Austin from Austin Podcast: A conversation with Pioneer Taylor Parker

Austin: Hey! It’s Austin from Austin and I have a special treat for ya’ll. This is our podcast series kick-off and I’m excited to introduce you to folks from the design community this month.

Today we’re talking with Taylor Parker, an architectural designer working at the intersection of the built environment and the space industry. In addition to working for award-winning architecture firms, she is a former designer for SpaceX, entrepreneur, and adjunct professor.  Taylor is working with a team to develop ASTRAEUS—a phased, modular mixed-use campus concept that blends an architecture + aerospace integrated studio with labs, flexible workspaces, and public-facing elements designed to accelerate experimentation, collaboration, and resilient, future-ready design. We’ll get into what ASTRAEUS is, why it matters right now, what architecture can learn from aerospace systems thinking, and how climate, innovation, and AI are reshaping both industries.

Austin: So, what is ASTRAEUS and what key problem do you feel it solves?

Taylor: ASTRAEUS will be a phased, modular mixed-use campus near the growing innovation corridor of Temple, Texas, designed to bridge architecture and aerospace through real-world experimentation. 

The simplest way to say it is—it’s a place where ideas don’t just stay in slides or renderings.Ideas become realities.  Teams can prototype, test, refine, and translate concepts into built work and deployable systems– all in one convenient place. 

The problem it solves is a gap I see in both industries.

In architecture, we’re often pushed by schedule, liability, and procurement to prioritize delivery over experimentation.

In aerospace, teams are incredibly rigorous, but the environments we’re ultimately designing for—human-centered spaces, habitats, resilient infrastructure—require more integrated spatial thinking and human factors than we typically build into the process.

ASTRAEUS creates a physical ecosystem for that intersection: an integrated design studio linked to material exploration and fabrication… flexible coworking and collaboration space… and public-facing program that makes innovation visible and sustainable.

So it’s not “coworking space with cool branding.” And it’s not just a lab. It’s a platform for systems thinking—requirements, constraints, verification, maintainability—while still protecting what architecture does best: meaning, experience, beauty, and human comfort.

Austin (AFA:)  What’s the origin story– Like what made you decide, “I’m building this”?

Taylor: Many people don’t know this about me, but my background is not only in architecture, but also business. My Master’s degree is in Entrepreneurship and Innovative Leadership. When I originally thought about this, many years ago, I thought of it more like a community makerspace that blended science and research. A much smaller scale and much smaller impacts as a result. As I evolved and became exposed to new fields and identifying more lucrative opportunities, I could see the potential for doing something much more innovative and expansive, from both design and business perspectives. At its core, this isn’t a new idea to have a mixed use facility or integrated studios, but the concept is radically different in its functionality and implementation. . 

The origin story for this iteration in particular is really a collision of two realizations.

First—as an architectural designer, I kept feeling like the built environment is being asked to respond to extreme change— climate volatility, resource constraints, rapid technology shifts—but our process still behaves like the world is stable.

Second—when I started spending more time around aerospace thinking when I worked for SpaceX—systems engineering, testing culture, human factors—I noticed something vitally important: Aerospace accepts that the environment is hostile and constraints are absolute.
And that mindset is increasingly relevant on Earth.

Excessive heat and drought, catastrophic storms, flooding, earthquakes, insurance retreat, grid instability– those are constraints, whether we like them or not.

Then there’s a personal element: I wanted a place where interdisciplinary people actually coexist in meaningful ways. Not just surface-level networking—but real, integrative collaboration. Where an architect can sit with an engineer, a materials person, a fabrication tech, a sustainability specialist—and quickly move from “what if” to “let’s test it.” Subject matter experts can compare notes and solve complex problems with ease. Where real estate could be leveraged from the ground up– from concept to completion– without ever having to leave the site.

After speaking with other professionals across disciplines and comparing notes, ASTRAEUS became the answer: a campus that’s not just a building—but a platform built to support experimentation without needing a giant institution to make it legitimate.

Austin (AFA:) You have frequently referred to this as a sort of “campus.” Break down the campus like a system for us: components, uses, and how they interact.

Taylor: I think of ASTRAEUS as a system with linked loops: So, design → prototype → test → refine → communicate.

On one end of the building, the real estate portion serves as the gateway. Clients are aided in identifying and procuring sites, research and conceptual design are initiated, and there are opportunities to take it further dynamically or that may serve as the endpoint for that leg of their journey. There also will be an option of CA for this portion. On the opposite side is the architecture + aerospace integrated studio—that’s where teams form, requirements get defined, and concepts get further developed depending on the scope. This isn’t to say that this is a more important component than others in the building, but it serves as a gateway for the aerospace focus.

The key to this structure is that all businesses are uniquely identified and hold their own degrees of ownership. We just work together in an integrated design approach methodology, but there is flexibility for growth. Everyone, on some level, is a stakeholder, and carries a level of responsibility. It was something I greatly admired about SpaceX when I worked there, as most disciplines were in-house and the ease of access and problem-solving was extremely productive in most cases.  This is a bit different, of course, but still reflects the same spirit of collaboration in real-time.

But what makes this different from a traditional integrated structure is what it touches. Adjacent are lab spaces—like a biophilic test lab and material exploration— because sustainability and resilience aren’t just aesthetic, but should also be intrinsic. They’re performance questions: thermal comfort, air quality, durability, material health.

Then you have the making layer: a makerspace with a 3D printing / fabrication capability, because even small prototypes teach you things drawings can’t: assembly complexity, tolerances, maintenance access, and how humans actually interact with a system. Later phases would potentially include component manufacturing facilities to further refine design and production. Having modular spaces that build upon one another can allow for long-term, adaptable growth.

And to keep the campus economically and culturally alive, there’s the “real life” program: flex coworking, shared conference spaces and flex offices for calls, on-site acute healthcare, a gym, and a coffee + grab-and-go market/test kitchen concept that creates daily rhythm and accessibility. Plentiful outdoor workspace options to unwind a bit on nice weather days and enhance the quality of life for employees.

Finally, the human-centered layer: temporary “tiny home” style habitats or residencies for visiting collaborators, and outdoor spaces for restoration and reflection.

So the system works like this: teams develop in the studio… prototype in the lab… test and refine… and the campus structure supports that with community energy and real-world feedback.

Austin (AFA:)  Why phased and modular? And what does each phase prove?

Taylor: Phasing and modularity are both strategy and philosophy. Strategy reduces risk.
Philosophy matches how innovation actually works.

Phase 1 proves traction and utility: can we create a working nucleus—studio, coworking, basic prototyping— where people collaborate, produce outcomes, and return? 

Phase 2 deepens capability:
more specialized labs, stronger fabrication, and intentional residency programming—
so ASTRAEUS can host longer engagements, research sprints, prototype cycles, and measurable outputs.

Phase 3 scales the ecosystem:
expanded test zones, public-facing components, and deeper research capacity—
turning the campus into a durable platform, not a one-off.
The gates between phases are practical: community adoption, revenue stability, partnership commitments, and maintaining quality and safety.

And modularity matters because it keeps the campus adaptable—if a lab needs to become something else in five years, the architecture shouldn’t fight that. It should ideally be able to shift and transform to suit future needs within its original framework while being able to expand for new uses. 

Austin (AFA:) Where is architecture and aerospace overlap actually productive?

Taylor: It’s productive when you focus on systems, humans, and constraints. Aerospace is excellent at requirements: what must this system do, under what conditions, and with what failure tolerance? Architecture sometimes struggles with that discipline because we’re balancing subjective inputs— but the built environment is increasingly high-constraint: energy, carbon, safety, climate, cost. On the flip side, architecture brings time-tested data to what aerospace is still in the fledgling phases of discovering: human experience across time. Buildings and habitats aren’t just machines–they’re environments where identity, comfort, mental health, and community are formed.

Where it becomes especially powerful would be within the human factors: maintainability, ergonomics, and how people behave under stress. The best solution isn’t always the most elegant technically— it’s the one people can use, repair, and trust over long durations though. So the overlap isn’t “space aesthetics.” It’s aerospace helping architecture become more verifiable and resilient—and architecture helping aerospace become more humane and livable. So, it’s a very reciprocal relationship in that respect.

Austin (AFA:) Part of your focus is on resilient architecture design for extreme environments, both terrestrial and extraterrestrial. What does extreme-environment design teach us about Earth buildings now?

Taylor: Extreme-environment design teaches you to treat comfort and survival as performance, not simply quantified metrics. [pause] In space, you can’t dismiss energy, air, water, or thermal stability. Those are non-negotiables. And that mindset is increasingly relevant on Earth as climate volatility rises.

In my mind, three principles transfer well. First: redundancy and passive survivability: what happens when power goes down, HVAC fails, or outdoor air is unhealthy? Catastrophe, potentially, right? Building envelope performance, shading, passive strategies—those become safety features.

The second principle would be: maintainability. Aerospace designs obsess over access and replacement because maintenance is mission-critical and can be significantly difficult. Buildings often hide complexity until something fails. Design for serviceability isn’t glamorous—but it’s foundational sustainability. [pause]

Third would be human factors. Light quality, privacy, noise, and social connection can make or break long-duration wellbeing. Resilience isn’t only mechanical. It’s mental and social too.And although some of us can exist with limited interaction with our fellow humans, the majority can’t exist in a vacuum for too long without some degree of mental or emotional damage to the nervous system, the impacts of which can be terminal.

So the takeaway is: extreme-environment thinking turns architecture into a measured, human-centered performance discipline— without removing beauty. But it does give beauty a backbone.

Austin (AFA:) You’ve highlighted some similarities in both industries. What is one aerospace “best practice” to import into AEC tomorrow?

Taylor: Great question! I would import a stronger culture of verification tied to requirements—not just coordination.
In aerospace, you don’t only ask, “Is it consistent?”
You ask, “Did it meet the requirement under defined conditions?”
And there’s a cadence of reviews that forces clarity: requirements review… preliminary design review… critical design review… test readiness review. I mean that’s just for starters, really. Some may complain there are too many reviews, but safety is of the utmost importance.

Conversely, in AEC, our reviews are often driven by deliverables and deadlines. Because liability is high, we can default to minimum compliance instead of deeper innovation. There is more emphasis on speed than quality in many instances, even with proper QA/QC protocols in place.

What we need is a normal, industry-wide “performance-ready” review: not just “are the drawings coordinated,” but– “will this building remain safe and habitable if X happens?
Do the energy and comfort claims have evidence? Will this withstand the test of time?” I mean– even as simple as “Is this built to the best standard and quality possible?”

If we did that consistently, we’d reduce change orders and long-term failures–
and we’d make innovation safer because it’s anchored to verifiable proof– not just what is historically or professionally evident.

Austin (AFA:)  So what about the current state of architecture: Like what’s working? What’s broken?

Taylor: Well– What’s working is awareness. Architecture is more conscious than ever of carbon, equity, resilience, and health— and there’s real progress in integrated workflows and performance thinking.[pause] What’s broken, though,  is the mismatch between the complexity of problems and the structure of incentives. Fee pressure is real. Schedules are compressed. Liability pushes teams toward conservative, field-rendered patterns instead of verified innovation. Procurement often rewards lowest cost and speed—not long-term performance. This is unfortunate because it causes many problems over time.

We also have a pipeline challenge. Licensure is long and nebulous. Policies are constantly shifting and not in favor of the profession generally.  Workload can be intense and markets unpredictable. And early-career designers don’t always get enough exposure to the business and operational realities that shape projects. These factors can negatively impact very good, entry level designers who need the mentorship that there is often little time for in the fast pace of the industry. It is chaotic at best at most firms. 

And climate adds urgency: the biggest opportunity is often retrofit and operations— but the industry still celebrates new-build narratives. I feel like a hypocrite for needing to do new-build, but we are definitely still investigating options for adaptive reuse. 

Yet I’m optimistic because practice models are evolving—design-build hybrids, modular delivery, partnerships with manufacturers, performance contracting—and ASTRAEUS is aligned with that future.

Austin (AFA:)  Along the same lines, what about the current state of the space industry: What’s new vs hype? Are there some bottlenecks there, too?

Taylor: What feels genuinely new is the normalization of iteration and a broader ecosystem of players. There’s a cultural shift toward faster prototyping and more frequent testing—and growth in satellites, sensing, communications, and dual-use tech that affects Earth systems.

But hype still exists—especially when space is framed as an escape hatch from Earth problems.

The reality is: physics and economics don’t care about the story. Most progress is incremental and built on reliability.

Different bottlenecks than architecture, of course, but same story. The bottlenecks here are often unglamorous: manufacturing scale and quality control… supply chain fragility… workforce specialization… test infrastructure… and regulation and safety culture.

And for long-duration environments, human-centered design is still maturing— psychology, social dynamics, habitability, maintenance over time.
That’s a major area where architecture and human factors become essential.

AUSTIN (AFA:) So now that we’re in 2026, it seems like the space industry has even higher goalposts this year. Do you feel like it is doing exponentially better than the architecture industry, or are they about the same?

Taylor: Okay..So, architecture is still a massive, real-economy industry. Something like tens of billions in the U.S., hundreds of billions globally– but it’s growing more steadily than space, which is being (mainly) pulled forward by services and constellations. On the architecture side, in the U.S. the architects industry is estimated around $65.7B in revenue in 2025—big, mature, and growing, but generally steady.

On the space side, the Space Foundation reported the global space economy hit $613B in 2024, and about 78% is commercial. So space is no longer a government-only story.  And in the U.S. specifically, you can see that shift in company-scale numbers: Reuters reported Elon Musk projecting SpaceX revenue around $15.5B in 2025–driven heavily by commercial services like Starlink plus launch.

Where people start using the word “exponential” is launch capability. Starship’s stated goal is up to 150 metric tons to LEO fully reusable. So that’s a capacity discontinuity really.  And in 2025 you could feel the U.S. cadence building: SpaceX flew an 11th Starship test in October, moving toward an upgraded variant aimed at the Moon/Mars architecture.  Blue Origin also hit a major milestone with New Glenn—deploying NASA’s EscaPADE spacecraft and successfully landing its booster in November.

Honestly? My take is: costs and cadence can improve fast and look “exponential” early– but it’ll likely really be more of  an S-curve as the bottlenecks move from launch to everything else: payload production, regulation, orbital sustainability, and the real-world demand for all that capacity.


AUSTIN (AFA:) Do you believe life exists beyond Earth. And what’s your probability estimate?

Taylor: Yes– I absolutely do. I try to hold that opinion with humility, of course, because we don’t have direct evidence yet, but if you force me to put a number on it… I’d say the probability that some form of life exists or has existed somewhere else is quite high. Maybe even somewhere around 99.9% realistically. I mean– I think it would be rather egotistical or narrow-minded of us to believe that we are the only intelligent life in the universe. 

When you look at the scale of the universe and the number of planets, it becomes hard to believe Earth is the only place where chemistry crossed the line into biology. And we already know that the building block– water, organic molecules– aren’t rare. They are found everywhere in the known universe. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if we at least discover concrete evidence of microbial life on other planets in our lifetime. 

But the reason this matters to me isn’t just curiosity. It’s perspective. If life is common, it puts a kind of ethical responsibility on us to treat life as precious and to build systems that protect it– on Earth first, and eventually beyond.

And even if we never find life elsewhere, the act of searching forces us to understand our own planet better—how environments sustain life, what resilience actually means, and how fragile complex systems can be.

Austin (AFA:) If we discovered microbial life tomorrow, how would that change your view of humanity’s future?

Taylor: Oof–a bit of gravitas with this one. Haha. But.. I believe it would be one of the most profound shifts in human perspective in history. 

Because it would mean life isn’t a one-off accident—it’s something the universe can do and systematically so.  And that would make the question no longer just “Are we alone?” but “How do we behave now that we know life can exist in multiple places?” What is our responsibility then? Big ole’ questions there. 

For me, it would increase the urgency around two things: stewardship and expansion. Stewardship, because Earth becomes even more clearly a life-support system we can’t take for granted. Expansion, because if life can persist elsewhere, it strengthens the case that spreading out isn’t science fiction—it’s part of life’s long-term strategy.

It would also reshape ethics. We’d have to decide how to explore responsibly, how to avoid contamination, and how to respect environments that might host life. I think currently this is more of an idea than a reality, but it will become more detrimental in practice. 

And oddly, it would make architecture feel even more relevant: designing environments that sustain life—air, water, comfort, psychological wellbeing—becomes a universal problem, not just a terrestrial one.


HOST: Okay, so as we know, you worked at SpaceX. What’s one myth people have,  and one surprising truth?

Taylor: A myth is that it’s all glamour– rockets, big launches, dramatic moments. I mean, it is all that, too, of course, but…

The truth is: it’s a lot of detail work and an abundance of iteration. A huge amount of progress comes from small improvements compounded over time—process, testing, manufacturing, learning from failure in a structured way. Even mistakes or failures are data. I met some of the most hardworking, and kindest, folks there, and felt lucky to be part of the journey.

A surprising truth is how mission-driven the environment feels. People are there because they believe the goal matters. We all came there with the mission in mind– sometimes fanatically so. That doesn’t mean it’s easy—it’s demanding—but there’s a clarity that comes with working toward something that concrete. I’m no longer there, of course, but I still very much believe in the mission. I’m still cheering on my team and absolutely blown away by everything they are accomplishing. I loved being a small part of something so incredible. Watching it grow in the past few years and build momentum has been exciting.

And from a design mindset perspective, what I took with me is the discipline of constraints. In aerospace, constraints are real and unforgiving, and that creates a culture where you learn quickly, verify assumptions, and build for reliability.

I think architecture is moving into a world where constraints—climate, energy, cost, resilience—are becoming just as real. So the cultural lessons from that environment are relevant beyond rockets.

Austin (AFA:) Elon often talks about the mission being to make life multiplanetary and the importance to colonize other planets. Explain what “Make life multiplanetary” means to a super skeptical person in 30 seconds. What’s your pitch?

Taylor: 30 seconds, huh? [laughs]  I’d say: making life multiplanetary is basically risk management for civilization.

Earth is our home and we should protect it. No debate. But if you put all of humanity and all of our knowledge on one planet, you’re betting everything on a single point of failure. That’s dumb.

A second self-sustaining foothold doesn’t replace Earth– it complements Earth. It’s like having backups for life’s most important data. I mean– we have backups for our family photo albums, so I think we can agree we should have backups for humanity’s blueprint, too, right? And not just humanity, but wider scope: All life on earth as we know it.

And the side benefit is huge: the technologies and design thinking require– closed-loop systems, efficient energy, resilience, compact livable environment– feed back into better solutions for Earth.

So it’s not a lofty form of escapism. It’s a long-term survival strategy that also makes us better stewards here in the process.

Austin (AFA:) Sustainability without buzzwords: highest-leverage moves?

Taylor: Put simply: Sustainability is the discipline of not borrowing from the future– in carbon, energy, water, or human health.

The highest leverage moves are: reduce demand… electrify… decarbonize materials… and design for adaptability.

Reducing demand is underrated: envelope performance, shading, orientation, airtightness, appropriately-sized systems– design that works with climate rather than fighting against it. 

Electrification matters because it aligns buildings with a cleaner grid over time. Embodied carbon matters because materials are upfront emissions– choices in concrete, steel, and insulation can swing impact dramatically.

The boring-but-massive leverage would be retrofits. Most of the 2050 building stock already exists.Building envelope upgrades, system replacements, and controls can cut emissions at scale.

Another underrated leverage is durability and maintainability– a building that lasts longer and can change use without demolition is inherently lower carbon. Design for disassembly, modularity, and serviceability matter.


Austin (AFA:)  Lightning round: Moon base, Mars base, or orbital habitat—and why?

Taylor: If I have to choose one as the most meaningful near-term step, I’d say the Moon– BUT as a proving ground.

It’s close enough to iterate: shorter travel time, easier resupply, faster learning cycles. You can test habitats, construction methods, and life-support strategies with a more forgiving timeline than Mars.

Mars is the big vision, of course, because it forces true self-sufficiency. Mars pushes you toward closed-loop living, local resources, and long-duration habitability. That’s the real “second home” challenge.

And orbital habitats are fascinating because they could scale and support industry, research, and manufacturing in microgravity– potentially becoming a different kind of infrastructure layer for humanity. But I do think there is value in overcoming some of the challenges on the Moon and Mars first, as that data will greatly aid performance metrics for space habitats. 

So: Moon for iteration, Mars for civilization-level resilience, orbit for scalable infrastructure.

Austin (AFA:) What are your thoughts on Artificial Intelligence? Useful vs dangerous? Where do you draw the line?

Taylor: To me– AI is useful as a force multiplier for exploration and reducing friction. It can accelerate precedent research, organize information, draft communications, generate early options— and support documentation workflows when supervised. As far as a creative sandbox goes, AI can greatly help us to prototype new strategies, investigate design options, and think outside of the box. Trial and error can be much less expensive.  These are great for time management and in early conceptual phases for design.

Where it becomes dangerous is when it creates the illusion of certainty.

The risk isn’t that AI makes mistakes– it’s that humans stop verifying because the output sounds confident.

So my thought process is: AI can help you generate and organize, but it cannot be the final authority for decisions tied to safety, compliance, and accountability. Anything that affects life safety, building physics, structural reasoning, or mission-critical systems must remain under expert judgment and verification. Which is why I don’t anticipate it completely replacing architects in the industry as some fear.

We also need norms around authorship and responsibility: disclose usage, validate claims, document assumptions, keep humans in the loop. And don’t get me started on the climate/energy issues…

Used well, though, AI frees designers to focus on systems thinking, ethics, taste, empathy, and leadership. Used lazily, it produces generic, uninspired, lazy work and brittle decisions.

When I started the architecture program at UT in 2010, one of my professors introduced the program with a line I will never forget, “The #1 Rule of Architecture? Don’t Kill People.” And I believe we have an ethical responsibility to be of service in this industry and always keep that in mind whether we are using AI or not. Brittle decisions can create extremely unfortunate outcomes, so we should not be overly reliant on AI and seek balance instead of dependence.

Austin (AFA:)  What will buildings need to do in 10–20 years—and how is ASTRAEUS a prototype for this?

Taylor: In 10–20 years, I think buildings will be expected to do three things more than they do today: adapt quickly, perform verifiably, and support human resilience.I’m going to break that down a bit further though. 

Adapting quickly means spaces and systems that can change program and technology integration without demolition. Static buildings become liabilities when the world keeps shifting.

Perform verifiably means moving from vague promises to measurable outcomes:
energy, carbon, water, indoor air quality, thermal safety during outages, lifecycle maintainability. The expectation of evidence will become normal.

And when I say “support human resilience” it  means buildings that help people stay well under stress– heat, smoke, isolation, social fragmentation– through community space, access to nature, good acoustics and light, and layouts that support both connection and privacy.

ASTRAEUS is a prototype because it’s designed as a platform for that future: modular and phased so it can evolve… a studio connected to labs and fabrication so ideas get tested…interdisciplinary teams so solutions are systems-level…and sustainability treated as performance, not branding.

If it succeeds, the ripple effect is a new normal: built environments that behave more like living systems– iterative, measurable, and human-centered– so we can keep up with the pace of change without losing what makes places meaningful.

AUSTIN (AFA:) You’ve referenced sci-fi like Dune, Foundation, and Interstellar in the past. What do those stories get right about the real future challenges of spaceflight—and what do they reveal about issues we’re already facing on Earth?

Taylor: I love this question, because those stories aren’t really about rockets at all. But so highly relevant in today’s culture and trajectory.  

They’re, in essence,  about the human systems that form around scarcity, power, and long timelines.

Dune is basically a masterclass in ecology and resource politics.

It’s saying: when one resource becomes the bottleneck, power consolidates around whoever controls it– and the environment is shaped by that destiny.

In real space settlements, the “spice” won’t be mystical. It’ll be water, oxygen, energy, food production, and reliable maintenance.

And that means habitat design is inseparable from governance: who has access, how it’s rationed, who owns the infrastructure, and how you prevent a kind of “life-support feudalism.”

Foundation zooms out to institutional resilience.

You can have incredible technology, but if you don’t have stable systems for education, legitimacy, and coordination, societies fragment and dissolve– especially when distance and communication delays create pressure for autonomy. You see the fall of civilizations in real time. All the old gods and old ways of living are dead, or dying. And everyone is just trying to figure out what is next and what is survivable and that can make people revert to more primitive means of coping strategies and existing.

So a multiplanetary future isn’t just “can we build the first habitat?”

It’s “can we build continuity across decades– like repair culture, knowledge transfer, adaptable infrastructure, and community health–so the settlement survives leadership changes, economic cycles, and inevitable failures?”

And Interstellar is the emotional reality check: it links spaceflight to planetary instability, but it’s honest about the cost– sacrifice, uncertainty, and the fact that physics doesn’t care what we want.

It also warns that under climate stress, societies can slip into a narrow survival mindset where imagination shrinks.

So to me, those three stories point to the same practical truth: the future of spaceflight isn’t only about engineering. It’s civilization design.

Closed-loop systems, maintainability, and human factors matter just as much as propulsion.

And the deeper message is reciprocal: the discipline we need to live off-world– resource literacy, resilient infrastructure, and fair governance–is the same discipline we need to thrive on Earth.

We’re entering an era where the hardest problems aren’t single-discipline problems anymore.

They’re systems problems– climate, resources, infrastructure, and human wellbeing– moving at the speed of technology.

And overarching themes I think primarily come up with all of these and can be distilled into psychological reality: isolation, routine, maintenance, and the social dynamics of confined environments. The drama isn’t always aliens. it’s people and systems under constraints.

What sci-fi often gets wrong is the idea that technology alone solves everything. In real life, the hard part is integration: supply chains, maintenance, redundancy, and the human factor. Even the best technical advances fail if they can’t be repaired, understood, or trusted by the people living with it.

That’s why I love stories that show the unglamorous truth: survival is logistics+ human psychology+good design..

Austin (AFA:) You’ve also mentioned literature shaping your thinking and that there are connections even with something as classic as Paradise Lost. How do you think Milton’s work connects to the future of the space industry?

Taylor: Paradise Lost is basically a warning about what happens when ambition detaches from responsibility. Ad astra per aspera. What happens when we reach for the stars, really?

Milton is dealing with this infinitely huge theme: beings with agency reaching for something immense—almost infinite—and the deciding factor isn’t intelligence or capability. It’s character. It’s pride versus humility. It’s whether power is used for stewardship or self-glorification.Sound familiar?

So that maps directly to the space industry right now. We’re unlocking capabilities that are genuinely civilization-shaping—launch cadence, global connectivity, Earth observation, planetary exploration, eventually off-world infrastructure.

But the technology isn’t the whole story. The moral dimension is: what incentives are driving it, and who is accountable when the consequences scale up?

In Paradise Lost, the fall isn’t just a single dramatic moment—it’s a sequence of choices where short-term desire overrides long-term order.

In the space industry, the equivalent risks are things like: moving fast without guarding the commonalities… treating orbit like an infinite landfill… prioritizing dominance over cooperation… or pretending Earth stewardship and space expansion are mutually exclusive.

So I see space, in this regard, as a mirror for humanity. It amplifies who we are– both good and bad. If we bring our best human traits– curiosity, discipline, humility, cooperation– space becomes a force for resilience and knowledge.

If we bring our worst– pride, extraction without responsibility, “ends justify the means”--we just export old failures into a bigger arena.
The hopeful reading is that we get to choose the narrative.

We can make “reaching for the heavens” an act of stewardship: protecting Earth, building redundancy for humanity, and designing systems– on Earth and beyond– that are fair, maintainable, and life-supporting.

And honestly, that’s part of what motivates ASTRAEUS: pairing ambition with ethics and performance. So progress isn’t just faster, it’s wiser, too.

AUSTIN (AFA:)  Hot take: Do you think we’re living in a simulation?

Taylor: If I’m being honest, I don’t claim to know– and I’m cautious about sounding certain on something that isn’t testable in a practical way right now. I definitely believe there is a higher power– whether we call it “God” or the “Universe”-- and there is likely a series of automated systems in place. A simulation wouldn’t be completely surprising in that context.

So my answer is: I’m open to it as a possibility, but I don’t live my life as if it’s the most important question. Regardless of whether we are living in a simulation or not, we still are living life and appear to have some degree of free will. Where a simulation is intriguing to me is if it is a simulation, what are the constraints and parameters? Can we manifest or change outcomes or is the program already written? Can we recode the system if we learn the language?  

Conceptually, what I do think is valuable about the simulation idea is what it highlights: we’re operating inside a system with rules– physics, constraints, cause and effect—and we don’t get to negotiate with those rules. Whether the universe is “computed” or not, the reality we experience behaves consistently enough that engineering, architecture, and science work.

And there’s another angle I like: the simulation question forces you to ask, what’s fundamental–information, matter, consciousness? That’s a fascinating lens for space and technology because it pushes us toward deeper questions:
What is intelligence?
What is life?
What does it mean to create new environments humans can thrive in?

But here’s where I land personally: even if we were in a simulation, the moral stakes don’t disappear.

How we treat each other still matters. Stewardship still matters. Building resilient, life-supporting systems still matters—maybe even more, because it’s the only reality we can act inside.

So I keep it as a fun, open-ended question– and then I come back to what I can work on: designing environments that are truthful to constraints, supportive to humans, and responsible in their impact… on Earth, and eventually beyond.

So if we are indeed in a simulation, I still want to be the kind of person who builds a good world inside it, you know?

Austin (AFA:) I remember you saying you wanted to be an astrophysicist before landing on architecture as a profession. What are your thoughts about Higgs-Boson? Nuclear Fission?

Taylor: You’re speaking my language now! The Higgs boson is one of those discoveries that changes our understanding of reality, but it doesn’t directly “upgrade” nuclear fission.

The Higgs field helps give mass to elementary particles like electrons and quarks, which is part of why atoms and chemistry exist.  But most of the mass of protons and neutrons actually comes from the strong force– binding energy inside the nucleus– not the Higgs itself.

Fission works because the split fragments are more tightly bound, and a tiny “mass defect” becomes energy. E=mc² in action, basically.  So the practical path to nuclear space power and propulsion is still materials, heat management, shielding, and reliability– not Higgs-level physics.

But the Higgs matters in a deeper way: if particle masses were different, nuclear binding– and even which elements exist– could change dramatically.  It’s a reminder that spaceflight is built on understanding the universe’s rules… and then engineering wisely within them. That doesn’t mean we can’t break the rules, of course, but we have to understand the consequences of doing so, which are not always so easily apparent without reverse engineering.

So, does the Higgs “improve” fission? Not directly. I mean– We’re not tuning the Higgs field in a lab to get better reactors.

Where the Higgs is relevant is more profound and more philosophical: the Higgs sets the masses of quarks, and those masses influence how nuclei bind. Physicists have shown that if those values were significantly different, nuclear physics—and even which elements exist—could change dramatically. 

So the Higgs is part of the deep reason the periodic table—and therefore chemistry and life– work at all.

For spaceflight, the practical story is: fission propulsion and space power are about materials, thermal management, shielding, and systems reliability. But particle physics research contributes indirectly through the technologies it pushes– superconducting magnets, cryogenics, detectors, and big-data systems, to name a few– tools that show up everywhere from advanced energy concepts to spacecraft instrumentation. 

So the Higgs doesn’t give us a new reactor knob– but it does remind you: the future of space is ultimately built on understanding the deepest rules of reality, and then engineering responsibly inside them.


Austin (AFA:) In the same line of thinking, what are your thoughts on Dark Matter? Mining materials in space and habitat design?

Taylor: Dark matter is a huge part of the universe. NASA pegs it at about 27%. And we infer it from gravity shaping galaxies and cosmic structure.  But it interacts so weakly with normal matter that we can’t realistically “use” it for propulsion or habitat power right now. And experiments like LZ keep tightening limits without detection.. 

For near-term space habitation, the practical power story, of course, goes back to nuclear fission: NASA’s Fission Surface Power aims at ~10 kW continuous for ~10 years, scalable with multiple units for the Moon or Mars, which could easily power habitats longterm. 

Raw materials in space are the real MVP for long-duration habitats, though, because they change the economics and the physics of the problem. If every kilogram has to be launched from Earth, space living stays stuck in “expedition mode.” But if you can use local materials, you move toward something that can scale.

The most important resource is water, especially in lunar polar regions, because it’s not just for drinking. Water is life support, it’s radiation shielding, and it can be split into oxygen for breathing and hydrogen/oxygen propellant. That’s why NASA is investing in mapping and characterizing lunar water– missions like Lunar Trailblazer, for example, are aimed at understanding where the water is and what form it’s in, particularly near the poles.

Next is oxygen, because oxygen is both life support and oxidizer for fuel. On the Moon, oxygen is bound up in minerals in the regolith, and NASA has highlighted progress extracting oxygen from simulated lunar soil at Kennedy’s Swamp Works– moving toward processes that could be scaled.  On Mars, the atmosphere is mostly CO₂, and MOXIE proved the concept of making oxygen from that CO₂ on Mars—so the “we can’t make air there” barrier is already gone.

Then there’s regolith as a construction material. Lunar soil can be sintered or 3D-printed into blocks, berms, landing pads, and shielding—basically using local dust as the bulk material, while you reserve imported mass for the high-precision parts: pressure vessels, seals, electronics. NASA and others have showcased regolith-based 3D printing approaches using simulated material already. 

The big reality check is that ISRU is an operations problem. Excavation is hard, dust is absolutely brutal on machinery, and most processes are power-intensive and need reliability. But the vision is clear: once you can make air, water, shielding, and basic infrastructure locally, a habitat stops being a delivered object and becomes a system that can grow. That’s when “living in space” shifts from a heroic publicity stunt to a sustainable pathway.


Austin (AFA:)  If ASTRAEUS works, what changes?

Taylor: I think it normalizes a culture of testing and iteration in the built environment—where performance is verified, not assumed. It helps architecture and aerospace stop talking past each other and start building together: materials, habitats, workspaces, and community infrastructure designed for real constraints: energy, water, carbon, heat, risk. If it succeeds, the ripple effect is bigger than one campus. It’s a model for how we create places that can adapt as fast as the world is changing.

Austin (AFA:) Last question, as we are just about out of time. In your opinion, what’s the most uncomfortable truth about the future of design?

Taylor: The uncomfortable truth is that climate and technology are moving faster than our delivery models, our codes, and sometimes even our professional habits. If we keep designing the way we designed 20 years ago, we’ll build tomorrow’s problems at scale. ASTRAEUS is an attempt to respond with a different approach—systems thinking, measurable performance, modularity, and interdisciplinary teams—so we can keep up with reality and still build places people actually want to live and work in.

So our hope with ASTRAEUS is to help normalize a new way of building: interdisciplinary by default, performance verified, and human-centered under real— not simply theoretical— constraints.

Because the future isn’t just something we predict—it’s something we design.

And I’ll end with an invitation: if you’re an architect, engineer, designer, scientist, maker, or investor who cares about resilience– climate resilience, operational resilience, and human resilience– this is a conversation I want to have with you. Let’s talk. 

We don’t just need new technology. We need new ways of collaborating. ASTRAEUS is a prototype for that.