Mockitecture

Architecture Beyond Building, Cartoonish Architecture, and Working The System

2012-01-13T18:09:00.009-05:00

I am happy to announce that I will be hosting 3 lectures as part of the D-Crit Spring Lecture Series. (Full Details here.) The first talk will take place on January 31, 2012 at 6 pm, at 136 W 21st St, New York. Drinks to follow.

Aaron Betsky: Architecture Beyond Building

"Architecture is not building. It is about building: it is experiencing, designing, or describing buildings. It is the theory or the essence of building. In a culture in which buildings are more and more restricted by building, life safety, and financial codes, the best architecture often appears in other media, from fiction, to film, to the visual arts. Betsky will show how we can find and present this architecture, and speculate on how such a re-presentation can itself be architecture."

The second will be on Feb 28, same place, same time.

Jimenez Lai: Cartoonish Architecture

Jimenez Lai speaks about the conflation of representation, design, theory and storytelling by working through comics and translating the alternate worlds into physical installations.

The third will be on April 17, same place, same time.

Damon Rich: Working the System

From designs for an experimental financial learning center in Queens to the first riverfront park in Newark, New Jersey, Damon Rich will share recent attempts to bring design and politics to productive crisis.

Columbus, Indiana B-Sides, Part 2

2012-01-11T10:47:00.000-05:00

Welcome back. Another example of classic B-side design is the Cummins Occupational Health Center by Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer Associates (1973). The firm was notorious for its playful, purposeful rejection of the International Style. All of the components can be seen in this building.

Above, the use of diagonals and a whimsical extension of the reflective glass creates a canopy. The sloped covering resembles the diagonals used in residential construction of the period, and this pop architecture reference incorporates multiple styles in a collage. The best part, however, is the structural joke being played here. The tension elements tie the diagonal cross brace back, creating a point of support for the canopy above the circular driveway. This entire sculptural structure is designed to eliminate a column which would otherwise be located in the drive. Now there is a large column in the sidewalk. It is a reminder that while the architecture is world-class in Columbus, the urbanity is not. What it lacks in true urban space, it makes up for with a Dan Kiley lawn. Actually, the same could be said for all of Columbus.

More dynamic Modernist elements, stylized. Technology and building systems are exposed to express the building as a machine. Each component is a different color. These are Cummins' corporate colors, but the original structure was a vibrant-ish mix of green and blue. (A 2008 flood did significant damage to the COHA.) A nurse who gave us a tour did not understand the original color choices, nor the low slung furniture, which she described as "Something you would see in a 70s night club". But she astutely followed up with, "But thats the way they did things back then, I guess."

HHP often deconstructed the spaces, taking the free plan to new heights. Here, a ramp connects open spaces, waiting areas, exam rooms, and peripheral hallways. This deconstruction of layout is expressed with the proto-deconstructivist architecture. The plan is a shifted grid, and prefab industrial materials are reinterpreted, a simultaneous rejection and acceptance of Modernism, respectively. The sculptural air handling system reminds us that we did indeed land in the future, but it wasn't quite the kind of utopia we had expected. Below, some beautiful precast concrete detailing, in the manner of High Modernism.

Below, Mount Healthy Elementary is another masterpiece by Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer Associates (1972), located 20 minutes outside of Columbus returns to the nostalgic idea of the one room school house. Here the geometric purity of Warnecke's McDowell (1960) was remixed, shuffled about, and smushed together to create less formal, more varied spaces for learning. The exterior evokes all of the industrial charm of the ubiquitous Midwestern city in its deployment of repetitive sawtooth forms. Mt. Healthy's color coordinated systems and pod-like office appendages add a mysterious blend of '70s Japanese and Dutch to the place. One of several pieces in Columbus, such as Paul Kennon's SBC Switching Station, to show an evolution of architecture in the late 60s and early 70s. The exposed structure (shown here), bright colors, and formal pastiche contrasts nicely with Columbus' earlier elementary schools, such as Schmitt Elementary.

Below is Becker's Root Beer, a drive-in which @mockitecture worked at in High School. It is a very nice place to dine while perusing architecture on a spring or summer day. Beware, however, that it is only open from roughly March to October.

A pagoda-like restaurant services the canopy, which is supported by beautiful googie columns. It is a contemporary of Columbus' famous buildings, and it's LA style urbanity reminds us exactly what was going on during the 50's and 60's. Cars, more specifically American cars, dominated pop culture.

I recommend the Coney with cheese and a root beer. Or if you prefer pizza, below is Noble Romans, one of the greatest commercial buildings to ever be built.

It is in close proximity to Venturi's Fire House #4, and it employs a curious folly-building to create a covering for the drive thru and a sign for the restaurant. The small shard building has a door (not shown) and is used for storage. It is a (literal) shed, a sign, and a structural support. Sublime. Also note the different fonts used on each "pizza".

Above, diagonals create a light and nimble shard, but below, Greenbelt Golf Club is a blocky, simply constructed angular building dressed in diagonal cladding.

The bold move of splitting such an ordinary building, breaking the simple mass apart, is celebrated by the appliqué of a supergraphic along the center crease.

The supersuper logo graphic faces the street, which happens to the in the rear of the building. This causes a tension between the communication and utility: the messiness of contemporary life is celebrated by the collision of a golf ball tee into air conditioning units. A massive evergreen, curiously planted in front of the logo towers two-and-one-half-fold over the Club. This building is both heroic and ordinary at once.

Below an otherwise anonymous commercial strip is activated by an array of diagonal timber-trussed sheds for driving vehicles through. A spiraling diagonal pattern pressed into the concrete from sonotube forms reinforces the diagonality of the roofs.

Here a precursor to the 1990's game of wrapping websites on buildings, a stylized cartoon brick wrap on an unassuming shotgun house in the throes of Columbus. This could be read as DIY pop brick, but might be more usefuly thought of as an object of pixels and contemporary media. It's no Miller House, Eero Saarinen and Alexander Girard's Mannerist High Modern masterpiece, but it's almost there.

Columbus, Indiana: B-Sides, Part 1

2012-01-06T11:59:00.001-05:00

"Travels from nesting space will take you to a broader cultural horizon."

Chinese Fortune Cookie

@N_O_R_T_O_N made the 1.5 hour drive over from Cincinnati to Columbus, Indiana to join @mockitecture for an architectural mystery tour. Known for its strong High Modernist roots, Columbus is an architectural circus which provides plenty of entertainment for the cultural tourist. It is "Different by Design", and many great architects, designers and artists have made their marks on the small town of 44,000. J Irwin Miller, owner of Cummins Engine Company, was the benefactor who single-handedly turned Columbus into a museum of classic Mid-Century Modernism, exemplified by six National Historic Landmarks.

These are the B-sides...

An abandoned mall, architect unknown: Fair Oaks Mall is an early nineties masterpiece, an upscale shopping center with an edge. When first erected, it contained many of the hottest stores, such as Foot Locker, and took business away from Cesar Pelli's downtown Commons Mall. Ironically, Fair Oaks is now nearly abandoned, with mainly local and seasonal shops struggling to fill the spaces (literally and metaphorically) vacated by the large chain stores. It is an abandoned late Post-modern mall, about a quarter mile from Robert Stern's Columbus Regional Hospital, which was built almost simultaneously.

Above, neon is used in two ways. There are small architectural shapes scattered, floating throughout the tile-clad mall. Red, blue, and yellow neon is also masterfully tucked into reveals, creating a three-tiered architectural massing/ornament combo which pairs well with the large skylight above the Christmas and palm trees. It is the architecture of an electronic age.

Each store front is customized for the store. This was a novelty/party store. The signage was bright, and the store was full of all sorts of naughty sundries. Now all that is left is memories and a bit of tile which vaguely resembles a nightclub. Also note the tile patterns in the floor.

Above is one of the many strains of marble used in the mall to denote a jewelry store. These small window displays were used to glorify their contents, but sadly all are empty.

Another tile pattern outside of a jewelry store. In this example, the jeweler's cases are now used for NASCAR memorabilia (Tony Stewart is from Columbus, Indiana). Below is the former food court, which is now completely empty. The man sitting on the counter underneath the beautiful tiles is a construction worker. This shot shows the neon dancing through the ghost mall. Pretty amazing stuff.

On a more serious note, here is the story of Mannerist Brutalism...

Two notable elementary schools worth comparing are Southside and Smith, located on opposite sides of town. They were both built in 1969 by separate members of the Harvard Five: Elliot Noyes and John Johansen respectively.

Below, Southside Elementary (Elliot Noyes, 1969) is classic American Campus High Modernist Brutalism, appropriately scaled for small children. Brutalism is one form of High Modernism. This school is on the nice side of town, and is where @mockitecture went for High School dances, though he went to elementary school at Southside's rival, Parkside Elementary.

Noyes' building presents a no nonsense approach to geometrical and organizational purity (what one might expect from a high modernist) through a near perfect symmetry and an all encompassing, relentless repetition of concrete planes. We sense a monumental purity and definitive authority when in the presence of this building. Arguably, the only ornament on this school are the security cameras mounted noticeably about. This is all comically inappropriate for an elementary school.

Across town, in the style of Mannerist Brutalism, L Frances Smith Elementary (1969) by John Johansen pulls off the seemingly impossible: undermining the absolute truths of Noyes' building. Johansen's building feels more dynamic as its internal rooms are expressed individually rather than collectively, and scattered about the grounds of the school.

The secret is that many of Columbus' buildings pioneer the idea of Mannerist High Modernism (in this case Mannerist Brutalism) in architecture. In Smith's case, Johansen sought a more human condition in his buildings, both in scale and form, breaking from the establishment Modernism of contemporaries like Noyes and I.M. Pei, who also studied under Gropius. Pei designed the Cleo Rogers Library in Columbus.

The origins of Johansen's eventual exuberant, colorful mashups, based on orthogonal reinforced concrete construction and systems theory, are evident above in this arrangement of quasi-brutalist solids joined by brightly colored steel tubes.

Johansen's reaction to the Noyes High Modernism camp is hugely significant as it situates the struggle to establish a well mannered Mannerism within the context of dying High Modernism by injecting brightly colored vitality into existing architecture trends. (see Johansen's 1970's Mummers Theater in Oklahoma City for a more radical version of this Mannerist High Modernism (MHM)).

Above, a sidewalk in the sky, in the manner of Brutalism. It is a painted steel tube and is also only about 15 feet in the sky. Below, The 1997 expansion is exquisite and is one of many renovation/additions which has been carefully executed in Columbus.

A tunnel connects an entrance to the office. Unfortunately Smith's signage is not obnoxiously big and on the floor below, thats a rug.

Our last stop of the day was the Holiday Inn. It's everydayness - its hotel-ness - is hidden within an insanely intense fictional experience. All sense of reality and time is lost within the hotel's old-new indoor "public spaces". One might be tipped off at the collapsing of history and reality immediately upon entering. The brick facade and the Inn's latest 2000's addition is terrifyingly back-dated to 1884.

An undersized faux marble statue of Christopher Columbus greets visitors in the main lobby, with a strangely dangling cartoon bubble hanging over his head. He proclaims how wonderful he has found Columbus, Indiana to be. Nevermind that the town was settled only a mere 300+ years after his death. This mind-bending alternative history, expressed through an impossible object, is a perfect metaphor for Columbus Holiday Inn's hallucinatory atmosphere.

Mashing together history creates an escapist fantasy-land, while ideas of interior and exterior are also blurred. Below, a man takes it all in on the "street", while a hotel guest gets information at the front desk.

These steampunk elevators incorporate carnival lighting, creating one of the strongest mashups of histories and environments. The lights don't make sense, but they work well to celebrate the elevator doors. This wood lattice is overused to perfection, taking the ordinary and making it extraordinary. When contrasted with the lights, this space comes alive. These fictional designs blur the line between imaginary and real by disintegrating genres and the lines of traditional building typologies.

A bit further down the brick lined street-hallway, past the barber shop and boutique candy shop, are two signs which continue the hybridized history theme.

Here, an American Western log cabin style sign, above, has been placed next to an Olde English Victorian themed sign, below.

Behind this is a miniature gothic church model holding a list showing the location of all churches in Columbus. The ornate detailing found in the hotel brings a slice of Disneyland to Columbus, IN. The dramatic lighting turns this hotel lobby into a stage set for... staying at a hotel. The building tells an epic about vacation, about getting away to another place.

Passing through the dining room and its period furniture replicas from the victorian era, lies the main attraction - the famed Holidome. A Holidome is a special recreation area featured at select Holiday Inn's. They typically are a souped up indoor pool area, with an arcade, sauna, hottub, etc. This is a particularly fantastic Holidome; the indoor-outdoor space features street lamps, brick lined walks, covered porches, shutters & siding, and a covered bridge. The only indication of being indoors is the potent smell of chlorine from the pool in the center of the 'dome. The feel of the Holidome is decidedly early nostalgic suburban village. It possibly exists as a model of Columbus (pre-1950s) in a box within the actual City of Columbus, but at times feels more like a romanticized collective view of a fantasized nostalgia for a utopian past. The Holidome offers visitors to Columbus a taste of their own imaginations about the quintissential small Midwestern town.

One of the best things about Holidome is the deconstruction of interior and exterior, shown above by the indoor pool, and below by the interior window to the inside, complete with faux shutters.

The experience as a whole rapidly jumps from promoting American and English nostalgia. Upon exiting, a few other formal gestures hinted at the madness within. Mannerist, over-scaled elements found along the side of the Holidome.

Perhaps the romantiscism of the Holiday Inn from the 70s was a small, but heroic, attempt at reclaiming territory all but lost through Columbus' wave of modernism, offering - at a time of decorationless geometrical and functional rigor - an alternative future for Columbus. But it's more likely that this building is designed for a different set of people than the JI Miller-sponsored classics.

To be continued....

An Alternative History of the Christmas Ornament

2011-12-24T12:52:00.002-05:00

The Christmas ornament is a curious object. Its success is directly dependent on its ability to legibly communicate symbols of nostalgia, religion, and/or popular culture. The evolution of the ornament has been (perhaps accidentally) documented through the US Patent process and digitized for the masses via Google.

Early ornaments evoke a somewhat mystical, Primitive Hut phase of decoration. These late-19th century decorations were composed of natural tree twigs, small beads and fabrics, manipulated into primitive geometric shapes of circles and ovals.

"It will be seen that the ornament is of a brilliant and beautiful nature, its beauty being increased by covering the balls with colored floss-silk, said silk being wound around the balls and concealing the periphery thereof." - Bernhard Wilmsen, US Patent No. 424,916, ca. 1890 (pictured above)

As the complexity of ornamentation grew in the early to mid 20th century, it was possible to embed new narratives into the object. These stories were most notably driven by either religion or family heritage.

"the entire assembly will be of attractive appearance and will, when agitated, respond with a bell-like tinkle." - John Sexton, US Patent No. 328,708, ca. 1940

Geometrical complexity was driven by the popularity of the star as religious symbol:

Millard Pretzfelder's "Christmas Tree Ornament," ca. 1936.

Jack Burnbaum's "Christmas Ornament," ca. 1966.

As three-dimensional ducks emerged to compete with two-dimensional decorated sheds, new innovations in the structuring of ornaments were required. The hook evolving from an object of utility to an object of desire:

JoAnn Matthews' "Christmas Ornament Hook," ca. 1990.

Dale Dieringer's "Christmas Ornament Hanger," ca. 1995.

John Brown's "Ornamental Hook," ca. 1998.

And while the representation of some patents lacked inspiration in the laziest of ways...

Anthony Giglio's "Phosphorescent Coloring Method" applied to a Christmas ornament, ca. 1993.

Dominik Grube's "Combined Card and Christmas Tree Ornament," ca. 1995.

...others succeeded. We found the most compelling ornaments to be those which sought to perform double (or sometimes triple) duty. Tree watering devices, fire extinguishers, smoke alarms, and so on all camouflaged as ornaments. We've labelled these as heroic objects, and seek to find their architectural equivalent someday.

Anthony Panetta's "Fire Safety Christmas Ornament," ca. 1978.

Michael Mastriano's "Combination Greeting Card, Ornament, and Seed Germination Box," ca. 1983.

Katie Sands' "Christmas Tree Self-Watering Ornament," ca. 1991.

Ken Swerdlick's "Christmas Tree Watering Ornament," ca. 1996.

Yeoun Soo Jung's "E-Z Christmas Tree Waterer," ca. 1996.

Peiki Tsou's "Christmas Tree Ornament-Shaped Fire Alarm," ca. 1997.

Until then, Merry Christmas, you guys...

Brigette Talevski's "Santa Claws," ca. 1990.

Lloyd Fuss' "Christmas Tree Ornament," ca. 1990.

Brian Kucheran's "Christmas Ornament," ca. 1993.

Andrew Lewis' Mistle-Toe Christmas Ornament, ca. 1995.

David Whitman's "Illuminable Christmas Ornament," ca. 2003.

Juliane Puntch's "Christmas Ornament," ca. 2004.

"Men (specifically designers) Who Lack Supervision"

2011-11-17T20:39:00.008-05:00

Gotta admit, the title resonates with me. A Hollandian collection of "inferior quality photographs linked by facetious comments", this is a curated collection of designs that I received via chain email from a family member. There are some real innovators in here, and some radical designs.

Let me know if you would like me to forward you the entire email.

Highlighting the domesticity of the American automobile lifestyle, automotive design borrows from architecture.

A dangerously incomplete utilitarian design, this chair/toilet hybrid really only functions as a toilet and is easily mass produced. Presumably this idea grew hastily from a dire situation.

A twisted take on Farm to Table, this makes us aware of where our food comes from and the processes that deliver it to us.

Really just genius, the material and its packaging are appropriated to function in harmonious beauty.

Is it a conversation pit or a barge? In this case, the pool forms a mote, an isolating element not normally associated with couches.

Collaborative Design that unites people around a cause.

Meeting of the minds. I bet some good thinking is done around that fire pit.

Even interior fixtures offer a chance to show off taste.

Highly expressive, this gate latch serves as a gate latch protecting the gasoline, which can be expensive.

Hybrid cooler/scooter. This guy is always the life of the party.

Not really design, but he has the right idea.

High Tech, Low Quality

2011-11-02T20:27:00.001-04:00

Click on the image below...

Green Design Troublemakers

2011-10-30T19:58:00.001-04:00

The beginning of the self-parody of the green design movement is upon us. "Green" can now function both as resource conserver and disruptive force: parody saturated with symbolically loaded, eco-friendly green washed content. Such an agenda might best be understood as a mannerist reaction to the Green Design Movement.

Central to this discussion is Peter Hutchinson's Mannerism in the Abstract, appearing first in Art and Artists (1966) and later reprinted in Minimal Art: A Critical Anthology (1968). The article identifies works of art which seem to subtly attack the emerging Minimal Art movement from within. Hutchinson describes these pieces as largely unnoticed, yet profoundly radical in their departure from the purist values of Minimal Art. Just how something could play by the rules of Minimalism while at the same time challenging it's ideals requires extreme intellectual rigor and restraint.

Untitled, Larry Poons, 1960s. (image credit)

"Larry Poon's ovals, while strongly suggesting an undiscovered, perhaps musical symmetry, refuse to rely on such symettry. Instead they leap accross the surface. The eye jumps from one oval to the next, as the eye jumps from detail to detail in a Mannerist facade...the purist philosophy of absolute "rightness" is already breaking down."

Hutchinson unleashes an onslaught of Mannerist reaction to Minimalist Art:

"Anuszkiewicz destroys the extreme classicality of his compositions simply by causing the eye to jolt back and forth...Hinman's convoluted canvases have a curving diagonal space plunging out at the viewer, who must retreat...Ginnever's green and black sculpture appears voluminous. Seen from the side, it reveals itself as a superstructure, a false-front...Grosvenor's giant structures mock other giantist sculptures in a Mannerist way...Valledor's parallelograms lean forward, in a way mocking geometric stability yet retaining symettry...There is no end to the Mannerist love of reversal, double meaning and spoof."

Kazimir Malevich's refined and pure 'Black Square' (1913) paired with Dan Flavin's "dramatic hysterical" take on Minimal Art, 'the diagonal of May 25' (1963).

The purist philosophy of 1960's Minimal Art seems almost as unanswerable as the absolute truths of today's Green Design movement, which seeks to "eliminate negative environmental impact completely through skillful, sensitive design." How could anyone in their right mind reject or even dare challenge a design movement with such lofty ambitions!? A home improvement project/art installation in the Ohio River Valley suggests a possible future for Mannerist Green Design. A developer installed solar panels on his property, blocking the views of his next door neighbor, a builder (who built the developer's house).

The developer is quoted saying, "The only way it would function is to cut down all the trees" ... "It was placed there because that's the only spot where it could collect the rays of the sun and function appropriately."

The builder's wife contends, "I don't know how you do this to somebody. I just don't. We want to retire here. This is our retirement home. And then we have to be neighbors with someone who would do that, for the rest of our life? My question is why?"

Gonzosaint's colorful comments on the article importantly hint at the connections between the self-parody of the green design movement and a capitalist desire for greed à la green:

"Are we actually supposed to feel sorry for this "victim"? Only the enquirer could be this tone deaf. Today is the 10th anniversary of 9/11 and our local paper is "reporting" on the trials and tribulations of some rich strumpet having one of her 3 views obstructed by her even richer neighbor's solar panels. Of course there is no mention of the poor people whose neighborhood was eminent domained and subsequently razed to make room for these monuments to American excess. My only regret is that her neighbor's solar panels aren't in the shape of an extended middle finger."

The essence of the slippery nature of Mannerist Green Design is called out by Tara Dodrill, of the Yahoo! Contributor Network : "Is Neyer [the Developer] a rude neighbor or did he simply place the solar panels in the direct path of the sunshine to fuel his home?"

Green Design as idea (left) and reality (right). Right Image Credit: The Enquirer/Patrick Reddy.

Hutchinson, in talking about Mannerist Minimal Art, could just as easily have been talking about this solar panel slop fest: "This new sensibility looks at first sight remarkably like the [eco-friendly construction] from which it departs. It appears to the causal viewer as a [solar collecting device]. It is disguised as [required for LEED credit], shrugged off as [malicious]. Behind the charming but "impure" [array] are great disquiet, turmoil, cynicism, and self-doubt."

Mannerist Green Design might also take on the role of the Spite House, or the Spite Fence: a bending of the rules for selfish gain, yielding the architectural equivalent of the exclamation point. Numerous examples exist, from the Richardson Spite House in New York City of 1882 to Atelier Bow Wow's catalog of Pet Architecture in 2002. Mannerist Green Design might contribute to this tradition of building in spite of your neighbor. It will certainly challenge our evolving understanding of natural resource rights (i.e. the right to solar access, public vs. private rights to water, wind leases & easements, air rights, etc.).

Jan Pol's (b. 1894) "Monument to Injustice" (image credit) paired with 1m wide by 10m tall house in Madre de Deus, Brazil (image credit)

Hutchinson's conclusion is at once both beautiful and deeply dark. It might be one of my favorite pieces of writing on art. It's brilliant in that it gives us an understanding of just why somebody would want to challenge (or disrupt) the Minimal Art, and subsequently, the Green Design Movement:

"Contemporary Mannerist work sometimes gets so extreme in its use of acid color, exaggeration of shape, and in its drama that it appears hysterical. Indeed in today's reaction against Romanticism, against Freudian explanation, against pure logic, these artists see themselves as useless members in a society where everybody is useless. Where art was once the only useless thing, now everything has lost meaning. If the artist himself feels he is losing meaning, no wonder he reacts with hysteria. He does super works with the directionless energy of a hysteric - and the result is often hysteria's attendant paralysis. The coldness, the lack of motion, the acidity of color, the lack of detail (expression), are Mannerist symptoms felt before in other centuries in times of mounting disbelief. Bronzino's human contemporary view will break out into horizons broader than hitherto, views not seen entirely from the human scope. It would be a true Mannerist convention that works done despairingly, that desperately parody, should turn out to be truly significant.

The scientist offers a hopeful world, a world where inevitable progress discovers more and more, a world that gets better and better. This world is sane, stable, and knows where it is going. The Mannerist counters with a world in intellectual hysteria, punctuated by frozen activity, a world where space-time cease to have meaning, a world of soundless gestures, where humans do not live."

Tectonic Folly Folk Ballad

2011-10-22T14:02:00.000-04:00

The building cried and wept when it wanted to. The ancients didn't fully understand this, but in their trepidation resided respect. One particularly hot afternoon amidst a heat wave of similar brutally hot days the building again became active, violently ejecting water as if it were a volcano. This came at a time when the ancients had almost forgotten what water looked like, for the summer drought had lasted what seemed like an eternity.

BOOOOM. WOOOOOOSHHHHH. S H H H H H H H H H h h h h h . . .

Reverberations of the event rippled through the narrow streets and alleys of the town. Passersby stopped and stared. Shocked into a trance. A glistening wall of water captured the rays of the sun, redirecting them in all directions. The building had briefly turned into a supermassive prism! Just for a fleeting second or two, but oh! It was so brilliant you should have been there. Steam instantly filled the streets as this rare bit of water, striking the thirsty asphalt below, vaporized.

The next several weeks, the ancients would flock to the building, or at least somewhere in the vicinity of the building. They were never quite sure which building it was or when it would happen again. Tension filled the desperate crowd. The optimists eagerly attempted to tell the cynics about the building they remembered, "...it felt like a struggle to reject the rules of our town; to overcome the expected by producing moments of surprise and richness!" The cynics always responded with an undeniable anger in their voice. "We need that water to drink and bathe with! The architecture of this town has turned against us. Hoarding it all. Playing games with us." One day as the sun was beating down on the crowd, a man somewhere in the middle snapped. "THIS IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH, GODDAMMIT! GIVE US OUR F*#@ING WATER." It wasn't clear if he was yelling at the building or the sky, but neither listened. It didn't rain again that summer.

Boston City Hall: A Brutalist Icon

2011-10-19T21:16:00.007-04:00

“We distrust and have reacted against an architecture that is absolute, uninvolved and abstract. We have moved towards an architecture that is specific and concrete, involving itself with the social and geographic context, the program, and methods of construction, in order to produce a building that exists strongly and irrevocably, rather than an uncommitted abstract structure that could be any place and, therefore, like modern man— without identity or presence.”

– Architect Gehardt Kallmann

In 1962, Kallmann, McKinnell & Knowles won an international competition to design the Boston City Hall. Their bold design broke from the sleek, stylish glass boxes usually associated with the era. Poured-in-place and pre-cast concrete volumes define public space and private space, while breaks and protrusions in the facade allow the public a glimpse inside the mayor's office. The concrete is of the "brutalist" style, a sort of secondary "modernism" which was beginning to crop up around the US and Europe. The Boston City Hall exemplifies this movement through the use of concrete, rough materials and finishes, and large sculptural volumes.

Built elements materialize the concept of government transparency. This building is probably the closest that American Brutalism came to the ethos of movement. The use of "beton brut" concrete expresses and makes clear the construction methods to a broad audience. Concrete is relatively inexpensive, and the technology trumpets "progress". The large, open volumes create a physical and spatial transparency. This civic statement that the building makes formally is strong, successful, and in the spirit of Brutalism. The building could be considered "aloof" (like the government). It is unclear where to enter, and from a distance the functions of the building are not apparent. Volumetrically, the building creates marvelous interior spaces, though taxpayers do not appreciate the subsequent high cost of heating or the wasted space in the building. I believe that Boston City Hall is a wonderful example of civic monumentality and modernist architecture, however as a functioning building it fails miserably.

Upon completion, the building was praised by New York Times architecture critic Ada Louise Huxtable as "a notable achievement ...Old and New Boston are joined through an act of urban design that relates directly to the quality of the city and its life." Huxtable was not the only critic to praise the design. In his survey of Boston architecture, historian Douglass Shand-Tucci called Boston City Hall "one of America's foremost landmarks" and "arguably the great building of twentieth century Boston." These individual sentiments are echoed by architects who, in a 1976 survey, crowned the BCH the sixth greatest building in America. High praise for any building, these accolades are especially provocative in the case of City Hall.

Boston City Hall was recently named "The World's Ugliest Building" in an online poll. The building has been called "ugly", "a bunker," "a heavily muscled, thick-fingered, knuckle-dragging, semi-monstrous intransigent brute with a slow stupid stare," and a prototypical example of "sweater-snagging Brutalism, concrete not friendly to tender fingertips or to the eye." Legend has it that the criticism of City Hall started when the architects unveiled their design. The crowd let out a mixture of cheers, gasps, and a voice that said, "What the hell is that?" Mayor John Collins reportedly let out an inadvertent gasp of horror. (The design had been chosen by four architects and three businessmen, not the mayor.) The building got the last laugh, however, as Collins was so excited to be the first mayor to work in the new city hall that he moved in before the building was complete and he caught pneumonia. He missed his successor's inaugural speech, bedridden.

Walt Lockley, in a lively 2006 critique wonders, "It is interesting to know how this happened, exactly who in 1962 thought this was a good idea, but the much better question is what now?" A Boston Globe article in 2004, asked "Is there a pox on the building?" Mayor Thomas Merino responded, "Cursed? Nah, it's not cursed. C'mon, it's just had a bad beginning. It's a tough building, though, confusing, too much wasted space, expensive to heat, and it's modernistic and not typical of Boston." Merino, however has led a campaign to destroy the building and move government functions to a site in South Boston. He favors the design of a more "aesthetically pleasing" building. A group of activists have formed the "Friends of Boston City Hall" in order to prevent its destruction. Merino embraced the 2008 "Ugliest Building" award as "good for tourism." As of 2011, plans to demolish BCH are on hold. Architect Gehardt Kallman holds out hope. "I get a sense I may live to see City Hall come back into fashion."

The critics range from architects to critics to city workers. Critics love the building, as do architects, though the flaws do not go unnoticed. The public and the people who work in the building hate the building and do not care about the historical or cultural value of it. Ada Louise Huxtable praised the building, as did Douglass Shand-Tucci. The AIA loves it. So why do the city workers and public hate it? It has a grim aesthetic which takes effort to enjoy. Most people do not understand the beauty of raw concrete. Most people are not able to piece together the construction process through the treatment of the concrete. And most importantly, the public doesn't understand the history of this type of building or the futurist-progressive innovation of the material. Their interaction with the building is very limited. The people who work inside the building hate it because it is dark, cold, hard to navigate, and generally uncomfortable. Boston City Hall raises an importan question, whose opinion do we trust in matters of preservation?

The Lockley piece highlights this question. He is knowledgable and has a humorous yet critical tone. (As many critics of BCH have.) The timing and nature of his critique make me wonder what his intentions are. I suspect he is writing this piece as an activist pre-empting the backlash toward Mayor Merino's plan to demolish the building and sell the land to private developers. He says, "So when the City of Boston finally wants to begin public hearings, inevitably some conservationist will file suit to preserve the building...trust your own judgment and the judgment of those who use and work in the building. Those opinions are the ones that count." Whose opinion do we trust in a circumstance like this one? Do we differ to the educated and informed opinion of architects and critics who love the building as a great work of art, a monument to our civilization? Or is the poor functionality of the building, the leaks, drafts, and dim spaces, enough to condemn and destroy? In this case we should leave the building. Many structures with no redeeming qualities have performance issues. BCH has enough significance beyond function that we should leave it be.

A Larry-Davidian Bike Messenger Incident

2011-09-13T16:25:00.002-04:00

This summer I was working at Studio-X, perched peacefully on the 16^th floor at Varick St. and Houston St. The neighborhood is quaint and mainly comprised of offices and small residences. This creates a relatively peaceful environment, even when compared with nearby Soho. I would take advantage of the surroundings by walking around the block a few times per day. These escapes broke up the day and connected me to the city. One particular experience served as a learning experience for me and highlighted the contrast of everyday living in the city with the romantic nature of this neighborhood.

I was on one of my walks, getting ready to turn from the residential side street back on to busier and commercial Varick St. As I passed a small and shoddy storefront, a bike messenger burst out of the door. He began to run down the sidewalk with his bike before even saddling up. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the derelict, clown-looking bike messenger screamed “Get the F#@$ out of my way, NOW!” I shifted my step and he sped down the side walk on his very hi-tech bicycle. I was startled. Obviously, I had the right-of-way on the sidewalk. Bikes are meant to be ridden on the street.

I yelled back at him “Get off the sidewalk!” He stopped, turned around, and rode his bike very quickly back towards me. He went through his high-strung bike messenger act, yelling at me and cursing. I told him to calm down, and refused to fight him (A fight would have gone poorly for me). He got his tough-guy licks in, and scurried off to his next destination. I continued back on my walk, into 180 Varick and up the elevator, to the safety of the 16^th floor.

This was a learning experience. It is said that some people learn visually and some learn audibly. I learn the hard way. If anyone had asked me “Should you yell at people on the streets of Manhattan?” I would answer “No.” But apparently I needed proof. Midwestern car-culture allows this sort of behavior, as one is protected by the safety of a car's interiority and mobility. Give someone the finger and just drive away, it will be ok. On the mean streets of New York there is no escape and bike messengers will chase you down.

This was part of the New York acclimation process. Sometimes people are having bad days, and the external stressors cause tempers to flare. The dichotomy between the peaceful walk and the bike messenger incident highlights the nature of Manhattan. John Berger describes living here as a simultaneous dream and nightmare being lived by each inhabitant. It is something that takes getting used to.

I also learned that bike messengers are crazy and to be avoided.

Guest Contribution

2011-09-09T20:27:00.004-04:00

Our friends at the BI-Blog were kind enough to give us a cameo on their internet website (per se), and this happened. On one hand, we have the beautiful built-silver-linings of crisis, and on the other, an attempt to make sense of a shadowy boat figure in Stanley Tigerman's Titanic.

Picnic Tables: Pure Architecture as Tschumian Cyberpunk Political Statement

2011-08-29T16:08:00.014-04:00

Picnics tables are one of the simplest design typologies, and are often found in the simplest of places. When I was young, picnics tables were an icon for leisure. Where there was a picnic table there was sunshine, playgrounds, barbeques, and miscellaneous festive activities. These folk structures were dependable armatures for family gathering after family gathering, sitting in the landscape waiting for the next event. They have never turned anyone down or charged a user fee. From a populist perspective, picnic tables are a political statement. From a Tschumian perspective, they are pure architecture.

Picnic table styles vary. The basic principle is a table top with multiple seats. Subtle variation allows for a personal touch. Legs can be crossed, or traditional. Depending on the use, the seats can be fixed or detached, with or without seatbacks. ADA tables have extended tops where underneath a wheelchair can fit. Most are made of wood, sometimes painted, sometimes not. In some instances, wire mesh or perforated metal evokes a more institutional feel. Concrete tables are timeless and sturdy. Tectonically, there is potential for experimentation, especially with wooden tables. Structural systems are utilized, each as expressive as the other. You can see diagonal bracing, shear support, and different structural connections. Picnic tables are small structural expressionist follies, though this is not what makes them so special.

Some private backyards have picnic tables, but they are more commonly used in public spaces. Public spaces are dwindling; places to sit down and eat or converse are at a premium. Streets have been co-opted and staked claim to by late-capitalist pocket bleeders. Too often, one must buy something to experience a place. Benches offer some relief, but picnic tables offer what a bench cannot. Benches usually sit only three or four people linearly. A picnic table sits eight to ten people, and in a more conducive arrangement for conversation. Parks, usually due to a lack of desire or funding for design, often contain multiple picnic tables.

Planners try to arrange these prefab places into a sensible layout, and an AutoCAD block even attempts to help plan lines or arrays of them. The tables, acting as the ultimate adaptable design objects, are moved and rearranged by people in attempts to appropriate the structures to their needs. Perhaps they are moved closer to a car, or arranged in a circle to accommodate a large group. This empowerment, the ability of those who understand the reality of function for any given event, to organize the space and its components gives picnic table’s profound status as populist political statement. Often the people engaging have very little to engage with, and a park’s picnic table gives them something physically and politically. The image of a picnic table standing alone in a harsh, cold, concrete dystopia, as the last holdout of public space would be a striking cyberpunk narrative.

“Architecture is not simply about space and form, but also about event, action, and what happens in space,” architect Bernard Tschumi wrote in his Manhattan Transcripts, where photographs and diagrams are used to parse from traditional representation the functions or “events” that make architecture. According to Tschumi, the built environment is merely a “stage set” where protagonists act out a script. Picnics tables are these “stage sets.” Much like Tschumi’s Parc de la Villette, a realized version of the Manhattan Transcripts, the structures exist with no inherant function and no relationship with existing place. In this sense, they are pure architecture, unadorned and purely functional.

The political implications of Tschumi’s work parallels those of picnic tables. Tschumi’s Parc de la Villette challenges the existing social framework that defines contemporary urbanity by “transgressing the limits that history has set for it.” Like the political statement of the simple and elegant public picnic table, the Parc is organized via “space, event, and movement” in lieu of form. This lack of cultural and historical hierarchy activates both P de la V and picnic tables as agents of social empowerment. They challenge not only accepted planning tradition, but our entire political and social structure.

Tschumi would love the picnic table’s populist struggle against the capitalist hierarchy which makes our cities less accessible for everyone. He would applaud their lack of formal sophistication and low-brow functionality, as it challenges cultural hierarchy. He may critique the picnic table’s lack of spatial dynamo and inability to act sequentially. He would appreciate them as follies, but picnic tables do not challenge our perceptions of how space acts; the red deconstructivist pavilions certainly do. The beauty is that he could pick the picnic tables up, arrange them, and alleviate these deficiencies.

Old/New

2011-08-29T14:35:00.017-04:00

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Nevada’s Frontier Urbanism: Beyond the Las Vegas Strip

2011-08-18T14:38:00.004-04:00

Nevada’s unique brand of urbanism grew out of its history, politics, culture, and physical terrain. It remains a fantastic landscape and even its cities evoke the frontier. This “Frontier Urbanism” is the American Dream built on Libertarian ideology and preserved in Nevada.

Nothing is more American than Manifest Destiny. It embodies the roots, the "rugged individualism" that the nation prides itself on. Anglo-Saxons were "destined" to make their way across and inhabit the width of this new continent. Only God could stop them. It was 1776, and a new era of freedom and democracy was expanding westward towards California. Wagons and explorers blazed trails through rough wilderness. Every person had the opportunity to make his way in the free country. While Europe industrialized historic cities into modern metropoleis, America had a blank canvas. The American West, and specifically Nevada, is a living history of this American-ness played out on the open range.

By the end of the 19th century the entirety of the West had been inhabited. Today, our politics has evolved and the rugged individualism manifests itself in subtler, tamer ways. In Nevada, the frontier that was once conquered by pioneers remains only halfconquered, with a unique collection of quasi-urban, suburban, and rural-urban conditions. With cities increasingly homogenous (they can be described simply as "the city") it is areas like Nevada that keep the traditions and ideas of yesteryear alive. These Western towns are also relics of a time, not long ago, when unfettered capitalism was rivaled only by our territorial instinct. Nevada’s towns were vehicles for an insane gold rush in unclaimed lands. Towns included main streets with the most wonderful of false fronts, behind them the opium dens, cathouses, and saloons of the "wild west." The "live free" attitude is alive and well in its purest form on the open ranges of Nevada.

Libertarian ideology of "no government is good government," defines Nevada and its landscape today. This differs from the mid-western family-values-oriented strain of conservatism, where cries for government involvement in social issues dominate the discussion. In Nevada, people just want to be left alone. They hate taxes, planning commissions, and building codes. This bodes well for the architectural adventure seeker. The resulting “Frontier Urbanism" is a freeform, hodgepodge lack of planning which retains the feel of the frontier, even in the most urban areas. This is a direct result of the political ideology of Nevada: No new taxes, minimal service, and minimal regulation.

When thinking about relocating to Nevada’s rural Humboldt County, potential residents are warned about the perils of living on the modern frontier. On the planning department website, users are encouraged to download “The Code of the West.” It cautions prospective land buyers about water rights, rural road conditions, lack of cell phone service, sensitivity of utilities, grazing rights, and many other issues not present in most areas.

You may not have access to a supply of treated domestic water…If your road is unpaved, it is highly unlikely that Humboldt County will pave it in the foreseeable future…Nevada has an open range law. This means if you do not want cattle, sheep or other livestock on your property, it is your responsibility to fence them out…do not expect county government to intervene in the normal day-to-day operations of your agri-business neighbors...Easements may require you to allow construction of roads, power lines, MINING, etc. across your land…The water flowing in irrigation ditches belongs to someone. You cannot assume that because the water flows across your property, you can use it.

It reads like a stern planning department bureaucrat warning of the perils of this difficult terrain. It also serves as a vivid look at the current conditions of America’s last frontier. The land is very lightly developed, if at all. When the trailblazers seeking the coast stopped passing through, development slowed, nearly freezing. Unlike other parts of the country, the majority of Nevadans do not want that to change.

In Reno, the biggest northern city, streets operate on a loose grid in the downtown, but quickly melt into the landscape. It is not a typical suburban development grid breakdown, however. There is simply a lack of cohesion. Each part of town has a different layout. Many are very loose, meandering through the landscape. In the neighborhoods around University of Nevada, quasi-residential areas interlock with half-gridded off-campus housing. Defining the landscape across McCarran Blvd. is New Frontier Urbanism, 2000's style sprawl. This is the American Spirit, updated. The car is the new wagon, the road the new trail, the sky still big, all in a wild-west landscape. One such development is Damonte Ranch, a mammoth collection of eerily similar looking homes arranged in a blob-like street system on old Damonte Ranch. These are the new false fronts, re-conquering the west. By the way, it’s also half deserted.

Within each different piece of Reno’s ungridded collage, you will find differentiation at street scale. Whether it is a tattoo parlor next to luxury condominiums next to a casino, or a Mexican restaurant next to an art gallery next to a motel, the lack of planning and design review makes for a unique and diverse landscape. It is reminiscent of the old west’s varied false fronts reading "blacksmith," "bath house," and "saloon." Today's false front is often more sculpted, three dimensional, and contains a healthy dose of neon and garish color. Each town has a main street resembling something between an old west town and the Las Vegas strip. At building scale, the downtowns are a historical goldmine. They remind us that Nevada is still very much dependent on two industries, gaming and mining. The cities look the part, with neon and older bulb-illuminated signs glowing on top of authentic wooden false front buildings right out of western film. Carson City is the state's capitol. A town of 60,000 with a railroad museum, it has a handful of casinos at its core. The local political battle is funding for a public-private partnership to revitalize downtown with a new parking garage for the Carson Nugget, the city’s biggest casino.

Political heritage is not the only force molding Nevada into a fantastic landscape. The harsh desert makes it one of the least developed areas in the US, next to Alaska. Nevada got its start when gold seeking "49'ers,” headed towards California, stopped at the Sierra Nevada mountains. The Sierra is a jagged, snowy mountain range and many settlers died on its passes. As pockets of gold and silver were discovered in the rough Nevada desert Miners and surveyors moved east looking for new lodes. This was the 19th century, and the state was virtually all wildernesses. Towns would pop up almost overnight to provide access to the new mines of precious metal buried in the hills. A network of towns was created to get supplies deep into the frontier, each town smaller than the next. The pop up nature of the camps gives Nevada an extraordinary number of ghost towns. The network did not last, but some of the larger towns are now rural outposts to this day.

Las Vegas is in some respects a pop up frontier city. The mining towns were founded throughout the 19th century and like Las Vegas, they captured the zeitgeist. Las Vegas is the largest US city founded in the 20th century; it grew extremely fast, much like the mining camps did. Its history parallels the boom and bust cycles of America. Las Vegas was founded in 1905, and Ford's Model T popularized the car in 1908. In 1911, Las Vegas was home to 800 people. It boomed post-WWII along with the American dream. In the 60’s Howard Hughes started the trend of corporate investment in Las Vegas. The population began to soar, and “gambling” turned into “gaming” in the 1980’s. It is currently home to the country’s highest metropolitan foreclosure rate. For these reasons, Las Vegas has long been a topic of urban discourse. The Strip is the gold standard for the commercial vernacular drive-by architecture. Outside of the strip, you will find a city completely designed for cars, much like Frank Lloyd Wright’s Broadacre city. There is no historical city center that was built before the car. The city is a very clear arterial grid. These roads run east-west and north-south, much like a typical gridded city, but with much more distance between each road. The blocks are designed for driving. Within each of the grid's squares, there are unique systems of smaller roads, depending on the development. The roads are very wide and accommodate multiple lanes of traffic easily. Las Vegas exemplifies the frontier urbanist paradigm of cars on the open range, moving about as freely as possible in a city of 2,000,000.

This Post Needs A Title

2011-04-14T14:58:00.004-04:00

This is a piece I put together when asked to write a manifesto. It is a couple years old, but i serves as a departure point for the question "What is Mockitecture?" Been thinking about that alot, and hopefully we can get back to the roots of Mockitecture...comedy as architectural derivative.

Throughout the ages, an architectural “pendulum of meaning” has been swinging back and forth from meaning to non-meaning. The basis is this: classicism/neoclassicism (A – meaning) and its communicative properties, to modernism (B - non-meaning) and its high tech aesthetic. We went [Back] to PostModernism (A – meaning), then [back] to the blob/ NeoExpressionism/ NeoModernism (B – non-meaning) and its high-tech aesthetic. It is only a matter of time before we go [back] to our historicist roots. However, this time around meaning will manifest itself in a new, contemporary language. Both Robert Venturi and Rem Koolhaas speak of the contemporary condition of “meaninglessness.”

In 1972, Venturi stated, “The substitution of expression for representation through disdain for symbolism and ornament has resulted in an architecture where expression has become expressionism.” This condition exists today, as well. Koolhaas’ 2007 description of the contemporary landscape:

“…a desperate effort to differentiate one building from the next – has been characterized by a manic production of extravagant shapes. Paradoxically, the result is a surprisingly monotonous urban substance, where any attempt at ‘difference’ is instantly neutralized in a sea of meaningless architectural gestures.”

Due to the recent global financial crash (and impending fallout), architecture will see the end of the high modernist paradigm of global genericization. This would result from a cultural shift to quality over quantity. Rather than aiming at creating an expressionist icon, a new Cultural and Political system will be realized in architecture, in order to differentiate with in cultural context. This has been the ideal for sometime, but very seldom is it realized.

A recent trend that has hurt our cities is the ignorance of the object. The object is inevitable. There will be a building there. That is what architecture is. So beyond the reorganization of space, architecture has an opportunity to be the signifier of culture. Think Chartres Cathedral or western fronts. When the object is ignored, our cities grow banal and inhumane. Charles Jencks would refer to the architects’ “responsibility for the public and esoteric meanings of a civic building.” Unfortunately, Jencks simultaneously advocates and writes off what he calls enigmatic signifiers as “an especially difficult task in a global culture without a shared value system” (a too often held nihilist perspective on the role of architecture.) The rethinking/reversion of this role is where the recent financial calamities will positively affect culture and architecture in the future. This can happen if we can break away from viewing architecture as resultant force, and make it proactive. Architecture can serve the client, and still hold great meaning. The public can enjoy architecture.

Alejandro Zaero-Polo addressed these issues in a recent article entitled “The Politics of the Envelope,” He states in the article that “the building envelope is now a technology at the vortex of the political storm.”

The envelope exceeds the surface by incorporating a much wider set of attachments. It includes the crust of space affected by the physical construction of the surface, by the scale and dimension of the space contained, by its permeability to daylight and ventilation and by its insulation values and solar-shading capacities. It also involves the space that surrounds the object, its orientation in respect to sun, wind, views, etc. The envelope has the capacity to re-present, not in the sense to which the architectural critique has accustomed us, but in the ancient political role that articulates the relationships between humans and non-humans in a common world. The envelope is the surface and its attachments.

This is where architecture happens. These technologies and constructions hold meaning, and the architect has the ability to make very widely accepted (or denied) statements with this amount of public visibility. This is where we can break away from the oft-accepted idea that architecture is the merely the representation of power, or manifestation of culture: a resultant phenomenon. Zaera-Polo would agree that we could

“…re-empower the discipline as a truly transformative force in the reorganisation of contemporary power ecologies. As an alternative to historical directionality, this experiment wants to propose an analysis of the political dimensionality of space.”

When discussing representation and communication in architecture, literature is a very strong analogy. Willem-Jan Neutelings states that, “There is no writer that would say, that because books are now typed on computers, he makes a different literature. But that is what architects say.” This is the criticism of the contemporary architectural condition. How do the principles of literature and semantics translate into architectural form? One such way, as described by Charles Holland, is the issue of “taste.” When reading a piece of literature, the words are carefully chosen to describe the characters. In this same way, Holland explains, “The signs and symbols of domestic architecture serve as a form of shorthand for the people who live in it.” Issues of class and social standing conveyed in a home are the same kinds of symbols and messages that on a larger scale, a civic building would address.

Alejandro Zaera-Polo’s work, represents one of the most important positions on the world and architecture. Zaera-Polo’s ideas about facades link the technological and representational, in a sort of ultimate architectural expression. I believe that this return to meaning and the repoliticization of the public sphere of architecture is called for if we are to reclaim our streets and cities.

The Coming Self-Parody of the Green Movement

2011-01-31T12:20:00.003-05:00

{originally published in Beyond No. 3: Trends and Fads by Pedro Gadanho}

Today I ate a McDonald's Mac Snack Wrap. Despite distinguishing itself as a healthy tortilla-wrapped light meal, Mac Snack was a sort of camouflaged hamburger: the Trojan horse of the health food genre. Consumers can no longer acknowledge the snack wrap as an object of nutritional sensibility. In fact, the packaging of sandwich contents into a thin wrap (once an ingenious solution to low-carb dieting) has become a convenient method for selling unhealthy foods. The demise of this health food movement shows how content and function can eventually become overshadowed by aesthetic manipulation. The decline of sophisticated movements into crude fads is not an uncommon occurrence, and can provide a departure point for considering the coming self-parody of the green movement.

The green movement has been relegated to a fad by American political and corporate values, aligned with profit-driven media and funded by oil companies. By denying global warming, and killing any measure that addresses the issue, Neo-Conservatives have successfully dispelled the movement’s ethos. As a result, "green" has been become a fad; something fashionable, yet lacking substance. "Green is the new black." This "cool factor" has been co-opted by capitalism, which is trying to cash in. A prime example of this is the green NBC logo. The normally rainbow-hued logo is green for a week now and then. Sprinkle some green dust on a fading public image and it immediately becomes aligned with the hip, the fashionable. Many celebrities drive Priuses (Prii?) to their private jets, which spew more carbon than a hummer limo could dream. "Green" is one of today's most transparent phenomena.

The punk movement of the 1970’s was similarly espoused by the mainstream. By rejecting all notions of rock and roll modernism, punk’s mission was to break down the corporate hierarchy that was music. As the agenda grew, it was killed by its own success, transitioning from a form of protest to fashion style. The perversion of “punk” occurred as capitalism embraced mainstream popularity surrounding the movement. Quite ironic, actually. Today's equivalent of fashion self parody serves as a model when looking at the future of the green movement.

What does the self-parody of green design look like? Perhaps it is manifest in architectural typologies facilitating non-sustainable practices creatively modified to meet “TREND AND FAD” specifications. Such an approach suggests a contemporary version of the “false front” building, or Potemkin village. Architects can capitalize on this agenda by boldly promoting the image of "green" over the form or content of their designs. Just as faux wood siding, faux shutters, and faux masonry construction have come to define suburban residential design, a faux green aesthetic is possible. "Green" as aesthetic craze will soon trump "green" as ideology. If a building is camouflaged with "green" style, it will be accepted by society as trendy, responsible, and valuable. Thus, a demand for affordable, yet symbolic icons of sustainable building is created. Consider faux solar arrays molded out of coloured plastics, fake ivy hung over vertical trellises, and sculptural fixed-in-place windmills. Such is the image of a "green" society and the unavoidable self-parody of the green movement as we know it.

IKEA Catalog for Deviants

2011-01-16T13:32:00.000-05:00

After reading some haunting words on Minimalism (thanks to Sam Jacob and the New City Reader), I couldn't not pay IKEA a visit.

Minimalism is the undead form of Modernism, animated by Aesthetics. Like Ed Gein cavorting in suits made from the skin of his victims, Minimalism is a perverted and psychotic condition. It is there every time we look at something beautifully Modern. Its simplicity, its order, its calmness, its smoothness are displayed like the severed heads on Traitors’ Gate: a beautiful warning to architecture. The real perversion? Architects willingly and joyfully enact this macabre ritual. - "Minimalism, An Obituary" by Sam Jacob

With a commanding presence in a spectacular, ever-changing location, where the metropolis dissolves into the heartland countryside, IKEA resembles a giant museum full of Dwellist contemporary pop modern objects. Hybrid Sweedish-English labels add mystique to the event. Where modernism in America has ultimately fallen short in spreading moderism to the masses (motels), minimalism has wildly succeeded (IKEA/Dwell/HGTV).

Nevertheless, IKEA quietly boasts a subversive collection of furniture, rejecting the very minimalism which has led to it's success. These objects play a critical role within IKEA: IKEAn art (minimalism) demands a Neo-DADAian counter-art (maximalism?). Whereas DADA influenced pop art and postmodernism, anti-IKEAn objects sample from pop and pomo. One of DADA's missions was to reject the commodification of art, something IKEA strongly champions through innovative branding, packaging, and product delivery.

Much as the way we have come to discuss DADA-influenced art, the IKEA Catalog for Deviants can be collectively read as an attitude: as an attack on the co-opting of Swedish modernism for soulless, gut-wrenching capitalist minimalism. Alas, a collection of monstrous objects united in the spirit of refusing convention:

EKTORP: A strangely Venturian floral print sofa peeks out from behind a collection of solid colored furniture.

In a brilliantly symbolic gesture, EKTORP's bed is extended. A middle finger is raised to the surrounding IKEA establishment of polite modernism.

HEMNES: The profile of this mirror also evokes Venturi-Knoll-ism.

TROLLSTA: Vika Fintorps used to be all the rage, until sadly they were pulled from the shelves (of the IKEA I visit). Now, all that remains is this little guy: a 6.5 inch (17cm) tall side table (with legs reminiscent of the the voluptuous VIKA FINTORPS).

VIKA GLASHOLM: A flower-patterned glass table attached to minimal IKEAn stainless steel legs. When the light hits the just right, flower-patterned light disrupts the serenity and purism of the Dwell subscribers' minimal environment. Mmm.

SKRUVSTA: The elephant in the room...the "anti-desk chair" desk chair. Work should never be that fun.

MARKUS: The ... giraffe ... in the room!? Textile design is not the only way to subvert IKEA's grasp on the minimal. Here, the form of the chair is extruded to the deviant desires of the designer, Henrik Preutz.

LEKPLATS: A children's play mat (lek plat?) presents bits of New York, Antarctica, Egypt, Switzerland, Miami, etc. compressed into a singular globalized place: a collective identity for us all.

LUSY BLOM: Variations on an asterisk

LUSY: This haphazard collection of color and form evokes nothing and everything. The noise and clutter of today's world as we know it. A large "NEW" sign to one side, a large white rug hiding it on the other side, this object represents the underbelly of IKEAn fashion: a possible new direction for the future of the company? We can only hope so.

LUSY: incomprehensible nonsense. Stylized characters in Helvetica type face graphically construct an image which makes as little sense in the States as it does in Europe. I still contend this piece was informed by Japanese (game show) graphics, however my colleagues remain confused and unconvinced.

This LUCY unfolds to reveal two 2D kimono shirts adding to the spectacle and confusion of the piece.

The monsters of IKEA, manifested in wildly patterned textiles and/or curiously proportioned everyday objects, are at their most pressing and most extreme when their visual language becomes illegible to a global audience. Perhaps LUCY's illegibility occurs from a series of critical mis-translations across the production of the object - from Sweedish designer, to Chinese manufacturer, to American retailer. Or perhaps LUCY's illegibility is derived from a more intentional series of decisions: a rogue designer fed up with minimalism, provoked by the masses. We might never know for sure. When nobody, nowhere knows what to think, anti-IKEAn design will have succeeded.

Carl Wilson, in his book on "taste," questions the existence of a "risk gene" for artistic adventurousness in music. The conversation holds true for design as well:

"Balancing repetition and novelty is crucial: some songs feel too complicated to enjoy and others too clichéd to hold interest. There's little explanation, though, of why people gravitate toward different ratios of surprise to familiarity."

Wilson turns to journalist Jonah Lehrer for answers:

"There's a network of neurons in the brain stem specifically geared to sort unfamiliar sounds into patterns. When they succeed, the brain releases a dose of pleasure-giving dopamine; when they fail, when a sound is too new, excess dopamine squirts out, disorienting and upsetting us. Lehrer suggests this explains events such as the 1913 riots at the Paris premiere of Igor Stravinsky's dissonant 'The Rite of Spring.' [...] a year later, another Parisian audience cheered for 'The Rite of Spring.' [...] It seems implausable it was mainly the rioters returning to give him another chance. No, it would have been the hipsters of 1914, lured by the succéss de scandale and eager to be shocked, to take the dopamine overdose."

Anti-IKEAn objects are to be consumed by today's versions of the 1914 Parisian hipsters - whatever that may mean. Anti-minimalism is a drug. It is to be consumed by dopamine junkies "eager to be shocked."

This catalog could go on and on. To those who demand MORE IKEA DADA, continue on to the images below, and to here (STUVA) and here (KLIPPAN)...

MULA: A toy for the avant garde, discarded amongst heaps of wooden hangars (toys for common folk).

A Playground for Cars

2011-01-09T08:00:00.002-05:00

The Tower Place Garage is an outrageous modernist object lost amidst a core building stock of historically relevant commercial architecture. The 1967 building was constructed with the mission to attract an increasingly large suburban demographic to return downtown to support commercial activity.

Formally, the garage is an extension of the city's streets, actually appropriating pedestrian sidewalks for ramps which feed into the garage. This decision, paired with a continued lack of maintenance (and lack of funds stemming from poor sales) threatens the future of the garage. What was once a by-product of technological efficiency - a key player towards the understanding of the city as a machine for creating wealth - has been relegated by the public as a stereotypical example of ugly modernist urban renewal contributing to, rather than saving, the continued decline of the city.

Nevertheless, moving through Tower Place Garage is a delightful experience. It's perimeter is lined with delicately sloping ramps, rising one story for every pass. This arrangement allows ample space for an interior courtyard, a surprising and rarely seen element of parking garages today. The opening is bisected by a series of stacked, orderly walkways-in-the-sky feeding into a bunker-like staircase which returns the driver to the wilderness of the city sans car.

Typically walking is the best way to observe your surroundings, but the verticality of this garage, in tandem with it's repetitive structural bays and required slow speed limit generates a fantastic cinematic experience for the driver. The city unfolds behind the safety of the windshield: slow and steady, building by building, floor by floor. Oh how I wish it was possible to experience all cities this way!

Upon reaching the top of the garage, the concrete frame concludes with a simple curvature. The city below has disappeared. All that remains is a strangely quiet space of vast expanse. It is cheaper to park on the roof.

The circular ramp represented in Google Map's cartoon-stylized plan as a simple cylinder.

The most spectacular exit discharge sequence occurs through the core of the garage by means of a 9 story continuous spiral ramp. Pleasantly designed to the turning radius of an average car, minimal turning is required. Such a design begs the driver into a speedy descent. This radical infrastructure requires it's own set of rules. Signs are plastered throughout the descent: 5 M.P.H., NO Pedestrians Allowed on Ramp, CAUTION, Merging Traffic! Hundreds of scrapes of every possible automobile color add a touch of unexpected decoration to an otherwise no-nonsense concrete playground for cars.

Before you know it, you are ramping back into the city. I wanted to immediately return and drive down the ramp again, a feeling I'm sure is shared by many first-timers to the garage. Never mind that stop sign I ran towards the end. I was inflicted with a euphoric high rarely inflicted by an architectural experience.

Ironically, contempt for the garage continues despite the fact that it's existence has allowed adjacent Tower Place mall to continue operating throughout year after year of depressing sales: “The only reason [Tower Place] hasn’t folded is because of its parking asset [...] It’s a revenue generator, and it’s been keeping the mall afloat.”

Juxtaposed against the lovingly soft pink painted concrete and unabashedly optimistic prancing of the ramps over the sidewalk (Morris Lapidus would be proud), the garage is looking more and more like some unresolved, unachieved bit of utopianism (autopianism?): a Jetson-ian vision of the city where the freedom of technologically sophisticated speeding autos trump boring, slow-paced pedestrianism.

Nevertheless, the garage is showing depressing signs of decay, while the 70,000 S.F. adjacent mall sits nearly completely vacant (foreclosure is pending for both). Things are not looking well. Rusting pipes and cracking concrete signal the end may be near for Plaza Tower Garage. To destroy this place would tremendously impact a piece of Cincinnati's history. Ugly or beautiful, the city needs places like this to remind us how the city was once used. Homogeneity is bad. Monsters are good. Buildings are to Cities as Rings are to Trees.

New Pop PoMo

2011-01-02T12:30:00.000-05:00

Nearly two years ago, we created the "blogger's sport" of Building/Song pairings. If you're not familiar with the game, educate yourself with our attempt at an exhaustive list of the game and it's players: (let me know if there are any omissions...)

January 11, 2009 (M: Nostagiolistically Evocational)
January 27, 2009 (M: More Buildings/Songs)
January 29, 2009 (FJ: Separated at birth)
January 30, 2009 (FJ: Sisters)
January 30, 2009 (SDMYABT: Pop and Brutalism Special)
January 31, 2009 (FJ: Pop Life)
February 1, 2009 (M: Pop and Things Like That --> RB: Blanqueford Regenerated (October 2008)
February 4, 2009 (I: Embedded Linx)
February 9, 2009 (LWB: Searching for a Definition of Lo-Fi Architecture)
August 13, 2010 (FJ: parade)

We're back in the game, this time taking a look at today's pop music scene, selecting a trio of songs which seem to negotiate between past and future realities. They share a common desire to reconstruct the past on their own terms, sparking what could be considered a new youthful (and fashionable) wave of postmodernism. The aesthetics of these songs are captured through experimental variations on the "music video" (e.g. The Black Eyed Peas pioneering of 360 degree 3D film, Lady Gaga reclaiming Hollywood for herself through a cinematic borrowing/stealing, and the music video turned full-length, self-deirected film by Kanye West.

Science fiction could never have predicted a new millenium saturated with groovy 70's fonts, polaroid photo shoots, arcade 8-bit bliss, and late '80's soft rock electrodiscodance combos. Nevertheless, watching these videos, take note of how typical pomo material (e.g. reinterpretation of nostalgia + multiculturalism) is taken to the next level . These weapons-grade pop samples demand an architecture which is firmly rooted in hybrid realities surrounding truthful (or deceitful) narratives of the past (and future).

1.) The Black Eyed Peas - The Time (Dirty Bit) paired with Neo-Rococo furniture from Smansk:

Within today's globalized, network urban world, the music video begins with the futurism of outer space juxtaposed with the sampling of a soft rock song from the late 1980's. The aesthetics of the video flash into a heady blend of google street view, drug-infused pixelization, and avatar hallucinations all packaged with an aged, nostalgia-inducing photo filter (also see The Black Eyed Peas - Light Up The Night for the co-opting of '80s arcade nostalgia with QR Code overlays). It's agenda is to convey happiness through maximum visual stimulation and hypnotic beat. Neo-Rococo, as artistic style closely resembles the 'Peas' attempt at space/time maximalism. Sorry, no building here, but a successful curatorial performance in my opinion.

2.) Lady Gaga - Paparazzi (Nov, 2009) paired with Café Was in Hollywood, CA (2009)

Not much can be said about Lady Gaga that has not already been said in this delightful experiment. She's into challenging gender (and celebrity) identity roles, the aestheticization of tragedy, haute couture, etc. Best put here:

At the start of the video, as Gaga is shown plummeting from the balcony to the ground in slow motion, a synthesizer sonority enters emulating Gaga’s heartbeat; moments later, the listener is inundated with the sound of paparazzi anxiously snapping away at their cameras. The snaps and clicks combined with the pulsating heartbeat create their own distinct rhythmic pattern, and persist until they meld seamlessly into the song’s ostinato bass line – a slightly simpler version of the initial rhythm. Thus, we can say that the beat propelling the entire song grew out of both Gaga's heartbeat and the snapping and clicking of the paparazzi, a resonance that is at once organic and fabricated – an important dichotomy in this video.

Café Was in Hollywood, CA designed in 2009, featured in Dark Nostalgia, addresses Gaga's experimentalism and theatricalism, and is perhaps the first of many Gagaian spaces to emerge. From Café Was' website:

A Unique Hollywood Architectural Experience: Enter a reflective dream world, sensitive and severe, always seductive and never overt, where you are invited to enjoy delicacies while discovering new talent

Cafe Was is a thoughtful amalgam of "recycled" architectural/interior design related ideas. We assembled these ideas in varying stages of deconstruction and whimsy, ultimately creating a theatrical environment in the form of a restaurant/live music venue, where not only the piano player, but the patrons as well, will be compelled to play a role.

With a revolving grand piano at the center of the room, Ivan Kane and RKIT set about to create an opulent, bohemian dream world. The diverse space offers several options where patrons can dine, including multiple levels surrounding the piano. While achieving a collaboration of time in both design and style, including columns at the ground floor turning into Victorian posts at the intimate mezzanine level overlooking the piano below, Café Was also features hidden lounges tucked into nooks and crannies, a mysterious balcony turned into a lavish candle display and Café Was' most unique vantage point to sit and listen from, a grand staircase leading nowhere.

3.) Kanye West - Runaway (2010) paired with Castle Market, Sheffield, 1967

Rowe's Transparent Modernism full of Victorian furniture, African chants, and hip hop mixology.

The New Postmodernism.

Michael Jackson and the Spectacle.

Notably found within this half-hour self-directed film are African dance rituals paired with 1980s/90s sound mixing technology, and a post-industrial hangar/bunker housing what appears at first glance to be a reinterpretation of the Last Supper (a genre-bursting, symbolically loaded scene highlighted by a 2 minute solo featuring "interpretive ballerina dancing" (within a rusting post-industrial hangar) to a spoken melody broadcast via 80s-era sound distortion technology):

"There is a dinner table scene that jumps from [something] from a Noah Baumbach film — where the camera stays on the scene just long enough to make the viewer feel a little bit uncomfortable — to something out of what could be a Jim Henson creation ... within the same scene too." - Pete Wentz, reporting for MTV News

Ultimately West's film is about "social ostracism and rebirth". As we've mentioned earlier, the architectural equivalent to such themes is undoubtedly brutalism as both idea and aesthetic. So for this pairing, Sheffield's endangered Castle Market (a building I've never visited and only read about) wins. It's association with a movement whose aims are decidedly utopian and whose aesthetics are a radical departure from the heritage industry, make this place as polemic as Kanye himself (Apologies to both purist hip hop enthusiasts and architectural historians alike - two groups who probably rarely associate with one another). On the one hand you have West - and his thirty minute effort to rebel against the culturally constructed symbolism (queue Hennessy Youngman) of our day. On the other hand, Castle Market, whose brutalism (with a touch of mid-90's PoMo leftovers) overlaid on the foundations of Sheffield's authentic/original castle create the 20th century reinterpretation of the 16th century castle: a civic monument via defensive infrastructure.

Happy Holidays

2010-12-23T13:15:00.000-05:00

Here's to a thoroughly enjoyable 2010, and an ever-more promising 2011. Season's Greetings.

Figure 1 Destroying the Farnsworth House

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

2010-11-09T20:16:00.000-05:00

nice piece of writing over at Frieze Mag:

Perhaps the truest screw heir is Paul Octavian Nasca, a Romanian programmer who wrote the software used to create recent viral hit ‘U Smile 800% Slower’ (2010) – a Justin Bieber track stretched to 800 percent of its original length while the pitch remains unchanged. A Florida-based electronic musician used Nasca’s algorithm to smear the three-minute single into a half-hour epic of shimmering, sensual ambience. Bieber-haters and his legions of fans were equally enthralled by the transformation, which made the Canadian teen star’s corn-syrup pop sound like Icelandic band Sigur Rós. In less than a month, it was heard by more than two million people, received the endorsement of Mr Bieber (he tweeted: ‘this version of u smile is incredible to just chill out and fall asleep to. feels epic’), and spawned copycat slowdowns. - Jace Clayton, Music: The slowed-down tempos of screw and its influence on contemporary bands

Ohio Swiss Fest: A Photo Essay

2010-10-09T16:58:00.000-04:00

Sugarcreek, Ohio is a tiny town about 2 hours north of Columbus, Ohio. It consists of a spectacular Alpine Village nestled amidst the endlessly rolling hills of Amish country. But what sets this place apart from other rural towns of Middle America is a bustling cheese industry and an unexpeted dose flaboyantly decorated buildings. I recently visited this "Little Switzerland of Ohio" and have returned triumphantly with what I hope to be a dazzling photo essay.

Driving into the town, you know you have arrived by the typical office and residential structures...they are quaint unassuming structures with something a bit more added on for good measure. A hint of what's to come and you anxiously speed toward Main Street!

An Amish Monument cheerfully basks in the sunlight...the suspense builds....

We have finally arrived! Welcome to Sugarcreek, the Little Switzerland of Ohio!

Main Street is full of buildings like the one pictured above, however none are as large or impressively ornate as the Alpine Hills Museum: a must-see destination inside and out for visitors of all ages.

Vintage posters, newspaper articles, and children's depictions of Sugarcreek can be found among historical re-creations of Amish interiors and old cheese-making barns.

The interior lobby of the Alpine Hills Museum is a bizarre mash-up of general country nostalgia/folk art, Swiss heritage, and conservative Middle America propaganda. This space is perhaps the epicenter of Sugarcreek's identity: a place where one would expect Google's little red map pin to land while searching for Sugarcreek, Ohio. Nevertheless, this space projects the dark, unsettling side to Sugarcreek: for this is a non-place, torn between conflicting identities of Swiss heritage and Middle American conservatism. Celebrate cheese, chocolate, and those omnipresent snowcapped Alps, but don't you dare fly that red and white crossed flag!

Pure spectacle, but unfortunately the world's largest functioning cuckoo clock (debatable) is currently being restored. Thankfully, there's always YouTube.

Architecturally, the most impressive area of Sugarcreek can be found at the intersection of Main St & Factory St. It is here that artist Tom Miller has created fantastic murals on the gabled facades of commercial buildings. The Swiss Alp landscapes are highlighted by moving model trains and alpine skiers. The concept of motion in architecture is witnessed here at a most miniature scale. A whole building provides the canvas for a motorized small piece of metal. I call these fantastic pieces of art "active facades" and have uploaded a couple of examples over on YouTube.

As for the actual festival, 8 million pounds of cheese are annually produced in Sugarcreek, which create the (desperate) need for a massive event to sell all of the excess cheese reserves. Many different awards are given, but to the average cheese eater such as myself, it is all mouthwateringly (?) delicious. This region also produces wine, but I would (politely) defer similar high praise to the California varieties.

There were all sorts of spectacles to witness including a "cheese chase" (5K run), grown men wearing traditional Swiss folk gear, an Alphorn concert, a Steintossen competition, and a curiously American-themed parade complete with an impressive car show of hot rods and post-war gas-guzzling muscle cars.

The winning float in the parade was provided by McDonald's. Who knew Ronald McDonald was so crafty!? A late afternoon visit to McDonald's revealed that Sugarcreek's Swiss Miss Main Street spirit had begun to penetrate the global superpower's cookie cutter red and yellow boxes. A surprising end to an equally surprising (but unfortunately brief) visit to Little Switzerland.

Stephen Colbert's Mickey Mosque

2010-10-05T19:15:00.000-04:00

Stephen Colbert touches on themes of fashion, mascots, Disney, and architecture as he discusses America's fear of ethnic groups.

(too busy to watch the whole segment? fast forward to 5:15)

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

The Word - It's a Small-Minded World

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

2010 Election

March to Keep Fear Alive

"Architect"

2010-09-30T23:11:00.002-04:00

First search result on YouTube for "Architect"...

p.s. I'll be attending Ohio's very own "Swiss Festival" this weekend: a 50+ year old tradition that originated in Amish Country due to the understandably dire need to sell excessive cheese. Needless to say, the festival is held in what is considered to be the Little Switzerland of Ohio. I'll be tweeting on scene using the tag, #swissfest, and will subsequently be posting a review of my architectural discoveries here in due time.

Experimentation in Architecture

2010-08-24T10:37:00.000-04:00

The Downfall of Nick Wynn

2010-08-14T19:46:00.001-04:00

"The Day After Eternity," by Lawrence Chandler, is a 1950's novelette published in Fantastic, an aptly named bi-monthly journal featuring a blend of fantasy and science-fiction stories. We join our good friends Diana, Joe, and Nick amidst their journey to a mysterious planet in search of an even more mysterious enemy...

"We armed ourselves with two ice guns and stepped into the air-lock. Sixty seconds later, the shell port opened and the ladder slid to the ground. I walked down ... The air was good, the sun was warm, and there was a cool pleasant breeze. The flora was strange, however; yellow, fat-bladed grass, thick and luxuriant and soft ... 'Looks like Kentucky with the yellow jaundice,' Nick said ...

Then, out on that yellow prairie, it came into being; the thing we both saw at the same instant. A city, bright and sparkling in the sun. It could have been Detroit, or New York, or Atlanta, with their overslung highways and streets, their flying terraces, their tall, slim buildings. But there on the broad avenue a couple hundred yards from us, was something that didn't belong in any city I'd ever seen; an old automobile right out of a museum, with big spoked wheels, brass radiator fittings and an open tonneau.

... There were two people in the car, a man and a woman ...

My mind was spinning. I felt dizzy, as though some great force was pulling at me, trying to force me down. I was filled with a sense of great, unseen power around me.

Nick's reaction was different. He smiled at the strange couple, waved back at the woman, and began running toward the car. I yelled, 'Nick! Nick! Come back here! It's an order! Come back!'

But he didn't seem to hear me. The car was moving slowly away, now, and Nick began to run. He called, 'Wait! Wait!' and the man at the wheel turned and looked back and stopped the car. The woman made a beckoning motion and Nick increased his speed.

I shook off my dizziness and started after him, but at that moment, Diana's voice came through the amplifier in the nose of the rocket. 'Joe! For God's sake, stay where you are! Don't follow him! Come back to the ship!'

At that moment Nick Wynn reached the side of the ancient automobile. The woman held out her hand. Joe took it and put his foot on the big, ugly running board of the car. Then there was a quick, bright explosion that knocked me to the ground. It thundered and reverberated through the air, faded into echoes, and was gone.

I struggled to me feet and looked around like a punch-drunk fighter hunting for his opponent. But there was nothing. No city. No automobile. Only the torn, yellow meadow and Nick Wynn - or the remnants of him that were left.

He had been blown to pieces."

Juicy Camouflage

2010-07-29T23:52:00.003-04:00

Not quite sure the theoretical implications of this object, but a friend once said to me, "this is like candy: I'm not sure if it's good for me, but I love it."

Style as Substance: Some Words on Betty Draper's Victorian Nonsense and Other Things Too

2010-07-25T10:06:00.031-04:00

With the fourth season of Mad Men quickly approaching, I found myself spending the better part of today thinking about criticism the show has received for being more style than substance. That is, for covering up its plot imperfections with a slurry of beautiful objects: people, dresses, furniture, and everyday knick knacks.

In a lengthy critique of Mad Men, Mark Greif wrote in the London Review of Books (October 2008) that the series consisted of “soap opera antics” and inaccurate depictions of the history of advertising. Such flaws were apparently too much for the viewer to recover from. Slate Magazine (September 2009) picked up where Greif left off, denouncing the show as nothing more than a “guilty pleasure tv commercial.”

It appeared as though Mad Men’s most serious flaw was that it looked too good. The image of the show was overpowering. Aesthetics had trumped content. The television show has become some sort of super-designed object - the motion picture equivalent of this.

Despite the critiscm, or perhaps in response to the criticsm, producer Matt Weiner created an episode that propelled the role of style into a much larger and aggressive role, marking what I consider to be a turning point in the series. This all goes down in season 3 episode 7 for all of you Mad Men junkies, where conflicting desires for the future are told through design.

For example, we see Duck, a fired executive from Sterling Cooper, attempt to exact his revenge by asking Sterling Cooper's own Peggy to join his company. He does this by sending Peggy a designer Hermès scarf which she lovingly holds while contemplating his intentions. Also we discover that Betty Draper’s secret affection for Henry (a politician whose job at selling ideas is ironically similar to Don Draper’s job in advertisement) is reciprocal when he "fondles" a stainless steel matchbox which has fallen out of her purse.

The undoubted star of the episode, and the provocateur of my interest in all of this, is an awkwardly large antique Victorian sofa lovingly called the "Fainting Couch." This comes after the Drapers' living room gets a fresh make over with sleek new modern furniture. Betty purchases the piece of furniture while on a low key date with Henry and - going against the advice of her decorator - places it directly in front of their fireplace:

Decorator: What were you thinking!? It's awful.

Betty: It's an antique.

Decorator: We discussed this for months, and we decided antiques were expected. Look around! You have ruined the whole room.

If the modern object embodies technologically sophisticated, opportunistic and forward-looking aspirations of modernism, Betty's purchase of an antique victorian sofa reveals her desire to return to the past. Her marriage trouble with Don, and her nostalgic home décor (have you seen that kitchen wallpaper!?) and traditionalist sensibilities, paired with Don's unavoidable focus on his future with Sterling Cooper are reflected in her affection for the Fainting Couch. Betty argues with Don over his hesistance to sign a three year contract at work: "What's the matter? You don't know where you're going to be in three years?"

Only a piece of massive fireplace-blocking victorian nonsense amidst a room of modernist designer objects could project the image of Mad Men's increasingly troubled relationships. Further adding to the chaos of season 3 is the fact that all of this plays out amidst a growing tension between the city and the suburb: the masculinity of the corporate office place of the 1960’s vs. the femininity of domestic suburbia of that era. It is as if the corporate modernism of Don's workplace has invaded the innocence of Betty's home.

Where Mad Men ultimately succeeds is in the shear defiance of its critics. Taking their disputed over-reliance on style and making it even more of an issue has created an exciting dialog between the cable tv show and the arts critic. Interestingly enough, Slate ran another review after this episode aired under the title, “The Fainting Couch for Best Supporting Actor." I highly recommend it, as Kate Bolick has eloquently described in much better detail Mad Men's reliance on style as substance.

In considering the divide between nostalgia and futurism, a separate, but somewhat relevant topic is the bizarre annual ritual paint companies partake in by selecting a "color of the year." From Sherwin-Williams:

"In uncertain times, we find comfort in the memories and traditions that provide us with a sense of solid ground...Color plays a key role in triggering our nostalgia, and our Today’s Colors collection is a rediscovery of the styles, textures, patterns ― and hues ― of the past."

Interesting to note is the difference between pre and post-economic crash. For example, in 2007, references to the spirit of adventure, new technology, and the possibilities of the future:

“In 2007, there is an awareness of the melding of diverse cultural influences, and Chili Pepper is a reflection of exotic tastes both on the tongue and to the eye. Nothing reflects the spirit of adventure more than the color red. ... “The color red makes a bold statement. We’re seeing shifts in people’s opinions on current events and major changes in the way they are expressing themselves through new technology. People are open to the possibilities of the future and Chili Pepper celebrates that.”

2010, on the other hand, demands our collective desire for stress relief:

"Combining the serene qualities of blue and the invigorating aspects of green, Turquoise evokes thoughts of soothing, tropical waters and a languorous, effective escape from the everyday troubles of the world, while at the same time restoring our sense of well being."

Ecstatic Aesthetics

2010-07-22T10:22:00.003-04:00

We have managed to get some words published in the current issue of Beyond Magazine which concerns itself with trends and fads. Our piece speculates on the legacy of green design. Along with the text, we included some imagery for all of you visual thinkers.

Concurrently, I've somehow managed to convince the Glasgow Film Theatre to prominently display a large exclamation point sign as part of their Empty Plinth Project. The piece - pending delivery from USA to Scotland via post - will launch GFT's summer art show and will be on display from 26 July to 2 August.

I've been too busy reading this, this, and this to post anything of real substance but that will hopefully change soon as some thoughts on - among other topics - nostalgia, Toy Story, and floating palaces are in the works. Until then, cheers.

Manifesto for Men's Clothing, circa 1913

2010-07-20T12:42:00.002-04:00

We support the architectural equivalent of this...

an excerpt from Giacomo Balla, Futurist Manifesto for Men's Clothing, 1913:

"We are fighting against:

(a) the timidity and symmetry of colours, colours which are arranged in wishy-washy patterns of idiotic spots and stripes;

(b) all forms of lifeless attire which make man feel tired, depressed, miserable and sad, and which restrict movement producing a triste wanness;

(c) so-called 'good taste' and harmony, which weaken the soul and take the spring out of the step.

We want Futurist clothes to be comfortable and practical, and:

Dynamic

Aggressive

Shocking

Energetic

Violent

Flying (i.e. giving the idea of flying, rising and running)

Peppy

Joyful

Illuminating (in order to have light even in the rain)

Phosphorescent

Lit by electric lamps."

Advanced Gable Roof Design

2010-07-14T11:35:00.000-04:00

(via HCAiS)

Moving Staircases

2010-07-09T16:09:00.000-04:00

Just a quick note about Harrod's Department Store in London from Wikipedia:

"On Wednesday, 16 November 1898, Harrods debuted England's first "moving staircase" (escalator) in their Brompton road stores; the device was actually a woven leather conveyor belt-like unit with a mahogany and "silver plate-glass" balustrade.[3] Nervous customers were offered brandy at the top to revive them after their 'ordeal'."

Die Schwyzer Hut

2010-07-08T23:35:00.001-04:00

Welcome to Sugarcreek: the Little Switzerland of Ohio! I discovered this gem of a town purely by accident while browsing through vintage postcard stands at a local antique mall. Needless to say, a roadtrip is already being planned...

Die Schwyzer Hut!!! "The Swiss Hat Restaurant, Popular Sugarcreek eating place. Sugarcreek is the home of the Ohio Swiss Festival, held the fourth Friday and Saturday after Labor Day each year. It is also the center of the Swiss Cheese industry in Ohio, with 21 factories making 8,000,000 pounds of Swiss Cheese Annually."

Aside from the World's Greatest Decorated Shed (pictured above), Sugarcreek, Ohio is also where you can find the Reeves Banking and Trust Company Building. Aesthetically, I admit this is quite radical and challenging to take in: an optimistic blend of mid-century modernism, Swiss traditionalism, and Bob Ross.

As mentioned earlier, plans are in store for a visit during the much anticipated Ohio Swiss Festival in early October. More images to come then...

Hats Off To You

2010-06-22T10:52:00.000-04:00

Party In The City Where The Heat Is On

2010-06-19T13:15:00.000-04:00

Ignore your surroundings. Ignore the economy! With technology and LEED Points, we will prevail!! It's time for a new decade!!! THE FUTURE IS HERE!!!!

Who thought getting 15,000 architects together in one of the country's hottest cities (during the summer) would be a good idea? The AIA, of course! Nevertheless, there we were sitting in a larger-than-usual air conditioned box listening to messages about the future broadcast to us via teleprompter-informed surrogates. "Design for the Next Decade," as it was called, came complete with branding images showing a serene view of Earth from outer space - creatively dodging the political/social/environmental turmoil of today. The events were ironically held within a rather large flamboyantly pastel and neon decorated PoMo box. After spending four days there, I got the feeling no one else saw the humor in the situation. Toss in the awarding of the AIA Gold Medal to Peter Bohlin - a life-long modernist (the humanist type, not the angry type) - and you have some theoretically confusing environments to take in. I predict this will all subconsciously rub off on the emerging architects who attended the conference which will end up designing in an awkward hybrid 1980's style well into the 21st century out of confusion. This is probably why I am not a trend forecaster.

The convention itself consisted of all the predictable themes: globalization, BIM, and of course the dreaded "s" word, sustainability. Such jaded themes were nearly unbearable to take in, but the aggressive use of movie theater stylized carpeting throughout the convention center, paired with what could only be described as a spectacle of building products in the expo's main floor kept me on my toes. After all, this was the super bowl of the building trades industry! Partaking in "the scene," I felt what Wall Street traders must go through, being constantly bombarded by hungry salesmen showing off everything from virtual reality headsets, to oversized double hung windows, to fancy paver stones. The experience was somehow both my worst nightmare and the most interesting architectural spectacle I have ever witnessed.

Biggest disappointment: the lack of discussion of the convention's dicey history in Miami vis-à-vis Morris Lapidus vs. the Modernists at the Americana in 1963. I did, however, stumble across Art Center on Lincoln Road which did a good job of showcasing both Lapidus' work and personality. Aside from drawings and photographs, a presentation of his bow ties were prominently displayed around a minimally black monolithic bow tie shaped table. This managed to satisfy most of my MiMo cravings. Additionally, I managed to drive by the Bacardi Building by Enrique Gutierrez, one of my absolute favorites. It's international corporate style overlaid with radical tropical-influenced aesthetics must have caused quite a commotion fifty years ago:

The Bacardi Building makes me want to use any Meis building I can get my hands on as a canvas for experimental decorative art. I can't help but wonder if the convention center's aggressive use of movie theater carpeting was a symbolic nod to the Lapidus & co.'s cinematic take on Miami:

No overview of Miami would be complete without mentioning 1111 lincoln which was at the time still under construction. This parking garage/"mixed-use" space actually scares unsuspecting tourists. It looks as though the garage has swallowed a portion of the nearby 1960's era SunTrust Bank building. No mercy.

When seen in context with Lapidus' Lincoln Road the car park begins to make a bit more sense. From the Wall Street Journal:

"'I envisioned a park-like mall with pools and fountains and exotic concrete shelters,' wrote Lapidus, whose plan included plantings and splashing waterworks interspersed with a series of architectural follies made from concrete white-painted stucco, each with its own flamboyant shape--flaring shells, fin-like canopies, undulating vaults, simple slab roofs hovering on narrow steel pylons--Lapidus's own vocabulary of forms, minimal but whimsical."

The most powerful moment of the entire convention occurred in Peter Bohlin's last comments which seemed to undermine the futurist theme of the convention. Upon being asked what advice he could give to young architects, Bohlin simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a pencil and held it up saying don't forget about this. The gesture generated a great deal of applause more so than at any other point during the convention, suggesting perhaps the popularity and value of low-tech in an increasingly high-tech era.

Society as Spectacle

2010-06-06T22:28:00.000-04:00

American Highway Roadmaps from the 60s are perhaps the single greatest cultural artifact from the modernist era. The purpose of these maps were to encourage multi-day auto trips to discover the vast corners of the country. They embrace the spirit of modernism by celebrating the triumph of man over nature: the progress of a nation through innovative use of technology. Seen from the perspective of the ongoing BP oil spill, a technological blooper in the grandest sense, these postcards and maps present an image of society as spectacle: a no longer accurate view of technology as savior.

This playful 1962 South Dakota highway map packs a punch. Imagine the shocking surprise I received after opening up the map to read this text on the inside cover:

"The Missouri is being gentled. A whole generation of human intelligence, muscle and desire, armies of brute machines, and billions of wealth are transmuting the wild proud river into a vast chain of blue water lakes that stretch across South Dakota. Four gigantic dams - dams so big they beggar the imagination and confound the camera's ability to capture their hugeness - are harnessing the Missouri ... there is a sense of involvement in America, in knowing and understanding a strong free nation whose direction is west and which creates its own future."

The "World's Largest Interchange" in Ohio gives South Dakota a run for it's money. A family somewhere between these two places must have had a difficult time deciding whether to head east or west.

Concurrently, in 1963, we see an aerial view of the Iowa landscape: a lone highway slices through the agricultural heartland of the country.

Unfortunately, not all attractions seem worthy of visiting to me, but for some reason still warranted a postcard. Take, for instance, the "Sweeden House Smorgasbord" pictured above...

...or the Anderson Clock Exhibit: "An entire room is devoted to this display owned by Mr. H. E. Anderson. We like to refer to it as horology's finest hour. Some are more than 250 years old. All are in excellent condition."

It seems fitting here to conclude a post about artifacts from the American Roadside with Guy Debord, and his 1967 Society of the Spectacle: "In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, all of life presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation."

*for more of this, see Postcards From the Future

**I've stolen the same link to Debord's text which was was included in a456's post just two days ago. I'm secretly proud of this, but somehow think that it is a new experimental contemporary/subversive form of plagiarism that should be brought to your attention.

Idyllic Countryside Retreat

2010-05-23T22:29:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of Awkward Family Photos, an example of awkward architecture:

Steamboat Gothic

2010-05-18T07:39:00.000-04:00

Before roadside vernacular, there was riverside vernacular more accurately described as "Steamboat Gothic." This style came to existence almost entirely as a product of adaptive reuse of otherwise boring structures into delightfully playful objects of desire. The Floating Palace, circa 1888, embodied the glamour and popularity of Steamboat Gothic: instant nostalgia, if there is such a thing.

In 1873, the White House was retrofitted with Victorian ornamentation, interestingly mocked by some who downplayed the changes, labeling the new style as a degrading "steamboat gothic" rather than a more civically-pleasing "pure Greek" style. Nevertheless, an impressive online gallery of images can be found at the White House Museum. In the 1950's, the White House was stripped down to it's bare structure in (what I would like to imagine) was a fit of rage by emerging Modernists. It's about time for a steamboat gothic resurgence.

Images from American Shelter, by Lester Walker.

Fancy Home Styles

2010-05-16T18:57:00.001-04:00

Apologies for an absence of posts lately. I've been sifting through some old Sears Catalogs (circa 1910-1920) and have some curious, but certainly rambling thoughts which quite honestly do the topic no justice at all. Nevertheless...

This advertisement should make architects tremble with fear: "Architectural Service: What's it worth to you? We make no charge for this valuable service..." It appears that the catalogs would have effectively shut out the architecture profession from operating in the design of suburbia. Despite being a recklessly naive statement, I still can't help but wonder if Sears' timely role in suburban development doesn't have some affect on today's lack of interest in suburban design and development.

The Sears Catalogs were a sort of super-firm, providing "architecture" for free by prescribing a series of carefully selected styles, 22 to be exact, in a mass-produced method. The perfect compliment to Henry Ford's Model T, which debuted the same year as the first catalog.

Reflecting the nostalgia of an assortment of European vernacular (vernaculaii?), the catalogs exist as a form of early pop art; elaborately conceived objects of desire accessible to a mass audience at a delightful price. But were the Catalogs liked or disliked by practicing architects at the time? And how did they affect the profession? I can't help but wonder if there were rogue architects at the time who attempted to challenge Sears' model of home production.

Finally, I can't help but wonder if "green" design will embrace the same architecture-meets-capitalism agenda of Sears, Roebuck & Co. LEED may have already co-opted the system of building by catalog components: a green roof here, bicycle parking there, etc.

Making Meaning

2010-04-24T07:00:00.008-04:00

Andy warhol eating a hamburger:

By creating a four minute video of himself eating a hamburger, Warhol - among many other things - transformed an act of ordinary stature into something quite extraordinary. It's been suggested that Warhol was mocking his status as a celebrity artist, but perhaps he was just showing us that no matter how hard he tries, he will never be able to create something that is not valued. He consumes a hamburger, we consume his art; he is "famous," we equate his work with value.

But just how much can the value of an object be pushed? And once value is increased, does it not become that much more desirable? Is "high" art really just "low" art with a mislabeled price tag, sold to an unsuspecting public?

Monica Narula of Delhi-based Raqs Media Collective explored just this topic in a 2006 installation where viewers encountered a stack of postcards in a museum quality display case in front of a large sign reading "please do not touch the art." The ordinary, unassuming postcard transforms into an object of desire - accessible yet inaccessible all at once.

My point in all of this is that the making of meaning can be more important than meaning itself. An object is only as beautiful as you are led to believe.

Noncompliant LEED Building

2010-04-22T21:11:00.001-04:00

Figure 1. Tie Dye Factory

You're In Boot Country Now, Son

2010-04-15T20:33:00.000-04:00

Behold, a decorated suburban ranch building. It brings to the commercial strip a refreshing mash-up of dazzle camoflauge and country nostalgia, Boot Country is a western themed store specializing in cowboy boots & hats for suburbanite cowboys (a fascinating demographic). Nevertheless, we need more aesthetically experimental buildings such as this:

An example of well-designed cow patterning: a large centralized spot conveniently covers an unsightly vent.

A bit of the stylized cow patterning from the prominent front facade made its way to the side of the building as if to thank the curious onlooker for exploring the depths of the building. This is the best vantage point to take in the diagonal "work" themed yellow-black striping. The pattern is mirrored along the center peak of the gable roof, wrapping smoothly around the building without breaking stride.

A nice roadside sign with typography that bends and curves to fit the shape of a boot.

Adventures at Carnival Island

2010-04-13T14:30:00.001-04:00

Carnival Island has been open for only two months, yet is quickly becoming an iconic local establishment. Locals may recognize the Carnival Island name as it was open in years past, however this year a greatly expanded menu has helped to create an entirely new experience. What is most satisfying about Carnival Island is their commitment to the local community. Nestled among car dealerships, community colleges, and big box retailers, Carnival Island's unlikely location is one of it's biggest strengths. The corporate office park like setting provides a convenient dining option for nearby businesses and students. This summer, the restaurant plans to provide extended hours to serve a crowd of baseball players from nearby ball parks.

The approach to Carnival Island is most deceptive. Things that will run through your head while navigating to this miniature sized carnival food eatery is: 1.) Google Maps have deceived me; 2.) Car salesmen must love carnival foods; 3.) The restaurant is desperately in need of a sign as big (or bigger than) their building.

Ice cream stands have a long history of uniquely attractive aesthetics and Carnival Island does not disappoint. The overall design of the building is just as unexpected as the eatery's location. It is essentially a mobile home outfitted with restaurant equipment and flashy decoration. A water theme dominates the design of the exterior: applied wavy water graphics (perhaps inspired by Cincinnati's official flag?), an offset steamboat paddle wheel-styled roof canopy, all surrounded by Boise State blue landscaping pebbles.

Alternative design ideas could have incorporated faux palm trees, and/or steamboat gothic extreme ornamentation.

And what about the food? I opted for the "Carnival Fries" because of their catchy name and the footlong hot dog sans chili due to the fact that I would be eating while driving (a tricky act made all the more dangerous due to the elongated size of my meal). I passed on the ice cream, which gives me a good reason to return in the summer.

All in all, Carnival Island - in all of it's authenticiy and mystique - has the potential to become a suburban equivalent of Los Angeles' famous Pink's Hot Dogs What is needed is more experimentation with the menu, and an expanded identity (specifically it's signage & packaging is lacking). If you're in southwest Ohio, check it out.

Carnival Island

2010-04-06T10:39:00.001-04:00

Driving through a landscape of parking lots and aging big box retailers, I discovered utopia, otherwise known as "Carnival Island." Coming soon, some thoughts and images about one of the most bizarre places I've seen. In the meantime, enjoy these:

Slide the Slides for Free!

2010-03-26T08:10:00.011-04:00

Chester Park was a late 19th century/early 20th century amusement park in Cincinnati, Ohio. It featured a variety of spectacles ranging from a large man-made watering hole, horse racing tracks, and large victorian pavilions. Pictured below is a miniature railroad uncomfortably packed with eager pleasure-seekers. Circling a large lake, the mini-train would pass by a replica of the Statue of Liberty (note its un-oxidized copper hue color). Ironically the park closed due to an unpaid water bill, and is now the site of the city's public water department (sadly, the miniature train no longer exists).

One of the most quirky attractions, pictured below, was a rather squat cylindrical building with a comparatively small stick-framed windmill attached purely for decorative pleasure. Wrapping around this curious building was a two-story metal slide. The purpose of the building - aside from being an elaborate armature for a playground slide - is unclear.

Going Gaga for Google

2010-03-24T07:19:00.001-04:00

Google's recent announcement to install fiber optic cable systems in at least one American city has unexpectedly unleashed a firestorm of creativity from want-to-be towns of the future. An entertaining 4 minute news segment from NPR reveals that aside from Topeka, Kanasas' name change to Google, Kansas, many other cities are desperately trying to get Google's attention. From mock press conferences, to ridiculous publicity stunts, to catchy jingles, to parades; you name it, they've done it.

Quite frankly, we're envious of all the fun everyone else is having. In response, we've devised our own plan (unofficially on behalf of Branson, Missouri. Their Chamber of Commerce can thank us later). Why Branson? Why not!? Architectural spectacles seem to be at home in Branson. A new city hall building will quite literally put them on the map.

It turns out, designing a Google-themed architectural monument is quite easy, as Google has already done much of the work for us. First, our building is selected from a variety of pre-established templates. The classic red map pin icon will do just fine for our project...

Next, we perform a simple Google Maps search for Branson, Missouri which effortlessly provides us what appears to be the towne centre. Just like that, in 0.25 seconds, we have generated the site for Branson's new administrative headquarters.

And voilà, our building magically appears! It looks beautiful :)

Branson's City Hall will have a commanding presence over the city below: a powerfully iconic building amidst one of America's greatest collections of iconic buildings.

Surrounded by the vast range of Ozarkian Mountains, only one question remains...when will the fiber optic cables be installed???

Mission San Xavier

2010-03-22T05:49:00.003-04:00

The Mission San Xavier (c. 1797) is a fascinating place brimming with mystique and sacredness. Here, on the outskirts of Tucson, Arizona, water magically appears from the ground, a bizarre sight made bizarre-er while considering the geography of the water-starved American Southwest. This Missonary was conceived by Jesuit outcasts from the Spanish Empire, yet was both constructed and attacked by native tribes, existing today as a case study in America's awkward multicultural history. (Appropriately, the Moorish style of Mission San Xavier is a mash-up of Islamic and Greco-Roman cultures.) Adding to our fascination of this place is the fact that no record of the building's architects and artisans exists.

Set in the middle of an empty desert-like landscape the building presented itself to bewildered roadtrip tourists with exceedingly too much to say. So there we stood, gawking in stunned silence while sheepishly snapping digital photos of a place we knew we would never fully understand. Aside from the incredible story of this mission, what was most compelling to us was the combo of whimsical exteriors and mysteriously playful interiors. Alas, some photos from Mission San Xavier...

Oversized curvaceous buttresses paired with a balcony containing a miniaturized colonnade exhibited decidedly post-modern characteristics.

Color on the exterior was limited to bright red decorative motifs above small punched openings in the facade.

The main entry was painted in an unexpectedly dazzling color scheme: something between M.C. Escher and Magic Eye Posters (a world-wide stereogram craze from the 1990's).

Hallways were snugly fitted to the human figure, existing as secret passages bisecting the Mission's maze of rooms and levels.

To our disappointment, the National Parks Service's HABS/HAER Program apparently beat us to the chase, discovering (and fully documenting) this building 70 years before we did.

An undeniably over-scaled gateway into an adjacent courtyard space on the Mission grounds left us feeling satisfied, yet somehow desperately wanting more.

The Ugly Ducking, Part II

2010-03-20T02:38:00.001-04:00

The Ugly Duckling is a children's fairy tale written in 1844 by Hans Christian Andersen. The story is about being ostracized for (disagreeable) looks. It traces the life of a duck who, after spending years desperately trying to fit in, becomes suicidal. One day while attempting to drown himself, the duck is attracted to his own surprisingly handsome reflection; an image not of a beautiful swan. At its best, The Ugly Duckling is a story of transformation, revealing both the extreme hardships and joys of life. Yet, at it's worst, Ugly is a commentry on the shallowness of "image". After all, the duckling never really did transcend his inability to cope with the world as an aesthetically unpleasing creature. He simply evolved over time into a more socially beloved image. Rather than teaching me to empathize with those less fortunate than me, Hans Christian Andersen has taught me that we all must all look appropriate to fit in with society.

These themes play out in architecture just as much as they do in our lives. The politics of taste are most prevalent in historic districts where everyone from preservationists to urban design review boards to gentrifiers and gentrifiees (?) have an opinion regarding the modernization of the city. The Ugly Duckling suggests that over time, the ugliest object can transform into an object of desire. This can occur either by retrofitting an "ugly" building to conform to "beautiful" buildings, or by being absorbed into the mainstream consciousness as a symbol of civic identity: something that was once ugly is now pricelessly iconic.

We introduced this architectural version of the ugly duckling as a widly painted brutalist building juxtaposed with a traditional victorian home. It attempts to fit in, while pretending to be something it is not. To take this idea one step further, I dreamt up a few variations on a vacation home.

Figure 1. Pop-Brutalism. Here, a castle-like CMU block bunker retreat is covered in what can only be described as dazzle paint. Further detailing around the lone window suggests this otherwise serious building has a very loving owner.

Figure 2. Floodplain Steamboat Gothic. An awkward building at best, this squat, yet top-heavy building dares floodwater to take it on with an aggressive saw tooth skirt.

Figure 3. Neo-Green challenges the idea of a green building by employing a sophisticated array of symbolically earthly ornamentation. From the stylized bushes atop a gable roof (the new green roof), to the fake ivy attached to a flower-patterned exterior wall paper, to the solar panel picket fence siding, this cottage screams, "I am mean and I am green."

All three of these curiously bizarre case studies empathize with the Ugly Duckling character. If built, they would surely never fit in with the other neighborhood homes. Would these obscure buildings eventually be embraced by the homeowner, the real estate agent, and the critic? Would their story have a fairy tale happy ending??

Postcards From the Future

2010-03-18T07:03:00.042-04:00

A bit of nostalgic modernism from nearly fifty years ago to cheer up your day.

Figure 1. Executive Park Hotel; Atlanta, Georgia: here the power and authority of modernism leaves man feeling tiny, out of place, and desperate for a way out.

Figure 2. New York World's Fair, circa 1964: "The Equitable Pavilion, a contemporary open strecture located on the Pool of Inndustry, houses the famous Equitable Demograph, a 45-foot electronically controlled map of the United States. See for yourself America's growing population brought to life right before your eyes!"

Figure 3. A lake-side cottage for the future: Take note of the multi-colored speckled doorways. Also, tire tracks from vehicular travel to the motel have been painted into the scene.

Tucumcari, New Mexico

2010-03-16T07:35:00.001-04:00

Tucumcari, New Mexico is an isolated little town in the American Southwest. For this very reason, it serves as a source of fresh design inspiration. Its homes are wonderfully customized with aesthetic camouflage which, at its best, is both witty and relevant to the landscape of the American Southwest.

Figure 1. Electric blue trim on a simple cottage: subtly devious decorative tactics.

Figure 2. Experimental use of wood lattice in a desert setting. Here not only are thirsty plants enticed to climb around the entry, the lattice material appears in a more sculptural form along a decorative fence in the owner's front yard. Perhaps this represents the desire of a desert dweller to see vegetation.

Figure 3. Take note of the decorative lace-patterned iron shutters, which are forced to turn the corner when a double-double hung window was accidentally located too close to an inside corner.

La Cita is what we travelled to Tucumcari for. We learned that this iconic entryway to a local hispanic diner had changed paint schemes multiple times over the past decades. It currently features Mauricio the "taco kid" smoking while a blank cartoon speech bubble floats over his head. Talk about suspense. What is he going to say!? More photos from this Route 66 landmark on Flickr.

Scenes From Route 66

2010-03-14T06:35:00.000-04:00

Sadly, I am still attempting to post a batch of photos from a road trip taken roughly two months ago. This series of images from the heart of Historic Route 66 is about the point in our 4,000 mile journey where we realized we had made a terrible mistake. Our journey along Route 66 a federally decommissioned highway was steering us into a dissolving landscape of tumbleweeds and absentee consumerism.

Here, an ordinary Cadillac has been elevated to new heights, transformed into an extra-ordinary symbol of Route 66's auto-culture. We appreciated the effort that went into structurally supporting an automobile three stories into the air, although concluded that a car-shaped cut out would have conveyed exactly the same message.

The heritage industry strikes again. Consumers of nostalgia along Route 66 surely can't pass up this gem: a lovingly restored Conoco gas station from Route 66's heyday. We especially enjoyed the juxtaposition of a pleasingly miniature one room building parasitically attached to an underwhelmingly simple warehouse. An admittedly bizarre and unexpected sight.

A rather prestigious ice cream shack with strangely victorian overtones.

Here a crumbling facade of brick and faux-wood shingled roof were slowly giving way to a sun-faded metal clad warehouse. Reminded us of BEST's Indeterminate Facade Building circa 1974.

Following official "Historic Route 66" signs led us to what could only be described as the end of the world. A disintegrating one-lane road traversing through lonely fields and abandoned farms. The setting winter sun added to the mystique of our ill advised decision-making.

Shortly after these photos were taken, we abandoned our initial plans of following Route 66 to California. A split-second decision had us heading south towards Mexico, in search of trouble and excitement.

Some Books and Other Things

2010-03-14T01:08:00.003-05:00

Fantastic Journal's focus on the architect's bookcase has gone viral. In a shameless attempt to piggy back off of FJ's popularity, I present a bookshelf from my apartment. Most prominently, you'll find a few Robert Venturi classics including copies of Mother's House and Complexity and Contribution.

Looking closer, you'll find a pair of outdated "2006" glasses from New York City's 2006 New Year's Eve, multiple decorative ceramic roosters, and perhaps the creepiest drawing ever created (purchased in Roswell, New Mexico). I am also particularly fond of my coffee table, pieced together from various bits of IKEA components.

House Keys

2010-03-04T18:47:00.000-05:00

Figure 1. Electric Blue colo(u)red Elemental House Key (proudly displayed on N_O_R_T_O_N's key chain).

Figure 2. House Key Graphic via National Bankruptcy Forum

Figure 3. Variation on the prototypical "house key"

Figure 4. Fantastic House Key by London designer Andrew Nye

Diner Nostalgia

2010-02-25T07:35:00.002-05:00

Continuing our review of a mid-January drive across America, we present this Route 66 roadside gem spotted in Springfield, Missouri. "Steak n' Shake: It's a Meal."

A remnant of early fast food culture, the slogan "we protect your health" reveals the degree to which restaurant cleanliness was once a significant concern to Americans. We should probably all care a little more about our health these days, but honestly, who can turn down triple steakbugers, wisconsin buttery steakburgers (butter + hamburger), cheesy bacon french fries, and double chocolate fudge milk shakes?

Aside from the preserved signage, we especially enjoyed the classic awnings, taking note that the alignment of the red and white stripes strictly matches the notched cutout patterning.

Silly Hats Only

2010-02-24T07:00:00.002-05:00

Figure 1. December 4, 2009. Speculative Art Installation & Seasonal Holiday Card. New York City, NY.

Figure 2. January 25, 2010. "The Trail of Lights." Branson, Missouri.