Your path to architecture is a bit unconventional, beginning with a degree in Biology and Environmental Studies at Penn before earning your Master of Architecture at Yale. What prompted this change in career path, and do you see the two as connected?

I've always been drawn to ecological systems and the way living things interact with their environments. I’ve also always loved building things: forts, treehouses, and go-karts. Studying biology and environmental science gave me a foundational understanding of ecology, material cycles, and systems thinking. Architecture, to me, isn’t a departure from that—it's an extension of it.

I discovered architecture indirectly. As an undergraduate Biology Major at Penn, I was selected to participate in a summer Tropical Ecology research program in Panama. Before meeting my colleagues in Panama City, I spent almost three weeks traveling alone in Costa Rica. I spent a few nights at a pensión in Monteverde with a group of architecture students who were designing and constructing a passive one-room schoolhouse with a local community. They needed help, and I offered to spend a few days doing what I could do. When I returned to Philadelphia, despite some amazing field research experiences, I couldn’t stop thinking about the architecture students. I began enrolling in architecture and design courses. Before long, I realized that this was something I wanted to do.

The built environment is one of the most powerful levers we have for shaping human experience and environmental health; moving into architecture felt like a natural step. At Yale, I began seeing buildings not as isolated, static objects, but as dynamic organisms embedded in social, cultural, and ecological ecosystems. That cross-disciplinary lens continues to drive how we approach sustainability, material performance, and contextual design at DIGSAU every single day.

 

The Study at Johns Hopkins occupies a building that has lived many lives. As someone who helped bring it into its next chapter, what makes the building so unique, and what elements of the project are distinctly DIGSAU?

What makes 3215 North Charles Street remarkable is its durability and layered history. Built in 1923 as the Blackstone Apartments, it stands as a product of a pivotal era in American urban architecture. Across East Coast cities in the early 1920s, post-WWI housing shortages, skyrocketing land values, and the maturation of fireproof concrete construction converged, driving a surge in 10-story residential towers. Modern elevator technology made vertical density desirable, while early municipal zoning caps often limited building envelopes to that exact 100- to 120-foot height threshold.

The Blackstone embodies those broader urban shifts—built with a concrete skeleton and a classic brick-and-limestone façade. It sat at the intersection of urban life and campus growth for a century, transitioning from private residences to university apartments before this latest rebirth as The Study hotel. 

What marks this project as distinctly DIGSAU is the approach of “working with what we have” and discovering something new in what has been overlooked. It has an honest, spatial clarity and a deep respect for context. Having worked with Study Hotels' founder Paul McGowan on The Study at University City, we understood Study's ethos well. They embrace the campus, connect to the sidewalk, and feel very natural in their place. The challenge for this site was connecting the lower levels of the Blackstone to the sidewalk and creating a public realm where neither had existed. The lower three levels had to be completely rethought to better participate in the life of Charles Village.

Exterior view of The Study Hotel at Johns Hopkins building and the streets in the evening

What excited you most about the opportunity to reimagine the building, and how did you balance preserving its character while creating a contemporary hospitality experience? Are there any design details you're especially proud of or hope guests notice during their stay?

The most exciting challenge was transforming a dense, split-level layout into an open, accessible, inviting public space. Balancing preservation with a modern hospitality program meant making modest alterations to the historic envelope while completely re-engineering the interior floors.

On the ground floor, we created a continuous living-room environment that connects the lobby, living room, lounge, and the tavern, Dear Charles, into a single dynamic space. While most of the attention is on the lower levels, I am also very excited about the guest floors. You could stay here over a dozen times and not have the same room layout. The irregular grid forced some very creative layouts and solutions, so every room is unique. While most hotel floor plans look like an ice tray, this one looks like a jigsaw puzzle.

Your connection to universities has evolved from being a student yourself to now being a parent of a college student. Has that experience changed the way you think about what students and families need from spaces connected to a campus?

Stepping into a university environment as a parent completely shifts your perspective. You view spaces not just through an analytical or programmatic lens, but through an emotional one.

You realize how important it is for a campus and its surrounding infrastructure to offer comfort, belonging, and a sense of sanctuary during moments of transition—whether it’s move-in weekends, family visits, or commencement. It has reinforced my belief that spaces adjacent to campus need to feel welcoming, safe, and restorative. They anchor families during milestone moments in their children's lives.

While I didn’t know it while working on The Study, Baltimore would become a home away from home for me, as my daughter decided to attend JHU and now plays on the basketball team. Even though Philadelphia is not very far, we love staying overnight for weekend games. After being in this career for almost thirty years, this is the only building I designed that I’ve slept in!

DIGSAU has built a reputation for creating architecture that is socially engaged and rooted in community. You've often spoken about working with historically underrepresented communities. What have those partnerships taught you about the role architecture can play beyond simply designing buildings?

Designing space in the public realm comes with a significant responsibility to reflect a community’s ambition and values.  Working alongside community partners has taught me to listen better. These partnerships have shown us that architecture, at its best, is a tool for agency, equity, and empowerment. A building isn't just a physical container; it is a place that builds social capital, honors community history, and creates long-term economic and social value. Our job is to listen deeply, translate community aspirations into spatial reality, and ensure that the result genuinely belongs to the people it serves.

 

What advice would you give to the next generation of architects and designers who hope to create spaces that leave a lasting impact on both communities and the people who experience them?

First, cultivate deep curiosity about fields outside of architecture—ecology, sociology, art, craftsmanship, and local history. The best design solutions often come from unexpected intersections.

Second, listen more than you talk. Take time to understand the places and people you are serving before pitching a design concept.

And finally, focus on craft, durability, and generosity of spirit. Strive to create buildings that are built to last, adaptable over time, and generous to the public realm. When you approach design with empathy and rigor, you create architecture that keeps giving back to its community long after the ribbon is cut.

Old Buildings, New Possibilities: The Power of Urban Adaptive Reuse

A live Living Room talk with architect Jeff Goldstein on transforming a century-old building into The Study—and giving it new purpose.

Tuesday, September 22, 2026
5:00pm - 6:00pm

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