I was nervous about this one. Turns out that was exactly the point.
I told my guest before we hit record that I was nervous. Not stage fright exactly, more the specific discomfort of walking into a room where I don’t know the rules. I’ve hosted hundreds of podcast conversations. I know how to ask questions. But improv for architects? I had no idea where it was going to go, and I said so out loud.
She smiled and said, “There’s no wrong answer. Don’t be nervous.”
Which, as I’ve since realized, is the entire lesson in eight words.
Tarrah Beebe is a partner at KFA Architecture in Los Angeles, where she leads community-focused hospitality, education, and historic renovation projects. She has also been a committed improv student for nearly a decade now. When we met at the AIA Conference in San Diego, she started connecting the principles of improv to the daily work of leading an architecture firm, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew I had to get her on the podcast.
I should also tell you: this wasn’t the first time improv had crossed my radar. Shannon Hughes of Enlivened Studios, one of the business coaches in the EntreArchitect Network, had already introduced me to improv as a leadership tool for architects. When Tarrah came along with the same conviction, I stopped treating it as an interesting footnote and started paying real attention.
What I heard in that conversation reshaped how I think about presence, listening, and what it actually means to lead a small firm.
Why Improv for Architects Makes More Sense Than You Think
The word “improv” carries a lot of baggage. Most of us picture a theater stage, a troupe of performers shouting “yes, and,” and an audience waiting to see who cracks first. It sounds like the opposite of architecture, a profession built on precision, process, and deliberate decision-making.
But that’s the misconception worth clearing up. Improv isn’t about being funny. It isn’t about performance at all, not in the way we typically mean it. It’s about being so fully present with another person that you can respond to what they actually said, not to what you expected them to say, and not to the reply you were already loading while they were still talking.
That is a leadership skill. And most of us, if we’re being honest, are not very good at it.
We walk into client meetings with a presentation ready and a narrative mapped out. We sit in team reviews already knowing what we think before anyone else has spoken. We pick up a difficult phone call and start defending before we’ve finished listening. It’s not malicious. It’s how we were trained. Architecture school rewards the person with the best answer, not the best ear.
Improv trains the opposite, and it turns out that training transfers directly to the work of running a firm.
The Fear That Lives on Every Job Site
Tarrah shared something early in our conversation that I recognized immediately, even though I wouldn’t have named it until she said it out loud.
Early in her career, walking job sites, her internal monologue was relentless. She was cataloging problems, flagging issues, pointing out everything she saw that was off. Not because the job required it in that moment, but because she was afraid. If she didn’t demonstrate that she knew everything, someone might figure out that she didn’t. That fear was running the show, and it was costing her.
The shift came when she was walking a project with a superintendent who stopped at every subcontractor, the tile crew, the fire sprinkler team, each one, and said something genuine about the quality of their work. Then he turned to her and said simply: we’re all on the same team. We all want this project to be great.
Something released in her when he said that. She didn’t need to prove she had every answer. She needed to know how to find the answer, and to trust the people around her enough to get there together.
I think about how many small firm architects carry that same weight into every room. The fear of being found out, the pressure to appear certain, the habit of talking before listening as a defense mechanism. It’s exhausting. And it’s exactly what improv dismantles, because in improv, the fastest way to kill a scene is to be so focused on your own next line that you stop hearing your partner.
What “Yes, And” Actually Means in Practice
The core principle of improv is “yes, and.” You accept what your scene partner offers, and you build on it. You don’t correct it, redirect it, or replace it with what you think would be better. You say yes, and then you add something.
This sounds simple. It is not simple.
Tarrah brought a variation into our conversation called “what that means is.” One person makes a statement. The other responds with “what that means is” followed by a logical extension. Back and forth, the exchange builds something from nothing, each response growing out of the one before it. We tried it on the podcast. It felt awkward, then fluid, then genuinely surprising. By the end, a throwaway opening line had traveled somewhere neither of us planned.
That’s the point. When you stop trying to control where the conversation is going, you can actually hear where it wants to go.
For small firm leaders, the application is immediate. How often do you walk into a team meeting already knowing what you want the outcome to be? How often does a client say something unexpected and your instinct is to redirect rather than explore? How often does a junior staff member offer an idea and receive, in response, a subtle correction dressed up as feedback?
The “yes, and” posture doesn’t mean accepting every idea uncritically. It means honoring the contribution before adding your own. That distinction changes the entire culture of a room.
The Gray Space Is Where the Work Actually Happens
Tarrah introduced me to a phrase I haven’t stopped thinking about: gray space. In improv, gray space is the moment between stimulus and response, when nothing is certain, the scene could go anywhere, and you have to keep moving anyway.
Architects live in gray space constantly. Schematic design is gray space. The conversation where a client changes direction mid-project is gray space. The site meeting where something is wrong and you don’t immediately know the answer is gray space.
Most of us have learned to fake our way through it by projecting certainty we don’t have. Improv teaches something different: get comfortable not knowing. Stay present, stay curious, and trust that the next move will come if you’re paying attention.
Tarrah coaches fourteen-year-old volleyball players on the side, and she made a connection that landed clearly. Calling a timeout in a close match, she has about half a second from the referee’s whistle to when her players are standing in front of her expecting something useful. She has learned to use that half second well, not because she always has the perfect answer, but because improv has trained her to be present enough to find something real instead of reaching for something rehearsed.
That’s a skill worth building deliberately, not just hoping it develops with experience.
Building a Firm Where People Do What They Love
Tarrah’s answer to my closing question, the one I ask every guest about building a better business, surprised me with its simplicity.
She said, “Build a firm where your staff can pursue what they love, whether that’s architecture or something alongside it. When the people inside your firm are doing work that matters to them, you don’t just get better output. You get a thriving internal community that produces better architecture for the communities you serve.”
That isn’t a staffing strategy. It’s a values statement. And it connects directly to everything we talked about: presence, listening, making space for other people’s contributions, trusting that the scene gets better when everyone is fully in it.
The future of architecture is human. I said it in our conversation, and I mean it. No matter how capable the tools become, clients want a human being on the other side of the relationship, someone who can listen deeply, respond to what they actually said, and be present enough to recognize what the design needs to feel right. Those are not skills that automate. They are skills that require intentional practice.
Improv, it turns out, is one of the more honest ways to do that practice.
Listen to my full conversation with Tarrah Beebe on Episode 666 of the EntreArchitect Podcast at https://entrearchitect.com/666.
If you’re ready to build a stronger, more intentional firm alongside other small firm architect entrepreneurs, explore the EntreArchitect Network at https://entrearchitect.com.
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