for enough power for bigger appliances, so it's not going to be for everything. But for any device that could run off a USB-C port, I don't know why it wouldn't eventually switch. If you aren't already thinking about this in your new-build projects, it wouldn't be a bad idea to start planning for it.

That is, until we've figured out a viable wireless charging solution. This is why USB-C is sometimes referred to as the "final connector." It's probably the last wired connector before we get rid of wired altogether.

Photos from Cords

The Stahl House — also known as Case Study House #22 — is up for sale in Los Angeles.

Even if you don't know this house by name, I'm sure you've seen Julius Shulman's iconic photograph from 1960 showing two women sitting in a corner of the house. It is widely credited with turning the house into one of the city's most recognizable landmarks.

Buck and Carlotta Stahl are the original owners. They purchased the steep lot for US$13,000 in 1954 (equal to about $157,000 today). This was a large sum of money at the time, especially for a lot that was thought to be unbuildable by many architects.

Designed by architect Pierre Koenig, the house was built as part of Arts & Architecture magazine's Case Study program, hence the name. The intent of the program was to come up with templated responses for an expected housing shortage following the Great Depression and World War II.

When the program launched, it stated that "each house must be capable of duplication and in no sense be an individual performance," and that "the overall program will be general enough to be of practical assistance to the average American in search of a home in which he can afford to live."

Sound familiar?

The program also secured material donations from the building industry in an effort to make the prototypes as low-cost and repeatable as possible. Ironically, the house became the exact opposite: It became a singular icon of Los Angeles, used in movies, for fashion shoots, and as a general backdrop for a modernist city.

And today, after 65 years of stewardship under the original owners, the house is on the market for US$25,000,000. This works out to nearly US$11,400 per square foot of interior space.

When I first saw the list price I immediately thought to myself, "Interesting, I wonder how much of this price is being attributed to the real estate and how much of it is being attributed to its status as an icon and piece of art."

I don't know the LA market very well, so I asked Gemini 3. What it told me is that comparable high-end homes in this area with pools and luxury views often trade for around $2,000 psf. That would put this real estate at around $4.4 million.

If this is accurate (correct me if I'm wrong, LA people), it means that something like 80% of its list price is being derived from its "brand." Not bad for a case study house built with low-cost subsidized materials.

The other possible consideration is that people really like to photograph and film this house. And so there's also a potential income stream associated with buying it. Assuming that continues (and AI doesn't replace the need for physical shoot locations), then we'd also have to capitalize this income.

In this case, the house would have three value components to it: real estate value, art/brand value, and rental income value derived from movies and shoots. Is that equal to $25 million? I don't know, but the market should tell us soon enough.

Cover photo by Julius Shulman