Witold Rybczynski's Blog, page 20

FUTURE SHOCK

Library, University of Pennsylvania, expandable stacks on the right

One of the first buildings expressly intended to grow was the main library of the University of Pennsylvania, which opened in 1891. Frank Furness designed a head-and-tail building, with a magnificent four-story reading room as the head, and the stacks as an ever-expanding tail. The three-story stacks housed 100,000 books, but the end wall was removable so that the cast-iron structure could be added to, bay by bay, increasing its size and capacity—up to three times in length. Furness was correct about the need to accommodate more books, but he was wrong about the expansion. In 1915, the the university erected a new building on the site of the future stacks, effectively blocking his long-sighted vision. This has been the fate of many such future-oriented designs. It isn’t that buildings aren’t added on to, but the additions are generally ad hoc, not following any predetermined plan. This was even true in the 1970s, when architects were fascinated by the idea of growth. Norman Foster’s Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts was a linear shed intended to grow at either end, but when the building was expanded (by Foster!) it ignored this strategy and went underground instead. I think the problem is a combination of practicality and hubris. On a practical level, it’s difficult for an architect to correctly envisage future needs. How could James Hoban and his client George Washington predict a White House so staffed that it would require a West Wing? Or how could a nineteenth-century museum designer imagine future cafeterias and gift shops? In any case, architects and their clients are generally loathe to be constrained by the plan of some long-dead predecessor. They have their own ideas. So perhaps it’s best to design for today, and let the future take care of itself.

DESIGN AND RESEARCH

Dining Chair Metal, Charles & Ray Eames, 1945

A recent article in Architect quoted Jérôme Chenal, a Swiss architecture professor: “Design is not research, that is just speculation . . .” Exactly so. For years I have heard design studio teachers maintain that what they do with their students qualifies as  research, and that it is an injustice that it is not recognized by the rest of the university as such. But Chenal is correct, design is speculation, not research. There is no real feedback. I suppose if a design were built and evaluated it might qualify as a sort of research, but studio work remains on paper—or, rather, on the screen. Feedback, in the form of the comments of critics, is a function of taste rather than performance data. The same is true in the profession. The practice of architecture is ill-suited to research—clients do not expect to pay for experiments, they want buildings that work. This is not to belittle design, but rather to distinguish it from research. When Charles and Ray Eames laboriously developed a technique for heat-forming wood laminations into three-dimensional shapes, that was research. When they produced the DCM chair, the “potato-chip chair,” that was design.

OUR SHINY FUTURE

2100 Hamilton Street, Cecil Baker & Partners, Architects

I attended a neighborhood association meeting last night to hear about a proposed apartment building: 2100 Hamilton Street in the Benjamin Franklin Parkway area of Philadelphia. The “review” was a matter of courtesy on the part of the developer since he had just received his building permit from the city. The animated questions from the audience concerned practical issues: how would traffic be handled, would the building block views, would the developer repair the broken sidewalk, where would visitors park. In truth, the 10-story condominium with only 33 units would not be a major burden on the neighborhood. Sadly, nor would it be much of an adornment. The nineteenth and early twentieth century residential architecture of downtown Philadelphia is a rich visual feast that provides many pleasures to the passerby, whether the building is a modest rowhouse, an apartment building, or a renovated factory. The richness is a result of the materials and ornamental details: a decorated door surround, a railing, a fanciful gable. 2100 Hamilton Street exhibits none of these features. Briefly put, like almost all new buildings in downtown Philadelphia, it is a glass box. Nothing but glass, except for some rather grim metal panels on the north side. “Ornament is a crime,” in the Modernist lexicon, so the glass box, which does away with not only ornament but also detail, is perfect. In a sense, such buildings are like large vehicles—in this case a Lexus, as this is luxury housing—parked on the street. There were no questions from the audience last evening about the building’s appearance. I suppose we are becoming accustomed to this shiny new vernacular. Or just resigned.

HE SAID, SHE SAID

Housing in Poundbury (photo by author)

The finding of a recent online poll by AJ contrasts the views of architects (about a third of the respondents) with those of the non-professional public. The participants were shown images of housing, some traditional, some Modern. The public favored the former and the professionals the latter. In itself, a disconnect in opinion is not unexpected; trained professionals might appreciate attainments that are not immediately obvious to the unskilled eye. But the difference here was not one of nuance, what the architects admired was actually held in low esteem by the non-architects, and vice versa. “To the best of our knowledge the ‘winners’ of our poll (some houses in Poundbury) have not won any architectural awards; indeed they are widely reviled by the profession. The two losers have won nine between them.” The AJ article also describes an earlier—more structured—survey. “A group of volunteer students were shown photographs of unfamiliar people and buildings and asked to rate them in terms of attractiveness. Some of the volunteers were architects; some were not. As the experiment progressed, a fascinating finding became clear: while everyone had similar views on which people were attractive, the architecture and non-architecture students had diametrically opposed views on what was or was not an attractive building.” The research referred to was conducted in 1987 by David Halpern. His conclusion, according to AJ? “Professionals are, empirically, the very worst judges available of what people want or like in the built environment.”

THE HIGH COST OF HIGH TECH

Comcast Tech Center (left) and Comcast Center (right).

The Philadelphia Inquirer reports that the Comcast Technology Center is running $67 million over budget. The 60-story Technology Center (Foster + Partners), currently under construction next to the 58-story Comcast Center (Robert A. M. Stern Architects), is a very expensive building: $1.5 billion versus $540 million for the latter. The Comcast Center was completed ten years ago, so that makes a difference, and the Tech Center will include a 12-story Four Seasons hotel. But the amount of office space is virtually identical, 1.3 million square feet, compared to 1.25 million square feet in the older building, although the Tech Center is designed for greater planning flexibility. It would appear that high-tech architecture—and longer spans—simply cost more.

A BRIDGE TOO FAR

Reading about Venice’s new Ponte della Constituzione I was reminded—again—of the dangers of architectural experimentation. The bridge, designed by Santiago Calatrava, is full of novelty: irregular steps, illuminated glass treads, and a beautiful but very flat arch. All these innovations have created problems. The irregularly-dimensioned steps cause people to trip, steps make the bridge inaccessible to wheelchairs (a strange-looking mechanical pod has been added), and the flat arch has created structural stresses on the foundations. As for the glass treads—they become slippery when wet, and the glass gets chipped by tourists wheeling their luggage, requiring expensive replacement. To make matters worse, the bridge cost three or four times more than estimated—a Calatrava trademark. No wonder the city of Venice is suing the architect. But the greater wonder is that clients still commission “ground-breaking” and “unprecedented”  designs. Surely they would have learned their lesson by now? Beware of architects bearing shiny new gifts, whether in terms of untested materials, new technologies, or unusual solutions. There is a reason that architecture is—or at least traditionally was—the most conservative of the arts. Buildings last a long time—hundreds of years—and old buildings are the best evidence of what passes the test of time. Palladio was a revolutionary architect in terms of his revival of ancient Roman motifs, but he stuck to tried and true Veneto building solutions: brick construction, timber roof framing, clay-tiled roofs. That’s why his buildings, several of which grace Venice, have lasted so long. Traditional building is not about nostalgia or sentimentality as its critics would have it, but rather about imitating what works.

STREETSCAPE

Passing the entrance to 10 Rittenhouse Square on 18th Street in Philadelphia today I was caught up short. Robert A. M. Stern Architects, who designed the 33-story apartment tower, have done something cunning. The entrance to the tower is distinctly low key, a simple break in a low stone wall, flanked by two piers topped by stone balls. Beyond the break, a short path leads to a glass marquee over the front door. It was the wall that interested me. 10 Rittenhouse Square’s immediate neighbor is the Fell-Van Rensselaer mansion, designed in 1898 by the great Boston firm, Peabody & Stearns. The Indiana limestone exterior is rather grand. The new limestone wall, which significantly overlaps the two properties, gives the impression that it was originally a part of the mansion. Thus the entrance to  number 10 becomes integrated with its older neighbor, despite the fact that the apartment tower itself is brick, not limestone, and does not exhibit similar architectural features. A very nice detail.

INTUITION

Bill Evans and Miles Davis, late 1950s.

“Intuition has to lead knowledge, but it can’t be out there on its own,” said Bill Evans. “If its on its own, you’re going to flounder sooner or later.” He was speaking to Marian McPartland during a 1979 appearance on her NPR show, Piano Jazz. Evans was talking about the need to respect the basic structures of music, but it struck me that what he said applies equally to architecture. Especially today. Intuition seems to drive design; having set aside knowledge, that is, history, architects are winging it. And, yes, there is much floundering.

WE WILL NEVER FORGET

June 5 Memorial, Philadelphia

Petula Dvorzak of the Washington Post called me recently and asked me what I thought of a memorial to the victims of school shootings. I’m not keen on the current fashion for memorializing victims, which has became an almost knee-jerk response to any calamity these days. In my own city, Philadelphia, only a few blocks from where I live, a memorial is under construction. The 125-foot by 25-foot memorial park will commemorate the six people who were killed on June 5, 2013, when a slipshod demolition resulted in a building collapsing on top of a Salvation Army thrift store. A tragedy for those concerned, no doubt, but does it really warrant a memorial? I am sympathetic to the temporary memorials that relatives and friends of victims place after shootings and traffic accidents. These fulfill an important immediate function, especially for those mourning, and their temporariness is part of their character. But formal memorials are forever. We remember soldiers’ sacrifice in war memorials, or those who give their lives in the line of duty. I’m not sure that the innocent victims of muggings—or school shootings—are in the same category. Surely a simple plaque would be more appropriarte?

BARBARIANS AT THE GATE

The New Yorker waxes emotional—and rather sappy—about the Philadelphia Eagles parade. The article doesn’t describe the suburban Golden Horde that descended on the center of the city. Hardly two to three million as was cheerfully forecast, but still a very large crowd. Or, rather, a mob. Somehow being part of a large group releases inhibitions. We won, we can do what we like! Throw our bottles and beer cans where we like, dump our used pizza boxes where we like, piss where we like. Late in the afternoon I saw the crowd returning to catch trains at Thirtieth Street Station. Some were carrying street signs and Stop signs, booty to decorate a basement rec room. The next day the city was almost back to normal—the clean-up will take a bit longer.