Henry Skupniewicz

What is your career story? How did you get where you are today?

I always had a vague notion that I enjoyed art and was good at science, but I didn’t really know what architecture was as a career when I was younger. A big part of my decision to attend MIT came from CPW (Campus Preview Weekend). Seeing the different vibes of the student body, I realized MIT was a place where people didn’t take themselves too seriously but were serious enough about their work. That drove my decision to go there.

During freshman year, I took a seminar on Indian architecture taught by Deepti Nijhawan, who was the head of MISTI India at the time. Halfway through the semester, alumni funded a trip for the class to go to India over IAP. The experience left me with a vague but strong notion that there was something deeply interesting there. Over the next four years, I followed the standard architecture route but quickly realized I didn’t want to become an architect. However, I loved architecture, design, and helping others learn.

Around 2009-2010, the architecture department went through major upheaval, with senior faculty leaving or being asked not to return. I didn’t appreciate the direction the department was taking. It felt condescending to undergraduates, trying to force a program resembling a five-year architecture degree while missing the opportunity to embrace MIT’s interdisciplinary strengths. But on the other hand, one course introduced me to computational design, which changed my trajectory.

I got involved with computational design through Skylar Tibbits, Terry Knight, Larry Sass, and George Stiny, working alongside graduate and PhD students. The Media Lab also played a big role in shaping my interests. When I was nearing the end of my time at MIT, Deepti suggested I explore opportunities to combine my interests in computational design and fabrication. She said, “You’ve been to India, you’ve done computational design—why don’t you see if they’re setting up a fabrication lab in India? You can go through MISTI.” The Fab Lab team at the Center for Bits and Atoms connected me with someone in India, and MISTI facilitated my first year there.

That year was a journey of building relationships. I worked to set up a fabrication lab and started teaching at a major architecture university. Later, I got in touch with my current employer, initially to help them set up another fabrication lab. That connection evolved into a full-time role, and now I work for Godrej.

What’s unique about my journey is that I’ve never actually applied for a job in the traditional sense. My career has been shaped entirely by meeting people, building connections, and finding mutual interests. MIT and MISTI were central to this trajectory. For me, being a transplant to a new country and having the chance to work abroad through MISTI was life-changing. I wear my brass rat every day—not because it signifies intelligence but because it represents a pivotal juncture in my life.

MIT pushed me down a path that few people get to follow. I believe it’s so important to pursue what people are intrinsically meant to do. Movement—both physical and intellectual—is essential. People benefit from sharing ideas, adapting to new environments, and becoming changemakers in the cultures they engage with.

What were the biggest skills/mindsets/approaches you took away from your architecture education?

A big part of my professional and personal growth has been about interfacing with people, which feels like a continuation of what I learned in architecture. Whether it’s through my professional projects or personal pursuits—like working with fiber arts and computational design—I’ve carried forward the mindset of breaking down problems and thinking analytically about solutions. For example, I learned from George Stiny, who pioneered shape grammars, how formal systems can be applied to design as a tool for analysis and creativity.

One of the most impactful lessons from MIT wasn’t technical—it was personal. It’s less about specific skills, like software, and more about what I learned about myself and others along the way. There are foundational technical skills that are important, but I’ve found myself using computers less and less in my work. Honestly, 99% of core human needs can be designed with pen and paper.

At MIT, I came to appreciate that everyone is brilliant in some areas and completely clueless in others. I had this realization during my first PSETs, working with others. Some concepts came naturally to them, while I found I had strengths in others. That understanding—knowing that people have different types of intelligence—has stayed with me and shaped how I approach collaborations and problem-solving.

Another key lesson from MIT was about self-actualization and understanding your place in the world. The education system at MIT pushes you out of your comfort zone, offering opportunities to discover your values, your sense of responsibility to others, and how you want to carry yourself in the world. Living in B3rd, with no meal plan and a shared kitchen, was formative. I learned to budget, manage my time, and take care of myself—skills that are foundational to becoming an adult. That phase of life felt like being a baby learning to walk: awkward, full of stumbles, and figuring out how to use the “muscles” of self-management and interpersonal relationships.

The dorm system at MIT also played a critical role in shaping who I am. Living with the same people for four years, whether you loved or hated them, created a family unit. It taught me how to coexist with others, how to make a place your home, and how to manage the freedom and responsibilities that come with adulthood. Even though I’m not close with anyone from that time now, that sense of family and community was incredibly important to me during that period of my life.

Being part of the computational design stream was another pivotal experience. There were very few undergraduates, so I often found myself in classes alongside Master’s and PhD students who had years of experience. It’s easy in those situations to feel like you don’t know enough and should just stay quiet. But as undergrads, we could be a little ballsy. I realized I had something to contribute, even in those intimidating environments.

MIT granted me extraordinary opportunities and access, ones not everyone gets. That experience built my “muscle memory” for contributing to discussions with humility and an awareness of my biases and gaps in knowledge. It helped me navigate situations where hierarchies of privilege or authority are deeply ingrained—like in India—without being fearful of perceived “authority.”

What do you wish you had learned in your architecture education?

One thing I felt was missing was a curriculum that fully embraced the inherently interdisciplinary nature of the student body. There’s so much potential in leaning into highly specialized, personal programs that allow students to take design to the next level. However, the structure at the time didn’t always feel like it encouraged that kind of exploration.

In India, there’s a strong focus on the development context, which heavily influences discourse around design thinking. There’s a lot of emphasis on Silicon Valley-style startup culture and the idea that innovation and valorization of individual effort are the keys to success and change. At MIT, this mindset was present too—technology was often seen as an end in itself, with a tendency to celebrate the "wizard of technology" as the savior figure. But this perspective can be dangerous.

While engineering focuses on specifications and problem-solving, design’s real strength is in asking not just what needs to be done but how it can be done in a way that injects meaning. It’s about understanding the human condition and finding ways to create “delight”—in the words of  Vitruvius. This is crucial in a world where many architectural products are essentially the same. It’s no longer just about delivering a solution; it’s about brand differentiation and going beyond functionality to create something meaningful.

When teaching students, I often see a push toward novelty—adding quirks and eccentricities—but this can miss the mark. What’s really needed is teaching the art of meaning-making. This is paramount to creating designers who can stand out. But it’s not a simple or glamorous process. How do you balance cramming a handful of ideas into a project while ingesting countless "stupid" ideas to eventually arrive at something meaningful?

Take, for example, the tradition of a blacksmith’s apprenticeship: the first few years might be spent just chopping wood. It’s a repetitive and unremarkable experience, but it builds a foundation that’s invaluable. Unfortunately, you can’t market a school based on that kind of slow, foundational learning—but it’s essential nonetheless.

The more I study history and observe how spaces are inhabited—by myself and others—the more I appreciate how small, often unnoticed details in design can make a huge difference. These observations highlight the importance of understanding context and recognizing that many of the ideas we wrestle with have already been considered in some form before. This realization can reduce personal fear and ego—it’s freeing to acknowledge that, at the end of the day, a chair is a chair is a chair.

For example, a gaming chair is essentially just a car seat with wheels. This drive for novelty—creating things faster and easier—raises philosophical questions, particularly in relation to sustainability. These are questions that should be explored in school. Why do things need to be faster? Should architecture degrade over time? When things fall apart, they need to be replaced, which drives the economy.

Programs like MIT, IAAC (Barcelona), or ETH Zurich are so important because they contextualize these questions as academic exercises. They give students the space to explore, experiment, and ask these larger questions before entering the pressures of the professional world.

What’s something you hated learning about that you now love?

After completing my last math course at MIT, I called my mom and told her, "I never have to take another math course again!" At the time, I was thrilled to be done with it. But now, looking back, I wish I’d been able to take more.

I’ve found myself applying computational concepts in unexpected ways, especially in my work with physical computation practices and embroidery. For example, I’ve been creating a digital tool to represent knitting patterns, which is entirely rooted in graph theory. It’s all about understanding loops, how they connect, and the various actions involved. While I know enough about computation and computational design to get by, I often feel like I could benefit from a deeper understanding—especially in more niche, creative applications of math.

Within the architecture curriculum, I also developed a greater appreciation for woodworking and hand-crafting skills. I wish I had spent more time investing in those areas. Learning those skills takes time—literally training your muscles to work in specific ways—and it’s difficult to fit that kind of focused learning into a traditional curriculum.

One of my most memorable experiences at MIT was a class I took in partnership with Chuck Hoberman, exploring robotics. We worked on projects that connected mechanical systems with design, like reimagining the mechanics of the spiky collapsible ball toy many of us remember from childhood. That course gave me a new appreciation for the intersection of design and engineering, and it’s an approach I’ve carried forward ever since.

Knowing what you know now, would you do undergrad/grad differently?

I’m not entirely sure. By the end of my four years at MIT, I felt like I was just getting started, like the engine was finally firing on all cylinders. It’s hard to say whether that’s something that could have been different. At times, I wish my experience had gone slower so I could absorb more, but at other moments, I wanted it to speed up.

What advice do you have for students starting out in design?

If you take a step back, design is really about learning general skills—how to interpret data, how to work with people, and how to solve problems. These skills are incredibly useful across a wide range of industries, not just architecture.

The idea that you have to follow a specific path—like going into academia or joining a major architecture firm—feels less realistic when you look at the actual work involved. For instance, at a big architecture firm, you might start as an intern picking out doorknobs for a massive hospital project where everything is dictated by building codes. Definitely not the idealized version of practice as imagined at architecture school.

Alternatively, you could become someone like an LGO—a translator between the people on the ground and those making products—or work in government shaping policies. The key is identifying the core things that make you tick. Architecture is just a starting point, and from there, you can find jobs and opportunities that align with your interests.

For me, I realized that I love talking about design and helping others figure out how to use it. Teaching became a natural extension of that. I remember spending hours discussing my friend’s project, completely ignoring my own, and realizing that those conversations brought me more joy. That led me to teaching at CEPT University for several years.